We rented a large house in Greenville, Pennsylvania. The house was three stories with ten bedrooms. We must have been projecting the future and the large family we wanted when we chose this house because it was far too large for us now. Despite the excessive space the house provided, I wanted my own office. I didn't plan on hiring anyone and I would travel considerably so I had less need for an office now than ever before, but I wanted an office so I rented space in Greenville's small business district.

Greenville had a small airport. I'd only taken the one flying lesson in Virginia Beach but desperately wanted to get my pilot's licenses, so before we unpacked I drove out to the airport. It was a small place with about two dozen planes based there, but there was a flight instructor and a three planes for rent. Having learned my husband lesson from my previous flying lesson, I talked to my wife first and got her approval before signing up for flying lessons. Mary enthusiastically agreed so I started taking flying lessons. While taking flying lessons I am sure I thought about my software company and customer base, but I didn't put a full hour into my business until after I received my pilot's licenses. I set up my office with furniture, phone, fax machine (ancient tech, Goggle it) and multi-user UNIX based Altos computer, but the only thing important enough to force me to work was if an existing P.A.M. customer had a problem or needed a software upgrade. I pretty much took a sabbatical to learn to fly. Fortunately, we had some money put back.

I designed and wrote sophisticated multi-tasking, multi-user software, but I did none of those things myself. Unlike my software, I was a single-user, single-task kind of guy. I do not multi-task. Never have. I can do most things well, but only if I do one at a time. I forget this often because multiple projects has an appeal. Regardless of the simplicity of the project, I can't multi-task. This memoir is a perfect example. When I began this project I was in the process of writing my third fiction novel. (also up on WattPad: Starry Night). My memoir was a hobby project, meant to memorialize my life story for my children (a quadruple bypass open-heart surgery reminds a fellow time is limited). My focused project was my third novel. Rebecca (daughter who handles my writing) thought the memoir was interesting enough to share so she put it up on WattPad. As the memoir progressed she found a writing contest with an April deadline. The hobby became a task. Foolishly I tried to write novel and memoir at the same time. A combination of the memoir's April deadline and my sixtieth birthday made the decision for me. I put the novel on hold and focused on the memoir. Even with something as simple as making a record of my life, I can't spare the brain-power to write fiction.

This is why I couldn't taking flying lessons and operate my business. Unlike the simple project I am engaged in now, both software design and flying lessons require a person's full attention. Nearly every pilot in the world was able to train while holding down a job or going to college. I could not. Until I received my pilot's license everything else in my life was put on hold. For this reason I needed to complete the training as fast as possible. Unfortunately, my flight instructor was slow and methodical. A skilled pilot and instructor, but on a different speed than I. To be fair, until your body gets use to the noise, feel, and multi-axis motion of a small plane, you can't absorb more than thirty minutes worth of flight training at a time.

For the first week I was limited to two, half hour flights. I was miserable. I couldn't run my business and my wife considered me poor company, so I spent my time at the little airport. I talked to the pilots, the mechanics and other students. I watched planes take off and land. I helped refuel airplanes passing through, I shoveled snow. I read flying magazines cover to cover. I became an airport groupie. I've been called obsessive.

The second week my instructor gave me a full hour of flight training and told me to come back in three days. I'd learned not to press him so had to wait three days. After the third lesson I mentioned I had the next day free. I'd been in his way since I started taking lessons so he knew I was free every day, but he let it go and scheduled our lesson for the next day. I did well in this fourth hour of instruction so the instructor agreed to let me pick up the pace. FAA regulations require a student pilot to have a minimum of 40 hours of instructional flight, twenty with an instructor and twenty solo. A good student cold solo (fly sans instructor) after 10 hours of instruction, so my instructor decided to get me to that point so I could rent the airplane and fly alone. He knew this would be the only way to get me out of his hair.

Whatever the reason, my training advanced fast at this point. In the third week I completed my seventh hour of instructed flight and was there for number eight when Mary brought the kids to the lesson to watch me fly. So she's at the airport with the kids, sitting in the grass beside the runway to watch me do touch-n-go's with the instructor. He set me up for a normal touch-n-go, we took off, flew to pattern altitude of 800 feet then turned back to the airport for another approach. Before this he'd have me fly a normal landing approach touch. or roll the wheels on the ground, then give it full power and take off again without stopping. A "touch-n-go". This time he had me bring the plane to a complete stop. I did as he instructed with no difficulty and stopped about half way down the short runway.

