Mexico, Real Estate, and Gonzo Gordo

When Betty and I started the remodel of our home in San Miguel, Mexico, it seemed like a plane was the logical way to get back and forth between Puerto Vallarta and San Miguel. The drive was a hard 10-hour trip through Guadalajara, but by buying a Cessna 210 we could make it in two hours flat. Fortunately, the airport in San Miguel was only ten minutes from the house.

Before long I decided we needed a plane with a bigger payload than the 210 and made a deal with Aspen Aviation to buy their 206, which had a belly pod for extra storage. That plane was a real workhorse, it carried a ton of stuff, and we loved using it.

When I first started flying in Mexico, I thought I would hire a pilot to fly us back and forth while I slowly picked up the skills again. Too much had changed in the way of navigation and radio procedures that I knew it would take a while to get the hang of it. However, I soon discovered that I was more comfortable with an experienced pilot flying, especially when he would point out “a plane right over there” and I couldn’t find the plane. I figured my eyesight was not up to being a safe pilot, although I was seeing almost 20/20 out of my right eye.

We hired a series of pilots without incident until one day a fellow by the name of Rodolfo came over from Puerto Vallarta to pick us up in San Miguel and fly us back. He’d never been to San Miguel before and had a little trouble finding the airport. On the way back we had a pretty good headwind, and I could see we were getting low on fuel. He seemed to think we were all right and we proceeded on.

There are very high, rugged mountains just as you approach Vallarta, and it wouldn’t be a good place to land a plane. As we cleared the mountains and were lining up for our approach to Vallarta, I could tell Rodolfo was a little nervous, and I found out why as we touched the runway, the engine stopped—out of gas. We had to be towed to the hangar. That’s as close as I ever want to call it.

I purchased a Pilatus, PC 12, after I became involved in Mexican real estate. The Pilatus has such a slow landing speed that a crash would not be fatal, and we used very small airports like the one in San Miguel de Allende.

 I never qualified as a pilot. Instead, I hired Charlie Parker, the perfect pilot and adventurous companion. 

We had the plane repainted and came up with a sitting goose symbol on the tail and called it Gonzo Gordo (the fat goose) because that’s what she looked like. On the pilot’s door was the slogan, “Never too fat to fly.”

I trusted Charlie, but when we left the dirt field at San Miguel de Allende with a heavily loaded plane, I was wide-eyed and uncertain. Were we going over or under the high-tension wires at the end of the field?

Terror! One night on returning from Mexico, we nervously watched huge, black thunderstorms building up. We decided to land as soon as possible. We headed for Phoenix. As we approached, the field was dark, the rain was coming down in sheets, and the wind was pitching us uncontrollably. Charlie was calm, but I was sweating bullets. To maintain control, Charley literally powered us onto the runway. I had never been more frightened. The storm got worse, and just like that we chose to spend the night. I headed to the bar and ordered a stiff cocktail.

To me the Pilatus was, and still is, the perfect airplane. The Pilatus is essentially a glider with an engine. It is roomy, mine had six comfortable seats and room for tons of cargo that is easily accessed from the ground through a huge cargo door. It only requires a single pilot whereas a jet requires two. It is pressurized so we flew as high as 28,000 feet in comfort. The Pilatus is not as fast as a jet, but the difference is not significant and for most flights, we were less than 20 minutes slower. It was a sad day when I had to sell the Pilatus, but the good news was its value had held up and I lost very little on the sale.

I was 14 when I wanted to be a pilot. I’m now 90, and I still want to be a pilot, but I’d rather be 14 again.