The Forty Days

Barb MacLeod, a PhD in anthropology with a specialization in ancient Mayan hieroglyphic decipherment, had a fear of flying.  The fear got the better of her–she stopped flying completely.  Her inability to fly became debilitating, making travel to archeological digs and academic conferences difficult, if not impossible.  But Barb eventually faced her fear head-on.  She enrolled in a flight school and discovered her passion for flying.  Now, in addition to continuing her academic work, she is a Certified Flight Instructor for Above & Beyond Aviation.  And today, she is my flight instructor.

I, David Becker, once had a fear of flying.  Well, not a fear of flying really–more a fear of dying.  I’m fine with the flying part–it’s just once the flying stops that I have a potential problem with.  But, like many things in my life, I employed my rationality to overcome my fear.  Whenever I feel turbulence or get nervous in a plane, I just tell myself, “This is the safest form of travel.  Much safer than cars.  I probably have a better chance of being killed by a falling coconut than dying in a plane accident.”  That usually works.  (Unfortunately, as an unintended consequence of this thought-process, I have since developed an acute fear of falling coconuts.)  But just because I can survive a commercial flight without breaking into a cold sweat, however, does not mean that I’m unfazed by smaller planes, and it definitely does not mean that I want to be at the helm of a plane.  But that is just what I am about to do.

I meet Barb at Above & Beyond Aviation, she introduces herself, and then hands me the keys to the plane.  You’re giving me the keys?  Well, you’re going to be in the pilot’s seat, she says.  Do what now?  It is around this time that I begin wondering why I am doing this.  Funny, I never had the urge to take a flying lesson before this blog.  As we walk out onto the tarmac, I am nervous.  My trepidation, however, increases ten-fold as we approach the smallest plane I have ever seen, much less ridden in–a Cesna 152.  It only has two seats.  Good God!  My car has more seats!

Barb leads me through a comprehensive pre-flight inspection, and then we hop into the plane.  She first teaches me how to taxi by using the pedals at my feet.  This is very weird, essentially controlling the plane with nothing but my feet.  At first I am swerving all over the road, like the drunkest driver you have ever seen, but I soon get the hang of it.  Before we reach the runway, we pull over, and Barb goes through the final pre-flight safety check.

Before take-off, Barb explains that it is too windy today to let me do the take-off.  Barb, by all means, be my guest.  She also tells me that there is going to be more turbulence than usual.  No problem.  I’m sure I won’t feel a thing in this ridiculously small plane.  She radios the tower, and I have to suppress an overwhelming urge to say, “What’s the clearance, Clarence?  What’s the vector, Victor.  Roger, Roger.”  We hit the runway and take off.  My heart rate takes off as well.  I essentially freak out for the first five minutes of the flight.  I am in a tiny plane a thousand feet from the ground, and we’re gaining altitude.  Ok, I think, flight lesson over.  I am petrified just sitting in this plane; how on God’s green earth am I going to be expected to fly it?  I am basically curled up in a ball on the pilot’s seat, and I fear that if I so much as even touch the controls, the plane is going to immediately fall from the sky.

After a couple of minutes, we reach our flying altitude of 2500 ft.  I calm down and begin to feel more comfortable just sitting in the plane.  Barb tells me to grab the yoke (i.e. the controls/steering wheel).  I hesitantly do as I’m told.  You’re flying, she says.  Really?  I feel a big bump and immediately take my hands off the yoke.  Because when the shit goes down, nobody wants my hands on the controls.  I take the yoke again and try to keep a bearing.  I pick a point out on the horizon and just try to keep the plane pointed in that direction.  Of course, every time we hit a bump, my hands fly off the controls and up in the air as if I am the French surrendering to the approaching Nazi army.  But each time I put my hands back on the yoke and just do as I am told.  Look, Mom, those are my hands on the controls!

We next practice banking (i.e., making turns).  I turn the plane right, I turn the plane left.  Very, very cool.  With each passing minute, I am feeling more and more at ease.  That is not to say that I am not relieved when Barb tells me it’s time to land and that she will be taking over the controls.  After we land, I breathe a long sigh of relief that I have not been killed by The Forty Days and its tendency to make me engage in ridiculous, nerve-wracking experiences.  Oh, The Forty Days, you have become a monster that I can no longer control!

Now that I am on solid ground, I feel exhilarated by an experience unlike any other–an experience full of fear, adrenaline, apprehension, and excitement, all mixed together.  I thank Barb profusely for the lesson and for ensuring that my wife did not become a young widow.  Barb is truly a great teacher.  Despite my nervousness, I felt like she had complete control of the aircraft at all times, and she made me feel about as comfortable as I could given the circumstances.  If you have any interest in engaging in this unique and amazing experience, I highly recommend Barb MacLeod and Above & Beyond Aviation.  After all, there’s nothing to fear but fear itself–and, of course, falling coconuts.  We should all be very, very afraid of falling coconuts.