Pure Malt Tour 2011

The club's phone's ringing a late afternoon...
- Aye?
-Grrzzzrghh... Nrrughgh... nnrrggthhh...
- Errr, yeah... listening?
-Nrrurgguh egzz
- What?
-Nrgrrkkegz... mavaple...
- Did I call you? Who is it?
- Gegz...
- Depanator? Is that you? What's wrong?
- Ain't going well... hurtin'... shoulder... 'ar bro'en...
- You had an accident?
- Yeah... hurt... shoulder... cannot come back... out...
Boy, does Depanator seems to be tired, I don't get nothing.
- K, I call you tomorrow, good luck!

All righty then, this trip is starting to peel out!
Long story short : "Depanator" is really going bad, our "Leader" must manage the newfound and hopefully temporary blindness of his gal, like organize keepers for her between his parents and his son, "Pussshower"still hasn't checked the new mounted motor of his microlight, "Apolon" exploded a piston in his motor and haven't eroded the newly mounted motor anyway, Stan is about to get broke and have no idea how to finance the trip of his tribe to Liverpool, "W" is just a stress bomb waiting to explode, the Petit P92 has no brakes, wich will forbid us every short runway on green Albion...
Nonetheless, thanks to sheer luck, or to the fervent prayers of our very own "Papinou", we're all ready to take off this friday 29th of april..
We'll just have to make do with a meteo without wind, but extremely scarce regarding visibility.
Oh well, what the heck, we're gone, and Godspeed!

Pierre and Serge Cintas are flying the Tanarg (flex wings), Apolon and Remi Costes are on the Corsario (seaplane), father and daughter Bonnet are flying Petignat's skyranger after 2 years of grounded patience, and all of them open the trip since 7.30am, right to Saint-Etienne (Precieux), a friendly microlight airfield to ressuply, then Avalon where we're suppose to regroup.
A little bit later, both club's Skys with Leader and W, Stan and Hugo, are out either. Jérémie drives the car with Minouman as a copilot, Leona and little Pierre, wife and kid of Stan, being the passengers.
We take off last, Daniel Petit and I on his P92, the brakes purged one last time, they seem to work for now.
Quaix and Audrey will take of from Nimes with their CT, they intend to go straight to Meaux.

Really the visibility is quite awful, sometimes about to go IFR, it's a bit of luck we know the country almost by heart. Until Aubenas we keep our route to Saint Etienne, then we hear on the radio that the Skys are diverting to Saint Rambert because they don't see shit on the "country of Sucs" after the Mont Gerbier des Joncs...
Pierre and his followers managed to go through earlier, and they are about to reach Precieux.
All right then, if the Skys cannot make it, we'll have the same problem, so it's better to meet them indeed at Saint Rambert.
We have to fly very closely near the top of the mountains to go back to the Rhone's Valley, and we're on track a bit before Valence, after a close shave around electric lines, ouch!
In the meantime, Quaix freaks out going straight in the clouds right upon Lyon's town's center, and decide to go back to land at Vienne to cool down...
After regrouping at Saint Rambert and a bit of ritual bladder's deflating, we decide to try to double Lyon and to land at Samir Elari's at Belleville.
We take off, at Vienne we call Quaix so he can take off to follow us. The visibility is going better after the west's Lyon's mountains, flown closely enough, the head in the clouds, or maybe we're starting to get drowsy...
Anyway we all land at Belleville without other events.

