But that’s another post for later this week.

After the service was over, we went out for a bite to eat and had a rather interesting discussion about his spiritual/religious beliefs, some of which I agreed with while I had difficulty wrapping my head around others (i.e. a wrathful God who doles out punishment).

At one point we were philosophizing (I love to philosophize!) about how God uses everyone as a messenger of sorts to reach out to others.  As I was talking about a specific instance of how I was used, I realized it had the making of a useful post here at Adversity University.

In September of 2000, I was looking for a part-time job to supplement my income while building a professional speaking career.  I had just left the world of Wall Street only a few years prior to pursue my newly established dreams of becoming a speaker, writer and eventually pilot.  Because I was still in the process of developing speech materials and getting myself out there, I needed to find a way to pay the bills.

It was right around that time I had a few months of flight training under my belt after having made the stupendous discovery on the Internet that deaf pilots had been flying since 1948.

By that point, I was taking flight instruction at a small one-man flight school.  But after several lessons, I was informed that Jason Barton (the flight instructor) had been offered a flying job in Colorado.  That meant he was shutting down and moving out West.  (The photo you see is a much thinner me standing next to a small Cessna 150 after my very first flight lesson on March 23, 2000).

An idea occurred to me that I should not only find another flight school, preferably a bigger one, but also find one where I could work part-time in exchange for steep airplane rental discounts.  I had gotten this idea from reading stories of pilots who had financed their flight training that way.

One thing led to another and I found myself at Troy-Oakland airport where I previously shared the story of a flight instructor who gave selflessly.  It was he who told me of an opening at that airport and introduced me to Susan, the personnel director.

An interview was set for me to meet two young men who were running the operations department.  For purposes of this story, I will call them Chris and Joe.

I distinctly remember the interview well.  Chris seemed pleasant but Joe was a bit guarded.  I could tell that Joe wasn’t all that enamored about hiring a deaf guy.   He didn’t seem to think I had what it took to be a line service specialist (i.e. fuel customer planes, tow them around and assist the mechanics with light maintenance work).  Carl, on the other hand, was enthusiastically full of ideas on how they could provide me with a text-based pager that vibrated every time a fuel order came through.

Despite Joe’s stiff resistance, I was hired.

As you can imagine, there was a lot to absorb, one of which was learning how to transfer thousands of gallons of fuel from the fuel farm into the trucks.  The learning curve, while not excessively steep, was a challenge for any newbie. (Photo credit:  Charly Mann)

One evening, I was out behind the fuel farm and Joe was there, watching me hook up the hoses and pull a few switches.  Of course, I was very nervous because I had all sorts of fears about what would happen if I made a mistake like spilling fuel or pulling the wrong switches.

As darkness fell, I had to use a flashlight throughout the task.  Joe was standing there with a smirk on his face.  It was almost as if he was willing me to make a mistake so that he could prove that I wasn’t up for it.

At one point, I asked him for some assistance and show me the ropes.  In an arrogant sort of way, he impatiently huffed and puffed his way through the procedures and literally dared me to follow suit.  That only made me even more nervous.

Needless to say, it was not a pleasant evening.  I had to shine the flashlight at his lips so that I could read them, which caused his ire to rise even further.  Thick tension hung in the air – you could have literally sliced through it, leaving a trail in its wake.

Eventually I eased into the routine and fell into the groove, no longer needing his unwanted attention.  Meanwhile, I was taking flight lessons from that flight instructor I told you about earlier (see the link above).  Apparently this earned me a bit of begrudging respect from Joe, especially after I finally became a pilot.  It didn’t take long after that before we became good friends, often flying together to a lot of different places.

One night we were flying back to the airport from a trip to Ohio (where I would eventually relocate to) when we experienced an electrical failure in the cockpit.

Unlike the photo you see at the left, instrument panel was pitch black.  All we could see was what was outside, the sprawling city lights, to guide us.

Now, this was not in of itself a catastrophic event because we were flying on a clear night but it required nerves of steel.  (Photo credit:  Dr. Engineer-001)

Since I had flown the first leg (from Michigan to Ohio) it was his turn to fly.  The emergency put him on the hot seat and I could see that his face was twitching, the likes of which I had never seen him do before.  The cockiness was no longer there.  This was for real.

I was instantly transformed from a lazy passenger in the right seat to a navigator, pointing out various cities on the way back.  A special flashlight was used to monitor critical instruments like the airspeed and altitude indicators, among others.

All of a sudden, we were a team.  Unlike the day I was learning how to fill up the fuel trucks, we really needed each other.  What a reversal of roles!  Obviously, we made it back safely but neither of us ever forgot the incident.  I would say this flight cemented our friendship even tighter for he realized I was one sharp fella in the cockpit after all.

A few years later, the airport management disbanded and sold the company to someone else who laid off virtually everyone including Joe and I.  Joe found another airport job and got married while I moved down to Ohio to begin my quest for the historic instrument rating.

We kept in touch mainly by email.  One day I received message that he and his wife wanted to fly themselves down to Ohio to meet with me on an urgent matter.

“We want to get some advice from you…it has to do with our baby boy.”

I quickly replied, “Sure, I’d be happy to see you two, come on down anytime!”

Arrangements were made to meet at Wadsworth Airport, a small field without an air traffic control tower where I had been renting planes for some time.  A date and estimated time of arrival was set.

On the day of their arrival, I excitedly drove myself to the airport and waited with anticipation.  Swirling in my mind were thoughts of what on earth they wanted to talk to me about.

Pretty soon a twin engine Diamond aircraft appeared in the sky, very close to the time Joe said they’d arrive.

It was them.

After Joe parked and shut down the aircraft, the three of us piled in my car and headed to Bob Evans for a bite to eat.  We ordered our meals and made idle chit-chat for several minutes.

My heart kept pounding.  I was impatient for them to get to the crust of the real reason for flying down to see me.  They weren’t just coming out to say, “Hello.”

And by the way, while we were catching up on things, I kept marveling at the fact that this guy, who once didn’t like me, was now here with his wife……to get my advice on something!

I kept watching for signs leading to an opening when it finally came.

From his wife.

“About our son……”

Here it comes. Setting down the fork, I leaned across the table.  “Yes?”

Taking a gulp of air she said, “Shortly after birth, the doctors performed routine tests on the baby and…….”

My eyes flitted back and forth between the wife and Joe.   I was stunned to see his eyes welling up.  He was definitely struggling to maintain his manly composure.  This was a guy who was not used to putting his emotions on display.

Suddenly, I knew what was coming.  I held my breath.

She continued, “Our son was born with a severe loss of hearing and we aren’t sure what to do about it.  We were hoping you’d give us some tips.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.  The air seem to crackle.

