Up early for no better reason than the sun had come up. Had mad, impetuous notions of working through my email queue, but it was not to be. People write long, thoughtful messages that of a courtesy require long, thoughtful replies. But time is the fire we all burn in, and thought is hard to come by in the early, aye, early-o.
Had to rush out of doors for the CrossFit WOD, this one only moderately hellish. Had three flights today, and the odds of flying first and heading to the gym after are vanishingly small. Especially in the summertime. That all glass canopy on the Varga makes for a lovely view – you couldn’t BFM without it – but it does make for something of a hothouse in the summertime.
My first guest pilot was a nice enough fellow, from right here in Sandy Eggo. Had that look in his eye like he really wanted to win, paid close attention in the brief and seemed excited to climb in the machine. To label him “ham fisted” once in flight though would be to dishonor history’s entire inventory of pugnus porcus. He was that rough. Using the control stick to explore the corners of the cockpit more than the flight envelope, like.
Three hacks smooved him out a bit, and eventually we wore our adversary down on the last bout, Bronco Chuck, our chief pilot and a retired Navy SWO with a decided preference for winning by powering up above his prey. And then swooping down from on high. The crafty beast.
Our second guest was a much smoother pilot, having the benefit of 40-50 hours back in the day. Had his eyes on a private pilot’s license until life’s realities got in the way. You only need two things to fly: Airspeed and money. Number two ran out for him. Each of them had won his flight from a wife or girlfriend as a Christmas present. Who watched me brief their significant others with wide, hopeful eyes. And who, once we’ve walked out to the flight line and strapped in, take pictures, wave and smile cheerfully. But always you can see in their eyes the first hint of doubt. Our craft are small, our bodies fragile, the air so insubstantial and the earth so very unyielding. Joy always mingles with relief when we return. There was never any reason to fret, and now there are pictures.
One of the fun things about the dogfight experience for our customers (I think) is that this is the sort of thing that would require a good two or three hundred hours of high priced instruction to get to on your own, and even then you could really be sure of being safe unless you’d spent hundreds more hours preparing, briefing, executing and professionally debriefing with someone who had been shaped by the same process. We get them there on the first go ’round, skipping all of that start, taxi, take-off rigmarole.
Our final guest was a one hour “learn to fly.” Most of the folks I’ve flown with on this kind of hop are people thinking about taking private lessons and working on a certificate, but they haven’t committed to the whole notion yet. Your man was in his mid-thirties, informally groomed, but inordinately serious as I went through the brief. Almost grim. Immune to your correspondent’s several charms and not evidencing any obvious enthusiasm for what lay ahead. To such a degree that, even as we briefed the theory and procedures, I found myself wondering why anyone would have put himself in such a position if he didn’t see the opportunity that was in it. Turning over in my head possible motives alternative to a joy for flying I became, in fact, uneasy.
As a kind of test, I told him that once we’d cleared the runway – having successfully completed our flight -that he would be able to taxi back to the flight line, he asked me to explain the use of the rudders and toe brakes and asked him if he had any questions. The fact that he did have questions on ground taxi reassured me somewhat. In the event, I let him fly the take-off (with my own hands making a small ring around the stick to limit any excursions) and climb out over the ocean. Some fairly standard level speed changes and turn patterns followed, and then a series of power-off stalls. I showed him a passable example of recovering from an attempt to “stretch the glide,” losing less than 50 feet or so in the recovery: Throttle up, ease the angle of attack and right rudder to keep her in coordinated flight. Eighty miles per hour for the climb.
Hizzoner fairly gooned his first attempt, and I asked would he like another shot. He would, it seemed, and he did a far better job the second bout. Are you having a good time, I asked him after, looking over my shoulder.
I am, he said, nodding his head and seeming almost surprised at his answer. I really am.
That’s grand, said your correspondent. During the brief I almost wondered if you were happy to be here.
Oh, that. He said. It’s a long story.
