Last Sunday I went over to the weekend café at Middlesex airport for breakfast with the guys. There was no particular schedule, but local aviation community is small enough that there are always a few familiar faces at any of the usual spots. Flying out for breakfast isn't the most productive thing for any of us to do with the morning, but on the other hand, we aren't out drinking with strange women or even driving fast. One of the older guys has a ball cap that says it all: "mostly harmless".

We all like old airplanes and flying slow. At one point our conversation strayed into one of the darker corners of our avocation when a story was told about a particular mechanic who bought a quaint house and barn in the countryside. It was no coincidence that the barn contained three disassembled airplanes and a pile of miscellaneous parts as well. Life was good for this fellow as he assembled airplanes for the next five years... while his wife dutifully hauled the household water in a bucket from the spring.

We were in awe of how the man held true to his priorities, and I asked if the woman might have a sister that was available.

I am one of the lucky ones though. My wife doesn't care a whit about airplanes, but accepts that flying is a part of my soul. She never complains about the few hours a month I spend on fun flying, and the airplane expenses are covered with the same aplomb as a veterinarian bill for a family pet.

Earlier this week I was able to repay her kindness. She has a special appreciation for Doug's Fish Fry, a family chain of restaurants we "discovered" on a vacation long ago. They do a quality job of serving real food quickly, amidst a folksy atmosphere. We'll bend an itinerary to be near a Doug's near mealtime if we are in their area.

When I invited her to a fly- in lunch at Doug's, she readily accepted even though she assumed that we would all be landing in a near-by hayfield or a parking lot. I was flattered that she thinks my skills are sufficient to overcome such questionable judgement, but also pleased that my airplane could take her someplace where she wanted to go. I assured her that this was going to be a classy operation, with a landing at Skaneateles Airport, and a ride into town on Doug's "buggy", an ancient Ford flatbed truck fitted with seats and a surrey.

Doug is a friend of one of the guys in the group, and they had planned the fry- in weeks ahead of time. The appointed day arrived with perfect weather. It was mostly sunny with light winds but a somewhat confused sky, with high stratus clouds and a few cumulus clouds that poked up through a patchy layer of middle clouds. I was suspicious, but the forecast was good, and that's how things turned out. For a few moments just before noon there was a traffic jam over the airport as a dozen little planes arrived within minutes of each other.

Airport restaurants are charming and warm only if you are a pilot. The opportunity to eat at a downtown restaurant was a special treat, and several other guys also took the opportunity to share it with their wives. Great minds it seemed, were thinking alike; it was a chance to go flying, yet an opportunity to say a thank- you to the wife for sharing her marriage with an airplane. So often the requisite thank you requires that an item on the dreaded "honey-do" list be completed.

Best of all, since my wife accompanied me on this flight, it didn't count against the unofficial quota, and I was able to fly out for breakfast the next weekend without feeling guilty.

Some of the planes that arrrived at Skaneateles airport for lunch. The airport has a nice east- west runway which is paved, but most of us chose the wide and undulating north- south meadow for our landing. Part of this runway is in the background, running all across the picture, just this side of the house and trees.

This picture was posted for the background, not the people. You can readily see the plantings that border the picnic area behind the restaurant. Skaneateles is one of the few villages I have seen which look as good from the back as they do from the front. Made me glad that I visited.

Doug's Buggy, a 1930 Ford truck which provided our special limosine ride into town