At that moment, my shoulders eased back and slumped.  It was similar to what people feel when they are finally told the truth after an extended build up of anticipation.

I spent the next several minutes sharing my own experiences of growing up deaf.  I talked about the possibility of getting hearing aids for him or opting for the cochlear implant surgery.  I described how I was taught to speak and how I learned sign language much later in life.

They were cautioned that what my parents chose for me might not necessarily work for them but that the options were there.  Parents of hearing impaired children have much more available to them today then when I was first diagnosed with deafness.   More ideas and tips were given to the very grateful parents.

Before long it was time to take them back to the airport.  I could tell the trip did them much good for they appeared much less burdened than when they first arrived – there was hope for their son.

The moral of the story?  It was no accident Joe was put on my path the way he was.  Without him realizing it, I ended up becoming his teacher.  Even I didn’t know why this guy was put into my life until that very moment.  It was so abundantly clear.  But it took years for the real reason we met to surface.

The universe is like that.  Mysterious, yet exacting.

Food for thought:  Have you ever had someone put on your path to teach you a lesson?  Looking back, can you think of someone who was put on your path so that you could teach them something of value?  I’d love to hear your stories of connection and how they panned out for you (or them).

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It was a good thing I departed Michigan on the 24th because Mother Nature threw a hissy fit and dumped several inches of snow in New York the following day, giving us the first white Christmas in a long time. This was followed by a low pressure system covering the entire Northeast, which meant I might be stuck for a few days longer than I anticipated.

A call to Berz Airport reassured me that they were not in a hurry to get their plane back. Several years ago, a renter pilot apparently felt pressured to return on time but got caught in a major thunderstorm and crashed. Not wanting to have another death on his conscience, the airport owner (Mr. Berz) went out of his way to remind renters not to mess with Mother Nature and to fly back safely. Taking his message to heart, I spent three tense-filled days waiting.

On December 29, 2002, I got the break I was looking for. Dad and I piled into his truck at 8:30 am and left for the airport. On our way there, butterflies were churning like crazy in my stomach, which was normal but mixed in there was a tiny twinge of anxiety. There was 400 miles of flying to do in the middle of winter where anything could happen!

Just as I pulled the plane out of the Schenectady County Airport hangar to conduct the preflight inspection, wet snowflakes began to fall.

What!?!?

Caught off guard, I pushed the plane back inside and borrowed several dry towels from the flight operations department to wipe the plane down. It was the least I could do to keep myself busy. Besides, I didn’t like the idea of flying a wet airplane through subzero temperatures.

Meanwhile, the air traffic controller on duty that day, the same man who gave me a light gun landing earlier that week, came down from the tower to personally wish me luck. When I voiced concerns about the unexpected snowfall, he told me, “Oh, it’s a temporary thing, don’t worry, you’ll be fine. It’s just a snow squall passing through but the sky behind it looks quite clear.” With a reassuring smile, he added, “You’ll be okay.”

But the snow showed no signs of slowing down. Since the plane was dry as a bone by that point, all three of us (my Dad, the controller and I) went inside the building next to the hangar and helped ourselves to some hot chocolate. At one o’clock, the sun finally broke through.

Due to the snowstorm the night before, the airport was still buried under several feet of snow. A couple of giant yellow plows were busy spewing snow over to the side. Only Runway 28 was clear. The other was halfway plowed, giving me just enough wiggle room to taxi over to Runway 28 for takeoff.

“Just follow me and I’ll take you over there.” said the friendly controller. It must have been a strange sight for anyone who happened to be watching this little parade. Imagine a red pick up truck slowly driving down a half-plowed runway with a small plane tagging after it!

The engine check at the run-up area revealed no anomalies. The controller parked his truck several hundred feet ahead of me, off to the side. He was leaning against the hood, holding a hand-held radio and watching me. The moment I gave thumbs up, he immediately began to talk on the radio, probably announcing to anyone who was listening on that frequency that a deaf pilot was about to takeoff from Runway 28, west-bound.

Positioning myself on the runway, I slowly pushed the throttle forward. The plane quickly gathered forward momentum and lifted easily into the sky, climbing 1,500 feet a minute. At five hundred feet, I rocked the plane sideways, bidding farewell to the controller. He waved back. Dad was probably watching from the opposite end of the airport but I couldn’t see him. Still, I rocked the plane a second time, just in case.

On my way up, the clouds got closer. Should I stay below or climb over them?

Emboldened by the previous flight to New York, I put the plane in a steep climb, zigzagging around the clouds to avoid touching them. Soon, I was cruising at 10,500 feet, drinking in the glorious sunshine, a virtual carbon copy of the first trip.

On the way back, there was nothing to do but sit back and monitor the instruments, checking fuel/oil pressure indicators, the RPM and a host of other things. At one point during the scanning process, my heart skipped a beat when I noticed the fuel pressure gage bordering on red. Adjusting the throttle and fuel mixture controls seemed to have fixed the problem and the needle fell back into the green.

I was completely alone virtually the entire time I was up there. Only once did I see another airplane, a gorgeous blue and white Gulfstream jet depositing long white trails in its wake. It was flying several thousand feet below me, probably on its way to some airport in New York. Now I know why they say it’s “lonely at the top”!

Three hours after rocking the wings, I began the descend for a fuel stop and a weather update at a small airport in Akron, NY, just outside Buffalo. The New York-Canadian border was just fifteen minutes west of that airport.

On the way down, I saw what looked like a clearing just north of my flight path and made a beeline toward it. But by the time I got there, it disappeared, forcing me to pull up. Although I could see the ground through patches of broken cloud layers, the holes were rapidly opening and closing like a fish’s mouth in water. The small plane was simply not fast enough.

My mind was racing, contemplating, strategizing, thinking, rationalizing.

How thick are the clouds?
How high is the bottom of the cloud level?
Should I do it?
NO, DON’T DO IT!
YES, NO ONE WILL KNOW!

For several minutes I circled above, debating. The puffy, white clouds were busy transmuting themselves into all kinds of strange shapes and configurations. The wing tips were barely brushing by them.

Then I did something I never, ever thought I would do.

Cutting the throttle back to idle, I aggressively shoved the nose down and instantly disappeared into the clouds! The engine shook while the plane slid down an invisible chute at 2,000 feet a minute in total whiteout conditions, rendering me completely blind.

Less than a minute later, the plane sailed into the clear as if nothing happened. Panting, I looked left and right to see if anyone else was near me. No one was. But my eye caught a control tower off to the right. In the sudden mad dash through the clouds, I had inadvertently punctured the outer fringes of their airspace. That meant an irate controller in a bad mood with a pair of powerful binoculars could have easily read the tail number off the side (“airplane’s license number”), tracked me down and then reported me to the authorities. My heart raced at the thought.

