Passion......and the payments

The house is almost done with a bit of painting and sanding left to do, so I've been flying quite a bit of late. Flying is not so much a hobby, like cycling, as it is a passion I've always had and can finally fulfill. On the down side are the "payments" required to keep up with the desire.

Having owned a 1938 Aeronca Chief the last few years and while working to restore it to original condition, I've discovered the best way to make a small fortune in aviation is to start out with a large one. But the end result will be the ability to go fly when the weather is good and the mood strikes me. Airplanes are also a bit of an investment in that most appreciate in value if you get the right one, and I own one of those that are becoming more rare with each passing day.

The other payment you have to make with flying is the time necessary to recover mentally. I'm not the sharpest tack in the drawer but I can handle the stresses involved of staying ahead of an airplane going nearly 140mph while navigating using pilotage, radio navigation, and oh-yes the "I want one of those for my plane" Garmin 530 GPS that'll show you exactly where you are when you get lost. Oh, and don't forget the communications for weather services for airport conditions where you're going and the PIREPS (pilot reports) you give for weather conditions you encounter en-route, listening to the location updates of other pilots and planes in your area/flight path, and paying attention to air traffic control folks while keeping time between checkpoints, calculating ground speed en-route in case you have to update your flight plan you have on file and activated, and the biggest one I almost did yesterday: DO NOT VIOLATE RESTRICTED AIRSPACE OVER A MILITARY FACILITY. They get pretty pissed when a Cessna gets close to the restricted area even though the ATC dip-shit was emphatic in telling me to turn to a specific heading and yep, I followed his "suggestion" until I came to my senses. Pilots can disregard ATC's instructions if safety is an issue, and this time it was my ass that was in jeopardy because I almost went into the airspace around Ft. Benning, GA on my cross-country flight yesterday. You can get time in jail these days and can kiss you pilot's license good-bye FOREVER.

In a few days, all this time and money invested will come full circle with a bit of history in my life. Some 32 years ago, a man named Bob Harless gave me my first airplane ride. It was a DC-3, or what is also called a C-47 in military version. That flight lit a fire that has been smoldering ever since. It was also the weekend of July 4th when my first flight took place. After that first flight, I pestered Bob to take me up every chance he got and would wash the planes and be gopher around the hangar to earn every ride I got. I think he flew me in everything on the field we lived across from to include a Stearman he used to crop dust.

Well, one week after July 4th next week I'll travel south to Douglas, GA to have Bob Harless do my pilot check-ride since he is the FAA check pilot I'll go to. He doesn't know who I am because I have only seen him once since we moved when I was 10. I plan to wait until after my check-ride to do two things: I plan to thank him for not only the check ride but for introducing me to flight, and when he looks at me funny before asking "what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I'll explain who I am and why I'm so grateful.

Mushy?

Not at all. It's not often you actually get to see someone from your past that set you future in motion, and thank them.

My "office" on today's flight to Auburn-Opelika, on to Talladega, and back home to Robins Air Park.
This was the GPS when I was nearly home and pretty bored from flying in a straight line for 134 miles.