Stan manage to buy 20 liters of gasoline at the price it will eventually be sold in some time by Total's boss, around 2 euros a liter, why wait for a future inflation when you can have it today?
Leader, though being the best of us regarding the runway's indications, is being bashed by some pissed guy.
Let's go asap, it seems that this isn't .the right day to land on this not so friendly place..
We go straight to Avalon, the wind is now a bit better and the visibility seems to be evolving for the best, yup, it becomes excellent at the Morvan. The sun makes its way through some beautiful shiny cumulus, and we fly upon dozens of nice villages, all of them dominated by medieval castles, there are lakes everywhere, and the vineyards down under are quickly becoming big fields full of cows, patterned with black forests. It's beautiful, everyone's becoming optimistic, and we fill the radio's band with jokes.
Pierre and his guys are yet calling for the landing at Avalon, they're going to find hotels and restaurants for us, perfect!
Avalon is a grass airfield, I mean real grass, heavy, green and lush, nothing to compare with the bald stony airfield we're used to. Plus it's right near the town, around 10 minutes of idle walk. We shut down the motors on a deserted parking (notwithstanding our own machines, yet duly attached after ridiculously easy landings).
Millions of crickets are playing an amazing concerto to meet us, now that's some mighty nice welcome!
Jeremie arrive just now with the car, gosh, nice timing!
Our hotel is right at the gate of the medieval city, real comfortable, with a cute blond Russian receptionist.
The restaurant chosen by Pierre is just 20 meters away on the same sidewalk, and it's gastronomic, alas I might say, because we stuff ourselves like pigs, it's a bit of luck we ain't going anywhere tonight because the only thing we want to do after that is to fall on a cozy bed.
No way (for me) to eat anything else for today, but some of the group will manage to go eating kebabs, and some others will go to a Chinese restaurant... boy, they are walking stomachs!
The medieval town is worth a visit, the roman church is splendid...

Saturday 30th of april Avalon-Calais
We don't know it yet but we're taking off for the easiest part of the trip. The wind is ridiculously low, not even from the front, the weather's mild and clear.
I walk to the terrain to clear me head, still somewhat weighted by yesterday's wondrous meal...
Apolon has some problems with his front wheel that seem to want to erase itself in its resting place without being asked to do so. For now everything has been all right on the grass airfields we've been landing on.
He tries vaguely to fix the problem, that won't be enough, I guess...
We land at Meaux to relax, refuel and give a kiss to the Bouchets, our dear Serge and Genevieve, the best place to land near Paris.
The front wheel of the Corsario erase itself again, still not a big problem, here too there is plenty of grass.
We take off to Calais in the afternoon's thermal winds, it's a bit rough but not that much, and the navigation is a piece of cake : we just have to avoid Roissy, then it's straight ahead, from aeolien's field to aeolien's field, green then yellow then green surfaces and that again, and when you see the sea well, you're in Calais...
We land all together at the airport, except Quaix that went to spend the night in family at Berck. I have some news from Rabadan, Paul and Joelle, grounded in Lorraine by the storms we avoided yesterday. The front wheel of the Corsario does its trick again, but we've  landed on a hard surface, and it's scratching hard this time. Moreover, Apolon had the pretty weard idea to go out of the runway to let us go past him, instead of going out properly. Now he's gonna have to find some polyester to repair the gap urgently, there's work to do! Daniel Petit has some cousins around here, administrating a little B&B hotel where our rooms are booked. They're adorable, and they lend us a second car.