Moving a little further to the west, I smacked my forehead rather hard, almost knocking myself unconscious when I realized that if had I flown just another couple of miles, I would not have needed to do the little disappearing act! The entire western portion of New York was clear!

Damn, damn, damn.

At 5pm, I landed at the Akron Airport and pulled up to the self-serve fuel tanks. Both tanks were quickly filled and paid for. A call to the weather briefer verified what I had already seen on the computer with partly cloudy to clear skies with unrestricted visibility. Excited about completing the last leg of my flight, I lost no time getting back in the air. It was 6 pm. The sun was starting to set.

As I was passing over the New York-Canadian border, I was transported back to my childhood when Niagara Falls came into view. As a family, we went there for vacation a couple of times. Although it wasn’t yet completely dark, it was already lit up in its brilliance.

Pulling on the yoke, I added full power and began to climb when I saw some clouds several miles ahead at my altitude. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it would not a good idea. Clouds are invisible and therefore deadly at night if you don’t have an instrument rating. Turning around, I went right back down and flew underneath them. It turned out to be the best decision I would make that night.

Comfortably settling at 4,500 feet, I watched with great pleasure different cities light up the night sky like Las Vegas. A well lit bridge connecting the mainland to a small island added to the extravagant visual stimuli. Several large highways seemed to crisscross to a series of curves, loops and straight lines. The night air was extraordinarily calm, making for a smooth flight. The plane was flying without input from me – I barely had to touch the yoke!

About halfway into the flight, the landscape began to alternate between large black spaces and tiny, remote villages with very few lights. But I was not worried. Everything was just fine, I would be home in another hour or so. The Canadian-Michigan border wasn’t far off now.

Little did I know everything would come unglued in just a few moments!

The first warning sign came in the form of rainbow-like rings around streetlights that could be seen when flying over some of the towns.

Then I noticed a faint outline of a runway for a private airport to my left, beckoning me to land immediately. It was as if God put it there just for me. That was the second.

The third came after realizing that although the weather briefer advised me to expect clear skies with unrestricted visibility, the city lights were gradually fading away. I found myself squinting through the windshield without seeing much of anything.

While subliminally trying to process all of these warning signs and wondering just what the heck was happening, BOOM, the airplane was suddenly swallowed whole and thrown in pitch blackness!

Sheer panic spread throughout my body, causing me clench tightly on the yoke, overcontrolling the airplane. It gyrated wildly, climbing and descending like a yo-yo over a thousand feet a minute, temporarily rendering the plane out of control.

“I’M GOING TO DIE! I’M GOING TO DIE!” I screamed.

Fighting to regain control, I prayed like I never did before, using every available ounce of energy to concentrate on the panel-lit instruments. Somehow I managed to bring the airplane under control and then decided to go lower so that I could see something – ANYTHING.

In a flash of divine insight, I suddenly I remembered there were tall wireless cell phone towers everywhere! At 1,500 feet, I was dangerously low, without much of forward visibility but I didn’t dare go any lower.

Gratitude overwhelmed me when the faint outline of a well lit highway suddenly appeared through the murkiness. It crossed my mind to make an emergency landing there. Traffic was sparse at that time of the night and it appeared to be wider than a runway of a major airport. But before I could put that plan into action, a pair of blinking red lights mysteriously appeared out of nowhere, completely distracting me.

Both of them were blinking a hundred feet ABOVE ME.

And I was flying BETWEEN THEM!

It took me a full minute to realize what this meant.

Shit.

Heart pounding relentlessly, I delicately maneuvered between the two towers, not daring to turn around and try landing back on the highway. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, another wave of shock thundered through my exhausted body.

The GPS was taking me to the wrong airport. Instead of flying west, I was going Northeast, taking me deeper into into no man’s airspace!

Drawing every last bit of air I could fill my lungs with, I shakily re-entered Berz Macomb Airport’s identifier into the GPS. A new pink line was immediately remapped, telling me to bear several degrees to the left.

The fog showed no signs of letting up. Completely relying on the GPS and the instruments, I did not know whether I would survive the night but I refused to give up.

With only three miles left, the unimaginable happened.

God took one giant hand and literally wiped away the invisible clouds in one clean swoop, instantly granting me unrestricted views of the entire metropolitan Detroit area! My eyes feasted upon the sea of lights that sprawled before me. The spectacular sight was so overwhelming beautiful, I nearly missed the faintly lit runway of Berz Macomb Airport right below me.

Wiping away tears of gratitude, I knew it wasn’t over until I was safely back on the ground. Clicking the mic seven times to brighten the runway lights, the plane made its final landing of the night with nary a squeak, a miracle when considering both legs were acting like a pair of jackhammers.

Slowly making my way over to the parking spot between the hangar and terminal building, I noticed a small crowd gathering on the brightly lit tarmac. I was not expecting anyone at the airport so late at night. It was almost 10 pm.

The moment I shut down the engine and opened the cockpit door, five guys poked their heads in at the same time, their mouths agape. Their faces were begging for an explanation. But I was in no mood to talk. Not after that hell raising experience. I was still reeling in shock.

Someone handed me a cold bottle of water, lubricating my parched throat. My entire body shook while I took things out of the baggage compartment. One of the guys told me that the visibility was a mere quarter of a mile.

That’s when I realized how dangerously close I came to death that night. If it wasn’t for the handheld GPS that I borrowed from a pilot friend, I might never have found Berz Macomb airport and lumbered away into the abyss, meeting my maker that night.

Thank God for small favors.

Food for thought:   Contrary to what you might think, this is not a story of fiction.  It actually happened several years ago and while I am not proud of the choices I made that night, I did learn some valuable lessons.  For instance, instead of continuing on with that flight, I should have listened to my intuition when the weather changed for the worst, turned back and landed.  Every pilot has made their mistakes and this was one of mine – I have never again put myself in that position.  I only shared this because I wanted to prevent others from doing the same thing.  In no small part due to this experience, I have since go on to earn an instrument rating, becoming the first deaf person to achieve it, allowing me to fly in this kind of weather with a qualified hearing copilot onboard to assist with the radios.   

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Rather than booking a commercial flight to fly home for the holidays, I decided to take advantage of the discount and rent myself a plane instead. My choice airplane was a small four-seat Piper Cherokee similar to this one.

In preparation for the 400 mile flight, I had two options. One was to fly south of Detroit, around the bend of Lake Erie, and fly east through the upper portions of Ohio and parts of Pennsylvania before arriving to Schenectady, New York. The other was to fly straight through Canada, saving significant time and fuel.

Although it had been a year, draconian airspace restrictions that were put in place as a result of 9/11 were still being enforced. That meant if I wanted to fly through Canada, it was going to require special planning and coordination since I would be flying through international territory with their own set of rules. This was made complicated by the fact that I would not be maintaining two-way radio communication throughout the flight.

