It was Friday morning. I parked the plane on the ramp as the DE filled out my temporary certificate. It was getting near lunch time. It's MY plane. Now I can fly when I want. He recommended I try lunch at what was called Runway 47 in Morris, IL. "Just got to JOT VOR and turn west." OK, where's that on chart? I can do that. I had a GOOD lunch.
The next day was the Saturday of the Washington Island Fish Boil. I lot of hangar mates had homes up there. They teased me I should fly up. Sure, it's a grass strip going uphill. You know your short technique, right? Right.
I planned it the rest of the day. I had been up that way on a dual. Just go a little further.
On the way I watched as the right main tank when on its last cycle. I think "Every time I switch off that tank at this point I find now it has 5 to 10 gallons in it. I'll switch at the top of the hour to the full tank for landing."
I'm getting close to my destination, over the woods in Door County when it gets real quiet.
Being that I drilled for a my checkride it was "1!, 2! 3! ohhhh #$%^& I KNOW WHAT IT IS! "Switch tanks!" The engine restarted.
I made a stupid entry to a busy pattern but lived through that. Closed my flight plan with Green Bay as a crowd of buddies gathered screaming "HE MADE IT!"
It was good fish.
Departing with short field technique the 235 did its usual nearly vertical climb. Piece o' Cake.
On the flight home I was convinced that that empty tank was calling my name so I circled a long time trying to find Manitowoc to refuel. I spotted it eventually in the shadows. landed, and and they had gas.
No sweat.