Sunday 1th of may Albion
We're all set for the Channel's crossing, ridiculous life's jackets around the neck, flying plan sent by phone by Quaix.
Yesterday night we've stuffed ourselves with the traditional mussels, french fries and local beer at a brewery in center Calais, the mythical restaurant where we went last year being closed because of the obese owner recent implosion!
The machines are fixed, full of fuel, Rabadan and Quaix came in their CTs.
The tower is closed on Sunday, so we'll keep the radio contact with Lille. Thierry will be the leader of the "slows", the Skys, the Corsario and the Tanarg, and I'll lead the "fasts", the P92 and the CTs.
The wind is hard but it's pushing us, the weather's fine, we're off.
The visibility is excellent, the crossing very quick, the chit-chat at the radio maintained to a minimal English, in no time we land at Headcorn, welcoming and busy as ever. Now it's time to speak serious English.
The Corsario's front wheel seems to take it good, everything's fine.
The paperwork is filled, the taxes paid, and here we are discussing what path is the best. Oh boy are we good at discussing! It looks like an African village, under a baobab when the sun's going down!
We initially planned to go by Popham, south west of London, but it's compromised because there is a huge aerial thingy there, and it seems unlikely we can land there without making a fuss, considering our English average level.
Then again the wind is pretty strong, East Nord East, it will lift us if we follow the direct path I recommend, with a landing at the 2/3rd going around north London and zigzagging between Stanstead and Luton's airports... Only tiny problem : we have to fly very low, in heavily turbulent air.
After a long talk, changes, enervation, waffling and such, we finally all take off to follow this path anyway.
The stopover is supposed to be easy to find, Measham Cottage farm, an airfield right along a freeway north of Birmingham, the owner seems delighted to receive us.
The first quarter of hour is perfect, turbulences nonexistent. But the wind coming from the sea is pushing hard. Alas, afterward it's getting wiggly when we come across the first thermal winds!
I'm glad I'm in a P92, it's moving hard. Pierre and Serge on the Tanarg must be soooo... errr... happy as a dead squirrel! Well at least we're gaining some terrain, up to 60km/h of ass' wind. A tiny GPS error make us go right through Stanstead's CTR, but the visibility is excellent and I know this place a little, so we easily correct the problem.
The English countryside is scrolling mighty quick, green fields / yellow fields, castles and golfs, airports all around, big and little, active or not, they are everywhere!
We cross the mythical M1, our A7 equivalent, Leicester right of us, the house is just around, I even have a glimpse at the Ratcliffe-on-Soar centrale's chimneys south of Notthingham...
Yohoho, here is the M42 freeway ahoy, we're arriving. We're arriving, my arse!!!
Where the heck is this darn airfield? The more we look, Petit and I, the more we see nothing but green and yellow fields! Now now, a big L landing strip 500 meters long, it should be easy to catch... I try a radio contact but there is nobody around. No kidding, we have to find it. We could go to Ince, but the Corsario have to refuel... So we go in circles... The GPS are telling us we're right on the spot, everything seems right on the map, except... there's nothing here.
- CRRCRCCCRRRCRRRCCC... Hello... Farm speaking... to microlight above...
- Hello P92 above your field, sorry we can't find you!
Ouf! The speaker guides us : "the big yellow field, alongside, you follow runway 07"
- What? Where? I still don't see anything!
- You're right on top of it
All right! I've seen the numbers at the border, it was easy after all, the tiny roadway along the trees, that's the runway!
Ok then, well, let's go!!!
Luckily the wind is blowing right on the 07's path, something is something. Otherwise it's an easy strip, if you just forget the 20 meters' high trees boarding the threshold, the colza higher than the microlight, the width of the runway that let no more than 2 meters to go through the colza, plus the 50 km/h's wind, did I mention it's blowing in gusts? Piece of cake for a P92, but I must confess I'm a tiny bit apprehensive for the next ones...
They're above us soon, we'll see, but my asshole's gone tight, if I can say so.
Boy, but the Wankers are doing quite well!
Stan is landing ok, I wasn't worried for him. Thierry? Reaaaally swell. Alex? Gooood! Pierre is going fantastic, with the Tanarg it wasn't easy! Now the Corsario... c'mon René, smoothly, there... good, the front wheel decides to erase itself again, but with the heavy grass, no problem.
Now the CTs... Paul Rabadan is going first. Hop, touched down, hop, touched down, hop, touched down! It's so beautiful, to see this magnificent white CT going kangaroo up the colza once and twice and thrice... Now Quaix... good job!
The terrain's owner, who came to us in car, lead the first microlight to his base, little trip of one kilometer through country roadway to canvas tents full of planes.
In fact he wasn't even monitoring the radio, sure that with a wind like that nobody would ever come to land here today.
There are a lot of charming people around, some rigorously British ladies prepare some tea for us, open the cookie's jars, welcome home, what a delicious country.
But the wind is getting naughty...
We check the meteo, it seems that it blows worse at Ince, but it should go better this afternoon, so we wait.
But the hours are going by and it doesn't go down, the wind-sock is horizontal as it goes...
- What do we do? Going anyway?
Stan emerge from his nap, straighten himself, rub his eyes, watch the wind-sock, the sky, and declares : "Right, I for one am going outta here".
So Thierry decides to follow, and so the CTs either.
- Ok so off we go, let's do this.
We start the P92 to let it heat a bit, Pierre and Serge start to put their combinaisons...
Stan take off, and he goes straight to the stars, the feet up the sky, almost vertically thanks to the furious wind. Thierry goes after him, but without going Geronimooooo. Then the CTs are off.
Now it's our turn... yeah, right. Let's just say that it blows and it bashes...
With this wind, we sure won't spend much time going to Ince. We try to go high to avoid the turbulences. Good guess, it's less hard and it goes quick. The countryside is scrolling in quick advance mode, to the right the cities, to the left the first hills of Wales...
Far ahead we start to see the big estuaries going to the Irish sea, and we yet have to go down if we're to go under Liverpool's TMA, indeed we have to go down down down and it moooooves a lot. We have to go to the sea, we go right and we stop, almost! Under, there is nothing but water, the aeolien's field in the sea, just left of us, are going spot-on, it's really windy! Our ground speed is just 70km/h for a 150km/h air speed... We need a good 20 minutes to cover the few miles to the terrain. We see the CTs landing ahead of us, luckily the 3 runways of this terrific terrain allow us to find always one right for the wind.
We make a semi-direct base with a 60° angle to correct the derivation, the final seems to be unending... but the landing itself is a treat, we sure won't be too long, and no need to brake, good, because ours are pretty much dead.
The wheeling with the sideways wind is... strange!
Here we are, at least. The terrain is almost deserted, just Carl and his father Paul are here to receive us, they seem to be a bit taken aback to see us here in spite of the wind.
We bind the machines solidly. Pierre calls us to tell they won't make it, they decided with Alex and Apolon to sleep at Measham Farm to come tomorrow morning, the announced wind seem to be less violent.
We go to Liverpool, the car has arrived to the hotel yet.
Our english pals drop us to the station nearby, we'll go to town by train.
Out of the Liverpool's central station, it's like we're home again. We just have to go down the street to find our hotel, the sun is fine and the girls are outrageously almost-naked because it's late and the bars are opening.
Everything's fiiiiiiiine!
Nah, everything's not fine after all, everything seems to be mixed up at the Casartelli, the hotel where we're all booked.
Paul Rabadan has no flat, is reservation never made it here it seems, and I discover that I've been booked in a £860 flat, all for myself, the most luxurious suite of the place. Finally the receptionist, wich seems to be half-dead though grouchy, after calling her boss, agree to book us all in this suite, Paul, Joelle, Jeremie and I, for only £700. It doesn't quite do the trick for me, I had booked a £300 flat that I hoped to share with someone to cut the price, but it's too late, and let's admit it, the flat is royal, huge, with a rooftop terrace... it'll do.
It's starting to be late, and everyone's hungry...
We regroup, 14 people, and we go up Hanover Street to find a restaurant. Say, this huge Italian shall do, 'cause if we keep going we'll end up in Chinatown.
Good choice, they accept us despite the number and the late hour, and it's pretty good food!
Of course, afterward we go to the hot district, hey we have to teach the new ones what Liverpool by night is all about.
It's always a delight to watch the astonished look of the rookies when they discover the "outfit" (let go of the "fit", just "out" shall do it) of the wandering gals.
Leona is jumping all around in excitement, Hugo thinks he just arrived in Heavens, Jeremie and Minouman are drooling like pervs, a perfect Tex Avery's wolf lookalike. Stan doesn't seem to feel any tiredness anymore!
Anyway, the multiple pints of beer and the fatigue of the day finally win over the majority of us, and only Jeremie and Minouman lose themselves to the night, they came by car and they only drink Whisky, that helps, and they're anxious to get a bite of it all.

