Flying is loads of fun.  Here are some of my favorite stories about flying.

Getting Started

In 1986, the movie Top Gun hit the big screen.  Walking out of the theater after seeing it for the second time, I decided, "This is too good a thing to feel second-hand."  

I had flown several times with a friend from work, in his airplane.  The next day he walked up to my desk as usual, to say hello and chat.  I told him I was ready to learn how to fly.  Would he know of an instructor?

My friend was never one to be in a hurry; he kind of ambled along.  But barely ten minutes after he left, I got a call from my soon-to-be first flying instructor, to set up the appointment for my first flying lesson.

On the evening of the 12th of September, 1986: I spent an hour, according to my pilot’s log book, doing "Orientation, pre-flight, aircraft familiarity; climbs, descents, and turns", in a Cessna 150 two-seater.

Taking about two hour-long lessons each week, I got my license on the 25th of April, 1987.  

In February of 1988, I began taking lessons for my Instrument rating, and passed the IFR check-ride with an FAA Examiner that August.  An IFR rating allows you to fly through clouds.  The day after I passed my IFR check-ride, I flew to Maine.

More than 2900 hours of pilot time have been logged since those flying lessons began, in all kinds of weather.  And every take-off, every flight, and every landing are still as exciting as they were on that very first flight.

That First Solo Flight

There comes a point in your training as a student pilot when your instructor tells you to stop.  When you do, he gets out of the airplane, and then tells you to go fly three trips around the pattern.

You do your best to remember everything you need to say on the radio, and what you need to do at every step to control the airplane.  It's all the same as you have done dozens of times before – and it's suddenly all different.  You pull out onto the runway, and line up the airplane.  You give it full throttle, start rolling, and quickly pick up speed.

And then all of a sudden, you are in the air – no longer on the ground – and you have the realization that nobody can get you back safely on the ground but you.

Three times around – three take-offs and three landings, and then it's done; you've done it.  Three times you took off, and three times you landed safely and in control.  You have proven to yourself that it is not a lark; that you can do it any time you want to.  You have flown.

Driving home after my first solo, I just could not stop grinning – a really big, face-wide grin, from ear to ear.

Other drivers, if they saw me, must have thought I was on drugs.  But I had just done something far beyond anything they knew – I had flown an airplane, and returned it safely to earth.  I was becoming a pilot.

Cloudfalls

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, sunny, clear, and bright – a perfect day to go flying.  I grabbed my flight bag, and headed to the airport.

Reaching the airport, I parked the car and quickly walked across the ramp to where my airplane was tied down.  The preflight took just a few minutes, and without delay I was airborne.  

I headed north for one of my favorite routes:  flying along the mountains and lakes.  I climbed higher than usual, up to 6,500 feet, feeling high above the world, smooth and serene.  The higher altitude gave me a view deeper into the Smokies on this beautiful morning.

The mountain valleys were covered by a lake of thick morning fog.  The higher mountains poked up around the fog, surrounding it and providing a bowl a dozen miles wide to contain it.

But flying west, the breaks between the hills formed little V's, where the fog tumbled out, escaping from the mass beyond, like waterfalls from a lake.

But while there was fog in the mountains, there was clear air and warm sunshine to the south.  The sun quickly warmed the falling, tumbling fog, which evaporated and dispersed even as it fell, first into ever-fainter, more wispy curlicues, and finally into nothingness – cloudfalls that never reached the ground.

Speeding along the Blue Ridge Parkway

As anyone who has travelled on the Blue Ridge Parkway knows, the speed limit for the entire length, from Virginia to Tennessee, is forty-five miles per hour.  Some of us have also learned that the Parkway's rangers are fairly strict when it comes to enforcing that speed limit.

It was a beautiful, sunny weekend – a great time for us to take along another couple to whom we had recently promised a nice, scenic flight in our Cessna 182.  

We flew west, out to Lake Hartwell, and then turned north, to fly over Lake Keowee, and then, climbing higher, over Jocassee.  

But rather than turn east towards Table Rock, we continued climbing, on up to 6500 feet, and headed up into the Smokey Mountains.  We reached the ridgeline not too far from the North Carolina – Tennessee border, and then turned east, heading towards Asheville.  Our flying was parallel to the Blue Ridge Parkway, which we pointed out to the delight of our two guest passengers.

And then the punch line: "Tomorrow at work you can tell everyone you did 150 miles per hour along the Blue Ridge Parkway."

South Carolina is a great place to fly

South Carolina offers the best flying in the world.  The cost of flying is much lower than in more metropolitan areas of the U.S., which makes flying much more affordable.  With weather moderated by the Smokies and the Gulf Stream weather currents, flying in South Carolina is great year-round.

The state is relatively flat, and flights to the beaches or the mountains are much faster than by car.  Similarly, flights to Atlanta for shopping are not only faster, but avoid highways full of traffic.  The theme parks in Orlando are only a few hours away.  Most of the U.S. this side of the Rockies can be reached in less than a day's flight.

South Carolina is the best place to go flying for the fun of it!

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