Living near an airport, I developed a passion for everything aviation early on. Seeing formations of planes fly over daily caused me to feel an attraction to the sky. Gazing skyward at overflying airplanes became instinctual, and I wanted nothing more than to be up there among them. Yet, no matter how many seemingly thousands of chores I did, my savings paled in comparison to the cost of an airplane. As I would come to find out, you did not need a plane to fly. While I could not buy a plane, I could buy a computer simulator, and with that, I taught myself to fly. Unbeknownst to my budding seven-year-old self, life as I knew it was about to get even more interesting. My obsession with flight was about to reveal itself early one summer morning.
No matter how much I wished to remain in the clutches of my sleep, my mother’s persistence stirred me from my slumber. Requests for one more hour went unanswered as my mother’s voice drove me from the comfort of my pillow. Dazedly, I stumbled into the shower. Half asleep and with crusties still in my eyes, I began my morning routine. Against my better judgment, I complied with my mother’s demands and shortly thereafter got in the car with little explanation. Pulling through the airport gates, I began to reevaluate my opposition. Approaching with a swelling delight, the thunder of airplanes grew less faint. As we passed through the last turn, I became awestricken with the new sight.
Through the windshield, I peered a small plane stagnant on the ramp. I could not fathom its complexity. Turning gold in the painter's light of the rising sun, my brain began to wonder what was going on under the thin aluminum shell that allowed such a beast to fly. I recognized it as one of only two flying Messerschmitt Bo-two-zero-nines that I had often seen passing over my parent’s house. Appearing from behind the cowling and noticing my adoration of his contraption, the seventy-six-year-old pilot and owner plodded over. Greeting my mother and I, the pilot introduced himself as Art. He offered for me to climb inside the two-seat plane. It felt like rock climbing as I mounted onto the wing that was almost as tall as me. Dumbfounded, I stared toward the panels of gages and switches. At that moment, the complexity of the aircraft really sunk in as I tried to comprehend what everything did. While my mother had only expected the opportunity to take a couple of photos, Art had something else in mind.
A lifelong flight aficionado himself, Art was quick to notice my admiration. He insisted to my apprehensive mother that I should join him on “just a quick flight.” Reluctantly, my mother agreed, but only after doing her best to talk me out of it. To further along her anxiety, the engine failed to start after Art hopped in the pilot seat next to me. In an attempt to remedy this, he left me in the plane while he began to manually spin the propeller as fast as he could. Apparently, we had flooded the engine. My mother’s uneasiness grew, but thankfully, Art convinced her that everything would be okay. In a great crescendo, the engine transitioned from a light sputter to a magnificent rumble. Lurching forward and still alone in the aircraft, my stomach dropped. I was strapped to, and at the mercy of, a two hundred horsepower aircraft.
As Art bumped the throttle, the airplane began lurching forward as we taxied and awaited our departure. Still shook about what was happening, I understood little of his radio jargon and it was going in one ear and out the other. Aligning onto the runway, there was no turning back. Fixed in my five-point aerobatic safety harness, I was one with the plane. Slamming the throttle forward, we began taking off. The acceleration sucked me into my seat and pulled the throttle away from my hand. The pressure made it hard to breathe and, yet, it was exhilarating. Then, with little notice, the atmosphere of the cockpit became very calm as the wheels separated from the hard pavement. Retrospectively, I thought to myself “I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.”
One sharp turn followed another as the former airshow pilot showed me his aerobatics routine from his glory days. Flying fast and low above the runway, I turned on a trailing smoke stream to say hello to my mom and then we were off. Soaring through the sky at nearly two-hundred miles per hour, we flew all the way down to the beach in no time. At once, my dreams had become reality. As he handed control over to me, I began to fly the plane just like I did on my computer at home. Using the stick and rudders to swivel and return to the airfield, I was in control. As we skyrocketed overhead, my mother waved her arms in excitement. However, our return to the airfield signaled that the flight was nearing its end. We pulled the flaps down and the throttle back as the plane settled back towards its nest. In rapid succession, the three wheels squelched as they came in contact with the narrow runway.
While the flight was over, I was overcome with emotion. Time passed slowly as we taxied back to the ramp. As the tires screeched to a halt, and the engine coughed its last breath of the day, I knew I had to fly again. Gratefully, I thanked Art repetitively as I jumped down from the wing. Posing as my mother insisted on more photos, I began to think to myself about how I was going to keep flying. As such, I offered to buy him breakfast the weekend after in exchange for filling the duty of co-pilot and remarkably he accepted. Then, as I met more pilots in the community, I gave them the same proposition for buying them breakfast in exchange for flight time. While my savings shrunk, my log-book of flight time grew rapidly.
Now, eight years later, I still ask for “one more hour,” but now it’s one more hour of flight time rather than of sleep. Thinking back on it, if my mother had granted my request for another hour of sleep, I would not be where I am today. For that, I am grateful. Having flown in more than forty different types of aircraft, I have found a great group of people to associate with. Currently holding enough hours of flight time for a private pilot’s license, I am waiting for time to pass so I can meet the FAA age restrictions. I frequently reflect back onto that first flight at the age of seven. Thinking to myself how a single act of kindness from a stranger shaped my life path, it’s time to pay it forward. For this, I have decided that I want to give back to the people who have helped me. I’ve tried and continue to try to show the same kindness when something is asked of me. Today, I hope that I can have an impact on the lives of everyone around me in the same way they have helped me.
Thank you for tuning into my life which I will happily share with you in my future steemit posts. Feel free to ask me any questions in the comments or by emailing me at [email protected]