 Monday 2th of may Liverpool
Less wind my ass! It blows, and heavily does so.
We're going to receive the latest ones, they just took off from Measham, we just have time to take over all the pilots that want to refuel or tinker with their microlights, and they have already landed,  pushed by the same wind we had yesterday, the unending fly from the sea in the turbulent wind, not that much appreciated by Pierre and Serge Cintas or Alex, but at least they are all here!
Alas, after the multiple problems with the Corsario's front wheel, this time the main landing gear is going berzek, and it's more of a problem.
The iron's structure is broken, and the landing gear just didn't make it, breaking a good part of the mechanism in the process. The fuselage itself is quite destroyed, a wing's floater's support is broken... a real mess!
Apolon is disgusted, his poor Corsario lies dead between the hangars, and he doesn't know what to do... I don't know either, I must confess that the idea of spending hours working on the machine in this terrible wind and with the coming rain is not that much appealing...
But remember me where we are? Aren't we in the real fan's place of the king hobby, in the realm of the mechanic's maniacs, the resourcefulness' princes? Yeah, a group of "pros" came around the Corsario, expertising, talking, taking names and kicking asses, and they don't talk forever (as we would've done), they take things in hand, they command Apolon to put off the wings and his fuel tanks on the spot, so they can access the main frame, and then they take charge of the stuff!
And it's rolling, we take of the wings in the blink of an eye, we're quite good at this now.
When it's done, the Englishmen come into play, we just have to gawk at the ballet...
They arrive with a "Manitou" to suspend the fuselage, they start the electric generator, take out the main frame to weld and on they are...
And come on let saw that, let weld this, and that, and straighten up this part, and change this broken thingy... they find metal scraps in the trash, cut and old bone structure reinforcement, and they rebuild the whole command lever of the landing gear!
In a few hours the Corsario is back on the saddle again, and Apolon find his smile back...
He doesn't know how to thank his saviors, he offers to repay them with his body if they wish, nobody's interested, and he's quite disappointed by the lack of interest his offer brings back.
We finally make it back to Liverpool, for a well deserved rest.
After a few reticences we finally decide to go to eat at a Brazilian’s restaurant the other side of the street, it's kinda pricey but the caipirinhas are well served and we eat as much as we can, the buffet with its 20 or so kind of meats is as much as you please.
Afterward we jump in a taxi, with Quaix, Audrey and the Rabadans, thinking that the others will follow us to go to a good pub.
Alas, it's kinda late, and the traditional pubs are closing, so we let the taxi decide where to go. He take us to a musical pub-bar, open after midnight, with a live group playing.
The musicians are around 60 yo but they play pretty good, throwing spiffy Beatles and Kinks at us.
Audrey is happy as a monkey, Paul start dancing a wild rock'n roll with Joelle. Then start a karaoke with the "pros", a bunch of old timers quite good actually, what a blast! It's a shame the others didn't came, it's so British!