Which we never got into, a man’s private reasons being private, like. Visual nav from that point, 500 feet down the coast, an eastbound turn at Crystal Pier, follow the 5 northbound to the 56, joined the 15 just north of Black Mountain – there’s where the people lost their houses in the fire last October – over Lake Hodges and Del Dios reservoir and back to the field again. I shot the first approach to landing from a straight in, joined the downwind for another touch and go, and gave it over to him for two approaches.
It’s no simple thing to find yourself landing a small plane on your first flight touching the controls, especially when all of the performance instruments are in the cockpit ahead of you. Your man did a credible job for all that, with myself prompting airspeed and pitch angle “recommendations.” I flew the full stop approach to landing, exactly one hour on the Hobbes.
A software engineer, as it turned out. Whose girlfriend had bought the flight for him as a surprise. He’ll go back to work on Monday having performed one take-off, two landings, a pair of power-off stalls and visual navigation around San Diego.
Already 5 PM by the time we were done. Supper and a movie after. “Kung Fu Panda,” “Wanted” being sold out. Winding it down now.
These days, they go by, and they leave no trace behind. Only this.
‘kung fu panda’ will surprise you: it’s not that bad a film. and try to catch ‘wall-e’. it’s a great flick.
“And this..” ain’t too bad for a hobby, is it sir?
Lex – you surpass yourself – brilliant.
But I would disagree with your last statement. Memories are so much more than “only this” and you share yours generously.
I haven’t said it in a long time – thank you Lex.
Lex, you need to sit down every day, and bang out at least 500 words, maybe a 1000. Tell us your life, just the way you’ve been telling us. Write the things you learned, the things you experienced, the people you met. The brief jottings you’ve put to print so far are the purest gold. Coontz and that fellow Nose used to wave for ain’t got a patch on you, no sir, not a patch.
You got at least one really, REALLY good book in you. Let’s get it done
Lex,
Any chance you guys do a traveling road show to the east coast?
Yak, let’s hope his publisher will make him do a book signing tour
“These days, they go by, and they leave no trace behind. Only this.”
I’m with Kris, Lex, you leave marks on people’s lives. The young engineer will return to his sweetheart with stories of conquering the clouds, thanks to you. You will live in his memories as he thinks of his special day. Don’t discount the impact of your counsel. I know that he, like Kris and I, says “Thank you”.
Byron has the idea: write your life and let us all see the value in it again… and say “Thank you” one more time.
PeterGunn beat me to it.
I have to join the chorus of respectful disagreement.
Lex, when you get farther on in years, as have I, you will be grateful to have “this.” I’m at the stage where the path behind is a much longer twisted trail than what lies ahead. The stage of life at which the mind turns to small questions as whether it was a life well lived or no.
I have only my faltering memory to guide me in my musings. You will have Neptunus Lex and, as we all hope, a book or several to give you guidance.
Writers with your skills can chart the course that others may follow. ‘Tis a gift many wish they had and not one to be taken lightly because it does allow one to “leave marks on others lives.” And when you finally reach the end of the trail, would that not be a marker of a life well lived?
Don’t know if I missed it in the past – or if you’ve left it out intentionally – but could I get the name of the outfit you are flying with.
I’m working with an intern this summer – his father really wants to go up and may want to head your way. If not mentioning the name here is on purpose- I’d love it if you could find the time to email me.
Thanks.
JRP,
If you navigate to the “ABOUT” page you will find Lex has updated it and included the name of the firm.
Ah, the begging for the humble scribe to become a man whose legacy is left in the stacks of the LOC, while his bones become dust once more fills the comments section.
I raise my voice to join with the others, and to add to my same requests from time gone by.
Lex: You make regular life a story to be read and re-read and considered and mentally filed for my own use, so I may be equipped with excellent counsel, if a circumstance requires it’s use. Bland I can get far and wide on the other blogs. Daily, regular life scenarios full of sublty, or not, laced with humor and big words (or them furen ones) entered strategically, I get here.
