Leaning out the window, I yell “clear” and start
the engine, remembering for an instant the scene in MASH, the movie, when a
prop runs through one of the characters—I don’t remember who.
I head down the taxiway, still adjusting to
steering with my feet.
Since I’m rated as a VFR (visual flight
reference, rather than instrument) pilot, I lift off into clear blue skies.
I’m flying Nebraska skies so I turn my nose into
a steep “crab angle” against a stiff cross wind.
Oh, how I miss those clear, blue skies, even
when I had to fight the wind.
