One of my earliest aviation memories is of a family holiday trip from our home in Illinois to Florida, spending the season with not one, but two, grandmothers and relations.
Any Christmas dinner for 30 or so members of the same family won’t be without its drama, and I’m sure that one didn’t surprise. But my memories of that December were more focused on the transportation: A Cessna 205 with an N-number ending 99Z.
My father was the pilot, and I was self-loading freight. Age-wise, I was in single digits, and certainly not tall enough see over the glareshield. (This was the mid-1960s, but I guess pillows and booster seats hadn’t been invented yet. Neither had GPS.) [Read more…]