It all happened last Friday evening as I sat around the airport on stand- by. I had no responsibility to even think about doing anything, so I was free to let my mind and my fancy wander. In retrospect, I think that I was the innocent victim of a set-up. It was as though a freak planetary conjunction had singled out my life for a change of fate. I was but a passenger.
It all started in the break room. Eight chairs around two tables which were bare except for a motorcycle magazine. I am a guy with nothing to do, so I picked up the magazine. I slowly started to embrace it as I leafed through the pages. I was taken in by the many pictures of really good looking bikes... big ones with wide tires and all the classic lines, but packaged with an artist's touch. I softly asked "Where have you been all my life...?"
The bikes had speed lines just standing still. They were tight packages of horsepower and sinuous curves, the sharp lines of machined metal contrasted with the graceful arches of the gas tank, fenders, and the exhaust pipes. It could purr when resting, but could spring to life and roar away in a symphony of sounds and flashes of polished chrome.
I thought about my airplane. It is forty feet wide, thirty feet long, weighs little more than a big bike, and has a smaller engine. The wings are made of popsicle- stick sized pieces of wood and are covered with the same fabric that nurses wear to work. Ironically, it is a compliment to say that it is "insubstantial", because light weight is a hallmark of successful aircraft design.
One of the other pilots owns a Harley, and happened to walk in to the room about the time that I was in mid- magazine. Without fully looking away from the pictures, I looked towards him and said "I ought to sell my plane and get a bike." The words seemed to have come from nowhere, and confusion reigned for a split- second while my ears verified that my mouth had just said those words.
He treated my comment much the same as if I had announced that I might perhaps leave my wife. He cautioned that I should give it more thought than what it had taken me to read a few magazine articles. He didn't stay long, probably because he did not want to be part of my mental melt- down.
My enthusiasm began to fade as I worked my way to the back of the magazine, where most of the advertisements are. One ad touted a bare motorcycle frame... no wheels or power train, not even a gas tank, for $8000. It may have been created by a renowned craftsman, but a fellow can buy a completely welded steel truss airplane fuselage for less money. For that matter, $8000 is what I paid for my entire airplane six years ago.
I know that the typical Harleys are in the $20,000 range, but I was surprised that the custom bike kits cost about as much, and have to be assembled and painted! I had read earlier that Harley has increased its production significantly, and that the kit makers were "shipping kits as fast as they can be strapped to pallets"
In the past, I have often likened my early morning airplane trips to motorcycle rides, because much the same mentality is involved. Both are forms of travel that are forever in need of a plausible destination. Both forms of travel make the rider feel more attuned to the machine and to the scenery. I won't question the validity or the psychology of the bond between the rider, the machine, and the "road". I'll simply state that it is there, whether the vehicle is a motorcycle or an airplane.
On Friday night I had let the genie out of the bottle, and all weekend I toyed with him, knowing that I was going to put him back, but not sure how. In the meantime, he made for interesting conversation. I told him that we need a Federal Motorcycle Administration, staffed with lawyers who do not ride. Only then will little airplanes have a chance of competing within the recreational market.
On a more practical level, I realized that I have a terrific bargain with a cheap airplane that happily chugs along on less than five gallons of car gas per hour. I can get into it and see more faces of nature as I climb away from the airfield, than I could see on a whole motorcycle trip. There are thousands of nooks and crannies to admire as I fly along, and that is just on the ground. So often there are clouds to visit, low flat ones that are fair game to roll your wheels upon, and other clouds to regard at a greater distance above beside, and below.
Motorcycles offer a sense of freedom, but practicality limits them to travel on the same roads as cars and trucks. My airplane offers freedom too; the freedom to move in any direction and at any altitude I want. There are no limits, and no sign posts. It is the same timeless blue sky with white clouds that graced the wilderness of the Iroquois Nation, and it completely envelops me as I travel along today. I won't be trading my $8000 airplane towards a $20,000 motorcycle.
But like the lottery commercial says, "Hey... You never know". There are lightning- strike odds that I could someday end up with a gorgeous custom- made bike to ride to and from the airport!