The air was thick and muggy. Heat radiated off of the black asphalt as I walked out onto the ramp. Parked in front of me was a tiny Cessna that was painted with a set of faded blue stripes. It looked like a children’s toy. I could have easily touched the roof with my hands. A worn pair of headphones was clenched between my fingers. As I clambered into the left seat, I realized how small the aircraft really was. Even at eleven years old, my knees were pushed against the dashboard. My head, however, was barely high enough to peer out through the stained windshield.

An elaborate checklist came before the engine startup. Various levers and knobs were turned and flicked. At long last, the instructor told me to turn the key. The cockpit started to shake violently. A rough sputtering erupted from the engine. The plane rumbled to life. Cool air was blasted in from the vents as we began our slow taxi toward the runway. One would expect the taxiways at an airport to be smooth to ride over. This was not the case. Whether it was the potholes or the poor suspension of the aircraft, every bump that we passed over was amplified. We finally reached the holding line before the runway, after a series of turns and bounces. It was there where we were told to hold short.

A message from the control tower crackled over the radio.

“N5416B cleared takeoff, make right traffic.” We aligned with the runway.

“Cleared takeoff, right traffic, 5416B,” the instructor responded. I pushed in the throttle. Immediately, the aircraft began steering towards the left. This action was expected for a single-engine piston aircraft. I began to compensate. I stepped right on the rudder pedals, hoping to remain on the centerline of the runway. I overcorrected. The plane swerved to the right, throwing the instructor and me towards the left. 

“Woah! I’ve got the controls,” he yelled. We slowly lifted into the sky, my heart pounding. I put my hands back on the yoke, hoping to fly the aircraft. Every small input that I made was immediately felt. Even a slight touch was enough to make the aircraft jerk upwards or suddenly drop. 

“Try flying in a straight line.” The instructor’s tone seemed condescending. “Keep the wings level.” With my head barely high enough to see the ground, I didn’t have enough of a reference point for me to keep the aircraft flying straight. I looked through the windows on the side, which were much easier to peer out of. Rows of houses dotted the land, with a long highway running beneath us. We saw an occasional seagull circle above the treeline.

Since we were flying a traffic pattern around the airport, we eventually had to make the first of a series of four right turns. 

“As you turn, make sure that the nose is level so we don’t lose altitude,” the instructor said. I attempted to follow his advice. My trembling hands slowly turned the plane, my knuckles white from gripping the yoke. I suddenly felt my stomach drop. We were descending. As a knee-jerk reaction, I pulled the yoke toward me. My body was pushed into the seat as we began ascending rapidly. Once again, the instructor had to take over the controls. After what seemed like an eternity, we were finally lined up for an approach to the runway. I felt relieved, but this feeling quickly turned to surprise, then fear. Much to my chagrin, I realized that we weren’t landing. We were simply flying over the field. 

“We’re gonna fly another pattern if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure,” I mumbled weakly, not having the heart to utter a protest. The second loop around the airport was just as bad as the first, with some additional hiccups along the way. At long last, we were on the final approach to the runway. The high-pitched squealing of the stall horn sounded in the background, signaling our low airspeed. A sudden thump, and then quick deceleration. We finally made contact with the ground.

On the taxi back to the ramp, my instructor stated flatly, “Well, like most of my other students, it looked like you wanted to kill me.” 

I chuckled. The flight wasn’t enjoyable, in fact, far from it. But the experience was unforgettable. The sheer exhilaration that it brought only told me one thing: I wanted to do it again.