For some time now, my good friend Austin Boake has been inviting me to go flying with him in his 1980 Cessna 172. Unfortunately, I have always had other commitments or have been too busy with work to go.
On a Saturday morning this past winter, Austin called with another invite, this time pointing out that “our wives are going antique shopping all day, so we should go flying.”
It sounded like a good idea at the time. I had been recovering from a knee injury and surgery, which left me with some time on my hands. I couldn’t do much around the house with my knee strapped up in a brace and limited mobility. Going flying with Austin sounded like a good distraction from my woes. Little did Austin know what he was getting himself in to.
Austin arrived at my door step all smiles and ready to go, sporting his flight cap with the logo AUSTIN AIRWAYS. We headed up to Collingwood Airport, where he keeps his plane in an enclosed hanger. First we stopped at the snack bar and had a great breakfast of bacon and eggs. It’s a good thing we did, because Austin would need all of his energy to complete the next set of tasks in our escapade of adventure.
We walked over to the hanger and opened the door to see three or four small planes, with one sitting in the centre of the hanger with tarps covering the wings. As Austin removed the tarps, he proudly announced that this was his baby – a fine looking aircraft in bright white, with blue stripes and numbers on it. I thought at the time of the unveiling that the cockpit area appeared rather small, and wondered how we would both fit in there (I am a rather large, heavyweight kind of guy, running about 275 pounds).
Well, once the unveiling took place the games began. Austin walked over to the hanger door, where he climbed up on a makeshift two-step stair box and reached up to unlock it. He repeated the process on the other side of the hanger door, he pushed the switch and presto: the large door began to open. There was just one problem, however. When the door opened there was a pile of snow that had blown up against the hanger, creating a small snow drift about 8 inches high, with a large patch of ice covering the interior of the hanger. Not to be discouraged, Austin went looking for a shovel and returned smiling and holding a piece of 2-inch ABS pipe (there was no shovel to be found).
My determined friend proceeded to kick and poke at the snow drift with his foot and his piece of 2-inch ABS pipe. While slipping and sliding around on the ice, he managed to clear an area that the three wheels of the plane could pass through. Needless to say, I was not much help with my injured knee and restricted manoeuvrability.
Then Austin suggested I try to get in the plane, and see if my disabled leg and knee would co-operate. “No sense pushing the plane out of the hanger if you can’t get in it,” he pointed out. Austin proceeded to show me the embarking procedure: “don’t put weight on the door, don’t pull on the wing, don’t step there, etc.”
Unfortunately, my attempt to get in the plane failed. I then decided to try getting in from the pilot side and see if leading with my good leg would have a better result, thinking if I got in from this side I could climb over to the passenger side. Success would once again fail me.
My dear friend, determined that he was taking me flying that day, walked over to the hanger door and dragged over the makeshift set of stairs. So with both doors open and a friendly push from my buddy, I found myself in the plane, lying face down and sprawled across both seats, with my head sticking out the pilot’s door and my feet sticking out the passenger’s door. After much determination and contortionism, I managed to get my unbendable injured leg and myself up right in the passenger seat.
“Stay there, I will push the plane out by myself,” declared Austin. I think he thought that if I got out to help, I would never get back in again. So there is Austin pushing the plane out until he hits the ice patch, at which time his feet are slipping like crazy while he makes a valiant effort to get the plane past the door of the hanger. He made it to the snow drift just in front of the door, but there was still enough of a bump from the ice that formed that the landing wheels did not want to go over.
I, meanwhile, am in the plane, looking at my friend who by this time is holding on to the wing strut and trying to pull the plane out and over the hump. Try after try, the plane would get to the top of the little hump and roll back into the hanger. I sat there, watching Austin grit and grind his teeth so hard at every attempt that his jaw shivered in determination. After one last attempt with Austin pulling with all his might and me sitting in the plane rocking back and forth trying to gain some momentum from my weight, the plane suddenly rolled over top of the ice bump and we were out of the hanger. Within minutes we were airborne and had a wonderful flight over Creemore, circling out over Georgian Bay and along the coast line. It was a wonderful experience and a great day.
Once we landed, it was a matter of leaning back, swinging my legs out and sliding out on to the makeshift stairs that my friend so graciously dragged over to the side of the plane one more time.
After all that effort, I treated Austin to the local pub for some lunch and a couple of cold beers as we laughed about that day’s activities.
Thanks Austin for being a great friend, and making our first flight a truly memorable experience that I will never forget.