“ You seem to know your way around a plane,” Mitchel said.
“ Yeah, well, I’ve preflighted this one enough, I could do it in my sleep.”
“ I’ll bet you could fly it in your sleep, too. You just need a little confidence.”
“ Checking it over and taking it off are two different things,” Rick said, feeling a slight tingle at the base of his spine.
“ Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine,” Mitchel said, climbing in the right side of the plane. Rick heard the older man grunt as he pulled himself in. “These old bones don’t do anything anymore without aching and hurting,” he said.
“ I’ve got a few aches and pains of my own.” Rick strapped himself into the pilot’s seat, turned the master switch on, visually checked the flaps from the inside of the plane, like he’d done earlier, by flipping the flap switch up and down. He rotated the yoke, checking the ailerons, moved the foot pedals, checking the rudder, then he looked at Mitchel.
“ Mixture,” Mitchel said.
Rick set it for full rich.
“ Carb heat off,” he said.
Rick set the carburetor heat.
“ Fuel gauges.”
Rick checked them, saw that both tanks were full. He gave a silent thanks to Christina.
“ Prime the engine.”
Rick pushed and pulled on the throttle, a strong, quick three times.
“ Ignition.”
Rick started the plane.
“ Oil pressure.”
Rick checked it and saw it climb into the green arc.
“ Brakes on and bring it to about a thousand RPM.”
Rick tapped the brakes and pulled out the fuel control knob till the tach needle climbed up and settled at a thousand RPM.
“ I already checked the weather,” Mitchel said, “clear with about five knots coming out of the west.”
Rick looked at the wind sock, sure enough a slight wind was blowing right down the runway.
“ All right,” Mitchel said, “we’ll fly directly over Los Angeles International, through the VFR corridor, at fifteen hundred feet.”
“ What’s that?” Harrison Harpine asked from the back seat. Rick thought he sounded tense.
“ According to VFR, that’s Visual Flight Rules, private pilots and their small planes are allowed to over fly the airport northbound at that altitude. We’ll be too high to interfere with traffic landing and taking off and too low to interfere with commercial traffic passing overhead,” Mitchel said.
“ So we’re going right over LAX? I’ll be right on top of the big jets?” Harpine said.
“ Yes, sir, right on top of them,” Mitchel said.
“ Hot damn, wait till I tell the boys.” He didn’t sound tense anymore, more like a child going for ice cream.
“ I’m going to dial in the Gormon VOR.” Mitchel bent forward, turned the knob on the VOR radio. “We’ll fly that fix as soon as we’re over LAX. All you have to do is keep the needle centered and it’ll guide you safely through the pass in the mountains and out of the L.A. Basin. I’ve got all the frequencies for the stations all the way to Bakersfield, but they’re really not necessary, because we can fly the highway.” Interstate 5, a road straight as an edge, cut through California from L.A. through Bakersfield to Sacramento and beyond.
Five minutes later they were through with ground control, through with the runup, through with the controller in the tower. The engine was purring, the prop was turning, the plane ahead had just lifted off and then Rick was facing down the four thousand feet of runway, trying to slow his rapid heartbeat.
“ Everything seem familiar?” Mitchel asked.
“ Yeah,” Rick said.
“ Nothing out of order?”
Rick ran his eyes over the controls, made a last check of flaps and rudder. “Nothing.”
“ Then you’re ready.”
“ Hey, wait a cotton pickin’ minute. What’s going on around here?” Harpine piped up.
“ Calm down, Mr. Harpine, we’re getting ready to take off.”
“ Does he know how to fly this thing or what?”
“ Not now, Mr. Harpine,” Mitchel said.
“ No! Now’s the time. Turn this thing off. I want out!” The smooth syrup was gone from his voice. He was shrill now.
Rick stomped on the brakes, pulled the throttle all the way out.
“ No, I want out!” Harpine shouted.
Rick released the brakes and the plane responded, shooting down the runway like a horse given its head.
“ Stop!” Harrison Harpine screamed.
“ Shut up, Mr. Harpine!” Mitchel screamed louder. Then to Rick, “Start your roll at about seventy or seventy-five.”
Rick kept his concentration on the long runway. In an instant it would be too late to abort. He looked at the airspeed indicator. Forty, forty-five.
“ Let me out of here!”
Fifty, fifty-five.
“ Sweet Mother of God, I’m going to die!”
Sixty, sixty-five and he started to ease back on the yoke.
“ Shit, shit, shit, stop it!”
Seventy, and he pulled back a touch harder.
“ You’re both under arrest. Stop this now! You are under arrest! This is an order!”
Seventy-five and Rick felt the wheels start to leave the ground as he pulled back a little harder.
“ Now, motherfucker! Shut it down!”
Eighty, eighty-five and he pulled back more. They were well past the point of no return.
“ Noooo!” Harpine screamed as they left the ground.
Tense, Rick smiled as he kept the back pressure on the yoke, the familiar tingling sensation shooting through him.
“ Feel the rush?” Mitchel said.
“ Yeah,” Rick answered.
“ Some people were just born to fly. You’re one of ’em. Every time you leave the ground that rush will get to ya. Like a runner’s high, like drugs. Makes no difference the type of plane-jet, helicopter or single-engine-land. It’ll even attack you in tourist class on a 747.”
“ Yeah,” Rick said, again. He knew exactly what the man was talking about. He relaxed the pressure on the yoke a bit, guiding the plane, flying the plane.
“ Wanna do a touch and go?”
“ What’s a touch and go?” Harpine squeaked from the back.
“ Can we?” Rick said.
“ If I’m gonna sign your ticket, I’ll have to see at least one.”
“ What’s a touch and go?” Chief Harpine squeaked again.
“ Make your climbing turn to the right and level off at a thousand,” Mitchel said.
“ I remember,” Rick said.
“ Mr. Harpine,” Mitchel turned toward the back, “what’s the problem?”
“ I heard you telling him what to do. Maybe it took me a bit to figure it out, but now I got it figured. He don’t know how to fly a plane. You didn’t tell me that.”
“ Let me assure you, Mr. Gordon is an excellent pilot. But we have rules. If you haven’t flown in a year, you have to have a licensed instructor sign you off to stay legal. Since I’m licensed, we decided to kill two birds with one stone. Mr. Gordon will fly us up to Bakersfield and I’ll sign off his log book and he’ll be legal again.”
“ That’s it? You’re not shitting me?”
“ No, I’m not shitting you. Other than a practice landing and a few maneuvers in the air, that’s it. By the time we land in Bakersfield, Mr. Gordon will be as qualified as he ever was.”
“ Serious?”
“ Serious. You can just sit back and take in the view. Enjoy the flight. I brought a thermos of coffee along. As soon as we get the touch and go out of the way, we’ll sit back and relax. How’s that sound?” Mitchel’s voice was soothing and smooth.
“ Fine. Sorry I got excited,” Harpine said.
“ Okay, Rick, we’re at seven-fifty,” Mitchel said, “climbing at a hundred and fifty a minute, that’s fine, make your turn to your downwind.”
Rick turned the aircraft, then leveled off at a thousand feet.
“ You want to make one of your famous side slip landings?” Mitchel asked.
“ I’ve never done it after dark.”
“ Plane flies the same.” Mitchel picked up the mike. “Long Beach tower this is Cessna One-Six-Tango in a right downwind for Two-Five Right, requesting permission for a touch and go.”