Since I absolutely, positively did not want to take the long way, I enlisted the help of a very resourceful air traffic controller to help me get clearance for flying through Canada. This man had read about me in a magazine article published shortly after I received my pilot’s license the year before. He had sent me an congratulatory email introducing himself and offered to help me in any way he could.

This controller, whose name I cannot remember, jumped at the chance to help. He lost no time making a flurry of phone calls to various control towers along the proposed route. After weeks of phone calls, I was eventually cleared to make my first “international” flight home for the holidays.

The winter in 2002 was beset with howling blizzards, low lying ice-filled clouds and poor visibility. Obviously, my intention was to make it home in time for Christmas. After several nail-biting days, the weather finally turned for the better on the day before Christmas. I woke up that morning to a forecast of partly sunny skies and excellent visibility. Excited, I rushed to the airport to prepare for the flight.

After pulling the plane out of the hangar and completing the required pre-flight check, a telephone call was placed to the faceless man who made all this possible. He gave me a four digit code for the transponder box inside the cockpit. Once the transponder was activated with this unique code, my airplane would appear on everybody’s radar along the route, with a special note reminding them I was a deaf pilot flying without radio communication capabilities.

After thanking him for his help, I was airborne, finally on my way home to New York. The morning air was gloriously tranquil. It was 7 am and I was passing over homes full of sleeping occupants. The roads below me barely had any traffic for the town had not yet stirred. But I was wide, wide awake.

Since Berz Macomb airport was on the east side of Michigan, it wouldn’t be long before the Michigan-Canadian border would come into view. Despite the excellent weather (which gave me one less thing to worry about), my overactive imagination was painting me a stark picture of international proportions.

What if one of the Canadian controllers experienced a technological glitch and could not identify me?

I might be seen as an unwanted intruder in their airspace, causing a flurry of fighter jets to be scrambled after me! It was not a pretty picture and the thought made me somewhat nervous. I tried to push those imaginary thoughts out of my mind but it took several more minutes of flying through Canada before I began to relax and smile for the first time since taking off.

No one was coming after me – everything was going to be okay.

Encouraged, I shoved the throttle forward and began the long climb to 11, 500 feet putting me far above the scattered clouds. There I was, all alone with the sun shining against a brilliant blue backdrop. Even though the temperature outside was bitterly cold at twenty below zero, I was comfortably warm in the cockpit. The possibility of a Canadian fighter jet intercepting me slipped further and further from my mind with each passing mile.

Two hours later, the GPS alerted me that I was approaching the Canadian-New York border but when I tried to find it, I was shocked to the core to discover that the puffy white clouds had transformed themselves into one solid layer, completely blocking my view of the ground! Unfortunately, I had allowed myself to relax a bit too much, never noticing the gradual change taking place several thousand feet below me. It did not look like I could descend without putting myself through the clouds.

My heart quickened again. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake by climbing so high.

It would be another hour and a half before I had to land for refueling. I rifled through copies of weather reports, trying to see whether clear skies were forecast for nearby airports. When I couldn’t find anything, I decided to keep motoring on, hoping to see a break in the clouds up ahead.

An hour had past since crossing the border. The handheld color GPS, borrowed from a fellow pilot (which would end up saving my life later), indicated I would be at Penn Yan airport in less than 30 minutes.   At that moment, I received the surprise of a lifetime when the clouds magically opened up, similar to the way Moses was reputed to have parted the Red Sea.  (Photo:  Sporty’s)

Taking no chances, I immediately throttled back to idle and put the plane in an emergency descend configuration. The plane dropped like a hot potato, literally diving at 2,000 feet a minute. When the airport finally came into view, the clouds above me slammed shut!

My heart was yammering like crazy. It was the first time I ever put my emergency descend training to use. And it wouldn’t be the first time either.

After landing, I put in a request for fuel and went inside the terminal to call my father. To my surprise, he and my mother were already at the Schenectady County Airport, waiting for me.

“But I won’t be there for another hour and a half,” I told him.

“There is a surprise waiting for you here,” he said. “Hurry up. After you land, we have a 2 hour drive to your sister’s house for dinner and we’re already behind schedule.”

When I pressed him for details on the surprise, he wouldn’t elaborate.

Changing the subject, I said, “Dad, what’s the weather like there?”

“Its gorgeous with clear, sunny skies. We’re looking forward to seeing you!”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a little while.” And then I hung up.

One more call was made, this time to the controller at Schenectady County airport to inform him that I would be landing within two hours.

“You will be using Runway 28,” he advised. Continuing, he said, “when you get here, look for the green light gun signal from the tower for permission to land. Your new transponder code is 4865. And don’t forget to make your one-way call on the radio when you’re about 10 miles away from the us. Okay?”

“You got it!” I was pumped and could not wait to see my parent’s faces after completing the long flight.

Back outside, I rushed through the pre-flight and hurriedly got back in the air, climbing to 11,500 feet again. Since Dad told me the weather was pristine clear in Schenectady, I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about going through some clouds on the way down.

Forty-five minutes after takeoff, I put the plane in gradual descend, going down at a leisurely pace of 500 feet a minute. But on the way down, I was once again smacked with the realization that the cloud deck insidiously thickened somewhere between Penn Yan and Schenectady County airports!

I couldn’t believe it.

It was happening all over again and definitely not looking good.

This time there was the real possibility that I might have to arrest the descend and lumber around the sky looking for a hole to poke through. Beads of sweat sprinkled across my forehead. It was a struggle to control the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Just what the hell had I gotten myself into?

Keying the mic, I put in a call to the tower, “Schenectady County tower, Piper Cherokee 56136 with deaf pilot on board, 10 miles west, landing Runway 28.”

The cloud deck continued to rise up with only a few more miles to go. At the 5 mile way point, the Piper Cherokee was barely skimming the tops of the clouds.

It’s now or never.

Without warning, the powers-to-be apparently decided to give me second chance and granted me yet another glorious Moses-style parting of the clouds, creating a hole the size of a gigantic crater! My eyes feasted upon the delicious snow covered scene of Schenectady sliding beneath me. A few miles later, the airport sprung into view. The tower controller was already directing the powerful beam of green light at me, immediately giving permission to land.

Pulling the throttle back further, I pushed the nose down and entered the airport pattern. As I was doing that, the plane unexpectedly hit a pocket of turbulence. The winds had gotten stronger and was cascading up and down the hilly terrain causing unstable air. Despite the stiff winds, I managed to make a safe, if not clumsy landing.

The tower beamed a flashing green signal, instructing me to taxi across an adjacent runway on my way over to the main terminal. In the distance, I spied a line service guy giving me hand signals, directing me to my parking spot.