At this point he pulled out my flight log-book, made a notation in it, then removed my FAA medical certificate, then signed and dated the back of the medical form. "Your student solo permit," he explained. "Fly touch-n-go's. Stop if you get tired or uncomfortable about anything. I'll call on the radio if I want you to stop or don't like something I see." After saying this he got out of the airplane. I said what I was thinking, "I only have seven hours." "Good work," he said, then closed the door. I looked in the grass to see Mary and the children waving at me. I had to laugh. She knew and didn't tell me. Flying solo is a big step, but I was ready for it.

I returned to the beginning of the runway and did a standard take-off run as I'd been taught in those seven hours of training. Half way down the runway the airplane started flying. It normally took more runway to build up enough speed for take-off so this took me by surprise. Regardless, there was no holding the thing down, it was ready to fly and did. As I climbed out at a faster rate than normal I looked over at the empty seat and figured it out. The small plane was 240 pounds lighter than normal. That explained less runway and faster climb. I reached 800 feet so turned back into the pattern and looked down to see my family and instructor watching. Emily waved, making me smile.

I looked at the empty seat again. That's when it hit me. I was alone in this airplane. For a millisecond the thought frightened me, then I smiled. I lived for moments like this. I could do it. I was sure of it. I was a little nervous for the first touch and go, but after that it was simple. It wasn't long before the instructor called me on the radio and told me to bring it home. He knew he'd have to call me because I wouldn't stop until I ran out of gas. I'd been bitted by the flying bug. I loved to fly from that first introductory lesson. I would always love to fly. Even now, writing about flying leaves me longing for the sky.

After I the solo my log book filled with hours fast. It also got interesting fulfilling FAA requirements: night flying and a number of night landings, and three cross country solo flights. The first was a simple day flight to an airport 100 miles away. The next was a night flight to an airport 90 miles away and back. Both were fun but uneventful; a rare combination for me. The third cross country flight was "the long cross country". This one involved a trip of three legs, at each I had to land and get out of the plane, then continue on. At one of the stops I'd have to refuel since the Cessna 150 couldn't safely make the distance without more avgas. My trip was from my home field in Greenville, Pennsylvania to Sandusky, Ohio, then down to Zanesville, in southern Ohio, then back home to Greenville. On the day scheduled for this flight I did a careful flight plan including two calls to flight service to make sure the winter weather would hold. My instructor double checked everything I did, including his own call to flight service to check weather. Satisfied everything was good, he signed off on the trip.

The flight to Sandusky went fine. I had to fly the entire route on a flight plan, one filed with ATC (Air Traffic Control) and was a bit intimidated flying through Cleveland's busy air space, but the air traffic controllers were patient and helpful. As a student pilot, every call to ATC has to include the term, "Student Pilot", so they don't complicate things for me. On the ground in Sandusky I called ATC to close my flight plan, then used the bathroom and drank a Coke. (No Moon Pie this time.) While drinking the Coke I studied the sky to the west and didn't like what I saw. I made a another call to flight service who assured me radar showed clear sky for my next leg to Zanesville. I nearly got into my plane to continue on, but decided to top off my fuel tanks there. There's an old flying adage that says: You can't have too much runway in front of you, you can't have too much altitude, nor can you have too much fuel in your tanks. Feeling better about having a full load of fuel, I called ATC and opened my flight plan for Zanesville.

Zanesville was to my south, the building clouds I didn't like to my west. I watched those clouds close during my flight south. I had no practical experience as a pilot, but I did have experience with the weather as a sailor, so it was based on experience that those cloud formations made me nervous. Since both flight service and my instructor agreed I'd be back on the ground in Greenville ahead of the storm I tried to put it out of my mind an focus on flying the airplane. "Fly the airplane first" is another pilot's mantra. No matter what else is going on you've got to keep your aircraft under control. Since I was a student pilot on my first long cross country, flying the airplane and navigating kept me plenty busy. Still, what I saw out my right window continued to make me nervous. When I couldn't stand watching the weather build to the west any longer I called ATC to ask for permission to make a turn to a heading of 090. Convinced the storm to my west was going to overtake me I wanted to go the other way.

In response to my request for a heading change the controller said, "Press indent". I pressed a button on my transponder that made the four digit code I was assigned for this flight to go bright on the controller's radar screen so he could be positive which blip on his screen was me. "Negative on your requested heading correction. The weather has collapsed around you. You're flying in small open piece of sky surrounded by IFR conditions with heavy snow and Known Icing. Confirm IFR rated and aircraft has deicing equipment."

"Crap." IFR meant Instrument Flight Rules, which was an advanced type of training. Training twice as difficult as getting your pilot's licenses. An IFR rated pilot and IFR rated airplane was required to fly into the conditions the controller described. I'd had only basic instrument flight training so was not qualified for IFR flight conditions. Even if I was qualified, the trainer I was flying was not.

"Say again, Cessna," said the controller. "Did you say crap."