June 4th, 2009. 9:22 AM, Reid Hill View. “Reid Hill View Tower Cessna five zero niner three Kilo ready on the right.” “Cessna five zero niner three kilo Reid Hill View Tower Right closed traffic approved runway three one right cleared for takeoff.” “Five zero niner three kilo.” Position, brakes, feet on rudders and Full throttle. I wanted to remember the moment I take off, all by myself. Was not to be, the tiny plane was more eager than me to get off the ground. Looked at the watch, it was still 9:22 AM. All smiles, I was beaming to myself, hoping I’d remember this moment long after. Its almost beyond belief. Its sheer elation, joy and awesomeness to be up in the air. Thank you Scott. And niner three Kilo.

I have held this post in draft for a really long time, hoping friends and fiends would never know about the ineptness, humiliation, blips and the frustration I underwent (and still go through) when I decided to learn flying. However, even at the cost of looking like a nincompoop to these crass friends, I would let this post go live, simply because of the dearth of information out there. Had I known about a few things before-hand, I might have done better, cheaper and certainly faster.

Granted, I have been distracted. Well, I continue to be distracted. In between all the hullabaloo surrounding kids, tuitions fees, mortgage payments, vacation expenses, office cameos, “programming must be done(s),” keeping my Xbox from screaming ‘wuss’ at me or avoiding those awesome kids across the next blog who think I could star as “The old man (in) and the sea,” I surely have to be hard pressed to keep myself buzzed. Buzzed as in adrenaline buzzed, you know -- the kind that stirs butterflies in the stomach, the kind that makes the world around seem so inconsequential, the kind that makes you fall in love. Truly, madly, deeply in “love.”