To this day, I still have the image of her beauty permanently stored in my memory banks, eagerly recalled anytime I need a smile or a pleasant memory. The first time I saw her, I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and although that’s a cliché, it’s one that fits perfectly. I knew it was rude to stare, but I figured it was ok to glance at beauty without gawking, intent on absorbing as much of the view as possible before the eyes are forced back to reality and decorum.
Admittedly, her sleek body and graceful frame first caught my eye, like many other men lucky enough to see her. Her cute nose easily parted the air with elegance, but with strength of purpose, and that tail, well it just made my heart nearly jump out of my chest with desire. But she possessed much more than just a body. While there were others who had similar beauty, there was something about her that made me believe that she was trapped on this mundane earth, hoping to find the right man to take her soaring to heights high above, with the eager wind caressing her smooth body while she sliced through the air with gentle strength.
I can’t forget the first time I entered her cockpit, in tandem with my glider instructor. My hands trembled on the stick, feet working the rudders while the tow plane in front of us pulled us down the runway until we gained enough speed to fly and stay in sync with him, always careful to stay directly behind him so as not to pull his tail and cause him to spin. Gliders always become airborne before the tow plane due to their greater lift, and we had to make sure we didn’t overfly while in tow.
My instructor showed patience with me at first, but then after a few sorties he stopped giving instructions, knowing my confidence accelerated with each journey into the sky. His only comment that he would make, at least once a day was “Fly the plane Carson, don’t let her fly you.” He wouldn’t explain himself, and I didn’t ask what he meant, but eventually it became clear to me. This beautiful craft required me to make only small corrections, but they must be correct and decisive ones, while always scanning the altitude, horizon, vertical speed, and airspeed indicators yet never forgetting to scan the outside atmosphere. I searched for eagles, circling concentrically in the lift from thermals hoping to ride the lift as well, rather than losing altitude too quickly in downdrafts and thus land prematurely.
After twenty sorties, my instructor signed off on my solo capability, allowing me to fly this beautiful lady alone, and my he stepped out of the glider and said, “She’s all yours Carson. Remember, fly the plane.” I was white-knuckled on the stick during roll out, and despite keeping the stick all the way down to the floor, the nose remained up during the roll out and I prayed that despite not visualizing the runway, I would be able to stay directly behind the tow plane, causing him no harm from my towrope. Amazingly, despite my anxiety, everything went perfectly.
My first solo flight sucked the breath out of my lungs then forced it back in with exhilaration. It was a feeling of fear combined with complete freedom from the bonds of earth, with the only sounds the rush of the wind over the wings and nose, and the occasional radio calls from the tower below. When I lost too much lift, I calculated my gliding distance to the runway, and prepared for landing, communicating with the tower as I deployed the spoilers to lose airspeed and altitude, landing with a few bounces on the grass, parallel to the runway. My friends and instructor doused me with a celebration of cold water when I emerged from the cockpit, smiling with relief and confidence, now wearing my wings for the first time. I was no longer a first-timer, and my experience with this beautiful lady will stay with me as long as I live. And each time I learned to fly a new plane, now with engines and weaponry, the beauty of flying as a high and fast as possible cannot be forgotten or taken for granted. I never forgot what it meant to “Fly the plane Carson.”
SRC © 2014