Flying in St. Louis

Soon after I start living in St. Louis, I visit the History museum in Forest Park and am riveted by the story of Lindbergh – aviator,  inventor, explorer. I imagine him in his fragile airplane, all alone with the sea and sky for over 30 hours, as he crosses 3600 miles of Atlantic ocean. Was he afraid or exhilarated or focused or exhausted? How did he feel in the darkness of the night, flying over the sea? What was it like to see the sun rising before him? I try to understand his words: 'The life of an aviator seemed to me ideal. It involved skill. It brought adventure. It made use of the latest developments of science. Mechanical engineers were fettered to factories and drafting boards while pilots have the freedom of wind with the expanse of sky. There were times in an aeroplane when it seemed I had escaped mortality to look down on earth like a God.' – Charles A. Lindbergh, 1927

These thoughts rush though my mind, when Brian casually suggests, ‘We might fly after dinner, since the weather  is nice'. I can’t believe my ears and must seem like an idiot asking, ‘Fly? You mean in the sky?!’ Later that evening we pull up at the little airstrip, and step briefly into a small office to check on the wind and weather systems, before walking out to the small toy-like aircraft tied down at the edge of the tarmac. I look around me (and pinch myself to ensure I’m awake) as he methodically goes through a list to check things outside the plane. Then it’s time to climb inside and get strapped in, while he continues down the list of actions within the airplane. We are seated side by side, with a steering column each and a control panel in front of us. We wear headsets to communicate over the engine sound. My heart is thumping as I hear him speak with the control tower and receive permission to take off. My eyes close involuntarily as the plane rolls ever faster down the runway and there’s a hollow feeling in my middle as the wheels leave the ground.

 

I open my eyes to an incredible blue, just beyond the windshield in front of me. I can see the city laid out beneath us, slowly growing smaller. She makes a perfect picture with her familiar landmarks - Forest park, the cathedral, the down-town office towers and the unmistakeable Gateway Arch on the bank of the Mississippi. My headphones crackle, Brian is telling me I can steer in any direction I like! I see that we are steady at 3000 ft and turn the column left to follow the winding river Northwards. Soon the tension leaves my limbs, I take a deep breath and relax. It is indescribable to be so free and so unfettered, so far above the ground. Soon, the sun begins to set and lights come on in homes and on the highways. At least for the moment, it is easy to imagine one has ‘escaped mortality to look down on earth like a God’...