Tuesday 3th of may Liverpool
The group divides itself, Apolon goes back to the terrain to rebuild his machine, others go to visit the museums, some go shopping... the weather is nice but fresh and it still blows tirelessly, so we abandon the project to go landing legally on a beach (when I said it's a cool country!). Tonight we all go to eat at Leona's.
To accommodate everyone we must organize a discreet ballet between the flats to move a lot of chairs and tables... well actually we make quite a ruckus, not mentioning the music going full power, and the clouds of smoke going through the windows, though if I remember well it seems to be forbidden to smoke in the flats...
The next morning Stan will errr... receive a manly blame from the manager and a very pissed (and grouchy as ever) receptionist. After the excellent gracious meal, the wildest part of the group decide to go hanging in the hot district, well that's a figure of speech, it's kinda lukewarm during this period of the week...  So we find ourselves in an almost empty club, with a mood more proper to a burial than a dance floor, but we enjoy it no matter what. We managed to make Hugo come in, though he's underage, putting him discreetly in the middle of the bunch. Luckily a cocktail tasting like horseshit, or is it toothpaste? , anyway something heavily alcoholic, is in discount, so some of us, say the youngest adult and the underage guy, have the opportunity to try the typically British binje drinking, wich gives a remarquably new and magical vision of the world! Then, the mother and daughter actually lapdancing approximatively may appear equally cute, blond and plump to the drunkest member of our group... well, in regard of the following development, let's keep his identity secret and call him "Scooter".
This little stunt of his will end with an hooligan's style coitus on the hotel's terrace, between fits of puke and moderate destruction of an aluminum table, under the vigorous thrusts of the young frenchie caught under the spell of the hungry cougar, wich knows how to put to good use the momentary shortsightedness of her ephemeral conquest.

