Flashback: The Road Not Taken

Kent with me in Warrior 481 at the Three Rivers Municipal Airport (KHAI) in 2015

I was fortunate to train for my private pilot certificate concurrently with one of my best friends, Kent. We were flying the same airplanes out of an uncontrolled field in Three Rivers, MI with the same instructor, Bill. We were study partners and sounding boards for each other throughout the travails of becoming aviators. In addition to being friends, we were colleagues and our offices were across the hall from each other such that quick conversations about flying served as minor respites during the work day. Our aspirations to fly were well-known throughout the department. At lunch, one of the senior scientists would often greet us collectively by asking, "How are the flyers today?"

Also within earshot of our offices sat a young scientist who reported to me at the time. Fresh out of college, Ryan hailed from northern Indiana and was possessed of an easy smile and a humble "aw, shucks" kind of demeanor. He still drove his college car, a late 1990s forest green Buick that was the butt of many "land barge" and "old man car" jokes. Ryan always laughed good naturedly at the ribbing.

Initially, Ryan thought that Kent and I were crazy for flying. However, as the airplane talk continued and we normalized our deviant behavior through repeated conversation, Ryan's attitude began to change. He transitioned from shaking his head at us to listening more intently to our conversations. Then he began asking questions. Over time, the flying discussions actively included Ryan, who went from dismissive to intrigued to actively curious about the entire endeavor over the span of a few weeks.

If either Kent or I had been certificated already, one of us would have taken Ryan for an airplane ride to share the experience with him. But that was not an option for either of us on our student pilot certificates. With the Kalamazoo / Battle Creek International Airport (KAZO) directly across the street from work, talk eventually turned to getting Ryan an introductory flight at Duncan Aviation, which was more convenient on a work day afternoon than driving all the way to Three Rivers. With encouragement from me and Kent, Ryan excitedly signed up for an introductory flight at Duncan.

On the afternoon of the fateful intro flight, Kent, Dave (our mentor), and I all went to Duncan Aviation to support Ryan in his first step toward new adventure. Ryan was mildly anxious, but very excited to experience flight the way Kent and I had described it. We gathered on the Duncan ramp to form a cheering section and awaited the return of Ryan and the Cessna 172 that carried him aloft.

Due to nearby Western Michigan University and its well-known aviation program, the instructors at Duncan Aviation skewed young. Most were recent graduates building time in order to meet airline experience minimums. Instructor turnover was high as the fledgling Western grads accumulated the necessary hours and moved on to fly the line for various carriers. The transient CFI population was one of the reasons why Kent and I sought out Bill at Three Rivers. Bill became an instructor as a middle aged adult and was in it to instruct for the long haul, not as a means to an end like the "kids" at Duncan.

This is not to imply that all of the young CFIs at Duncan were poor instructors. I also took an introductory lesson at Duncan and still think very highly of the CFI whose name occupies the very first entry in my logbook. Mike went on to the airlines, married into aviation royalty by wedding a granddaughter of EAA founder Paul Poberezny, and is an active aerobatic pilot deeply involved with IAC (International Aerobatic Club). He remains an aviator through and through.

At Duncan, Kent, Dave, and I turned our attention to the returning Skyhawk, eager to gauge Ryan's reaction to what was undoubtedly a life-altering experience. Sun glare on the windscreen made it impossible to see the airplane's occupants. If Ryan was beaming ear to ear or giving us two thumbs up, we could not discern it. The Cessna sedately taxied to a stop and, moments later, the engine ceased turning. Outwardly, it was a perfunctory conclusion to an introductory flight, one that all three of us hoped would ignite a spark of joy in Ryan.

Then the door opened and Ryan stumbled out, ashen faced, shoulders slumped, shirt visibly soaked in sweat. Uh oh. We all knew the signs of someone succumbing to airsickness. Ryan made a beeline for the Duncan lobby and we gave him some space.

When the young CFI emerged jauntily from the cockpit, we asked how the flight went. Apparently oblivious to Ryan's condition, the young twenty-something gushed, "It was awesome! We flew down Centre Avenue and did some low altitude steep turns right over my girlfriend's apartment to annoy her!" It was a hot summer day and thermals probably contributed to a bouncy ride down low. The instructor had subjected Ryan to an uncomfortable and unnecessary gauntlet of maneuvers for an introductory flight.

Bill and me with N9327U in 2002 (Photo: John Conrad)

Bill was incensed when I told him the story. "That's not how you treat a first time flyer! You should have brought him down here!" Yep. We should have.

Afterward, Ryan declared that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with light aircraft ever again. I was disappointed, but not surprised. On that sunny afternoon, Ryan's burgeoning enthusiasm for flight was crushed by the  thoughtless immaturity of a recent aviation graduate biding time until he could grab a "real job". Apparently, you can teach someone how to manage aircraft systems, to successfully transition between Earth and sky, and to overcome the challenges of the aeronautical environment, but you cannot necessarily impart good judgement.

The young CFI at Duncan had forgotten what it was like to be a first time passenger in a light aircraft and was utterly oblivious to Ryan's distress. The lesson for me was a simple one. What is comfortable and familiar for experienced pilots can be new, disorienting, and even outright frightening for a first time flyer. I always strive to give any passengers -- especially first-timers -- as safe and comfortable an experience as possible. Those who entrust their lives to us deserve nothing less. I am happy to say that the fourteen CFIs that I have personally flown with over the last 20 years have all embodied this ethic, not to mention the fact that I learned something valuable from every one of them.

In Ryan's case, we lost a potential pilot that day and, in his place, created someone with a distaste for "those little airplanes".