While managing Dad’s Mississippi Delta farm, I kept a Piper Cub at a crop duster’s airstrip. Poking through a hole in the airplane’s gas tank cap, a wire attached to a cork measured fuel consumption. As the level dropped, the part of the wire visible to the pilot shortened, and its bent end prevented it from falling through when the tank ran dry. The aircraft cruised at only eighty miles per hour, and its instrument panel consisted of little more than an airspeed indicator and altimeter.
One day, my friend Bud suggested we fly to Dothan, Alabama, where he was due to attend a sales seminar. I reminded him that the Cub wasn’t designed for long trips, especially when carrying a lot of luggage and two large men whose aging, obese bodies were encumbered with layers of lard.