Imagine my surprise after shutting down the engine when a bunch of people with TV cameras and reporters streamed out of the terminal toward the airplane. My first thought was the controllers in Canada had alerted the authorities about an unidentified airplane flying through their airspace, setting off a terrorist scare. Dancing in my head were visions of headlines screaming, “DEAF PILOT VIOLATES INTERNATIONAL AIRSPACE!”

Then I saw Mom and Dad calmly standing in the midst of all the confusion, smiling at me.

I shot them a quizzical look, wondering what all the commotion was about. Reporters were shouting questions, probably not realizing that I couldn’t hear them anyway. It seemed they all wanted to know how a deaf pilot could fly alone for 400 miles without using the radio. Seizing an opportunity to ham it up, I had a blast with them. But since we were pressed for time, I had to cut the interviews short and join my parents for the 2 hour drive to my sister’s for dinner.

On the way there, I learned that Mom and Dad had tipped off the press. Up to that point, they hadn’t believed that I could become a pilot and this was their way of saying, “Sorry we didn’t believe in you before but we’re proud of what you’ve accomplished and want the world to know about it.”

Awww……..

To be continued…….Part II

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1. Ryan and I were interviewed on the local news, which can be seen here (go to the bottom of the article and click on the video link – note that this link will be invalid within a week).

2. The fundraising was an enormous success – it went far beyond our wildest expectations for we raised $7,700 for this event, thanks to heartfelt supporters from around the country!

3. For those of you who missed previous posts about “Flight to Hartford,” you can see them here:

a. “Paying it Forward – ‘Flight to Hartford’”
b. “Flight to Hartford” on YouTube!”
c. “Actual Flight Footage for ‘Flight to Hartford’”

4. The “Flight to Hartford” takes place next week (week of June 17th). We are aiming for a departure of either Monday or Tuesday, weather depending. Upon our return, I will give yet another update, probably with a YouTube video of the flight itself (shortened from 8 hours worth of flying down to, I don’t know, maybe 5 minutes!).

Note: I will not be blogging for about two weeks, beginning June 17th.

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Well, we now have an actual footage of a flight that was recently undertaken to not only practice getting Ryan in and out of the airplane (it requires two people as you’ll see) but also go for a brief “get acquainted” flight.

Once again, Ron Hoff does an extraordinary job putting together not only a humorous account of what happened but also captures the spirit of “Flight to Hartford” rather well.

Go grab yourself a cup of coffee, tea or whatever you like to drink and settle in for the next few minutes because I think you’re going to really get a kick out of this! It is recommended that you watch them in the following order:

Video 1

Video 2

Please forward these videos to your friends, family and everyone who you think would be inspired by what we are trying to do.

Food for thought: If Stephen and Ryan can achieve their dreams, why not you?

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I just learned that a man who helped me make my dreams of becoming a pilot seven years ago recently passed away. While I understand most of you didn’t know him, I want to share the story of how we met and the incredible impact he had on my life. I believe and hope you’ll be touched even if you’re not a pilot yourself.

We could all learn how to give selflessly like he did. I don’t know whether or not he was aware of the universal laws of attraction and giving but he was sure a good model for someone who did.

Here’s the story.

Right around the turn of the 21st century, I was still in the process of building my speaking and writing career so I was looking for a part-time job to pay the bills in between professional speaking engagements.

It was also at this time when I was already a month or two into flight training but my original instructor was offered a new job in Colorado so I was forced to find a replacement elsewhere.

One day, I had an inspiration to visit other airports to see if I could get a job at a place where they taught people how to fly. I thought, “Why not? Might as well shoot two birds with one stone.”

After visiting one or two and being told nothing was available, I decided to venture a little further out and try Oakland Troy airport, a 30 minute drive from my home.

It was nestled among a fast growing metropolitan area (Troy, Michigan, USA) complete with a new strip mall, new apartments, a giant Wal-Mart and an assortment of other industrial buildings. The only area with open space was a small golf course nearby. The airport was big enough to accommodate corporate jets yet small enough not to require an air traffic control tower.

Pulling onto the newly repaved airport parking lot, I noticed a small circular white terminal building up ahead.

“That must be where I can find the personnel department,” I thought.

Upon setting foot inside, I was surprised to see only a couple of people milling about, drinking coffee and reading the paper. A jovial looking man with rosy cheeks was pouring himself a steaming hot cup of coffee.

Seeing that I was a new face in the place, he set his coffee down and came barreling toward me at 800 mph with an outstretched hand. It startled the heck out of me.

After regaining my composure, I made the mistake of accepting his bone-crushing handshake, causing me to wince in pain.

Trying to hide my pained expression, I said, “Hi, my name is Stephen Hopson and I’m looking for the personnel department.”

“And I’m Don Solms,” he boomed. He was still pumping my now lifeless hand.

Finally releasing his grip, he said, “Oh, you want a job here?” His face brightened even more, if that were possible.

“Yes, do you know of any openings?” I was massaging my fatally injured hand, opening and closing it repeatedly.

“I think they might be looking for someone. HEY, let me take you over to the other building to Susan’s office. She’s the personnel director. COME ON!”

Just before going in her office, Don thrust his business card in my hand and said cheerfully, “Good luck. Shoot me an email later. You’ll have to come over to my hangar where I keep my plane. Okay?”

Keeping both hands within the safety confines of my pockets, I said, “Thanks Don.” I could tell he wanted another hand shake. Fat chance buddy!

Susan then introduced me to two guys named Carl Barnes and Jason Zimmerman. They were both young men who were in charge running flight services. The interview went well and I ended up being hired. As a line service rep, I would be responsible for fueling and towing airplanes, among other things. It marked the beginning of an incredible 4 years at that airport.

One day, Don was hanging out at his hangar where he kept his prized Skylane. It was sunny and breezy. His hangar door was wide open, allowing cool air to swirl around inside. It was an open invitation to anyone who happened to come by. Spotting me in the fuel truck (I was motoring my way back to the terminal after fueling a customer’s plane), he waved me in and offered me a cold soda.

Ten minutes into the conversation, my dreams of becoming a pilot somehow surfaced. I told him that I was actually looking for a new instructor and was trying to save up some money to resume flight training.

Before he could respond, my vibrating pager distracted me with a new text message. There was another fuel order and I had to get going.

“Don, I’ve gotta go – they are telling me to fuel another airplane. See ya later!”

As I got up to leave, he grabbed my arm and gave it a powerful squeeze. My mind did a quick flashback to that day in the terminal. This time his eyes were sparkling like stars. And he was grinning stupidly.

I was in no way prepared for what he was about to say next.

“I would be honored to be your flight instructor and I won’t charge you for my time. All you’d be responsible for is the cost of renting an airplane.”

My God, an angel was in my midst and I knew it.

