She lurched forward and took me to it faster, accelerating with each second, rolling towards the end; my eyes saw the blurred trees fly by on my peripheral vision, but I dare not look anywhere but straight, where I hoped to keep her concentrating as well during her speedy fury of unleashed power.  She had strength, just enough to make men tremble if they didn’t know how to control her without losing their nerve.  But it wasn’t my first time, and I was confident that I could rotate her out of her earthly ropes, simply by lifting with my fingers on her yoke, just at the right time and right speed bringing her to the blue expanse she was born to slice and climb, but she didn’t require my strength, no, she required much more than muscles to allow her to reach the heights of freedom safely, the way she was designed to function.

She was perfect, at least for me at that time.

She needed me to navigate her through the vast expanse without fear, using the gentle touches and calculated maneuvers as her maker intended, for her to respond naturally.

I needed her, to give me her power when I needed it, and hopefully, she would forgive me if I made a small mistake, and if she didn’t, or my mistake was too unforgiving, my maker needed to take over.

Her name, at least the name I radioed to Torrance Municipal Airport, in the Los Angeles TSA, was “Cessna 1097M”.  Loved to take her up for a trip, and the weather report was perfect, or at least as perfect as it could be in the smoggy Los Angeles basin.  Heading east, a young pilot with only VFR experience (no instrument rating) was more likely to navigate easily, using charts sprawled on his lap with airport locations, power lines, railroad tracks and other major landmarks to guide him to his location and back without a problem.  Without the congestion of LAX, Long Beach naval air station and other major international airports, my afternoon would be filled with the feeling of freedom to fly where the birds were comfortable and we become lucky enough to visit.  I found myself mesmerized by the beauty, and that I had left the stress of the earth with its crowded freeways, honking and flaring tempers.  Just myself and 1097M, and we loved it.

Oh yeah, but it wasn’t just the two of us, there was a third, and I forgot to mention that.  God.

So He tested me.  He tested me multiple times before when I was young, but I didn’t quite understand when his hands were involved.  Thought it was just me being smart, strong, or just lucky.  I was invincible it seemed, that is until the smog/haze rolled in.  It came in like the plume of a volcano, overcoming the blue chiffon that gave up its ghost without a fight.

Suddenly, having reached within several miles of the airport that I chose as my first leg, I did a 180-degree compass turn back to my home airport.  Should be easy as pie.  That is, if you could see more than 10 feet out of the cockpit.  I could see 5 feet.  The smaze ploom came in to take the naïve young pilots.  Since I wasn’t instrument rated, I was at a distinct survival disadvantage.  I did remember my instructor telling me not to look outside at all in this case, only scanning the instruments, especially the altimeter, horizon indicator and airspeed.  If I looked outside, I remembered that I would become disoriented, not knowing whether I was up or down, and you know, well, the result would be the end of my life.  Remember JFK Jr.?  Terror injected into my soul where as only five minutes earlier it was complete pleasure. How could a throat pound and pulse like a heart?  I started to think of my family and whether I would see them again, and then I quickly erased that thought.  “Where was I?  Was I high enough to avoid power lines, but low enough to find an airport to land safely?”

I looked at the charts, and found and airport about 10 miles from where I thought I was, and so I dialed in the VOR and tried to follow the needle to location of a VOR station I aimed for on the chart, then dialed in the DME (radio station beacon) and followed that signal in the same direction.  Problem was, I was having trouble flying straight and level, desperately avoiding eye contact with the smaze outside.  Keep the alititude!  Airspeed too low, you’re going to stall!”

The chart fell off my lap, but I wouldn’t bend over to pick it up, for fear my eyes would leave the instruments.  Damn chart wouldn’t help me now anyway.  Back then, not only did I not have expertise with instrument navigation, we didn’t have the rudimentary satellite navigation onboard.  Tried to make a mayday call and hopefully LAX or another Tower could vector me in, but the radio was out.  I was 25 and that wasn’t the age I expected the clock to stop.

I prayed.  I prayed loud and with all my heart.  “Dear God. Save me.  Show me the way!”

Yes, I needed him to hear me.

I knew I would likely die in a fiery crash east of the Los Angeles mess that I tried to avoid, enveloped in a cloak of high velocity smaze that kept me from seeing ground, power lines or other aircraft.

I think I made tons of other promises to God at that moment, but I don’t remember, and if I did I’m sure I wouldn’t share them with you.

 It wasn’t much of a stretch for me to realize that there was nothing more I could do but fly with my instincts, avoid looking out the cockpit, follow the VOR/DME needle and hope I didn’t hit something, so I kept flying and praying. Seat of the pants, they call it, but my pants were dangerously close to getting wet.  I hoped it would go quick so I wouldn’t feel anything or maybe just blow up on impact, but I never got to say goodbye to anyone.

He heard me.

But he was watching all along, that over confident young man who found himself enveloped in a death shroud while flying 1097M.

At the last moment, perhaps when he knew I had learned my lesson, he opened up a shining window in the smaze, in front, and below me, and my eyes immediately darted straight outside, and there I was, about a two miles out on final to Torrance Municipal airport.

I smiled and yes, there were tears.  “Thank you my God!”

I had missed all power lines and obstacles in my way, but I had no radio to talk to the tower.  I must keep looking for other planes!   I flew over the airport so they could see me and they signaled me with their colors, you know, I forgot the code, but they gave me a red, so I circled around, constantly looking for the different colored lights at the tower, designed only for me, radio less, as I re – entered downwind leg. When I was directly across from the tower, I got the green, and knew I was home, turning left onto base leg, then final with a perfect landing.  Well not perfect but there was a bounce or two.  But then any landing you walk away from is a good landing.

Especially that day.

I got out, kissed the ground, kissed 1097M and thanked God for saving me.  Again. And again.