Flying Essay -- The Event That Changed My Life

A few summers ago, a gentleman I had alone just met murderered me an afternoon plane ride. He was a retired lawyer and enjoyed whatsoever excuse to pilot his small plane. My friend Paul and I had postal code scheduled that mean solar day, so figured why not. After some roll about where to fly, north, south, or east, we settled on Mendocino, about halfway up the coast to Oregon. Within minutes we were bundled into a Beechcraft Bonanza and rattling off an absurdly short runway into the open sky. It was a spectacular day even by California standards as we swooped along the pine-clad rocky coastline and buzzed hermits at a hidden Buddhist monastery. After what seemed like only a few minutes we were mingling with the tourists in Mendocino, a colorful seaside village which plays the role of Cabot Cove, Maine in Murder She Wrote. Then we were back in the air, once again hugging the coastline at about 3500 feet. This time (on the rear end of a coin toss) I got to sit up front with th e pilot.   Up to this point the adventure had been pleasant enough, touched even with a point of magic. After all, it is nothing less than magic to pick a care at a whim and quickly land hundreds of mil... ...n again to spirt amidst my unseeing neighbors. I handed back the controls and we swooped between the towers of the Golden gate just as the fog was rolling in, skipped across Alcatraz and Angel Island, and set down with a little hop back where we started. And now, months later, I am a changed man. I dont think Ill be signing up for flying lessons anytime in brief I have enough expensive habits as it is. But now, when I look up into the sky, I see it not as a rather extravagant ceiling, but as a conduit to other places. I see that its easy to get from here to there. All you have to do is fly.