First Flight With My Husband!

First Flight!



Three years ago my husband decided, with a little help from his doctor, to have gastric bypass surgery. It wasn’t an overnight decision on his part nor was the road to insurance acceptance short or easy.



As an incentive, I discussed the possible rewards of his becoming thin. There were the obvious ones of course. He wouldn’t need to shop at big and tall stores any longer. No seatbelt extender for him. He would be able to see his shoes and they’d be easier to put on! When we were young and newly married we always dreamed about owning a Gold Wing motorcycle and spend our weekends zooming around the roads of Southern California. Then when we were middle aged and living on the east coast, there was talk about owning a boat and we would zoom around Chesapeake Bay on weekends. Never In a million zillion years did I assume that we would ever zoom around in the sky!



I had always known that if given the chance my husband would have become an astronaut. It shouldn’t have been a complete surprise to me when he began to talk about learning to fly. No not in a space shuttle, a plane, a small, old plane. I allowed this plane chatter to go in one ear and out the other. Talk is cheap – right? Not when you’re talking planes it’s not.



For his birthday, a “friend” gave him a gift certificate for one flying lesson. On a bright Saturday he trotted off to the flight school as giddy as a child with a new bicycle. I saw no danger in letting him wander around in the sky for an afternoon and that was my first mistake. I was sure that he’d see that flying wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. They say there are no free lunches. Well let me tell you there are no free plane rides either. By the time he got home in the afternoon, he had become a man with a mission. And the mission? Why to fly, of course.



It didn’t take long before this plane business began to grow in size. He needed supplies. He needed pilot-in-training things. For those of you who don’t know, these “things” are expensive. Any good pilot has to have a flight bag, a knee pad, headphones (noise-cancelling is the best), a thingy that is used to check the fuel in the plane before taking off and other gadgets necessary for flying. He bought maps that were effective for about 20 minutes before they expired. These maps were marked with a big “X” and put in a stack on the floor which soon fell over. I put them in a box but it’s beginning to bulge. The solution would be to toss out the maps or get a bigger box. What do you think will happen? You guessed it, a bigger box!







All good pilots and even those in training need magazines and journals to help them keep abreast of current news. Pretty soon the magazines started arriving – Flying, Flight Training, Aviation Week just to name a few. The magazine pile, like the outdated maps, began to take on a life of their own. We started with just 2 or 3 issues that were easy to control and didn’t take up much space on the counter. Then I found a cute basket to hold (contain) the increasing mass. The rule of the house is that if the cute basket begins to overflow, lives will be threatened



In the beginning of his taking lessons, I gave my husband a flying motto. “Don’t come back dead.” As he left for each lesson, I would tell him I loved him and then repeat my motto in case he had forgotten it. He knew that if he did come back dead I was going to kill him all over again! Before long even the flight instructors knew about staying alive. I even gave a thought to having “DCBD” engraved on his shirts. Other people would think it was just a fancy new logo but he and I and the man in the sky would know otherwise.



Then he got his private pilot’s license after what seemed like an eternity but was probably mere months. Good. Now we can all relax and get some of the “honey do’s” around the house done. Nope, not quite. He wanted his instrument rating which, during training, requires the pilot to fly around with some goofy hood on his head so that he can’t see outside and must rely on the instruments in front of him. Now that he has his IFR rating, we have to store the goofy hood!



I try to be a supportive wife and to show him how much faith I had in him, I agreed to let him take me on a short plane ride. A really short ride that was going to be measured in minutes not hours. In case you don’t know there is a lot of checking, looking and fiddling required before you can actually go flying. This is all good and necessary stuff and your pilot should do a thorough job of checking out the plane before you fly but it can quickly become a ho-hum to the passenger.



Now comes the moment of truth – I must get in the plane. The first step is nearly a mile above the ground, or at least a couple of feet and tiny. Who designed this plane anyway? I have a hip that controls a leg that when lifted high in the air causes a spasm followed by a string of words sounding much like succotash. Okay, here goes. I have put my left foot on the little step and a hand on the handle on the roof (is that what they call it?) of the plane. Now what? Oh, I’m supposed to bring my other leg up onto the rough part of the wing, also very little and stand up. Piece of cake! Not. With a little pushing on my little (not really but I’m taking necessary literary license here) fanny, I’m standing up. Good. Now you have to sit. Another challenge. You put one leg inside the plane and then reel the other one in after you sit down.



I manage to plop myself into the seat. I’m exhausted with all the calisthenics I’ve just been through. After both plane doors are shut I notice that this plane is just small. We’re sitting elbow-to-elbow and my knees are in my chest. And it’s hot. Now it’s time for the super flattering headphones which really do wonders for your “do”. I’m told to put the microphone close to my lips when I want to talk. I decide that verbal communication is over rated at this point and resort to head shaking as my form of communication.



We rumble along the landing strip and then its wheels off the ground. I’m super nervous as the plane and my stomach rock around a bit. I probably shouldn’t have had that extra donut at breakfast. In a small plane there is no sense of speed. If you were doing 100 mph in a car, you’d know it (and so would the police). In the air doing the same speed it feels more like slow motion. As we flew over houses, cars, trains, trucks and stores, it felt much more like we were dangling by a string in the air. A bit freaky. Mind you, I wasn’t so nervous that I chewed on the dashboard but inward gasps occurred often.



We’re at 3000 feet, 4000 feet and the world becomes miniature below us. I try to relax knowing that I don’t have to look over my shoulder for highway patrol who might notice a hot-footing husband. I’m at peace with the world and then my husband speaks. “Don’t forget to keep looking out for planes.”



“What!” I scream. They can’t see us? Are you crazy?” At this point the search for the highway patrol is beginning to look mighty good.



“Calm down” my husband says trying to reassure me.



“I am calm” I reply while twisting my book into a figure eight. “This is just so pleasant up here constantly watching out for planes.” “No wonder people are lining up to learn to fly!” This was said with a fair amount of sarcasm on my part.



On a small plane there is no beverage or food service. No potty in the back. No movie. No foldout stairs for graceful entering and exiting. No cheap headsets and blankets and pillows used by anyone and everyone.



What I learned from my first flight is what a small plane offers. I can go when and where I want to. I don’t have to remove my shoes or go through security. I don’t have to sit next to strangers and fight for overhead storage space. I don’t have to listen to children cry (unless they are my own) or adults whine (unless it’s me). Since we fly lower than commercial planes, I have seen some incredible scenery (when I’m not watching for planes) and taken some awesome pictures. I have also met some incredible “plane people” in our travels and friendships have developed and the spirit and caring of aviation folks is a great thing to experience. Come fly with us!