AvSport of Lock Haven: Second SportStar

AvSport of Lock Haven -- 353 Proctor Street, Lock Haven PA 17745

Second SportStar
copyright © 2015 by H. Paul Shuch, All Rights Reserved

"What happened to the blue one?" asked Avalon Eden, as she slowly materialized in the student seat of my shiny new white SportStar.

"You must certainly know," I replied, "seeing as how you've been looking down on me for 35 years now."

"Looking up," corrected my first and favorite flight instructor, with her usual devilish smirk.

I ignored the obvious. "Sold it to John," I replied tersely, while executing a passable chandelle. "The day he passed his checkride."

"Just as well," sighed my guardian ghost. "It was rapidly approaching TBO. As are you."

There she goes again, I mused, always bringing up mortality. "Well, you know Time Between Overhauls is not regulatory," I said, dodging the subject. "But, as a commercial operation, my flight school can ignore it only at its own peril."

Yes, Avalon agreed, there certainly are liability issues. She knew that from her own days running a flight school, back when I was young and she still had a pulse.

There were really three options, I explained. When the Hobbs meter ticked over to 2000 hours, I could just overhaul the engine. But I'm a slow worker, and that would put a revenue-producing airplane out of commission for weeks to months. Or, I could order a brand-new engine, delivered in a crate direct to my hangar, for about 20 kilobucks - and then when the Hobbs hit the magic number, pull the old one, install the new, and be back in the air in just a few days.

Or, I could just buy a whole new plane.

"So why did you choose Door Number Three?" asked Avalon.

I patiently explained to her that John had made me an offer I couldn't refuse. He was my typical demographic: male, 65 years old, a successful professional just retired, with time and money aplenty, who had only two items left on his bucket list -- get a pilot's license, buy an airplane. He had done all his training in my blue SportStar, flew it well, loved the plane, and found it fit his mission perfectly. So, after having performed flawlessly, just as the FAA Examiner was finishing up his Pilot Certificate paperwork, he casually asked, "how much do you suppose Steve will give you for this plane, in trade for a new one?"

Steve was the SportStar importer, and the Light Sport aircraft industry was small enough that everybody knew every player and plane. He and I had seen each other's aircraft, and knew the condition of each plane in the fleet. So, I rang him up, and asked on speakerphone how much he'd give me on 66 Alpha Victor, toward 905 Sierra Mike. "Sixty-five thousand," Steve replied without hesitation, and before I could answer, John shouted out "Sold!"

905SM was a nearly new specimen of the same make and model I had been instructing in for five years. It was Steve's demo aircraft, used primarily as a marketing tool, and had never been used in a flight school (so it hadn't been abused by students). Since aircraft dealers load their demos up with every available option, it was clearly the best equipped member of its tribe. Though gently and sparingly flown, it was still technically a used aircraft, so priced accordingly. And, since Steve could quickly flip my trade-in to an already committed customer, he was able to offer me a very tempting deal.

"It was also in Steve's best interest," cut in Avalon. "When I was a dealer, I'd always try to get a new demo every couple of years. Nothing like having all the very latest bells and whistles to show to your customers." Clearly, Steve followed a similar policy.

It took just over a week to pull together the details. This was probably the easiest business transaction I had ever conducted, though I ended up penning three separate contracts (one for me to buy Steve's pretty white steed for a stated handful of cash; one for Steve to give me the agreed sum for my trade-in; and a third for John to immediately buy my old plane from Steve for that same agreed sum). Only, where to do the transfer of keys and cashier's checks?

Now John (appropriately) lived near Johnstown. I was in Lock Haven, and Steve was near Dayton. We needed to meet somewhere in the middle. We settled on Grove City, equally inconvenient for all. On the chosen day, I flew West in my old blue bird. Steve flew East in my new white one. And John's wife drove him up to the liaison point. We signed papers, and exchanged money, whereupon I flew East in my new plane, and John flew South in my old one, and John's wife drove South by herself.

"Which left Steve as odd man out," realized Avalon. "How did he get back home to Dayton?"

He had made enough money on the deal, I explained, to simply rent a car and drive home a happy man.

"And what about the TBO issue?" asked Avalon.

"Oh, that's a non-issue for John," I replied. "The engine has 200 hours left on it. In my flight school, that would be good for only a few months of instruction. But for John, an individual owner who flies only for fun, that 200 hours will take him reliably to the end of his flying days. It's a win-win."

Avalon congratulated me on my new acquisition, said "I'll see you in five years, when you're ready to trade this one in," and then executed an angelic chandelle of her own.

More Avalon Eden Stories

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