Filled with self-deprecating remorse, considerable fear, and self-loathing, I whimpered my misgivings. Bob, well “finger-printed” glasses sliding toward the front end of his pudgy nose, rolls his considerable bulk backward from the desk just far enough to cross his legs.
Saturday, October 8, my husband Randy and I decided to head to the eastern side of Michigan to explore an area neither of us knew much about. On the shores of Lake Huron, right in the middle of Michigan’s “thumb”, lies the quaint little harbor town of Lexington.
Saturday, September 24th, was a rare day when my husband Randy and I had no plans or social obligations. It was a nice sunny day to boot. So needless to say, it was time for an adventure via the wild blue.
It is still dark when the lights from my pickup play along the sides of the long corrugated metal buildings. The grass is sparkling with a thousand little mirrors of dew, each one responding individually as the headlights sweep over them.
The past few years seem to have been a bit on the boring side yet somewhat of a blur. Sooner or later nearly everyone who stopped by the hangar came up with the very original question, “When you gonna fly that thing?”
Some years ago, after spending decades hanging in the sky providing pilot services for boxes, checks, folks, and serving as Director of Operations and Chief Pilot for several small charter carriers, my life took a severe left turn.
I’m not sure exactly when it happened or how, but somewhere along the line I fear I have lost my “cowboy hat.” After forty years or more in the aviation arena it has finally come to pass that someone offered me an opportunity to fly in something that I desperately wanted to fly in…