It’s a short walk from the parking lot across the little wooden bridge that transverses the drainage ditch. From there one walks into what was once the airport café where the experience of a world famous frosty mug of Red Lion root beer could be had. When I walked in the door it was the proverbial walk into a time machine. I wanted to ask where Don was, my friend, my instructor. I knew he wasn’t there, he hadn’t been there for years and no one knew what had ever happened to him. I do think about him from time to time, I knew him well and he I. But isn’t that the same feeling that every pilot has for the instructor who gave him the keys to the sky.
Just beyond the café is the "pilot's lounge". If there is one word to describe the pilot’s lounge it would have to be cozy, another word would be constant, it hasn’t changed much in 15 or 20 years. The floor is made of the tile that one would expect to find in a bathroom, you know… the little one inch tiles that would drive anyone crazy who believed in keeping
grout clean.
Just beyond the café is the "pilot's lounge". If there is one word to describe the pilot’s lounge it would have to be cozy, another word would be constant, it hasn’t changed much in 15 or 20 years. The floor is made of the tile that one would expect to find in a bathroom, you know… the little one inch tiles that would drive anyone crazy who believed in keeping
grout clean. The same tiles that were missing twenty years ago are still missing today. The furniture is overstuffed comfy as it should be. Stark contrast to the seats student and instructor experience in the confines of a C152. The atmosphere like the chairs and sofas is relaxed. Yet it’s that kind of relaxed where you are still on the edge of your game, like the relaxation that one feels from a demanding game of chess. Demanding of attention, yet at ease and satisfying. It’s the same place where I was comfortable 20 years ago and I still felt just as home there today.
The runway threshold is just about 50 yards away, do a greaser and you can walk in tall and arrogant. Slam the gear into the ground and you would get the roasting that you well deserved. Funny how it went, but the others always knew when you needed to be brought down to size with the proper ribbing. They also knew when you needed encouragement.
There is never a shortage of pilots who will walk up to you at an airport like this and happily tell you about their most embarrassing moments. You know, the typical "Ah shit kid, that landing wasn’t that bad, you should have seen the one I did last week. We had to call the FAA and get them to lower the field elevation on the sectional charts", that’s hanger flying. Hanger flying is the best way to learn how to fly. Sure, the books tell you the right answer, the hanger flyers tell you the better answer. Good example would be when a student pilot asks 'in the hanger'... "How far are you alowed to fly out over water without having survival gear?". Well, the book says within glide, the hanger pilots answer that question with another question: "How far can you swim?".
Today those people aren’t around, Red Lion Airport is quiet. I was watching a twin doing a taxi on runway 5 when Arlene walked around the corner. "I know I recognize you, but I just don’t remember your name" she said. "I’m Vince Lyons, it’s been a dozen or two years since I’ve been here". Arlene and her husband Ray own the airport and the FBO, Affiliated Air Services. We talked for a few minutes and reminisced trying to put together the names of the typical hanger flyers who could have been found around the airport years ago. "Coy was just here this morning" she told me. Oh I certainly remembered Coy, he had been my FAA Designated Examiner and had signed my ticket some 24 years and two months ago, sorry I missed the chance to see him.
Arlene told me to go ahead and take a walk down the line and that I should help myself to some magazines too, "Maybe you’ll get the bug again". I told her I still had it, I just need to hit powerball.
The runway threshold is just about 50 yards away, do a greaser and you can walk in tall and arrogant. Slam the gear into the ground and you would get the roasting that you well deserved. Funny how it went, but the others always knew when you needed to be brought down to size with the proper ribbing. They also knew when you needed encouragement.
There is never a shortage of pilots who will walk up to you at an airport like this and happily tell you about their most embarrassing moments. You know, the typical "Ah shit kid, that landing wasn’t that bad, you should have seen the one I did last week. We had to call the FAA and get them to lower the field elevation on the sectional charts", that’s hanger flying. Hanger flying is the best way to learn how to fly. Sure, the books tell you the right answer, the hanger flyers tell you the better answer. Good example would be when a student pilot asks 'in the hanger'... "How far are you alowed to fly out over water without having survival gear?". Well, the book says within glide, the hanger pilots answer that question with another question: "How far can you swim?".
Today those people aren’t around, Red Lion Airport is quiet. I was watching a twin doing a taxi on runway 5 when Arlene walked around the corner. "I know I recognize you, but I just don’t remember your name" she said. "I’m Vince Lyons, it’s been a dozen or two years since I’ve been here". Arlene and her husband Ray own the airport and the FBO, Affiliated Air Services. We talked for a few minutes and reminisced trying to put together the names of the typical hanger flyers who could have been found around the airport years ago. "Coy was just here this morning" she told me. Oh I certainly remembered Coy, he had been my FAA Designated Examiner and had signed my ticket some 24 years and two months ago, sorry I missed the chance to see him.
Arlene told me to go ahead and take a walk down the line and that I should help myself to some magazines too, "Maybe you’ll get the bug again". I told her I still had it, I just need to hit powerball.
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