Wednesday 4th of may Liverpool.
Still windy, and cooler by the day.
We visit some museums of the navy on the docks, the Tate Galery, some artwork are really amazing. Some go shopping or sightseeing. Daniel Petit manage to bash his shoulder, falling from the docks, and he's not even drunk yet, though we briefed him, drink first and fall afterward! Now the poor guy is kinda shocked by his fall.
Late afternoon, Cat Bonnet land from Nimes through Ryanair, and we're all invited to a barbecue by the English pilots at the airfield. We arrive in car with the Quaix’s and the Bonnet’s, there is a lot of wind, the sky is grey and it's cold outta here, well, at last some real english weather. Luckily the beers are abundant, and we've got to warm up! Apolon's microlight is still wingless, so we put it in a little hangar for the night. The Englishmen put outside the gag bikes, so they can make fun of the frenchies! Fair enough, we look pretty desperate trying to work out a monocycle or an inverted bike (when you try to go right, it just goes left!). All our pilots are under the spell of Laura, the sweetheart of the Chief Pilot, Carl. They all seem compelled to whisper to me things like :
- you were right, she's cute!
- I've told you so, I say, not surprised.
- although she's not exactly my style, she's just too much! says another
- true!...
(this little bit of frogfish appreciation is not considered a rude behavior in France, quite the contrary, might I add -note of the translator-) Anyway, the car being full tonight, we go back by train with the Quaix’s and the Rabadan’s. We go to the famous "Tavern", already closing at this sulky middle of the week, so we enter a deserted bar where the Black Eyed Peas are going full power, that's as good as a mermaid's song to our educated ears. We're good, relaxed. All of a sudden, Fabrice Quaix is not with us anymore! Audrey tells us innocently that "he's out, he must be tired...". The two of 'em manage to have a fight without any words, in the middle of a noisy group : boy they're good !

Thursday 5th of may Liverpool
All right, it's more than time to rebuild the Corsario! We go to Ince first time in the morning with Apolon, Pierre and all the pilots that want to check their machines a last time before the departure planned for tomorrow. So we enjoy a very nice English weather (I mean perfectly grey), but at least the wind is abating a bit.
We rebuild the microlight, Apolon and Pierre go try it, it seems to handle well for now, it's good to go. Jeremie call me because there seems to have a new problem at the hotel, nobody understand what it's all about because they don't speak English, but I'm told to hurry... Casartelli really is starting to pull my leg (being educated here), if you ever go around, avoid it!
As soon as I'm back to Liverpool, Jeremy push me to the moody receptionist...
The problem is that Apolon only booked us for four nights by mistake, so we have to pay again, and that's anything but cheap! I protest, stating that Stan and Quaix have paid £700 for 5 nights, that we paid the same for only 4 nights, that, that... but no way to argue with the grouchy broad, and we have to spend one more night here, so we complain but we pay.
Stan is here, down the hall, working on his laptop. He tries to retrieve all the reservations made, in order to placate the new receptionist that just arrived, she seems to be more friendly... I talk to her with the laptop under her nose, I show her my reservation, for 4 days only yes, but also for only £300, wich became a £860 reservation without my agreement! So she calls the manager, wich acknowledge the facts, and discover that the other receptionist has booked us for the hard price in our suite, though it's been planned to make some work in it today! So he apologies flatly for the "mistake", he finds us a comfy flat and give us back £100, I'm feeling much happier all of a sudden. I go back to the Quaix’s, the Bonnet’s and W at the next pub.. beer, nibbling... we decide for our last day to go to a real pub, so we take a cab to the Philarmonic, it's a beautiful Victorian pub, huge, full of exquisitely adorned rooms, and of giant leather coaches to fall upon... the cooking is excellent, the desserts amazing, full of homemade custard, there are 16 different beer pumps and a menu of 50 different whiskies, W decide to taste most of them, we're in heavens... when we go out it's late afternoon, and we go to the hotel by foot to digest everything. The remaining group is here, drinking Mojitos to warm up, and it seems that they've been doing that for a long time...
Pierre manage to decide all of them to go to an Indian restaurant before the return.
I don't think I'll be hungry after all we've had to eat today, but there we go! Luckily, since it takes forever to reunite everyone, and to find a restaurant wishing to serve 16 uninvited guests, not mentioning the ever so slow Indian way of serving, there is now some place in my stomach for a delicious chicken tikka!
A last little trip to THE district, and we're back home to sleep for an early departure, the only ones untired are Jeremy, Remi and Minouman, they go out once again for a last goodbye.

