Flights of fancy

For the purpose of this story, let’s call our main character Mary. It’s a good, solid, All-American name. Although Mary isn’t necessarily a traditional All-American girl. She could be anybody. She could be from Maine, or Montana, or Idaho. It doesn’t really matter. Mary can be any woman of any age who wants to learn to fly.

There are more Marys out there than you might think. 

This morning I flew with Mary, although that’s not her real name. She’s in her late 20s, has a stable white-collar job, two kids, one husband, and a nagging sense that she wants a new professional challenge. She wants to become a pilot. Not just a private pilot, although she’s aware she’ll have to pass through that stage on her way to meet her goal. She wants to be an airline pilot.

Her only problem is, she doesn’t have the first idea where to start. Mary doesn’t know any pilots. She doesn’t work with pilots, didn’t grow up with pilots. Like most folks in her situation she had no idea she could just drive down to the local airport, stop in to the FBO, and start asking questions. 

Who knew?

Fortunately, Mary is bold. She’s brave. She’s got the inner strength to go find out how she might make her dream of becoming an airline pilot come true. Even better, she lives in a town with an airport where they host an annual fly-in. So, when the fly-in rolled around, Mary drove down, bought a ticket, and went in to see what she could see.

That’s when everything changed. 

While at the fly-in Mary ran into some random dude who wore a ballcap with a picture of an airplane on it, a polo shirt with a picture of an airplane on it, and a pair of very aviator style sunglasses. Clearly, a pilot. He’d know what to do. So, she asked. 

Step 1 complete: Go to the airport.

Step 2 complete: Find someone who looks like they know something about aviation and start asking questions.

Step 3 complete: Fall into a big ol’ pile of dumb luck. 

The pilot sort that Mary ran into was standing inside a big white tent that was labeled “AOPA.” She had no idea what that word might mean (for those who don’t know, it’s the initials for the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association). He happened to be standing near a bright yellow and black Cessna 152 that was on display. That’s the airplane I refer to as my company car. The pilot guy was me. 

And that’s where things start to get really interesting. Because it doesn’t really matter if she met me, or one of my peers, or you, or someone from your local airport. As long as the person Mary bumps into is more interested in helping Mary than they are in promoting their own personal awesomeness, Mary wins. General aviation wins.

It turns out this particular Mary is motivated. She’s totally ignorant of aviation in all its forms. In fact, she’s never flown before. But she wants to fly more than anything. She just doesn’t know where to start.

Who do you call for something like that? Most non-aviators don’t have a clue. All they know is that Delta and American don’t let passengers up front to try out the controls in flight.

But I do. The local flight school does. There’s probably a flying club in the area that will entertain the idea of taking a potential new member flying. I’ll bet you’d do that, too. 

From the vantage point of a person who has lived their entire life outside the airport fence, the idea of crossing through the barbed wire into the high-security no-man’s land of the air side is just frightening. Mary and her non-aviation-oriented peers are unlikely to take that step entirely on their own. So I split the difference with her.

I told her to meet me at the FBO, and I told her what the name of the FBO is. I also gave her an address for the FBO. And I told her that when she got there I’d be inside with access to a comfy chair where we could have a conversation. Afterward, if she was still interested, we could walk out to the ramp, a place she’d never been, make our way over to an airplane she could climb into, and we’d go flying.

Mary took me up on that deal. She met me this morning at 9 a.m. at the FBO of an airport I can fly to in less than half an hour. We talked about her goals, her job, her family, and how grateful she is to be married to a man who is supportive of the idea.

She flew beautifully, as virtually every first-time flier I’ve ever flown with has.”

She wants her daughter to know that it’s never too late to change your life. So, she’s showing her. She’s engaged in the CFI’s demonstration/performance method and she doesn’t even know it. 

She flew beautifully, as virtually every first-time flier I’ve ever flown with has. A quick but thorough briefing, some rudder work as we taxi to the active runway, a super-short discussion about how we’re going to roll down the runway, add back pressure to the control column, and rise into the air — and we’re off. 

To be honest, I just did the takeoff, with help from Mary. Then I landed. But she did everything in between. She did it well, too. Well enough to know that she can be a pilot if she wants to be. Because she just flew. On her very first try. 

We need more Marys. Although to be honest, sometimes they’re named June, or Olga, or Isabella. It doesn’t really matter. I hope you’ll help her when she comes to you asking for advice, or insight, or direction.

I know I’ll be ready to go in a heartbeat. Because it’s more fun than you might think and I get to spend the rest of my day feeling good about myself. 

That ain’t a bad deal, let me tell you.