The view out the window was stunning. The sun was setting into an undercast well below us as we cruised home at 20,000 feet. The white clouds rose ahead into pink and flaming red, and a dozen airliners were visible a hundred miles ahead as the sun lit their slight condensation trails like little comets. Our tail was pointed at the bad weather and busy airways of Coastal New England, and the radio had now grown quiet. We were cleared direct to Elmira, and we knew that the weather there was clear. In most respects, the day was done.

A voice to my left said "...sure is different than flying a sick kid in a Cessna 150!". I could only smile. I might never go back to women, I mused.

I am accustomed to looking at the other side of the clouds, the gray part that is their bottom. I am used to little airplanes that bump, rattle, and roll. I am used to plugging along under the weather, on my own, rather than fitting into the system of traffic that exists in and above the weather. Sitting in the front seat of a million dollar turboprop on an instrument flight plan was indeed different.

It is one thing to read of speed, to see the numbers printed on a page, but quite another thing to actually see speed at work. Our flight was a repeat of a trip that we had made two days earlier, and the total flight time from Elmira, to White Plains, to Lawrence Massachusetts and back was well under four hours start to stop. To pull into Elmira an hour after leaving Boston still seems incredible.

It is such easy speed, though. The piston engine is a powerplant that is at war with itself, flinging parts and pieces to and fro at a frantic rate. Turbine engines though, just go round and round. They run smoothly, and are powerful, even at altitudes that leave piston engines breathless. They allow the plane to climb quickly to an altitude that is above most all of the weather. The tranquility of flight at those altitudes conceals the nastiness of the weather below and the complexity of the machinery that surrounds us.

For all the differences, there was a thread that traced back to a winter many years ago. The two of us have sat together in an airplane before, many times, him on the left and me on the right. It seven years ago, in the middle of the winter that he had come to Dundee to learn to fly. He was, in fact, the sick kid that he had mentioned.

Just out of the Army, he drove a bakery supply truck through the wee hours of the morning all week long so that he could come to the airport every Saturday for two lessons. He got over airsickness and learned to fly the plane in the grumpy air of midwinter. By spring he had made a deal for himself at Elmira, working at the airport while also continuing his lessons. It is the honest way to gain an exceptionally well rounded aeronautical education.

The trip was more than just a circle of the Northeast, it was a trip that had brought things full circle for me. The airsick kid was now the one in command of the airplane, familiar and comfortable in his environment, while I was just a bit awed and intimidated by it. It was a satisfying afternoon.

To contact Bob Tilden, send an e-mail.