The first time I put my hands on the controls of an aircraft was in 1980, on a Lockheed L-1011 TriStar carrying 250 passengers. I understand that sounds incredible by today’s standards, where the cockpit remains locked from before taxi through landing, but the world was a different place forty-six years ago.
My paternal grandfather was a pilot, and I was riding the jump seat from Charlotte to Fort Worth to spend a week with him. After reaching cruise altitude, I was offered my grandfather’s seat, while the co-pilot was at the controls. MY grandfather, encouraging my desire to fly, instructed me to “grab the yoke” and then had me bank the plane to a desired heading. I was flying an L-1011 with passengers on board. He took a picture with my Polaroid camera, so there is proof out there somewhere.
I already wanted to learn to fly. My mother was a pilot. My father was a pilot. I wanted to fly, and we lived within walking distance of KAKH, the municipal airport in Gastonia, where I spent many weekends bothering pilots and asking for rides. Pretty soon, I was handling the controls with flight instructors and friendly pilots at the airport. Unfortunately, it took nearly thirty years to complete my pilot’s training and obtain my license.
I’ve always enjoyed flying and recently took up paragliding. For those who don’t know, this sport involves using an extra-large “parachute” to “fly” off mountaintops and large hills with little to no wind. With the right amount of wind, a skilled pilot can spend hours soaring along mountain ridges and riding thermals. Unfortunately, I’m not “well-trained” yet and am still learning the sport. But I will share more stories, photos, and videos as my skills improve.
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Greg J. Gardner