friday 6th of may comeback
At last the rain came!
Right! But the Real English Weather isn't quite what we needed now, with those lovely stratus painting the rooftop of the buildings.On the terrain it's worse, the rain falls happily and the visibility goes to 3 kilometers tops. But all the meteo stations are adamant, this fog is local, it should be better at the south, so we're going out !
We heat up, everybody's off, now we can go. Only tiny problem, we cannot unfog the windscreen, as much as we dry it or open the doors, it's back on the spot... oh well, let's go, it'll dry sooner or later while flying, we don't see shit anyway, so...
We go to the sea flying low, to be sure to fly right we watch out by the doors, Daniel at our left side, me at the right side, and I hope there's nobody ahead! Luckily the path is easy to follow, earth is left, sea is right, and we have no obstacle on the way. As planned the rain stops eventually, the visibility become better, and if not for a front 30 km/h wind everything is as ok as can be.
The refueling terrain, Milson, is easier to find than Measham, it's pretty easy to spot it through the green hills of west Wales country. The runway is fairly lengthy, with a slide outline, some sheeps are grazing around, only separated from the runway by a tiny fence that I hope to be electrical. So to speak, no difficulty, then! We try to land with the front wind, so it's going down the slide, but there is not enough place to stop the P92 with our broken brakes. So we go with a back wind, it's easier, we just have to land right at the entry of the runway, so we have all the rise to stop. The sheep, used to it, decide to go as far from us as possible. Yet another beautiful terrain, with an amazing welcome, tea and cookies. The owner is very happy to receive us, despite the pissed neighbors around looking out for a mistake of ours. There are two little hangars full of micro lights and planes, though to land with a big plane here you have to be quite good, pilots here are the real deal! The others are coming, let's go to watch'em landing... They all go front wind down the slope, and they're all doing quite well. Apolon, piloting like a god, graze the top of the slope, follow it as near as it comes, and touch right on the good spot, nicely done! If there is something to the seaplane, it's that it teach you to land precisely!
The owner help the heavy consumers to refuel, and when it's done we all take off to Popham.
The sky is clearing itself, the sun appears through the white clouds. The hills are becoming flat, the Costwolds' grove scroll out, castles, golf’s and fine little villages, there is money around here. Popham is as nice as always, full of vintage planes, from the Yak to the Antonov, with a Boing Stirman, our pilots are taking pics like madmen.
We take off right to Headcorn to submit our flight plan before crossing the Channel. Once the paperwork is done we take off again, it's starting to get late. The air is crystal clear and calm, Dover's cliffs are behind us, a last radio contact with England and here we are in France, down to Calais, always deserted....
Deserted? Not quite!
A lot of English microlight are here, flex wings, one Mcr and an Escapade, sort of mix between a Coyote and an Avid Flyer, and Paul welcome us laughing about the good joke, they arrived before us! In fact, Pierre discover that the flexwings are not among them, neither are the pilots English finally, only two fast 3axis from Ince made it directly here. Good! Our honor is safe!
Paul and Roger, the Escapade's owner, decide to sleep under the tent, we take Andy and John from the Mcr with us.
The hunger push us irresistibly toward our brasserie, the beer is cool and the mussels swim in a garlic sauce, what a treat!

