Flight with an old bomber pilot.
This weekend my wife's 82 year old Uncle came to visit us for the first time. I had of course met him before in his home town of Kansas City, and knew he had completed a tour of duty in 1944 flying B24's from England. His last flight as a pilot, or in a cockpit, was in 1946.
I asked if he would like a flight in my old 172. 'Sure' was all he said, but the look he gave me belied that casual answer, he had been hoping for the offer. As he is an early riser, I too rose early the next morning and we set out for the airport a little after 7 am. When we were situated in the aircraft and taxied out to the run up area, he insisted he read off the (very short) pre-takeoff check list, 'Just like my co-pilots used to do' he said with a smile. Once airborne and holding 2000ft I offered him control. "It's been nearly 60 years" he said in a tone of voice that carried a warning. I assured him I would pay close attention. He took the yoke, eased it gently back then forward, 'Bit more responsive than the B24' he said, then he held it straight and level for some minutes. 'Try a turn' I offered. I watched the yoke move for a right turn, then felt the rudder pedal sink under my right foot, he stabilized the turn at about 35deg, and eased the nose up. I glanced at the turn and bank, he was in a perfectly co-coordinated turn. The altimeter showed he was maintaining altitude within 40ft. As he straightened up I felt the rudder pedal move again as he leveled the yoke, and used the rudder to help stop the turn. I couldn't help but give him a big grin when he glanced over at me, 'You've still got it' I said, 'Feels really good' he replied' A few minutes later he asked me to take control again, 'Let me look' he said. We flew together in companionable silence for the next hour or so, while he soaked up the view over the State of his birth, from a level lower than commercial flying offers. It was early and clear, the lakes for which Minnesota is so famous were all around us, sparkling blue and gray in the sunlight, each surrounded to our north by pine forest or to our south by fields, deep green with young corn.
As we rolled out following landing, he patted my knee and said "I'll fly with you any time' That simple comment, with it's accompanying warm smile, made my heart glow, and my ego humble. Not only was it such a pleasure to take an old airman, who had risked his all, for me and mine, aloft; but also to see the skills he had learned so well in his late teens and early twenties had not deserted him. It seemed to me he flew my Cessna with more assurance, after 60 years away, than I did.
Regards,
White Bear.