The Spirit of Adventure - Michael McCafferty

Day 9: Only Pilots Know Why Birds Sing
Le Touquet, France
The rose-lavender-peach colors of dawn filtered through my window this morning
to invite me to go flying. I couldn't have been more ready to start the day.
Unfortunately, it would be at least six more hours before we unwound all the red
tape associated with 1) Normal preflight preparation, 2) Flying in France, 3) Flying out of
Le Bourget airport, and 4) Flying a plane associated with the Paris Air Show.
At last, I taxied out to Runway 25 and pushed the throttle full forward. For the
first time in two months I was being pressed back in my seat, speeding down the runway,
getting lighter all the time, lifting up into the headwind until that magic moment when the
wheels finally separate from the ground and the wings take on the entire weight of the
plane, the moment when man becomes bird, the point in time when the dreams of all
mankind from the dawn of history are realized -- I fly.
At only 1,000' I can see the skyline of Paris, the City of Light, with the Eiffel Tower
as the "piece de resistance" prominently set out against the background. The surrounding
countryside is green all around me, the highways leading out of town become narrower,
the cumulo-nimbus clouds become more broken, and the day is so perfect I want to
scream. There is no substitute for flying. It can only be appreciated by a flyer. Only pilots
know why birds sing.
In a short while, I am crossing above Pasan-Beaumont, a small uncontrolled (there is
no air traffic controller) airfield to the north of Paris, turning into a right downwind
pattern for a landing on the asphalt runway, 28 Right. There is a grass runway just to the
left of it, and I want to touch down on this soft natural grass which I so badly ache for, but
I am saving it for desert. Right now, I want to just do a normal landing, maybe a few of
them, just to prove to myself that I can still do it. It has been 60 days since the last time I
landed an airplane and I really needed to be sure that I could still do it. Is it like riding a
bicycle? Is it impossible to forget how to do it? Will it come back to me in an instant?
The answer, dear reader, is yes. It came back to me as though my last landing
were yesterday. It was not perfect however, but then I have had only one perfect landing
in my 1,544 landings so far (yes, I record and count every one). Maybe I will tell you
about that one someday. For now, it is important only to say that this one was delightful
in its own particular way. This was my first landing in France, so how could it be
anything but wonderful. Oh, I admit it was a shade fast on the approach, and so I floated
a bit long down the runway, and maybe I bounced just ever so slightly (not enough so that
anyone would ever notice, but then I'm a perfectionist). All things considered, it was a
very good landing.
I loved it so much I rolled out only a little bit and then poured the coals to it and
lifted off for another try. The second one was even better, but still had some imperceptible
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