Selling an Airplane
Until now, selling an airplane for me has been a matter of making hangar room to accommodate and getting money to pay for a newer, faster, cooler airplane. Not this time. The insurance industry and the
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Since single-pilot jet operations in our Cessna Citation CJ1 were no longer doable, my wife Cathy and I decided we had to sell our best airplane. Fortunately, our good friend
At first, things were eerily quiet. A few offers came in, but they were risible. Low-ballers appeared quickly and disappeared almost as fast. Some didn't even wait for a counteroffer. Mike kept at it. A potential buyer arrived in his Eclipse, but disappeared soon after. Another couple, whom I liked instantly, came to inspect it. I arrived at the airport just as Mike was showing the airplane. All the hatches were open and the flaps were extended. It looked as if the airplane was being carefully probed and felt like when your AME starts feeling your abdomen. "Hey! What are you doing??" Airplane ownership and pride are personal matters.
Our airplane has been maintained by Tampa Jets' inestimable
As I was beginning to wonder about our timing and pricing, things heated up. A buyer from
I knew Banyan, located at
I went to lunch with Mike and Hector. "What should I expect to pay for 'discrepancies?' I asked. "Might be as much as a Doc 10," they answered, implying tens of thousands of dollars. Okay, I thought, at this selling price, I can manage that, I guess.
The buyer's representative (I'll call him Brian, not his real name) arrived on a Monday afternoon. Hector and Mike stayed late to show the airplane and the maintenance logbooks. I got a text stating that things looked good—the only complaint was that the standby gyro battery was not testing as it should.
Because the airplane was still mine and under my insurance coverage, the test flight would be flown on the way to KFXE, and I would be the PIC. The buyer was typed and current in the Cessna CE-525 model and had been added to my insurance policy.
The next morning I awoke to dense fog, delaying our morning. I met Brian. He was a nice, knowledgeable, agreeable pilot kinda guy. We checked the oxygen and nitrogen bottles. Hector checked the tires. The airplane had not flown in almost a month, a travesty in its own right. Airplanes belong in the air. On the ground, they look awkward and forlorn.
The weather lifted to a 4,000-foot overcast. We taxied out using my old Part 135 CJ checklist. We had an easy rapport; I felt like I'd flown with Brian before. There was a short kerfuffle as two airplanes tried to land in opposite directions at our non-towered field. After taking off, we cleaned up and were cleared up to 12,000 feet. I selected heading and flight level change on the mode control panel to keep our airspeed at 200 knots until we were safely in Class B airspace. Brian said, "I like the way you fly. I have a hard time getting guys to use FLC [flight level change, an autopilot mode]." I felt better, even if just a little. We burst out on top, and both agreed that it is a sight that never gets to a sell-by date.
Brian wanted to climb to
Brian met with the maintenance folks at Banyan, and
The pre-buy went quickly. The corrosion was minimal. A new standby battery was
On that Thursday morning, Cathy and I sat at home and signed various "DocuSign" documents. An escrow agent at an
Once we corrected the account numbers, the money showed up in our ledger. It was the largest amount I had ever seen—even for a house closing. Everybody said I should be happy with it, but I wasn't. No amount would make up for my forced exit from single-pilot jet flying. I was rich and poor at the same time. There was money in the bank and a hole in the hangar, not to mention my heart.
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