A thin wisp of fog clung to the surface of Runway 9 at Jack Edwards National Airport in Gulf Shores, Alabama. Only waist high, it didn’t present a significant issue for departing aircraft. The thermometer inched up to 49° as I completed my pre-flight. By the time I made it to the hold short line, it warmed to 50.
I advanced the throttle, checked my tach, and enjoyed the gentle acceleration typical of the charming but somewhat anemic Lycoming powerplant pulling my Cessna 152 forward. Rotating briskly, the airplane departed, leaving Gulf Shores behind.
The unfolding of that simple chain of events, a series of actions and reactions that are so familiar to pilots all over the world, would have been mind-boggling to the pioneers pursuing powered flight just 115 years ago. They could dream it, but as of Oct. 31, 1903, nobody had actually done it. Not once. Not anywhere.
A century later the challenges that seem insurmountable to potential pilots may be the cost, or the complexity of the machines, or the time required to earn a pilot certificate, or an unclear vision of how they’ll use their certificate should they be fortunate enough to earn one.
How can I say this, politely? None of those concerns are valid.
Not really. Not when you consider the benefit that comes with the achievement – both anticipated and unanticipated.
When I began learning to fly I was a long-haired musician living in the Greenwich Village section of New York City. My only goal was to earn a private pilot certificate so I could occasionally escape the big bad city — maybe flying as far away as Block Island or Nantucket. That was it. That was my full set of expectations.
I certainly had no intention of flying professionally, or doing any of the aeronautically oriented things I’ve been doing with such satisfaction for the last three decades.
In truth, I didn’t have the slightest idea what opportunities and adventures might await me out there in the big blue. I thought I did.
In fact, like most prospective flight students, I thought I had a pretty darned good sense of what I would do with that pilot certificate I’d been thinking about for so many years. I was totally wrong on all points, too.
Like anyone today looking at learning to fly, I found the price daunting. Based on my calculations of the time, it appeared that a private pilot certificate would cost me nearly as much as a good, used car. I was wrong. It cost me more, because I was a lousy student who chose lousy flight instruction for my first few dozen hours. My private pilot certificate cost more than my first new car.
That seems bad, doesn’t it? It’s not. That first new car was parted out, the remainder crushed and recycled, long ago. But I’m still flying.
Truth be told, I’m enjoying my aeronautical exploits more than ever. The car is now worth absolutely nothing. My ability to fly has become priceless.
You can train to fly in the newest, fastest, most complex machine on the market. Or you can train in a small, slow, basic trainer, just like I did. Just like so many hundreds of thousands of pilots who came before me.
Fast is expensive. Complex is expensive. Small and slow is far more cost efficient. That’s just one of the many reasons I still fly a moderately lethargic, inexpensive to operate Cessna 152 today. It’s a great airplane. It’s tough. It’s resilient. It gets the job done and still gives me a thrill doing it.
What is slow, anyway? Slow compared to what?
The last time I visited Gulf Shores I was on a motorcycle. It took something like nine hours each way. This trip took only a fraction of that time.
At 3,500′ above the beach, headed East with the warm rising sun on my face, I caught a bit of a tailwind that drove me along at 110 knots. That’s nearly twice the speed of cars motoring along Interstate 10. I was happy.
As the coastline turned South at the Big Bend, I followed the geography, climbing to 5,500′ for the second half of my trip home. The tailwinds picked up, pushing my little flivver up to 125 knots. Those are nearly Cessna 182 speeds, with a Cessna 152 fuel burn.
During those early flight lessons on Long Island it never occurred to me that one day I would be a mile above the surf, squinting back as the sun reflected off the Gulf of Mexico, moving at nearly 150 miles per hour, in complete control of my destination and my destiny.
General aviation has proven to be much more than I ever believed it could be. For me, and for so many pilots, it’s provided a whole new lease on life. A bigger life. A more adventurous life. A more fulfilling life.
This morning at the coffee shop, as I took a seat beside my usual crew of caffeinated cohorts, one of them, a very successful businessman, asked, “Hey, could you fly to Cuba if you wanted to?”
“Sure,” I answered.
“How about the Bahamas?”
“Yep.”
