Of course, this was before September 11, so I was allowed to go up to the cockpit during the flight. I was presented with the customary wings, pilot's hat, and other trinkets that I can't remember now. It was magical. I loved every single minute of it.
That love has stayed with me well into my adult life. I am what most would call an aviation geek. I know the three-letter codes for most, if not all domestic, airports in the United States. I can usually identify the type of plane in the air while looking at it from the ground. Our home is adjacent to the approach path to Burlington International Airport if runway 33 is in use. Finally, when we lived in our first house, and My Wife needed to work with a client with some peace and quiet, I was only too happy to take Our Boys to the BTV to watch the "men with the sticks" as they marshaled planes into their gates.
Over the years, my family has gifted me flight lessons. Sightseeing flights, practice flights, even a "chunk" of flight hours after I earned my dissertation from my entire extended family. When I look back to the first entry in my pilot logbook, the year is 2006. That changed drastically this past Valentine's Day.
The gift I received from My Wife was not more lessons per se; the gift I received was the time to earn a private pilot's license. She did a substantial amount of research and found Learn to Fly VT and my flight instructor Bob Desmarais. Beginning in April of this year, I was gifted the time to pursue my dream.
From the first time flying, more than thirty-two years ago, I always wanted to fly and learn how to fly. I never wanted to be a commercial airline pilot; there was too much time away from family. And I often talked myself out of actually pursuing a pilot's license by making excuses about cost, but mainly about the time, it would take. My Wife found the time for me.
I would fly on Thursday evenings and Saturday mornings as often as I could. There were weeks when I missed one or both of my lessons due to family conflicts, or sometimes Bob could not fly. But I kept at it.
After months of hard work, this past Thursday, September 30, was a milestone. The lesson began with three maneuvers called "touch-and-go." That is when the plane touches down on the runway, we immediately take off again to practice another landing. After the third landing, I announced on the local frequency "full stop," meaning we were not going up in the air again. At least not right away.
Bob turned to me in the plane and said, "I think you're ready for your solo flight. Do you think you're ready?"
After a pause, I responded, "I absolutely am!"
While I taxied the plane over to the fuel pumps, Bob reminded me of a critical part of landing a plane: "There are no points off for a go-around. If you are landing and it doesn't feel right, go back up in the air and try again." There's a lot of wisdom in that statement that goes far beyond aviation.
Bob prepared to get out at the fuel pumps, and before he did, he asked if I had any last questions. I responded, "When you get to the observation area, will you check to make sure your radio works so that if I need to, I can talk to you?"
"I absolutely will. You've got this." With that, he unplugged his headset, stepped out of the plane, and shut the door. I was alone in the cockpit of the airplane.
True to his word, when he reached the observation area, Bob raised his radio to his mouth and said, "Can you hear me?" His voice was crystal clear in my headset. When I responded, "I sure can," he told me, "Then off you go."
I taxied the plane to the active runway, lined up in the center, and after a deep breath, pushed the throttle all the way in. When I reached the appropriate speed, I pulled back gently on the yoke, and I was airborne! I climbed to the correct altitude and entered the pattern for landing. I landed the plane successfully three times that day, all by myself. Here's my second landing, recorded by Bob, which I'm proudest of:
I am a solo pilot! I can fly by myself, without a flight instructor!
The five-year-old in me was so full of joy that day. But there was someone who was perhaps more excited than I was: My Wife. I could not wait to call her and tell her what I did or show her my landings. The excitement in her voice was palpable.
This coming Friday, October 8, is the anniversary of the last first date either of us has ever had. Twenty-one years ago, we spent more than three hours at Bruna's Ristorante, a small restaurant in the Italian Village section of Chicago. We've been together ever since.
The life we've made over the past two decades is dotted with ups and downs. It's not cliche to say that Michal Gendron Ricca halves my sorrow and more than doubles my joy because that is the truth. She sees potential when I see a brick wall. She sees possibilities when I see limits. She sees my dreams more clearly than I do.
The five-year-old in me is so grateful I finally took the time. The five-year-old in me was elated when I left the runway and landed safely back on it. The five-year-old in me is so grateful I was given the gift of time by someone who shares my dreams.
This solo flight is for you, Beautiful Girl.
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