Flight from Germany

- Garrett Fisher

Following in the hallowed footsteps of my ancestors, I came to Germany from America to understand more about my roots and to embrace the only culture that “can get anything done”, words often heard from my grandfather when referencing the shining glories of the Fatherland. What I did not consider while in America, even though the data was plainly evident in front of my face, was the fact that all of my German ancestors left Germany for some unexplained reason, and whatever that was, it was sufficient to warrant crossing the ocean to the west to come to the United States. Instead, I wandered east−with an aeroplane− thinking I would find something better.

The first indication that I might have had a moment of delusion came during some initial maintenance activities on the Cub, a hangover from equipment installation in the United States−all of which had been needed to operate in Europe in the first place. Attempting to handle the most basic of maintenance activities, I ran into the largest of roadblocks: a complex system of inane, obtuse, and poorly-thought-out regulations that rendered it all but impossible to find qualified assistance to troubleshoot and repair some issues with the airplane. To make matters worse, if a person brings up ‘troubleshoot’ with reference to an engine, Germans are programmed to have a neurological reflex, standing at attention and barking “Overhaul it!” while suspending all further thought.

Early in the maintenance adventure, I walked into a nearby shop wishing to get my transponder checked, for prevention’s sake. The guy behind the desk asked the make and model of the aircraft, and proceeded to look into some reference materials, shout some orders, and then dial a number on the phone. I reminded him I needed a