It may have been falling apart – the cardboard and paper ripping at the seams and the ink slowly fading from its pages – but within it dwelled the memories and accomplishments of a young man striving to become a pilot. All of this I failed to realize as my grandpa’s logbook passed from his outstretched hands to mine just a few months before his death. Looking back, I wish I had explored the stories hidden within.
I sat in the complex glass cockpit and looked over an array of instruments which I had no idea how to interpret. This was the most advanced and expensive aircraft I had ever been in, but I was not the pilot. In fact, to reach this point, I had flown in an aircraft many consider the archetype of simplicity…
It had been just four months since I climbed out of the plane with the beaming smile on my face that proved I was certified private pilot. At age 17, it truly seemed unreal to me. Nevertheless, today was the day, and a beautiful day at that, for the longest cross country flight of my young career.