Writers with your skills…
Lex,
When I was out on the DV Embark, of course I couldn’t help but think of the wonderful stories you’ve written that have given us a peek into life in the Navy and at sea, which then helped me understand a little bit about what I was seeing/experiencing. As I noticed the difference in my reactions and those of my fellow visitors to some of the things we saw, I was surprised to discover something: unlike their experience, so much about flight ops and the spaces under the deck and the people I met didn’t feel 100% new to me, and that was because of your incredible ability to put your readers in a “foreign” time and place.
Of course, written word is never the equal of direct experience or “seeing for oneself,” but I was startled to see how close you had come.
Lex, I think what FbL is trying to say, is that almost all authors can write an engaging tale, but only a few can actually make the reader fell like they are there. You have that unique ability in spades. Sir, if you were to publish, your book(s) would be up there with my other NYT Best Sellers. That is NOT polishing the apple. It is simple unvarnished truth. You are every bit as good as Coontz or W.E.B. Griffin. That “Punk” guy can’t hold a candle to you. Hey, I bet the Institute would be glad to publish your book!
Lex, I’d like to see that multi-chapter series you did some months back. Read them all in one evening. Looked for it later in the archives, but itsa no there…
Crossfit, eh? I have my eye on the one in Seattle and will likely get there in the next week. Tired of boring routines…
On Friday I was in Corpus Christi and took the time to visit USS LEXINGTON. As I stood in the spot on her flight deck where once the arresting gear stretched I thought, “This is where Lex – and so many others – first landed on an aircraft carrier.” And the funny thing was, although I’d never been aboard LEXINGTON before, I didn’t feel a complete stranger. I had been there before. I’d been there, here.
I agree with the sentiments above.
I want a hardbound version of Rhythms.
Autographed.
And discounted, for being a frequent blog visitor. . .or is that asking TOO much?
Thanks for the title reminder, Humble.
Ditto for me, Lex. Keep the movie rights and go see Tom Clancy for what to do with them.
A sapient systems engineer.
Sure to be a rare and valuable attribute that is bound to leave a discernable wake….
Lex, I mentioned before about making sure you tell your kids what the important things in your life have really meant to you. Reading this post and the comments, it struck me … perhaps, given your amazing ability with the written word, this is the way to do it. Not the blog, I mean, but if you put some of it in writing specifically for the girls, knowing that although they most likely won’t show much interest now, they will, no doubt, be thrilled to have it later. Just a thought.
Although selfish, selfish me would hate for you to do so at the expense of writing the book we all yearn for. So I guess you will just have to do both. May I suggest that you consider writing for your own first, then perhaps you can cull from it and use it as a basis for the rest of us? A win-win-win situation I submit, for the Kat and the Biscuit, for you and for all of us.
Heartfelt agreement with all the encouragement to our host being offered locally.
Which is why I simply could never accept the ‘fist in a bucket of water’ analogy. We are a witness every day by what we do every day, and that witness has an impact and reach far beyond our own comprehension.
I’ll pay full price for my autographed copy, and it’ll be a bargain at that.
Best regards, P-dub.
He’d get the full stroke from me too, P-dub. Lex is in the “$40? Hell yes, buy it!” class.
What they said. Hell, yeah. Amen. Concur.
Where does the line form?
Just for history’s sake around here, Lex has one published and autographed copy of “Rhythms” out there….and trust me, it went for more than $40.
And at least one wounded warrior has a laptop to speak into as a result.
Break out yer checkbooks…;0 maybe you’ll get lucky…
Byron seems to have beat me to my point. By all means, write. Write to your wife, your son, your daughters. I suspect you were a letter writer long before the internet came along. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you had penned a love letter or two as well. But do please write for, and to, your family. It will be priceless someday, in a way that no published work could ever be.
However,yours is a gift that must be shared beyond kith and kin. To those whom much is given, much is expected. You have an obligation to write to a larger audience as well. A biography? An expansion of Rythms? Poetry? Some novel that hasn’t even bubbled to the forefront of your mind yet? Put pen to paper, sir. It is your destiny, and indeed your duty. And I need not remind you of R.E. Lee’s words about duty.