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.