12/08 2eme semaine/ 2nd week

Florence est allee faire un tour de Cessna 172 cette semaine.

Equipee d'un blouson aviateur comme papa, elle fut prete pour parer toutes eventualites. A son age, elle ne se rend pas forcement compte de ce qu'elle survole, encore qu'elle a bien vu le lac "pleasant" et les bateaux de plaisance.
A l'aterrissage, elle a saluee la tour de controle en disant au revoir.
Ce qu'elle a apprecie de plus, dit-elle, ce sont les turbulences, ce qui fut bien rigolo. Beaucoup moins pour Katherine cependant...

What could be better than watching my husband and little girl scurrying about a Cessna 172, both excited as can be to go "a flyin'," happy as beavers at a wood convention. And, of course, what better to top it off than they are both dressed in matching jeans, shirts and flight jackets.

Baby bounced about the airplane as Daddy pre-flighted and Mommy fought with the baby airplane seat (aka, car seat for airplanes). Although the day was to be clear of rain, apparently the weather got another memo and decided for winds to kick up early, spewing dust and such all about the horizon, looking much akin to a dust storm as we see here during Summer Monsoon season.

Regardless, Baby was all excited, bouncing and jabbering a series of syllables and she shouted out at Daddy "Airplane! Airplane!" Daddy shot back with his camera taking a few photos, one of which is on display above.

We're ready for takeoff. Keeping with tradition, Mommy smacked Baby's head on the top of the airplane, not flying enough to keep in memory the low roof line on the interior of the 172. But she shrugged it off with a noted "Boo Boo!"

And the engine was started, the air flow tossing Baby's long locks to and fro. All settled in, we headed to the taxiway. Baby wasn't much interested in wearing the adult headset, even though it allowed her to hear Daddy. The weight was too much for her small frame. So she settled for some squishy ear plugs instead and settled in for a comfy tour de force of the Desert Southwest in winter, with a promising sunset to come (in the song America the Beautiful, Arizona was the inspiration for the phrase "and purple mountains majesty" due to the soft pink, purple sunsets often experienced here.)

We pass the tower on the way to the hold short of our appointed runway (we're at a new airport due to our former airport closing down local GA in favor of corporate GA. This new airport is actually extremely busy and has multiple runways, in opposition to our singular runway from before). I advise Baby to wave bye-bye to tower. She concurs.

Daddy shouts from the cockpit "Ready? Here we go!" And he pushes the throttle, the engine roaring to full power, our rocking a bit side to side with the crosswinds picking up, a side effect of the pending storm. But, alas, with the crisp humidity free air and cool temperature we take off in a small hop, like a super charged bunny rabbit anxious to make way to a patch of carrots.

Aloft Baby settles in with some Cookie Monster banana cookies as she looks out among the little ants and cars that squawk about. I try not to think of the bumpy bumpy of the hoppity hoppity turbulence. I have extremely sensitive inner ear so I can feel the smallest sensations, proof sitting right in my stomach getting knotted up like a pissed off boa constrictor.

Daddy shows us the local lake, which unfortunate for us, holds a few surprise sheers, but we bank to show Baby the view of the water and boats, especially beautiful with the approaching sunset blanketing the water in a shower of sparkly pink and purple fire flies. Fourth of July in winter.

The bumpy bumpy picks up as the winds gust about and Baby begins a series of loud snorts and giggles as she screams "Bumpy! Bumpy! More! More!" Alas, another glider pilot is born.

Daddy turns from his in command position and smiles at his beloved girl, clarifying that the noise he heard emanating from her was from happiness and not distress. He is relieved to find it was giggles and not fright. Daddy and Baby destined to become best flying buddies. For this I am grateful, from my now resigned position to the back seat clutching a borrowed sick bag and moaning like a Muslim for help from God to see me through without, dare I say, vomiting.

Time to move home. Baby can only stand being in a car seat too long, especially since our ride to and fro the airport involves up to a two hour round trip strapped down in the car as well.

We come in for a landing with Baby still giggling and yelling for more turbulence. We again wave to tower, this time to say hello.

After parking the aircraft Baby takes off on the tarmac giggling and yelling "Airplane! Airplane! More?!" And we run to the FBO to allay exposure to further cold winds as Baby keeps asking when we will return.

Success. Unadulterated success, for the singular goal was to start the process of instilling a joy of flight that, pray, is to last a lifetime and to allow a passion to be shared between father and daughter.

We'll now schedule regular flights and fit in, when season arrives, some glider rides to give her the full taste of the joy of turbulence, aka wind.

Oh lucky Daddy, to have help born such a kindred spirit of flight.

Now I just need to go on EBay and get more barf bags!

Out.