Absentmindedly rubbing my arms to stem the tide of goose bumps that was spreading like wildfire all over my body, I said, “Wow, really? Thanks man!”

Then he turned serious for a moment and said, “When are you free for your first lesson?”

Thrown off balance since I didn’t expect it to happen so soon, I said, “Well, how about tomorrow?”

“Okay, you got it! ” he thundered. Then he winked as if he were saying, “our secret.”

The rest was history. He was true to his word. Months of flight training with this man proved to be quite an adventure.

He was best known as a jokester, even in the cockpit. Now you have to picture this in your mind. There we were, me, a deaf student pilot and him, a 250 pound flight instructor with a large football frame who liked to poke his elbow at me every time he made a joke. And get this…he thought everything he said was funny!

Ouch!

Aside from his wry sense humor, he was one of the most patient flight instructors I would ever have. Every time we got ready for a lesson, he’d explain in the classroom what we were going to do and then we’d go up and fly.

If he wanted to explain something while we were flying, he’d take control of the airplane while I read his lips and then we’d resume the lesson. Don was one of those rare flight instructors who did not care about building flight time for a future career with the airlines. He was in it for the long haul. In fact, it wasn’t until after 50 plus years of flying and instructing that he finally hung up his wings last year.

He truly enjoyed the fine art of teaching and it showed. He never yelled at his students like some flight instructors who think they are drill sergeants with big egos. His students were his prized possessions and he treated all of them with the respect they deserved.

On December 3, 2000 Don had one big surprise up his sleeve. It was a calm, sunny day. We were scheduled to do some practice takeoffs and landings. After doing three of them, he instructed me to taxi over to the ramp by the white terminal building where I first met him months earlier.

Trying to hide his delight, he said, “Let me see your logbook for a sec.”

Arching my right arm as far back as I could behind the front seats, I snatched the logbook out of my bulging black flight bag and gave it to him.

Suddenly it dawned on me that today was “the day.” He was going to sign me off for my first solo flight!

I felt an involuntary shudder.

After scribbling his signature, he turned and looked at me. His brown eyes were sparkling again. The smile was even bigger than before. He was absolutely giddy, like a child on Christmas morning.

“So Mr. Hopson, are you ready?” he thundered.

“Yes, Don, get the hell out!” I thundered back, half joking.

Roaring like a lion, Don heaved his 250 pound football frame out of the airplane, closed and locked the door with a loud click. Then he did something that forever burned in my mind.

Like a five-star general sending his young fighter pilots off to war, he gave me a smart salute!

I almost burst to tears. It was deeply touching. No one ever did that to me before. Despite being more than ready to solo, I still felt a touch of trepidation so I returned the favor with a slightly shaky hand. Thank God he was too far away to see that.

Taxiing into position on the runway, I took a deep breath and firewalled the throttle causing the airplane to literally leap into the air. I remember thinking, “so this is what everyone means when they say the plane will bounce into the air without your instructor!”

Within seconds after takeoff, all the training kicked in and it was just another exercise around the airport pattern. The only difference was…well, I was alone.

After three takeoffs and landings, the venerable flight instructor waved me over and gave the signal to cut the engine. He stood there like a proud papa and motioned for me to go over to where he was standing. Instead of shaking my hand, he wrapped his huge arms around me and gave me a bone crushing hug. But, hey, I didn’t mind.

Five months later, one day short of my birthday, he finally signed me off to take my pilot certification flight test (i.e. “checkride”) with Mary Carpenter, one of the toughest but fairest FAA examiners from the area. He and Terry Ryan (his airplane co-owner at the time), both accompanied me on the flight to Pontaic airport, a mere 10 minutes away where the examiner’s office was located. He wanted to be there when Mrs. Carpenter and I were done with the checkride.

Two hours later, the examiner walked briskly into the waiting area, smiled and said, “Congratulations, Stephen passed with flying colors!”

Don roared his approval.

We all went out to have our pictures taken by the airplane and that’s when he said to me, “I’ll sit in the back seat on the return flight. Congratulations Mr. Pilot in Command!”

It was the greatest, grandest gesture another human being could ever have bestowed upon me. I’ll never forget it. He was that kind of man. Don believed in me so much that he was literally the only person at that airport who believed I would one day become the world’s first deaf instrument rated pilot.

Six years later, I did it, defying every naysayer in the aviation business. In February 06, I became the world’s first deaf instrument rated pilot. For that I salute Don Solms for believing in me.

Here’s to you Don!

Click here for his obituary. Note a small insertion in there about a “hearing impaired pilot.” Can you guess who that was?

Food for thought: Have you considered the power of the law of giving and helped make someone else’s dream come true this week?

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A little over a year ago, I relocated to a small sleepy town of Akron, Ohio to undergo special flight training which eventually resulted in aviation history. In Feb 06, I defied the nay-sayers who said it couldn’t be done and became the world’s first deaf instrument rated pilot. You can read more about this by visiting the aviation biography section at: http://www.sjhopson.com/bio-flying.htm

When I first arrived to town, I looked everywhere for a spiritual place to worship where I could get away from the enormous pressures of making aviation history. My desire was a non-denominational church where no one was judged – another very important spiritual principle. I wanted a place where all people were welcome regardless of their race, gender, faith, nationality, creed, disability, sexual orientation, political affiliation, occupation, education and so forth. I’ve always believed that God loves each and everyone of us. Many of the world’s religions would have you believe that God is like the discriminating bouncer at a popular nightclub; accepting only the beautiful and powerful while rejecting everyone else. That never made sense to me!

One day I stumbled onto their website by accident and learned that approximately five years ago, Pastor Bob Dreese of First Grace United Church of Christ blew away traditional norms by declaring the church to be open to all, just as how I believe God intended. At that moment, I knew I had found my spiritual home away from home.

But I soon learned how this very bold statement came at a terrible price. More than half of the congregation fled in fear because their way of thinking was still deeply rooted into the “discriminating bouncer” concept.

Since then, First Grace has been busy rebuilding its congregation. True to their word, NO ONE has been turned away. NO ONE. Because of this, I want to “pay it forward” in a very special way by helping First Grace refill the pews and make someone else’s dream of flight come true by using my God-given aviation talents.

That “someone” is Ryan Mathews who is also a member of First Grace UCC. He uses a motorized wheelchair to get around. Like me, he has never let his disability stop him from achieving his dreams. He recently graduated with top honors from the University of Akron with a degree in music education. Ryan now lives out his life’s purpose as a talented musician and educator, touching countless of lives. And would you know that one of his dreams is to actually go for a flight in a small plane?

We are renting a small plane in June 07 and flying ourselves to Hartford, CT to help United Church of Christ celebrate 50 years in existence. Also aboard will be Ron Hoff, a talented videographer who will tape the flight for a documentary to be made at a later time.

