To say that I was grinding my teeth would be an exaggeration, but I was indeed rocking them together. It happens when I have to fly and think at the same time, usually at work. I was in my own plane though, flying for fun, but a clenched jaw means that it isn't fun anymore. To the northeast the visibility was excellent below a very adequate ceiling and above gossamer patches of ground fog. To the southwest there was rain and valley fog visible.

The current weather was not the issue, it was the return trip that concerned me. My half- hour jaunt for breakfast at Middlesex took me on a line that was at right angles to the flow of the weather, and I was already in between the good and the bad. I would be sitting in a sharp valley, with no view of any oncoming weather. I flew a lazy circle to look all around at the sky before deciding that I would be able to enjoy my meal and enjoy my trip home.

The forecast had been for an all- day steady rain, becoming heavier in the afternoon, but at daybreak the air was still dry. A newer forecast called for the rain to hold off until "after breakfast", and the radar showed that the rain was dissipating as it approached our area. With the poor weather we have had lately, and with the forecast for the rest of the weekend sounding like October, the late arrival of Saturday's rain was a gift.

I was the first to arrive for breakfast, but by the time that I had parked the plane, a yellow Piper Vagabond was already flying along the ridge, preparing to land. As we sat down to the table a Subaru powered Kitfox rolled up to the café. Soon there were two more old Pipers and an RV6 parked in the grass out front. Inside, the conversation and camaraderie was much like any local diner, except that we had gathered from a greater distance.

The Middlesex café is an interesting interface between the aviation community and the rest of the world. Pilots fly in from all over, but most of the customers arrive in cars. The airport theme and the airplanes make the café interesting to outsiders, and the local traffic keeps the place in business for us pilots. Call it a symbiotic trade- off.

Weedsport has a very friendly airport restaurant, open all year round, but it is pretty much the classic airport hangout, with little outside trade. At the other end of the scale, Eddy's Diner in Great Valley has an airstrip adjacent to it, but pilots are just incidental to the their local trade. We are fortunate that there are at least a dozen more places within an hour's flight where we can find a friendly cup of coffee.

I enjoyed my breakfast flight last Saturday. I enjoyed sitting with friends, but the real satisfaction is in the trip. The air was as smooth as a mill pond and the airplane flew itself as I admired graceful beauty of the earth, finally awake after a long winter.

Every flight is like a walk through the garden; every visit is different yet inspiring. Mornings and evenings are usually tranquil, while the sun can roil the midday sky. The land can be white with snow upon wind- swept hilltops, green and lush in the red shades of sunset, or dazzling in the colors of autumn. Every view is a treasure of little details, as the scenery rolls effortlessly across hills, lakes, towns, and cities.

Flight is a gift, an integral element of the freedoms we receive just for being born in this part of the world.

The view out my back door at sunup. It looks dramatic, but the winds were calm, the ceiling adequate, and the visibility excellent.

The view through the windshield on my way back home. It is raining, but the ceiling and visibility are still good. Keuka Lake is in the distance.

June 4, 2003