Flyboys

 

I am not the most adventurous guy in the world; especially now, at age 53. In my teens and twenties, I was mildly adventurous—I went on backpacking trips in rugged terrain, took a stab at waterskiing a couple of times, and even wore a Boston Red Sox cap to Yankee Stadium on one occasion. But those wild days are largely behind me. These days the most adventurous I get is using ranch dressing a full week after its expiration date.

The reality is, as a family man with a five-day-a-week office job, not many opportunities for adventure present themselves to me, though admittedly, it’s not like I go out of my way to seek them out. Most of my entertainment time is spent reading books or watching movies, and if I want to increase my heart rate, I’ll read a horror book or watch a horror movie. “Let me get enjoyment from someone else’s peril, not my own,” is my general philosophy.

Every once in a rare while, though, an opportunity for adventure does present itself and when that happens you must ask yourself one question: “Should I seize the day, or should I walk away?” My risk-averse personality usually has me lean toward walking away at these moments, but on a recent occasion, I decided to lean in the other direction, and I am glad I did.

A friend of the family has his pilot’s license and owns a small four-seater plane that he keeps at Chandler Municipal Airport. Last spring, he invited me and my older son to fly with him and said that we could actually be the ones to fly the plane. My first thought was this was some kind of joke, because clearly neither of us had a pilot’s license. Heck, at that point in time, my son didn’t even have his learner’s permit yet…for a car, let alone a plane. But our pilot friend said he would take care of takeoff and landing and the middle part is where we would fly. It sounded a little fun and a lot terrifying.

I should point out here that I do not have a fear of flying. I’ve been on commercial jets hundreds of times in my life and have never been nervous. My family went on many trips that involved air travel throughout my childhood, so I got used to flying at a very young age. Indeed, I have always enjoyed the experience. Of course, the major difference between those flying experiences and the one I was being offered was that those prior experiences involved very large planes, with flight attendants attending to my needs, the possibility of an in-flight movie, and a person flying the plane who was not me. And, of course, it is this last point that made this very generous offer so nerve-wracking. Would I really want to be part of a flight that had me as the pilot?

The initial offer to fly a plane made last spring was not one that I followed up on. But when we saw our pilot friend again recently, he reminded us of his offer and this time I took him up on it for two reasons: 1) I didn’t want my son and I to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime, and 2) now that my son actually did have his learner’s permit, I figured we couldn’t get in trouble if we were pulled over mid-flight.

So, this past Saturday, we met our friend at the airport and he took us up in his plane, which he told us was a “Mooney” built in 1966. The fact that the plane was three years older than me made me a tad uneasy, but our friend exuded such confidence and was so thorough in his explanation of what would happen with the plane every step of the way, that I was quickly put at ease.

For the first leg of the trip, my son was the copilot up front, and I sat in the back right behind him. It was a beautiful day and the views from 2,500 feet in the air were incredible. My son was in direct contact with the pilot sitting next to him via a headset, but my headset was for noise-reduction purposes only. So, I never knew when, somewhere up in the air, the pilot with 30+ years of experience, switched control of the plane over to my son, whose flying experience was about to begin the moment control was switched over to him.

The transition was smooth and unnoticeable. While I was chilling in the back taking pictures of the desert mountains in the distance, my son was apparently flying the airplane. I didn’t fully realize this until I glanced to the front of the plane and noticed that the pilot’s hands were not on the yoke (which I learned is the fancy aviation word for steering wheel thingy.) Wow! My 16-year-old son had my fate in his hands. I thought to myself that I should be petrified, but the truth was, things were going quite smoothly, and I was completely relaxed…and then came our first turn.

My son executed the turn perfectly, but the thing is, when an airplane turns, it also dips. It has to in order to make the turn. When you are on a 250-foot, 400,000-pound Boeing 747, that dip is barely perceptible and you keep on eating your complimentary pretzels without batting an eye. But when you are on a 27-foot, 2,400-pound Mooney, you are fully aware that the plane has suddenly shifted in a downward direction, and you are very grateful that there are no in-flight snacks.

Once my heart came back down out of my throat and I understood what to expect when turns happened, I was much more relaxed the rest of the flight. Eventually we landed at Ak-Chin Airport, about 30 miles southwest of where we started. We got out of the plane, stretched our legs, and chatted for a bit. Soon it would be my turn to fly this bucket.

Before we climbed back in, my son mentioned that just the slightest movement of his hands on the yoke made the plane respond, so you have to be very subtle with your movements. That made me gulp. What if I sneezed while I was turning the plane and we ended up spinning like a top? That wasn’t the kind of adventure I signed up for. For a split second I debated calling an Uber and high-tailing it out of there, but I knew my son would never let me live that down, so I took a deep breath and slid into the cockpit.

Soon we took off and a few minutes later, as our pilot leveled us off, I heard him say in my headset, “I’m giving you control of the plane.” Hoo-boy, that was a lot of responsibility for a guy who didn’t learn how to ride a bike until he was 33. But miraculously, when I got control of the plane, we did not suddenly fall out of the sky like a cartoon anvil. I was actually flying a plane! I won’t lie- I was a bit tense, especially in the beginning, but I was being coached as we went and gradually became less tense. I made a few turns, straightened out the plane when it needed straightening, and didn’t hit any birds along the way. So, it was a smashing success! (Luckily, without any actual smashing.)

As with the first leg of the trip, the real pilot took over when it was time to land back at Chandler Municipal Airport and when we landed, I felt exhilarated, joyful, grateful, and proud. Not only was I proud of my teenage son for being a natural behind the yoke of the plane, but I was also proud of myself for not once having to grab the airsickness bag conveniently located in the back seat.

Once the plane parked and we climbed out, I thanked our friend profusely for taking us up in his aircraft. It was truly a once in a lifetime experience. When we got home, we excitedly told the rest of the family all about our unique adventure. Not long after that, my younger son asked me when he can go flying. Okay…maybe it will be a twice in a lifetime experience.