Defying Gravity

Some of my earliest memories take place in various kinds of aircraft. Because I was so young when some of those memories were formed, the memories themselves are mostly imagery without any commentary. They are just the voiceless visuals that I absorbed along with the emotions that were evoked by what I was seeing as well as the early impressions I formed surrounding them. Little snippets of the interiors of aircraft mixed with visions of blue skies and puffy white cumulus clouds as far as the eye could see.

The memories become more vivid and detailed by the time I was in elementary school. The commentary is intact and the sensory details are vivid. My dad was a pilot, so it was a common occurrence to be around aircraft and aircraft hangers as well as other pilots.

Most of my friend's dads weren't pilots, so the things they did with their fathers were different. Not better or worse, just different. While I was growing up, my dad was out traversing the globe and coming back with stories that filled us with wonder. Frequently when my dad was returning from some faraway place, he would buzz the house on his way to the airport. We would hear the dull roar of the engines growing louder and we would stop whatever we were doing along with our friends and all of our eyes would turn to the sky, scanning in every direction until we spotted him. The roar of the engines would grow louder and the aircraft would get bigger and bigger until he made his low pass over the house. He'd bank the aircraft as he passed over and we'd all wave. Generally speaking, we knew he'd be home within an hour or so and that he would probably have something unique that represented a culture far away.

On the weekends when my dad was home, he'd sometimes take my brother and I flying along with a friend or two in tow. Generally speaking, there was no destination in mind; we were just going up for the thrill of it. There was this two seat aircraft, a Citabria (that's airbatic spelled backwards), that we always looked forward to riding in. The Citabria had a single engine with one seat in front of the other and it was built for aerobatics. That's my kind of airplane.

My brother and I would help to push the large heavy doors of the hangar open revealing the Citabria waiting inside for its weekend workout. Dad would push the plane out of the hangar onto the tarmac where it would be cleaned up and given a pre-flight before the festivities could begin. The excitement and anticipation would build throughout the process and we'd have to come to an agreement about who got to go first. We would methodically go through the pre-flight with my dad and he would explain each step and why it was important and he'd have us participate from beginning to end. To this day, if I step into a hangar or I'm at an airport and I smell that combination of wax and aircraft fuel, my thoughts immediately drift to the Citabria. My pulse increases and I get goose bumps when the memory is evoked.

It wasn't that important whether I got to go first or not, if you actually believe that's possible. There were a couple of ways of looking at it. If you got to go first, your gratification came quickly. If you went last, you got to ride home still on the high that you had from your recent adventure. What was of real importance is what happened once you were inside the Citabria.

I'd climb into my seat, put the headset on and plug it in so that I could hear dad talking to me as well as what he said over the radio. He would open the window and shout in a clear voice, "CLEAR PROP!" and then he would fire up the engine. The prop would send a warm wind through the aircraft and through my hair causing my eyes to narrow with excitement. Soon afterwards we'd taxi across the tarmac onto the taxiway and my smile could no longer be contained. We would taxi to a designated spot, turn the nose into the wind for the run-up and go through the motions. Dad would increase the throttle, in turn increasing the RPM's, and check the magnetos. Switch to left magneto, watch for the drop in RPM's and then switch back to both, repeating the procedure on the other side. I would see and feel the controls moving as he rolled the stick from side to side and depressed the rudders on either side to make sure the flight controls were free and correct. A quick call over the radio and we would be moving once again.

There would be no further delay unless another aircraft was ahead of us or one was on final approach. We would roll out onto the runway, turning so that the Citabria's nose was on the centerline and go full throttle. Our speed would pick up as we dashed down the runway, the engine would roar, and the wind would continue to blow through the inside of the aircraft. People that don't like to fly haven't had this type of experience where you feel like you are so much a part of the aircraft. All of your senses are involved by the time you lift off and go airborne. The sound of the engine, the sensation of the wind, the feel of the speed and the momentary hiccup in gravity when you lift off and then lower the nose of the aircraft to the ideal climbing attitude. I'd glance down as we gained altitude and watched the cars and buildings grow smaller and smaller. I'd scan the gauges wondering how long it would be until we would be at the appropriate altitude to unleash the Citabria's aerobatic capabilities. The time would pass quickly and throughout the climb my dad would point out things of note on the ground. "See your school down there? Better to be up here, eh?" and we'd laugh.

Once we had enough altitude between the ground and us, the real fun would begin. Dad would do a couple of clearing turns, looking for traffic on all sides as well as above and below us to make sure there were no other aircraft in the area. The next thing I knew, the nose would drop and we would be diving towards the ground at a high rate of speed. The engine would roar and suddenly dad would raise the nose of the aircraft and we would be climbing straight up like a couple of astronauts. The G forces would push me back against my seat and I felt like I weighed a ton. Sometimes I would try to pull my head forward and laugh when I could barely move. Just then, when I couldn't feel any heavier, we'd hit the peak of our loop and for a few moments, we would be weightless as we went inverted before diving back towards the ground. I would float upwards out of the seat and if I hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, I'd be floating in mid air. Sometimes dad would mix it up and as we came out of a loop, he'd roll the aircraft to the right or the left and we'd go wing over wing in a barrel roll. It was total sensory overload and I loved every minute. In my field of vision I would see the horizon rolling in front of us - ground, sky, ground, sky and sometimes we'd pause only seeing ground or sky briefly. I don't think it mattered how many loops or rolls we completed, I was always ready for more.

Eventually we would make our way back to the airport, surrendering to gravity and rejoin the earthlings we had left behind. I never wanted to come back down, but we always did - until the next time. After we'd touch down, we'd taxi back over to the tarmac and either we would go through the shutdown procedures or I would climb out and the next lucky passenger would climb in. None of us had exactly the same ride because we all liked different things. I was in it for the aerobatics, pure and simple. I could care less about sightseeing. It was all about the thrill of flight and feeling like I was a part of the aircraft for a little while.

When I would go to school on Monday, we'd all be exchanging stories about what we did over the weekend and since no one really understood what I had been doing, I would just say, "I went flying with my dad" and leave it at that. It's not like anyone would have believed me if I had said that I had experienced more G forces than they could imagine and that moments later I had been weightless like an astronaut doing barrel rolls through the sky. So, I'd say I had gone flying and they would ask me if I liked it to which I'd reply, "yeah, it's pretty cool". In my mind there would be a series of images and feelings associated with those images and I'd inevitably smile. My friends would smile back not really knowing or understanding the depth of my happiness. It was like there was this whole other world out there and not many people knew about it. I couldn't be there all the time, or even for a very long time when I was there, but I always wanted to go back.