As a kid, I was lucky to go on a lot of family vacations. Colorado, California, Florida—wherever we went, I always angled for the window seat on airplanes, eager to watch the earth disappear under me during takeoff.
I was that kid who was brought up into the cockpit to meet the pilot and copilot, marveling at all the shiny knobs and dials and levers, knowing that, one day, I wanted to be a pilot.
In those days, for me, the journey was its own reward. The best parts of those vacations were the flights there and the flights back. Yeah, there were memories made in between, but from the moment I arrived at the airport, I was ready for adventure.
While I was in college at Villanova University in Pennsylvania, I was able to take a discovery flight. We got up in the air, and the guy told me to take the controls. I was a little suspicious. “You sure, man?” But I did—and I was hooked.
My beautiful wife, Kaysi, bought me a flying lesson at the Cape May Airport in New Jersey. I own a brewery there— the choice for the brewery’s location may have been swayed a little by the fact that it’s at an airport. The flight school has since closed, but the brewery is still going strong.
And I’m still flying.
A few years ago, as I was working toward my instrument rating, my instructor, Larry, called me one night over the winter. He and I had a great relationship; I’d pursued my private certificate with him. He asked me to fly one of his other students from Salisbury, Maryland, to Cape May. Larry said he’d sweeten the deal with a free lesson.
I said, “Of course, Larry, whatever you need.”
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