When One Garage Door Closes: Part 3

For the next couple of days I tried my best to keep up while trying to shake off the time difference. We had a couple of days to kill in Georgia before heading out to Deals Gap, and we spent most of it hanging out, eating amazing food, and engaging in shenanigans.  My hosts were amazing and accommodating, and it was during these two days that I took my test flight as copilot in The Ladybird.  The arrangement went something like this:  I would fly the big plane to Georgia where we would hang out, explore and then venture out to North Carolina. I would hitch a ride in the Ladybird with my friend.  We would then re-convene with our friends and spend a few days riding motorcycles and hanging out in the cabins before flying out again on Thursday to carry out the last leg of our adventure before I caught the big plane back to California.  It just made sense to go on a little test run since the smallest plane that I'd ever been in still held about 60 people.

Her Majesty, The Ladybird

Built in the 1940s, the Ladybird is a little Cessna 140 tail-dragger with a single motor that compels her lightweight body at breakneck speeds of 80-100 mph.  Yeah, you could probably get to some places by car in the same amount of time that it would take you to fly in the plane, but most motorcyclists know that life isn't so much about the destination as it is about the journey and in hindsight I can openly declare that little private airplanes are in a realm all of their own. Something about the Ladybird immediately captivated me and the grin felt permanently etched on my face, even as a butterfly or two fluttered around in my stomach.
Once our friends had taken a few turns, it was my turn to go and as I approached I immediately caught a glimpse inside the tiny cockpit.  My friend and pilot-extraordinaire was giving me the universal sign to clear our departure and I finagled my way into my seat whilst halfheartedly remarking on the coziness of the seating arrangement.

I've heard it said that people who love motorcycles tend to also fall in love with airplanes.  The relationship has always seemed obvious to me even if I had never been afforded the opportunity to intimately strike the connection for myself.  As I settled into my seat, I looked around at the instrument panels and the arrangement of the controls.  Everything looked very simple and yet at the same time very complicated and foreign. I mentally made a note to avoid touching anything that wasn't bolted and secure, lest I clumsily screw up our flight and create some catastrophic incident.  I figured that at the given point in time, it was best to leave the operations up to the captain and I sat back and waited for liftoff.

My pilot did some last minute checks and I glanced over to see red letters written inside a vacant instrument window: "Never stop flying the airplane!"  I chuckled and cracked a joke but I had immediately made note of the deeper significance of the words.  On a motorcycle, you never let your survival instincts take hold if you're going to see your way out of an incident, and I imagined much of the same to be true about flying an airplane.  My friend confirmed my theory and I silently deliberated on all of our previous conversations about his training experiences and his respect for the craft of flying.  Without a doubt in my mind I knew that I was flying with someone competent and trustworthy... and I knew that this was only a brief introduction to what was to become a very incredible adventure.

As the Ladybird sputtered to life we glided slowly toward the landing strip and made our way along until eventually we caught some air and lifted gently off the tarmac and up toward the blue sky.  I let out a stifled giggle and a nervous squeal as we sailed upward, and as I looked out over the vast landscape I was immediately captivated by this awesome little airplane and the experience of being carried away from the airfield.

When One Garage Door Closes: Part 2

The news of the house being sold couldn't have come at a more coincidental time.  I had been preparing for an epic adventure for a few months and as I packed my luggage, people were making their way through my house in viewings.  It was awkward, to say the least, but this was not an adventure that could be put on hold.  It was an adventure made solely possible by the generosity of a bunch of people that I had known for years and never really met at all.  That's the beauty of social media; forums and other social media websites provide a convenient opportunity for people to connect and forge friendships with people all over the world. This forum was no different and every year members from all over the place make a pilgrimage to North Carolina to slay the Dragon at Deals Gap. This year, I would be joining them after a few of them joined together in a charitable effort to fly me across the country. It was a realization that both humbled me, and excited me. It was the first time that I had shed tears of joy in a long time; just the thought of people who have never met me coming together to give something so generously, and there was no way that the sale of the house and impending homelessness was going to deter me from seeing it through. I had to buy some proper luggage for the occasion... as opposed to a couple of backpacks that I could would typically strap to the back of the bike.  No, this time I needed airplane luggage.  In my limited experience travelling by air, I had never really thought to invest much in more than a duffel bag, but this time I splurged on some 40 dollar Wal-Mart luggage (complete with a duffel bag) and let the sweat-shop chemicals air out for a couple of days before jamming it full of the essentials: jeans, riding gear, underwear, a flat iron, and a bottle of whiskey. On a warm August morning I grabbed my helmet and hit the road toward LAX where a giant-ass tin can with wings would be transporting me and a few hundred other people to Atlanta Georgia; the first stop in what would be many memorable stops along the way.

LA Traffic... there's no avoiding it.

A Little Backstory...

My first time flying on an airplane was at the tender age of 30.  I had my life figured out, my career was moving along with some great momentum, and I was on my way to Washington DC for a week long work conference.  I never realized how much I would actually really enjoy flying until that day when the little express jet fired up it's engines and blasted us down the runway. Of course, I had to get over the claustrophobia... and it probably wasn't wise to mutter out: "Jesus... no wonder there are never any survivors when these things crash."  But still, all of that subsided as we became weightless, hovering over the runway and lifting off.  I watched as my little town and all of my riding roads disappeared beneath me as the bigger picture unfolded. Prior to that day and afterward, I never put much thought into ever having the opportunity to forge much of a relationship with flying, but life has a funny way of keeping things interesting.

Onward... and upward...

Preparing to board the plane in LA, I felt excited at the possibilities. My life was a little less figured out and my career was questionable, but I was excited to be going somewhere new and putting faces to the screen names and posts of so many people I had come to know over the years. I was eager to ride these new roads, and take in the smells of a new environment.  But there was something else... there was also the anticipation of a break-away adventure with one of my best friends and skilled pilot as we had charted a course to fly his tiny airplane from North Carolina to a little island in South Carolina. "I want to land my plane on an freakin' island buddy, and we are going to do that when you come out!"  It was one of our late-night chats and his voice resonated with enthusiasm.  I smiled at the thought of finally getting to meet 'The Ladybird' in all of her vintage glory.  I settled into the terminal after a remarkably smooth ushering through the TSA violation procedure and ordered an overpriced beverage to pass the hour and a half I had to spare before boarding my flight.  My friend was already in the air, flying The Ladybird from his home in Kansas to our rendezvous point and posting in updates in the Facebook group chat for the occasion.  

Finally, the call was made to board the plane and an excited grin came across my face. As the jumbo jet lifted off, I felt my anxiety regarding the house, the stress of the job, and the Los Angeles landscape fade off into the distance beneath and behind me.  It was a beautiful Southern California day and the view from my window was a reassuring glimpse into the beauty that is the bigger picture...