There was more charm in the details: a single wide bench seat, two old-time oval yokes (aluminum, not plastic). Very basic panel with transponder and VOR receiver tucked under the main panel. A round placard where an instrument might be, with a picture of a propellor and the words "Caution- Propellor. Exit aircraft to the rear."
On the wings, each of which had a slip-proof walkway, was stenciled a similar warning: "Dismount to rear."
I could understand the emphasis on this particular hazard. A first-time passenger, still giddy from the fun of a ride in this cute little circus-pony airplane, might easily be inclined to hop off the round leading edge of the wing... straight into the prop, which, when moving, would be a nearly-invisible whispering arc that could easily kill somebody, even with the engine at idle.
Not a toy. An airplane.

I've been trying to decide what my first airplane might be... not telling when I'll be able to afford that, but I would love to own and cherish my very own airplane... without a partner, it would most likely be a cheap two-seater. The Ercoupe would be a good choice: slow, no baggage capacity to speak of, and almost too easy to fly, but it's inexpensive and can be flown with the windows rolled down, elbow in the breeze.
And I have a thing for old airplanes with simple reliable features, like fuel gauges that are just glass tubes sticking up from each filler cap with a fluorescent float in each. One for the oil, too.
I walk away, impressed. Yes, it might be an Ercoupe... but first I need to examine a Funk or a Colt...

I sat back down at the table. The pilot I'd met passed by again, this time exiting the pilot shop inside the Lockheed.
"Great day, innit?" he said, smiling.
"Beautiful."

The sky was still blazing with lights and colors, set against October blue burned orange on the horizon.

"Beautiful", I agreed.


He walked briskly to his waiting plane, all the kinks out of his back now, and I envied him as he pushed down the tail, swiveled it around, and climbed in, not caring that it was rolling a little. As he started up and taxiied away, a teenage student and his instructor were preparing another 172 nearby. the boy's mother sat behind me at another table, quietly observing. Another man sat down with her, and they talked about the boy's recent grades and how impressed his teachers were.

I'll bet you anything that good grades or bad, learning the beautiful, liberating, yet demanding rules of flight had made this kid a better student and, quite possibly, a better person.

The first pilot rotated with authority and climbed out with no fuss. the kid's taxi and runup went slowly- good. that meant he was taking his time and reading the checklist.
His takeoff was like mine used to be- he seemed to wait for the plane to rotate itself. The 172 won't do that unless it's trimmed well aft of what it normally would be for takeoff. But he did fine, and would probably get better at it, just as I had. I suddenly wished I had started that young- so much catching up to do, and I'm not getting any younger.

Ah well, I thought as I headed home, I'm young yet, and if I keep making little pilgrimages like this, why, I might just get a little younger...

Next: Flight 27