After my two biplane rides at Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome on Saturday, all I wanted to do was return to the sky. I went to the one place where I had a decent shot at getting another flight: Cherry Ridge Airport.

It was the perfect day for flying: clear, barely any wind, 72 F (22 C?), and the leaves were brilliant shades of autumn. It was the kind of day when David and I would be up in the air as long as possible. We might’ve even flown the VFR corridor over New York again. Or over to Islip on Long Island, then to Martha’s Vineyard. David talked about us flying there, and my brain filed these places away in a “Can’t wait to do this!” folder.

On the drive south from Toronto I thought about going to Cherry Ridge Airport again. I haven’t been there since I put together a sale notice for the Tri-Pacer, and that was back in January. I’ve been to Cherry Ridge countless times — the car could practically drive itself there — but nearly always with David. It’s a good 35-40 minute drive, and we would listen to music and chat the whole way. Part of the reason why I haven’t gone this year is because I’ve headed to Rhinebeck at every opportunity, but the other part is because I know what I won’t be doing once I get to Cherry Ridge. I’ve lost my pilot and our plane.

But this time I wanted to go and see if there was anyone who would take me up. I’d planned to go to Rhinebeck both Saturday and Sunday to try and maximise my chances for a biplane ride and I was lucky enough to go twice in one day. Mission accomplished! No need to be greedy. Consequently, I hadn’t tried to contact anyone at Cherry Ridge, so I thought I’d just try my luck again.

My timing on Sunday wasn’t as good because everyone was flying already by the time I got there (including Tom, who owns the Tri-Pacer), but I was patient and it paid off in the end. I hung around the airport for several hours, had lunch on the patio and talked to Rick, the airport owner, for a while. I watched the activity on the runway with great longing; the more I lingered, the more I wanted to go up. The feeling built through the afternoon watching the planes taking off and I didn’t want to be on the ground at all. I came inside and set myself up by the front counter in a bid to listen for some familiar names over the radio requesting to land. I started to go through my phone book for names of pilots and even tried calling one of David’s Civil Air Patrol buddies who I knew was in the market for an airplane. I wanted to ask him if he’d bought that airplane yet and if I could bum a ride in it! How’s that for desperate?

At one point I walked across the airport to find Mr. Tibor, a hangar neighbour of ours. I saw his plane taxiing to the runway and tried to flag him down, but I was too far away for him to see me. I was more than a little deflated — I knew he’d probably be up for about an hour and he wouldn’t want to go back up again. But I waited, anyway. I can be stubbornly optimistic, if nothing else.

I watched Mr. Tibor do a couple of touch-and-gos and knew my chances for a flight were slipping away. But I stuck around and waited by his hangar in case he didn’t stop by the pumps to refuel. A few people drove by in the meantime, and one of them recognised me from Cherry Ridge Pilot Association meetings (David announced our engagement at my first meeting around this time in 2004!). Mike offered to radio Mr. Tibor from his plane, and later called out to me that he’d take me up if Mr. Tibor was on his way home. So that’s how I ended up in a Cessna over Cherry Ridge Airport in the late afternoon, after four hours of waiting and hoping and plotting to get my pilot’s license so I won’t have to beg for rides the rest of my life.

I told Mike it was well worth the wait.

Videoclips forthcoming, when I switch from dialup to broadband.