LIT
Wings Over Ithaca you can just press down on the top of the pedals because those are your brakes.” I push down hard with my toes and the plane stops abruptly. “Alright, here we go,” David says shuffling through papers. “Our wind is 33 over 4, so I’m going to write that here, and our runway is 32…” I wish I understood what he was talking about. Does he ever get scared taking people up in planes who don’t understand anything about them? He acts so sure that I’m not going to fail or do anything drastic. “Okay, here is your script, and now it’s just like the school play. Just push that black button and talk to Mike in the Tower.” “Ithaca Ground, Cessna 53045 North Ramp, Request Taxi, Discovery Flight with information Quebec,” I say as clearly as I can, only half succeeding in my attempt not to be self-conscious. “Taxi to runway 32 via Delta and Alpha taxiway,” Mike’s throaty voice comes through the speaker. “Okay now, so Mike said we’re clear so you’re going to turn us on to the runway and read this script to him so we can begin our flight.” Carefully, I move us over to the runway and take a deep breath for my next act. “Ithaca Tower, Cessna 53045, Runway 32, Request take-off, Discovery Flight.” “Clear for takeoff…” Mike talks too fast for me to understand him, but David can decipher Mike’s words. “Alright, so we’re ready to go. This is the throttle. Here’s how you use it.” David cups the throttle, a short, wide silver stick, with his palm. He rests his index finger on it for control. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I’m about to fly a plane. Who am I? How is this real life? I press down on the pedals and we’re picking up speed and with my hand cupped around the throttle and index finger out, I pull the throttle straight back to give the plane power and we’re up, up, up, gaining speed and shooting toward the sky. Eeeeeek, how is this happening to me?! “Now we’re up high enough,” David says, “so you can push in a little on the throttle and you’ll see the nose come down a bit so we’re level and yup, look at that. Keep one hand on the yoke and one hand on the throttle and you can just steer wherever you’d like to go. Yup, see she’s trainable, she’s trainable, ladies.” Naturally, with that small inspiration my thoughts drift to me becoming a certified pilot. “Where would you ladies like to go? We can be in Canada in an hour!” David jokes. Amy, Patti and I laugh as we shout out random places. As I fly everyone over the lake in the little four-passenger plane, my cheeks start to feel the strain from the wide smile I can’t seem to hide. Taughannock Falls, though still beautiful from the sky, now looks small and not-so larger than life, like when we see it at ground level. “Wow, that’s incredible,” comes Amy’s voice from the back along with the clicks from her camera as she snaps pictures to keep this moment in time. I turn the plane to the left to give them a better view. “Jess is trying to make us roll over in the sky here,” David jokes in his calming voice. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to take control here and turn us so Patti can see better from her side.” The child inside of me wants to beg him to let me do it. Now that I’m in the pilot’s seat I want to take full advantage of this experience. We hear David point out different places through his microphone as
if we’re on tour up there in the sky (“There’s the new BJ’s, I’m sure you girls would just love to stop in there, the yacht club — can you believe Ithaca has a yacht club?…”). “Okay, now you’re going to have to land the plane,” David says. I’m ready. I push the throttle in slowly and we begin our descent toward the runway. Cars drive on the road beneath us, what seems like only a few feet away from the runway. “But, we’re flying so close to these cars!” I exclaim. “Yup, it is pretty close,” David says, unfazed. It’s funny how something can be so natural to a person because they’ve done it for so long when it seems so crazy to first-timers. “Okay, now push the throttle all the way in, and we’re going to hang in the air for a bit until the plane decides it wants to come down.” Until the plane decides it wants to come down?! After a couple of seconds of hanging in the air uncertainly, the plane’s wheels meet the runway with a thump and we’re riding along. But now I know what to do, and I safely use the pedals to turn us back toward the East Hill Flying Club and hit the brakes so that the Cessna 53045 comes to a complete stop. David turns around to the backseat and smiles. “Who’s next?”
David St. George, a pilot in Ithaca, stands by a plane at the airport.
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