Imagine this…a deaf pilot at the controls with a disabled man in the right seat acting as a “co-pilot”! What a better way of paying it forward and showing the world that people with disabilities can achieve their dreams?!?!

We have dubbed this project “Flight to Hartford.” If you wish to help, please visit First Grace’s website for more information – there is a link on the site where you can download a donation card to send your contribution by mail if you are inspired to do so:

http://www.firstgraceucc.org/yourti110445.html

Side note: UCC has many prominent members across the United States including Presidential hopeful Barack Obama, Howard Dean (former Presidential candidate and Natl Democratic Chair), Marilynne Robinson (Pulitzer Prize winner) and Reverend Andrew Young (US Statesman) plus many others.

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Next to the door at the bottom of the tower was the intercom. This didn’t faze me in the least. Long ago, I learned a neat trick in New York City where almost everyone lived in apartment buildings with an intercom system. All I had to do was press the button and simultaneously pull on the door handle until the person upstairs buzzed me in. I did it again that morning.

Closing the heavy vault-like door behind me, I saw before me a long, winding staircase that forever spiraled upward. The steps were muddy and the walls were murky brown, giving off a dark, ominous feel to it. I was immediately transported to a windowless medieval castle from the Middle Ages. Taking a deep breath, I began the long ascend.

A slender 5′ 8″ man with a fast receding hairline was waiting for me at the top. Clipped to the pocket of his polyester shirt was a government-issued badge with a badly outdated photo. He had looked a lot younger with gobs of hair back then. Glancing beneath the photo, it read, “Shift Supervisor.” He was alone – the others would probably be arriving shortly.

Although uncertain and somewhat apprehensive at having been summoned to the tower, I bravely offered my hand to thank him for the light gun landing.

To my surprise, he laughed heartily and said, “No problem. Very happy to help.” In a split-second, the energy in the air seemed to shift from negative to positive. Maybe I wasn’t in trouble after all. But I still I wasn’t sure.

Then I noticed a huge red welt across his forehead. Curious and concerned, I decided to ask him about it.

“Sir, what happened to your forehead?”

With an air of self-depreciating humor, he said, “You know how it took forever to give you the green light?”

“Oh yes!”

“Well, see that table over there in the corner? I had to climb on it to get the light gun off the ceiling. The problem was, I didn’t know how to unlatch it. When I finally figured it out, the darn thing came crashing down on me!”

“Suddenly feeling sorry for him, I stammered, “Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to put you through all that trouble sir!”

“Not a problem at all. Please enjoy your breakfast downstairs. When you’re ready for takeoff, you will use Runway 32 on the other side. Just call us like you did this morning and we’ll take care of you. ”

Glad that I really wasn’t getting a verbal reprimand for my mid-morning adventure, I enthusiastically replied, “Well, thank you sir, I’ll do just that!”

Going down the narrow staircase was a tad trickier than coming up. It was much steeper than it first looked – it seemed to spiral straight down into the abyss.

It was a relief to finally push the heavy door open and step outside into the bright sunlight. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I found the restaurant next door. It was moderately busy but there were plenty of tables to choose from. I took one by the window with a full view of the airport.

A perky waitress quickly appeared out of thin air, magically extracted a pen from the back of her head, dabbed it on the tip her tongue and took my order. I decided to splurge and ordered a ham and cheese omelet with extra bacon, whole wheat toast and coffee. After downing two cups of coffee and mopping the plate clean, I paid the bill and went back out to the plane.

While conducting the pre-takeoff inspection, I kept glancing up at the tower to see if my new-found friend was watching. He wasn’t. Perhaps he was busy tending to traffic.

Finished with the preflight, I climbed in the aircraft, pressed the start button and the engine roared to life. Switching on the radios, I put in a call for permission to taxi. A flashing green light came right away. I couldn’t tell if it was from the same controller or not.

Upon arriving at the run-up area, the plane was turned around to face the tower so that when it came time to request permission for takeoff, I could see the light signal without having to crane my neck like Linda Blair in “The Exorcist.”

In a matter of minutes, I was ready to go.

“Jackson Tower, Piper 455H, request takeoff clearance, Runway 32.”

A moment later, huge, gigantic blinders that covered the entire southeast side of the tower rose up majestically. It was like watching the curtains go up at a Broadway show.

They had a surprise in store for me. Rather than getting a solid green light like I expected, I received a flashing green signal instead. It took a second to realize they were giving me clearance to taxi to the runway and hold for release.

I soon understood why. A corporate jet was taking off from an adjacent runway. As if in a trance, I sat awestruck in the middle of Runway 32 and watched the sleek jet climb two thousand feet a minute while its landing gear folded gracefully underneath. It had a hypnotic affect on me.

After it was a mere speck in the sky, I snapped back to reality and turned to focus at the tower.

As soon my eyes adjusted, a solid green light appeared. My heart leapt with joy.

Thrusting the throttles wide open for maximum take-off power, the Piper Archer rose effortlessly into the pretty blue sky. When the plane reached a thousand feet, I put her in a gentle climbing turn to the right – the direction of my home airport.

As we climbed, I reached for the radio one last time and bid farewell to the controller. In my imagination, he was smiling back at me.

When I got back home, I learned it was a good thing I did not try to fly home the night before. Apparently, someone had a gear-up landing accident, causing my home airport to shut down for several hours. Imagine the consequences had I not listened to my intuition and made my first maiden night flight!

Food for thought: Have fun, be adventurous and be sure to act on your intuition, for it may safe your life. Helen Keller once said, “Life is either a great adventure or nothing.”

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I was smiling because I was struck with the idea of having breakfast at the Jackson County Airport (KJXN), a mere 33 miles away. With mounting excitement, I entered the new airport identifier into the GPS and punched the “Direct To” button. It indicated that I would be there in about 20 minutes in the Piper Archer.

Glancing at the Detroit chart in front of me, I found the airport was encircled by broken blue lines with the number 35 enclosed in brackets. That meant pilots could not enter Jackson County’s airspace between the ground up to and including 3500 feet without first establishing radio contact and then obtaining a clearance to land.

“As long as I am at least 1,000 feet or more ABOVE this ceiling when I get there, I’ll be fine.” I said to myself.

To comply with FAA recommended cruising altitudes, I climbed to 5,500 feet, giving me a nice 2,000 foot buffer above Jackson’s airspace. I was going to have to descend almost four thousand feet in a hurry once I got permission to land but I would worry about that later.

The next thing was to get in touch with the controller and give him the surprise of a lifetime.

“Jackson Tower, this a deaf pilot in Piper Archer 455H, 30 miles southwest, will be requesting light gun landing for Runway 14.”

