One of my longest flights ever was so easy I’m almost embarrassed to claim it, especially as I didn’t do much of the actual stick and rudder. It was Abe’s first cross-country, with me smoothing scratchy spots, taking pictures and having a grand time.
We turned two hundred miles out laughably quick, then halfway home our one speed bump summoned the flight’s only crucial decision. We had to climb before going on, but options nearby weren’t good. When I suggested tentative retreat Abe said why not try one last puny wisp another mile ahead.
I had already considered that but discarded the idea. The cloud we were under looked better, and it wasn’t working. My retreat might cost an hour as it is, and failing under his little cu could only further jeopardize the finish.
One angel lobbied hard for ignoring input from any first timer. The other asked what if Abe’s right? He is a friggin’ scientist after all, and twice as smart as me in general! Dismissing his initiative without at least a nod could be real dumb. So…
“Okay, let’s give it a try.”
Not exactly a boomer, but it kept us moving in the right direction, and that’s what mattered! One angel smirked, the other smiled. Soon we were topped out and highballing again, home so early we could have blown right on by under a perfect cloud street another fifty miles. Gliding back from there would make Abe’s first cross-country a 500-miler! But achieving our stated goal had rendered him numb from the neck down already, and he was anxious to put feet on the ground again.
Privately thinking, ‘Suck it up Perfesser’, I discreetly urged we roar on for another half hour anyway just ‘cause the lift was so stupid good… but he wasn’t buying. He had pre-paid for the whole day however, and should have what he wanted and so well deserved.
Honors for the right idea at the perfect time go to the estimable Dr. A. himself. Credit me for simply respecting his opinion. That extra hundred miles wasn’t lost, by the way. It never existed except as something more to do next time.