“How long would it take? I mean if you wanted to fly to the Bahamas with your wife?”
“Maybe two hours,” I answered. “It depends on which island we’re going to.”
His response came in the form of a long, low whistle. “That’s amazing.”
Yes. Yes, it is amazing. And it’s totally within the reach of the average man or woman on the street, too.
Yeah, my pilot certificates cost me more than a new car. But what’s a new car worth 30 years later?
I can’t even begin to tell you what my certificates are worth. The value is far too high to be measured in dollars.
I suspect Orville and Wilbur, Glenn Curtiss, and their peers would feel similarly.
Dave says
I couldn’t agree more. I have been a pilot since 1991, but took a long time off while raising a family then six months ago jumped back in. I finished my BFR and took about 15 hours to get back up to speed. I rented only for a short few months and decided to realize my dream of owning my own plane. I bought a 1946 completely restored in 1995, Luscombe 8a. I had to add a tailwheel endorsement and what a thrill that was! They say once a pilot, always a pilot, and it’s so true. Great article!
George says
Great article Jamie. So many writers focus on the mechanics of flying. You seem to be more at home with the feel and sense of flying, which is far more enjoyable to read.
Sold my Dakota when I retired for a good bit more than I paid for it new. Guess how many times I’ve kicked myself for that mistake. Maybe a thousand or more.
Now I am looking for a GOOD flying club with a compatible group of guys who fly just for the enjoyment it brings. Hard to find. Any suggestions in that area would make another of your great articles. Thanks – keep up the stories with more feel than mechanics.
Mike Arman says
Learn to fly – you will never regret it.
Larry says
A corollary to your story would be airplane ownership. I see it as the pinnacle of being a pilot and — likewise — priceless.
I’ve owned my current airplane, a C172, for over 34 years and am in the process of gathering all of its paperwork in one file bin. Looking over scads of paperwork and receipts, I realize that I’ve spent a fortune on the thing over those many years. It would have been easier and — certainly — cheaper to rent. That said, I also realize that you can’t compare the costs of ownership to the joy of going to your hangar and taking a short flight on a nice day. Better still … flying to some distant location and enjoying the sights along the way. Airplane ownership cannot be measured in dollars and cents; It would be comparing apples to oranges. Few people get to become pilots much less appreciate the freedom of flight in their own machine. Even after almost 50 years as an aviator, every time I open the door and see my airplane … it takes my breath away. Your pictures reminded me of times I’ve passed by those very same locations. Spectacular scenery someone driving on I-10 cannot imagine.
83Whiskey says
I couldn’t agree more. I’m a new pilot, only obtaining my PPL in 2013 and purchasing my first aircraft in 2015. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made! It was amazing how many people tried to discourage me from aircraft ownership, and the flying club I belonged to at the time told me that I’d really regret it. They couldn’t have been more wrong. Owning an aircraft means you have a place at the airport, a place to hang out and talk to other pilots. Just because I own an aircraft I have met some of the most amazing people and have been given rides in aircraft that I’d never be able to fly in a flight club. Not to mention the convenience – I never have to schedule a plane and I can take off on a whim. To Jamie’s point, it can be affordable. I fly a very simple, no frills 1968 Cherokee 235 that I paid $40k for – you can’t even buy a used sports car for that. The experiences that I’ve had and things I’ve been able to experience because of that investment really have been f-ing AMAZING! I feel very fortunate, very very fortunate.
Larry says
I guess I should have added that MAYBE having your own hangar — I own my building on a public airport — is almost as much fun, too. You spend a lot more time babying your airplane, meeting people and just hanging out than flying. So airplane ownership and hangar ownership are something that is very very special
Alex Nelon says
Jamie, I always enjoy your articles and the reason I do is that they convey so well the joy of flying. So much of what is published today is focused on the rather sterile, almost-emotionless aspects of driving airplanes from one place to another. Professional flying is a demanding career but it doesn’t have to be devoid of the simple pleasure of ‘being there’. Many’s the night I reveled in the constellations or the occasional shooting star while humming along over the Oceans, accompanied by the symphony of squeals and hisses of HF radio (having SELCAL doesn’t mean you have to rest your ears from the music of language and the poetry of a position report).
Keep it coming.