Every tower has a light gun to guide pilots with malfunctioning radios (or no radios at all—they still exist today, believe it or not). A light gun functions like a manually controlled traffic light for airports with towers except that there is one headlight capable of producing red, white or green colors.

I decided to let my first radio call sink in, assuming the controller on duty was still waking up and enjoying his first cup of coffee.

The red light on my radio stack immediately flickered to life. Someone was talking on this frequency. I sure hoped it wasn’t the controller responding back to me! If it was, maybe he didn’t hear the “deaf pilot” part!

Ten miles later, I had a Freudian slip of the tongue when I checked in again.

“Jackson Tower, repeating that I’m a very hungry deaf pilot er, er, in Piper Archer 455H, now 20 miles southwest, er, er, will request light gun landing, er, er Runway 14.”

My face was probably red as a beet but I pressed on, hoping for the best. I wasn’t violating anything. After all, you only live once!

With 15 miles to go, I spotted the large sprawling metropolitan airport up ahead. This time I had my radio act together.

“Jackson Tower, deaf pilot in Piper Archer 455H, 15 miles southwest, will circle above airport at 5,500 to receive light gun signal for Runway 14.”

After two more calls at the ten and five mile waypoints, I was finally on top of them. Putting the airplane in a 20 degree bank to the left, so that the tower was in my line of sight at all times, I began to circle like a hawk, watching and waiting.

As I was making my first round, I didn’t see anything come from the tower.

I double checked the frequency – 120.7. It was the right one.

Puzzled, I made contact once again: “Jackson Tower, deaf pilot in Piper Archer 455H, now circling above you for light gun landing, Runway 14.”

On the second trip around the bend, they still hadn’t given me what I wanted.

Something weird was going on.

It shouldn’t take this long, especially so early in the morning with hardly any other traffic.

Entering the holding pattern a third time, if I did not get permission to land after this one, I decided I would simply go home. No harm would be done – at least I had fun trying.

Upon completing the last circle, I was about to break off and head home when a miracle happened. They finally aimed their light gun right at me with the strongest beam of green light I had ever seen!

Beside myself with joy, my response was rapid-fire, “Jackson Tower, Piper Archer 455H, I see the green light, thank you. Will make downwind entry, left base approach for Runway 14.”

Since I was now cleared to land, I immediately began the descend and headed southeast, away from the airport, so that I could have enough room to turn around and come back for landing at the proper altitude.

After descending almost a thousand feet per minute and turning towards the airport, I landed a few minutes later and took the second exit off the runway. The tower gave me a flashing green light almost immediately, giving me permission to taxi across an active runway towards the restaurant (which happened to be next to the tower).

Parking by the restaurant, I climbed out and glanced up. Someone from the tower was looking down at me. Feeling real proud for having made a landing at a towered airport all by myself for the very first time, eagerly gave him two thumbs up.

He responded by curling his finger back and forth as if inviting me upstairs. The reflecting sun off the glass made it hard for me to see his face clearly so I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not.

Suddenly feeling like a child guilty of committing a naughty act, I pointed at myself, “Me??”

The man gestured to the bottom left to indicate where the entrance was.

“Oh my God! Did I do something wrong?”

To be continued………

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Making my way across the inky black ramp to the airplane, a gust of cold air blew across the landscape, causing me to shiver involuntarily. Goose bumps spread like wildfire causing me to rub my arms vigorously. A cold front was passing through.

Opening the door to the luggage compartment, I hurriedly rifled through my duffle bags, not remembering whether I had packed a sweatshirt. All I had that was remotely useful was a lightweight Gore-Tex jacket. In the far corner, I noticed something clumpy. Thinking that it was a blanket, my hope surged and then went flat in one fell swoop when it turned out to be a bunch of oily rags.

Shit.

Crestfallen for not being more prepared for something like this, I climbed into the cockpit, eased the door shut and clicked the lock into place with a resounding snap.

Sliding into the co-pilot seat, I surveyed the makeshift hotel. Paris Hilton would certainly not have approved. And a contortionist I was not, my expanding waist saw to that. But it will do.

First, I stretched across the two front seats, curling into a fetal position but when protruding seatbelt buckles poked out menacingly, I tried lying on my back, then on my stomach. It went like this all night. With each new position, my legs were forcibly crammed into very unnatural positions.

Oh my.

This was actually the least of my problems. Not only was I shivering uncontrollably but I had the sheer audacity to park right by the rotating beacon, which kept waking me up every 60 seconds. It reminded me of those prisoner-of-war movies where powerful spotlights swept across the prison yard, spilling light in and out of dark bungalows along the way.

Somehow I got the hang of it and fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

At daybreak, I sleepily looked outside the cockpit. What I saw made me think I had died and gone to heaven.

The entire airport was completely fogged in!

The fog swallowed up everything in sight, including the wings of the airplane. I knew I wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

For three hours, I bumbled around the airport, watching the rising sun cut swaths through the fog. It was beginning working its magic because the surrounding tree line, completely shrouded earlier, was now becoming visible with each passing minute. Glancing at my watch, it was 9 am. In another hour, I would take the plane up for a “look-see” by circling directly above the airport and survey the surrounding area. If it was still foggy in the outlying areas, I would come right back down and wait some more.

At exactly 10 am, the “look-see” plan swung into action. Advancing the throttle wide open, the plane roared happily and lifted into the morning air with nary a bump. During the climb out, I scanned left to right. Aside from occasional wisps of fog, almost all of it was gone. Relieved, I punched my home airport identifier (KVLL-formerly known as 7D2) into the GPS and turned to the correct heading.

Within five minutes, my stomach was growling, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.

“I’ll be home in another forty-five minutes, you can wait,” I told my stomach.

It growled louder in defiance.

It was then I remembered there was an airport along the way that had a restaurant right on the field. I had been there many times and the food was pretty good. Why not stop there?

There was one problem.

This airport had a control tower.

“How would I, a deaf pilot, get in?” I thought.

As I was pondering this, I remembered something someone had told me at the Kansas fly-in. This person told me that by making special arrangements with the tower supervisor the day before or day of departure, that he was able to fly in and out of controlled airports with no problems.

How he did this was by contacting the supervisor via a special phone service (from home or the home airport) and asking if it was possible for him to make a landing via a light gun signal (used nowadays in cases of radio failures). If the controller was willing to accommodate him, a date, approximate time of arrival and runway of use would be agreed upon. When the deaf pilot was within the vicinity of the airport, the tower would flash a powerful beam of green light, giving him permission to land. (There are other lights that mean different things but a green light is what deaf pilots want to see).

As I was recalling this conversation, I realized I hadn’t made any such arrangements.

“Oh well, there’s always another time.”

The moment I thought that, a crazy idea was born. I smiled for the first time since that morning.

To be continued……..

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