Narration Test

Looking back, I realize my association with airplanes goes way back, even to moments like that. It is as if airplanes have always been hovering on the edges of my life—like that windy day when I decided to stop one in mid-air.

After all that reminiscing, I thought, “Why not go flying?” I checked out the lightest plane we had—a Cessna 150. Now, flying a Cessna 150 is a bit like flying a kite. Its stall speed is about thirty-five miles an hour, making it the perfect plane for a little goofing off in high winds.

I  received clearance from the tower, and headed out to the general practice area used for flight instruction. Of course, the skies were empty, nobody else was out in that wind. I flew around for a bit until I spotted a farmer down below, plowing his field, with an intersection nearby. It seemed like the perfect place to see if I could hover the plane, hold it steady in one spot.

I came into the wind and slowed the plane down, but it wasn’t as easy as it might sound. The wind was shifting direction constantly, sometimes veering by 5 to 10 degrees and gusting unpredictably. It took a steady hand and near constant adjustments to keep the plane steady—minor tweaks to the yoke, quick taps on the rudder. I couldn’t relax for a second, with every gust threatening to throw me off balance. But after a few minutes of focused effort, I managed to hold the plane almost in place, hovering directly into the wind.

Now, I couldn’t see the farmer’s face, but I’m sure he must have been looking up, wondering what kind of pilot would just be hanging out over his field without moving. For about ten minutes, I floated there, occasionally adjusting for a gust of wind but mostly just… suspended in place.

When I was ready, I brought the plane out of its hover, gradually picked up speed, and flew back to the airport.