Back home
7th of may, Calais - Meaux - Avalon
It's not really original to follow the same path going home that we took to come here, but the strong face wind discourage any of us to go for tourism. Besides, following this path, we're sure we can refuel easily. The navigation until Meaux is even simpler than when we came, no need to check the maps, we recognize the countryside easily. Very big traffic arriving to Meaux, the tower guy is almost screaming, it seems he's commenting the arrival of a bike's race!
The Bouchets are still as welcoming as ever, we eat pasta and drink beers...
Alas we forget to pay them and to fuel the car they generously lent to us, so they'll send us a flaming mail... We'll try to make amend by sending a pack full of good things from the south so they have a reminder of the country! We think we're going to be horsed around, front and thermal winds until Avalon, but finally no, it's almost calm, and it's even nice, the Morvan is a real beautiful place. We sleep at the same hotel and eat at the same restaurant we came by, well everyone but myself, Alex and W, we discreetly go to a greasy spoon I noticed last week, and where we couldn't arrive at twenty. Good choice, that's excellent and cheap, we enjoy our meal without stuffing ourselves too much, the wine is from Bourgogne and is authentic, those people know how to live! Big conversation about life, the passing time, desires... the waitress is quite cute, that helps!

8th of may, Avalon - home
Definitely, it will be front wind till the end. But it's calm, the weather is fine, and we'll arrive sooner or later.
The group scatters around through different paths, Pierre, Alex and René go by Precieux to refuel, Thierry and Stan go by Belleville, the Englishmen by Pouilly, and we go directly to Eyguières.
Since there, we don't even intend to look like we're planning a navigation, we know the countryside by heart. Far far away, the mount Pilat gives us the landmark we need, after it we'll be on through the Rhone's valley, to  home. We see the Mont Blanc in chinese shadows up the smog to our left. We land at Saint Rambert to take a leak, the south wind is quite strong, but it diminish after Montelimar, becoming west, we see the Ventoux left of us, and we soon land on our bald runway, heated and deserted.
We bragg a bit at the radio, announcing proudly : "P92, back from Liverpool, 2 minutes from the vertical", and we land.
Little sensation of hollowness and of "yet!", quite unpleasant, I don't like the come backs.
Luckily, the English pilots from Ince land one after another for two days, filling our hangars with microlights. It's like we're still a little bit "there".
We have to move around to receive them properly.
Thierry and Quaix take care of the beer supply, hiring out a beer pump with its real pression casks, because everyone seems to be always parched as a desert's pebble.
We organize some Gallic banquets, so they can discover our specialties and local wines.
Another day, Leona prepare a huge Philipino meal for us.
We go to the Camargue with them, with a landing on the beach, and we go around visiting the Calanques...
Carl, their "boss" (he hates to be called that) try Pierre's flexwings, and fly with Stan in a 80km/h's mistral.
They're going back to England after a week, apparently delighted by their time with us.
Good, because it will be hard to find a country more interesting to visit than England in the future, more so considering that there is a microlight tour of Great Britain, Scotland included, it must be a lotsa fun!
C'mon everyone interested!
That's all folks.

Georges, May 2011

Translated graciously by Papinou

Thanks to : Roger Breckall & Paul ‘’Dad’’ Bayliss on Escapade,
                Ted Rourke & Colin Parry on Blade 912,
                Chris Parkinson & Ted Parkinson on Quantum 912,
                Andy Thornton & John McKey on MCR, 
                Rick Moss on Skyranger,
                Philip Bowden on Blade 582 single ignition,
                Franck Thorne on Blade 912,
and obviously to Carl Bayliss & "99 kisses" Laura Strain on Quick 912.
And all the others pilots inInce,
Thank you so much for the warm welcome at Ince and for your visit, we miss you a lot already!

Photos Picassa 1 ICI
Photos Picassa 2 ICI

La vidéo de Andy ICI