My early flying roots...

I think I might have mentioned in one of my earlier writings that I have a Private Pilot's license. I'm one of those low and slow guys (i.e. I fly/flew a Cessna 172 SkyHawk, which is a high-wing airplane usually associated with training schools). Nothing fancy, no retractable landing gear, no high performance engine and a cruising speed of about 120 or so, depending on winds aloft.

The earliest inclination that I wanted to fly came when I would visit my grandmother and her husband (early 1950s). They managed an airport (grass strip) in Zanesville, he took care of the planes and she managed the little restaurant. How about those really cool pilot sun glasses I had back then. My first chick magnets.

Those were the days of real flying -- unencumbered by so many government regulations and terrorist worries. The typical pilot was usually a WWII vet who either flew during the war or wished he had. Training usually consisted of only a few hours and then a solo in a plane that would probably bounce off most things it would hit if the landing was less than desirable. Most of the guys (and they were usually all guys) did their own maintenance and insurance wasn't something real pilots knew of or worried about. Not at all like today.

My wife bought me my first lesson -- it was a Christmas present. What a great present. I'll bet none of your wives has ever done anything like that for you!! Well, after a year of lessons, a flight physical from a half-blind/half-deaf doc, a written test, a flying test, and a sizable expenditure of cash I was able to legally rent an airplane and fly just about anywhere I wanted or was brave/rich enough to go.

Having a ticket to explore the skyways and our countryside is really fun and you haven't seen a bird or a tree or cows in the fields until you have seen them from above. It has been said that there are really only two true emotions in a plane: boredom and shear terror. Having said that, however, I found that I especially liked to go up and commune with the birds on Sunday mornings. I felt like I was close to God up there by myself. What a Great co-pilot.

But going by myself wasn't the only thing I did. I also took students up for a ride who did something extra special at school as a kind of reward for their efforts. Most of the neighbors' kids who wanted to go and could get one of their parents to go with them also got to see their house and probably their grandma's & grandpa's house from the air. They were also treated to seeing the roof of Wal-Mart, Lake Loramie, the Villages of Anna, Kettlersville and McCartyville, a corn maze or two and other irresistible highlights.

I also flew a few times on Uncle Sam's nickel when I had to go someplace for Army business. I would get the plane and fly to Wisconsin or some town that had one of our MP units deploying for the war. That was quite an experience as well as an efficient use of time and tax payers money. I've got a good story about landing at an airport shortly after 9/11 while on Army business wearing my BDUs -- but that will be for a later time.

A heart attack, stupid FAA regulations, gas prices and military deployments have all conspired to keep me on the ground for the past three years, but I still have the fire. Keep your ears up -- that next small plane you see or hear could be me.

When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.

Hooah