Taking Flight

It's almost spring, when a young man's mind turns to thoughts of love... and flying.  One of my earliest memories is my first flight.  My dad, who was into planes (and trains, and fire trucks) took me to the airport and bought an introductory flight.  It was him, me, and the instructor, in a Cessna 150.  Now, a 150 is a two-seat trainer with a baggage area behind the seats.  That's where I was, at 4 years old, leaning over the shoulders of the two guys squashed in front. I've flown them as an adult, and it is tight.  You'd best be very familiar with your copilot.  Anyway, I remember every bit of that flight, from taxiing out to landing.  The plane was white with orange and brown stripes.  The noise was not overwhelming.  The sensations- amazing.  The view, all around, was breathtaking.  I had a blast.  I've wondered since if Dad was just doing it for me, or if he really wanted to go for a ride too.  Either way, it was great.

That was at the airport in Findlay, Ohio, where we lived.  After that, he took me there often to watch the planes.  As I got older I would ride my bike there.  And I still see it occasionally since it's right beside the highway, and once in a while I stop by.

That started my love of flight.  Well, maybe it was genetic, and probably dad took me because he already knew I liked planes.  Ever since then I have been nuts about them.  Reading and watching everything I could, going to airshows, drawing them.  My long-suffering mom took me to many airshows, and as I get older I know just how tiring they can be even for someone who is excited to be there- walking around all day in the sun.  She also took me to the Wright Brothers memorial in North Carolina and got me a flight over Kittyhawk.

There were museum visits, mainly to the Air Force Museum in Dayton near where my cousins lived.  There were internships at a museum and an Air National Guard base.  And finally, I saved up enough to get my license.  That day, and my first solo, were also very memorable days.  I could still tell you every detail.  I didn't stop grinning till I went to bed that night.

Since then, well, life has intervened.  Flying is expensive and time-consuming.  Fun, but demanding.  It's hard to stay in practice unless you go every week or so, and I can't.  Money is getting more abundant, but time is diminishing.  Whenever the weather is good I think about going back and knocking the rust off, getting up there.  We live under the pattern for a major airport so I see airliners all the time, and sometimes I see the little bugsmashers here and there.  I don't have a sunroof in my car, specifically so I will keep my eyes on the road and not on the sky.  In fact, even the windshield sometimes gives me a dangerous view of the sky...  It's a little sad not being able to fly whenever I want, and I do hope to get back up there.  I still have all my gear (though it is a bit outdated now...)  I go up when I have a chance- a helicopter ride here, a Trimotor ride there, airliners once in awhile.

I still appreciate the beauty, and romance, of flight.  The effect it has had on the world, and history.  The way it has made travel much more accessible.  And the impact it can have when things go wrong.  I remember September 11, 2001. I had been scheduled to fly that day, but when I got to the airport the police were very definite about staying in the hangar.  A week later, I flew the airlines just as they were getting back up to speed.  It was surreal, and sad.  Everyone else was afraid to fly, and nervous about the other passengers.  I knew it was as safe as ever, more safe right then, really, since everyone was so alert.

Aviation has had a big effect on the world, and on me.  Looking at my bookshelves beside the desk, half of my books are about planes and pilots.  And then there's the helicopter drone sitting on the desk, charged and ready to go confuse the animals.

I remember being a goofy kid jumping off a shed with cardboard on my arms, thinking I might fly.  Watching the birds wheel in the wind, feeling every breeze.  And the feeling of being up there myself, able to go wherever I wanted (at 100mph, with enough gas to get to the other side of the state...)  It's one of those things that lets you forget about the problems of the world while you do it, and gives you perspective, literal and figurative.  It's incredible, and unbelievable.  I dare you to stand beside the runway as a 747 takes off and not shake your head at the impossibility of almost a million pounds lifting off the ground.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go watch the departures out our picture window.

 (Not my first one, but kinda similar)