Diagonal Away From Home
“Ready?” Roy waited a moment for me to make eye contact.
We were on the taxiway, waiting clearance to take off.
The flaps were up, the canopy closed. The long, asphalt runway stretched off to either side.
I had my sunglasses and iPad.
Bright October sun warmed the cockpit.
I was happy I’d worn a t-shirt. I was wearing the pink Love at First Flight shirt Roy bought for me at EAA Airventure. It felt appropriate for the first flight of our open ended journey.
I gave a nod. “Ready.”
The controller’s voice came over the radio; “174 Romeo-Tango, clear for take-off, left turn-out approved.” Roy pushed the throttle, turned out to the runway, and we were in the sky.
“Our plane won’t see the hangar for a long time,” Roy said. “Feels strange.”
The house that used to be our home passed underneath, then the Portland office building where I’d worked, and the Columbia river where I’d sailed.
Twenty-plus years passed by in thirty nautical miles, and five minutes. I wasn’t sad. My little girls were women now, my career complete, the house had felt big and empty, and the river too small.
I pulled out the IPad. “I have no idea where we’re staying tonight,” I said. I’d only danced around trip prep, doing laundry, packing, sorting.
”It’s okay,“ Roy replied, “I have it figured out. I’ll show you when we stop for fuel.”
I nodded and held on to my sheepskin shoulder straps. The brown grasslands of Eastern Oregon and Idaho went rolling by.
Ahead of us lay One-thousand, five-hundred nautical miles of mountains and rolling plains to our first destination: The RV Fly-In at Petit Jean, Arkansas. With luck, we’d be there in two days.
An hour later we were in Mountain Home Idaho for fuel. I plopped down on the worn, brown sofa in the pilot lounge of the FBO. Sunlight bent through dusty blinds. Roy sat down next to me. “I found a place for the night in Wyoming that has reasonably priced fuel and a pilot lounge.”
I picked up a red pen off the coffee table, and pushed around a AAA battery someone had left behind. “A pilot lounge? As in camping?”
Instead trip planning, I’d had lunch with friends, gone to the beach with my daughter, shopped and erranded. It was more denial than lack of commitment. I was excited about our travels. I wanted to explore, and experience, get to know the people and places in our country, but I was afraid I was doing the same thing I’d done since I was a child in a military family. The longest I’d ever lived in one place was Portland. I was always moving, leaving friends, undoing my life, only to re-do it again.
I set the pen down. “Can we get a hotel tonight? For our first night out?”
He shifted in his seat. “I’d prefer free.”
I glanced at the clock behind the vacant customer service desk, with it’s display case of aviation paraphernalia for sale. The building was open, but the office was not. Very few are these days.
“It’s two now, and it’s a three hour flight. Would you call to be sure they’ll be open? I’m going to use the little girls room. Be right back.”
Roy was standing by the front door when I returned. “They close at five. Lets beat tracks.”
In the sky again. Grassland gave way to steep, forested slopes. In the distance, mountain peaks were dusted with early season snow.
I watched our ETA. Five thirty. Ten minutes ticked by. ETA was 5:40. I pointed at the Dynon in front of me. “Looks like we’ve picked up a headwind,” I said.
Roy nodded.
We weren’t going to make it by five thirty. “Rawlins, Wyoming,” I said. “We stopped last year on our way to Petit Jean. Remember? The line guy was super nice and gave us a ride to a hotel.”
“Okay,” he nodded, “A hotel it is.” He shrugged and changed our course.
The mountains rose in front of us. Ten thousand feet above sea-level. Crystal blue lakes and patches of snow provided a deceptively inviting landscape. There were no ‘plan B’s’ for us here. Roy was focused on engine monitoring. He pointed at the navigation display in front of him. Four triangles with long yellow lines. The lines indicate speed and direction.
“Those guys are fast,” he said. I looked off our wing. I felt the rumble in my inner ear before I saw them. Four F-15’s sped by. “Caution wake turbulence,” I said. No sooner had I said the words than our plane bounced side to side. A con-trail ran in a long, white line where they’d been, then curved around toward us. “They’re coming back,” I squirmed in my seat. “They can see us, right?” Headlines flashed across my brain; Small plane obliterated in mid-Air collision with military fighter.
Roy turned a knob on the flight deck, and our plane banked gently to the left. “I think we’re fine,” he said, “but just in case.”
No sooner had he said the words than the jets were off our wing again, four of them, so close I could see the pilots. I inhaled sharply. “I think they’re looking at us.”
Roy grinned. “They’re probably thinking, cool plane. Wish I was flying one of those.”
The mountains rolled down to dark, rocky plains, liked plains like curled fists. Roy pulled the throttle back and we began our descent. Two states away, and it wasn’t even dinner time yet. It is a cool plane, I thought, and smiled. I’m ready.
