I arrived this morning early and anxious. It was a perfect fall morning with clear, calm skies and a stimulating briskness to the early air of daybreak. And before long we would enter the skies and enjoy the trill of flight.
Larry is a friend from church. He's an attorney by profession and by all accounts Larry is a skilled amature pilot. He's been licensed for about 5 years and claims to average a flight a week during decent weather. I, on the other hand, had never flown in a small plane despite many, many hours of routine flight on large commercial planes. So yesterday, when Larry called to invite me to "tag along", I jumped at the chance. And on this my first such flight, his relative ease and intentional focus upon our readiness left me very much excited and not the least bit apprehensive.
Working through his typical pre-flight ritual, we checked fuel, oil, flaps, rudder, tires, gauges, breakers, communications, lights, wing edge, locks, harnesses, brakes, etc. It was interesting to go through this together with full commentary as to what we were looking for and why. Finally we bucked up, checked the door lock, tested the brakes again and contacted the tower.
The term "tower" is used loosely here because I think we were actually speaking to the same guy at the Hangar One desk that gave me my headphones and went into the back for a bottle of oil. And "contacted" implies that someone is actually listening. At the time I gathered from the silence in my headphones on our departure frequency that a "no reply" from the tower was perhaps the small airport equivalent of either "Roger that four-seven-seven-niner-foxtrot, you're cleared for takeoff" or maybe it meant "Sorry, I'm in the toilet". Thinking back, the verbal exchange probably just failed to register in my sensatory saturated brain.
And with that implied authorization, Larry throttled up the engine, released the brakes and thus propelled two souls and 50 gallons of aviation fuel steadily down the runway and effortlessly up into the waiting skies. Effortlessly, that is as facile as one might consider 180 horsepower channeled solely into the 45 rotations per second of a 7-foot aluminum propeller. Once airborne it was clear to see why many people love to fly - it was exhilarating.
The term "tower" is used loosely here because I think we were actually speaking to the same guy at the Hangar One desk that gave me my headphones and went into the back for a bottle of oil. And "contacted" implies that someone is actually listening. At the time I gathered from the silence in my headphones on our departure frequency that a "no reply" from the tower was perhaps the small airport equivalent of either "Roger that four-seven-seven-niner-foxtrot, you're cleared for takeoff" or maybe it meant "Sorry, I'm in the toilet". Thinking back, the verbal exchange probably just failed to register in my sensatory saturated brain.
And with that implied authorization, Larry throttled up the engine, released the brakes and thus propelled two souls and 50 gallons of aviation fuel steadily down the runway and effortlessly up into the waiting skies. Effortlessly, that is as facile as one might consider 180 horsepower channeled solely into the 45 rotations per second of a 7-foot aluminum propeller. Once airborne it was clear to see why many people love to fly - it was exhilarating.
We were directed by air traffic controllers in the area to maintain an altitude of 1,000 to 2,500 feet. From this height we were low enough to really get an ideal view of the city. First we headed northeast across Omaha to Eppley Airfield. This is the regional airport in Omaha with commercial flights to some 60 cities nationwide.
For purposes of comparison, the runway at Millard Airport (MLE) where we initiated our flight is 75 feet (24m) wide and 3,800 feet (1160m) long. By contrast the runways at Eppley (OMA) are 150 feet (46m) wide and 9,500 feet (2,900m) long. And we were granted permission from the Eppley tower for a touch-and-go on two of the main runways. This formal tower communication and extraordinary runway size (for our little Piper Archer aircraft) was, for lack of a more accurate description, seriously cool. 
After touching down and taking off at two different runways at Eppley (32L and 32R) we banked left over North Omaha, doubled back and proceeded to fly directly over downtown Omaha. We passed over the riverfront businesses, Conagra Headquarters Campus, the new TD Ameritrade Baseball Park, Qwest Convention and Concert Center, First National Bank (tallest building in Omaha at 45-stories), Union Pacific Railroad Headquarters, Creighton University, Mutual of Omaha, Midtown Crossing, and my office building where I've worked almost every day for the past 20 years. Then we continued westward past the University of Nebraska - Omaha, the Crossroads redevelopment, Westroads and Old Mill, the new TD Ameritrade headquarters construction, the West Dodge corridor and on westward toward our West Omaha neighborhood.
I've flown over all of these places before and even directly over our home but I've really only seen bits and pieces of the city from the air. Always before my view was partial and through the little window on one side or the other of a commercial airliner. And more often than not I'd be on the wrong side of the plane or my view would be obstructed by a wing. But flying in this plane, so low to the ground and so early in the morning, everything was laid out right there in front of me. It was spectacular. I recall flying over our house and wishing that I had arranged for Denise to step out on the deck and take a picture up at our plane. We were, after all, the only thing in the air for the hour or so duration of our flight.
And then, as quickly as it had come, it was over. We contacted the Millard Airport, made our alignment with the runway, slowed to around 60 miles per hour (96 km/h) and descended back to earth. Touchdown - smooth and easy. What a trip.
As I stood posing in front of the aircraft for a quick picture, Larry commented on what a fine day it was for flying and that he had had a great time today. And he said that my picture would go in his scrap book as his 87th survivor. Roger that Larry. I had a great time too. Thanks for the ride. Thanks for the memories.
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