Nestled in the searing heat of the Coachella Valley (I've always wanted to say that) in southern California, about halfway between Blythe and Palm Springs, lies Chiriaco Summit. This unlikely spot possesses the three magic ingredients that make it interesting to pilots: A place to land, a place to eat, and something to see while you're there.
Chiriaco Summit is the home of the General Patton Memorial Museum. Why, you ask, would the General Patton Memorial Museum be in a desolate spot like the Coachella Valley where the temperature in the summer resembles the inside of your mother's oven at Thanksgiving? Because it was a lot like North Africa, that's why. Aha. I see the gleam of understanding in your eyes now.
During WWII, Chiriaco Summit was the location of Camp Young. Major General George S. Patton Jr. selected Camp Young as headquarters site for the Desert Training Center, a simulated theater of operations that would eventually cover 18,000 square miles and extend from Pomona, CA, to Phoenix, AZ, from Yuma, AZ, to Boulder City, NV. Between 1942 and 1944, over one million men trained on the surrounding desert and participated in the most realistic war games under the harshest conditions imaginable.
The General Patton Memorial Museum at Chiriaco Summit is small, but it contains am impressive display of WWII memorabilia, most of which was scavenged from the surrounding desert. For ground-bound visitors, the museum contains a very large scale, three-dimensional topographic map, providing them with a bird's eye view of the entire Desert Training center. I did notice the red rubber band nestled in one of the map's canyons, but was unable to locate a matching rubber-band-like object when we flew over the area on our way home. (My attempt at humor. Sorry.) There are also several WWI and modern-era tanks on display in the area next to the museum building. The museum entrance fee is $4.
Chiriaco Summit is also the home of a truckstop cafe. This is not a sanitized generic 'same here as everywhere else' restaurant, but a genuine Route 66-style truckstop. This reminds me of the places we stopped at when I was a kid, riding in the back seat of my parents Chevy while we traveled cross-country on vacation. The Biscuits and Gravy are great, and the prices are reasonable.
The best part is that there is a 4,600-foot asphalt runway right next door. It has been recently resurfaced, but a word of warning: the runway has a noticeable crown in the middle. Sitting at either end of the runway, you cannot see beyond the crown to the other end.
From Deer Valley Municipal Airport in Phoenix, Arizona where Marvelous Merry Ann is based, Chiriaco Summit is 209 miles away. That's about 1 hour, 10 minutes flying time. For you non-pilots reading this, I must explain a bit of terminology. When multiple military aircraft fly together, it is in a precise arrangement known as a formation. When us civilian pilots fly together, it is a gaggle. We are lucky if we are in sight of each other. So now you'll understand when I tell you that a gaggle of four RV-6s, of which Marvelous Merry Ann was one, visited Chiriaco Summit on January 16.
Larry Schnieder led the way with his red and white RV-6 because he is faster than the rest of us and always lets us know it. Bringing up the rear was the amazing Dean Barry and his plans-built RV-6. Dean is amazing because he not only built his RV from just the plans (almost everyone else builds from a kit), and not only because he has a purring Chevy Vortec V6 under the cowl, but also because he built the whole thing for under $15,000. Any one of those achievements is impressive. Together, they humble mere mortals like me. My hat is off to Dean.
Somewhere in the middle was Richard DeWitt and myself on our two RV-6s. I say "somewhere in the middle" because as I explained, we can't see each other most of the time. I've also learned that you cannot rely upon anybody's position reported over the radio because the first liar doesn't stand a chance.
One of the delightful things about owning and flying a Van's Aircraft RV-series airplane is that you are a member of that informal group known as Van's Air Force. A few miles out from our destination, we heard another RV on the radio report that he was about to land at Chiriaco Summit too. Instant camaraderie. We announced ourselves on the radio too, exchanged the where-are-you-froms, and discovered that we had a mutual acquaintance. We all agreed on the spot to tell the same lies to this acquaintance when we returned so he would know what he missed. Something involving a busload of young, vivacious supermodels, as I recall.
There is not much more to tell, really. We came, we saw, we ate. We did, however, manage to pick the one day of the year when the sun was not out there frying your brains out. It was cloudy, with a frontal system expected to move through late in the afternoon. Just as we decided we'd had our fill of food and cannons, a wall of light rain showers was moving eastward down the valley toward us. Just like all good pilots who will melt if left out in the rain, we saddled up, blasted off, and headed for home.
