W E S T E R N   N E W   Y O R K

This is the airport where I learned to fly. It all started one night at the dinner table, two weeks before my 16th birthday. Dad announced he was going to teach me to fly and I was going to solo on my 16th birthday. The food I was chewing spilled out of my mouth and down the front of my shirt. With mouth agape, I exclaimed "What?"

And there I was, just a 15 year old kid who couldn't even drive a car, and I had been tasked to fly a Cessna 172 in 2 weeks... alone. At the time I was rather terrified and put up a struggle to get out of it. But dad was persistent and I soon folded to his desires... and much to my great thanks and satisfaction. Dad had confidence in me and what he was doing was building up my own confidence. Something that good fathers do for their sons.

So we both set to task. On the weekdays he would pick me up from school and take me to the airport for my lesson. On the weekends we would spent even more time in the air. Frequently we would fly over to Genesee Country Airport to shoot touch-and-go landings and take-offs. The runway at that airport was much longer and wider as compared to the runway at Pine Hill which was a saving grace for me.

As the tic-toc of my birthday drew closer to becoming a reality, my apprehension grew greater and greater. When the day finally arrived we flew over to Genesee Country Airport for some practice. We shot a few touch-and-goes and after he was satisfied I was competent I made a full-stop landing and pulled up to the terminal building. Dad hopped out and I found myself all alone, it was just me, the airplane, and God in the right-seat. I taxied to the active runway then proceeded to take-off. The plan was to just go around the pattern once, make a full-stop landing, then swing around to the terminal and pick up dad.

As I gathered speed down the runway, the airplane seemed "light" and I couldn't figure out why. The airplane soon after "launched" upward from the tarmac and into the sky. I was airborne. It quickly occurred to me that my father's weight was absent on this take-off run and the airplane was more apt at taking flight sooner with its lessened burden.

After take-off I don't recall feeling afraid, all of my attention was acutely focused on nudging the plane around the traffic pattern and maintaining the correct airspeed and altitude. And all the while I found myself singing. I just started singing! I never sing. What was I singing? I was singing "Slow Ride" by the group "FogHat." The song's mantra goes: "Slow ride.... Take it easy!"

I managed to keep all of the airplane's instrument dials within acceptable tolerances, successfully made it around the pattern, then ended the spectacle with a fine landing. As I taxied to the terminal to pick up my father, I felt both relieved and elated. Relieved for having survived the solo flight and elated for having learned to fly in 2 weeks. Yes, dad was right in pushing me to fly, it was certainly a good confidence building exercise.

I never actually got my Private Pilots License until years later when I was 21. Since then my most notable flights to date in terms of distance have been from Western NY to Florida. Three times I made the call to assist my Father when he moved his Flight School to Florida. The other notable excursion and probably my favorite flight to date came years later out in Portland, OR. Flying the plane I learned to fly as a kid, dad and I trekked out to Mt St Helens for some sight-seeing. Flying close but carefully around the mountain's crater, I felt I could reach out and touch the mountain. It was truly both an unforgettable and spiritual experience.

Okay, enough about my flying experiences. At this end of the runway you'll find power lines. So they've added this big, red ball as a pilot aid, an effective way to signal danger to approaching aircraft.