It was December 1978, and I had been a private pilot since July 11 of the same year. Christmas would be our first trip – to Gulf Shores, Alabama, from Austin, Texas, to visit the wife’s parents and show off the four-month old baby girl.
It would be the longest VFR cross country for me by far, with precious cargo across Tornado Alley in springtime to the “Greatest Spectacle in Sports.” But I was 26; what the hell did I know? It was before the internet, weather channel, online anything. No TFRs or alphabet soup of airspace.