Many years ago, during a summer hiatus from college, a young man I was dating invited me to fly with him in a plane.
Looking back I can't imagine what possessed me to say yes, other than the invincibility of youth.
I remember the plane was a crop duster type with no windows other than a windshield. I swear it was not much more developed than the one the Wright brothers flew.
In other words it was exhilarating — but scary!
We were flying so low I recall just missing a wire of some sort.
Recently I had an experience that, while being much safer, still made me recall that long-ago flight.
My good friend and neighbor, Lon Wardrop, has a plane he uses for his business. The plane was coming to Phoenix for the day and my husband and I needed to return to Utah, so we took his offer to ride with him. We got more than we bargained for.
For some reason my husband and I didn't ask many questions about the plane — our conversations usually center on neighborhood stuff.
When my husband and I got to Gateway airport in Gilbert, Ariz., we were met by David, the pilot.
He was a friendly, nice-looking and fairly young guy, but he was dressed pretty casually for a pilot.
That should have been our first clue.
Then we walked through the passenger building out onto the tarmac to a sweet-looking little plane — a Cirrus four-passenger G3 turbo prop — that, after riding on big jetliners, seemed no larger than a car.
A great thing about small planes is flying low enough to see some scenery.
What a vista we saw flying over Phoenix and up toward Flagstaff as the sun was setting. We even took some pictures of familiar landscapes that turned out very well, if I do say so myself.
However, when the pilot said we needed to put on the oxygen masks, I thought he was kidding.
He wasn't.
In addition to the breathing tubes up our nose, we had to talk to each other using a microphone and earphones.
That took a little time to get the hang of.
There were no pretzels, no bathroom. Houston, we have liftoff!
David, although young, was experienced and confident. He made us feel safe, even when he told us, because we had head winds that slowed the flight, he didn't want to fly to Camp Williams and back to the Provo airport, so he was going to slip the plane to keep the engine cool so it didn't crack.
OK, perhaps too much information?
Since he would be flying the plane sideways — something he was sure we would notice — he didn't want us to worry.
But we did, especially when he said he was going to climb high to miss a mountain and then dive into the airport.
Earlier he asked us if we wanted him to roll the plane.
We said no.
Two of our daughters-in-law have fathers who are pilots. We had occasion to tell them about the experience.
They each said something to the effect that "that is real flying — none of that sugar-coated fancy stuff."
When we showed a picture of the plane to our friend, Bob Oaks, who once flew a fighter jet, he said it looked positively roomy.
It sure was more interesting and fun than the cattle car experience of a big jet.
The only disappointment was it got too dark to see the Grand Canyon, so obviously we'll need to buzz that another time — weather permitting, of course.
e-mail: sasyoung2@aol.com