| Flying John McAfee |
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Page 4 of 6  The idea had one major drawback. In all the vast, rugged expanse of the desert Southwest, there were few convenient places to land and refuel, to spend the night, to hangar the aircraft during storms. So McAfee decided to set up a network of stations. A day’s journey apart, the six ports are spread along a great smile-shaped arc that curves across some 800 miles of the roughest, most spectacular terrain in Arizona and New Mexico. In Rodeo, he created the most elaborate outpost of all, a complex that includes a coffee shop, an Internet lounge, an organic food market, a 35-seat movie theater, and four large air-conditioned hangars. For visitors, he bought 12 Airstream trailers on eBay and a dozen vintage cars to park alongside them for ambiance. Anyone who seriously wants to learn to fly is welcome to come and enjoy the facilities at a highly subsidized rate of $45 per night. “I’m not trying to turn a profit,” McAfee explains. “The purpose of this facility is to provide an environment where almost anyone who has the spirit of adventure can participate.”If you want to ride with John McAfee, you’d better be ready to get up early. The knock on my door comes at 4:30 a.m., and by 6 a.m., with dawn breaking over the Peloncillo Mountains, the ragtag band is ready to taxi out to the 7,200-foot dirt runway. This early, the air is almost perfectly calm, perfect for smooth riding. After a few hours, the sun-baked desert will start spinning up big thermals like invisible tornadoes. McAfee taxis out first, followed by Irwin; and then Bungard; John “Ole” Olson, a flight instructor; and Bruce Thompson, a retired geneticist. Jim Hunter, an electrical engineer, and Ivan Brauer, a general practitioner, bring up the rear. Within a few minutes we’re up in loose formation, like a flock of giant colorful butterflies, heading east into the rising sun. McAfee flies lower than most, scooting along the rolling valley floor at 20 feet, scattering jackrabbits and passing herds of bemused-looking Black Angus. A few miles ahead, the broad sere valley bottoms out into a wide dry lakebed. The baked mud is flat, ideal for landing, but recent rains may have left its crust dangerously thin. It’s hard to tell from the air. McAfee makes a call on the radio. “Hey, Neil,” he says. “What do you think? Is it landable?” McAfee circles a hundred feet up, trying to eyeball the surface. While he’s mulling, Irwin swoops past, descending, and calls over the radio: “I think we can do it.” Her wing skims over the surface, and she touches down. She lets out a whoop: “It’s beautiful!” McAfee is uncharacteristically quiet as he descends toward the lakebed. I know that, of all the perils of flying, none touches him more deeply than the possibility of Irwin’s getting hurt. Earlier, I’d asked him what was the hairiest moment he’d had while flying, and he said that it had been watching Irwin attempt a takeoff in strong winds. A gust had come from the side and nearly flipped her over. If her wingtips had caught on the ground, the crash could have been fatal. |
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