Flying as Therapy

It was the day from Hell. From the moment I arrived at the Inn on our
"Monday morning" (in real life, Friday), literally everything that could go
wrong, did.

Everything from an overnight guest, on the lam from the law (and who needed
to be arrested *here*, of course, for all to see), to a major plumbing
problem, to a cantankerous employee, to high heat and humidity, to a new
(and unknown) strain of algae attacking the pool -- it was happening all at
once.

And there was no respite. Throughout the day, as one fire was extinguished,
another would blow up in my face, often two or three at a time. By
mid-afternoon I was somewhere between rage, disbelief, and unstoppable
laughter, as Mary and I tried to predict what could POSSIBLY go wrong next.

Just as I said this, our "guest from hell" walked through the lobby door,
looking for a fight. This guy -- a retired professor emeritus who has
decided that he's going to live at the inn till he dies -- has complained
about every guest that has ever bunked above him, below him, or next to him.
Worse, he may be in the early stages of Alzheimer's, as he repeats himself
ad nauseum. Daily.

With nothing else to do, no where else to go, and no relatives nearby, we
have become this poor mans sounding board and chew toy. As I listened to
him go on about the kids upstairs, the dog that barked once at 6 AM (he,
too, has a dog, but that doesn't matter) the full parking lots, and the
unbearable humidity near the laundry room, I felt the heat rising in my
face.

By now, at age 46, I should know to leave the room when I feel this occur,
but, unfortunately, I was the only one in the lobby. (From experience Mary
had smartly vamoosed at the first sight of this guy). There was to be no
escape.

As I pondered this sanctimonious, arrogant man, sitting comfortably in my
lobby, ranting on about things beyond my control, needlessly taking my time
away from other things that desperately needed to get done, I was suddenly
floating. It was as if I was outside my body, and observing the situation
from above, and I realized how stupid my predicament was, and how unsolvable
his issues were, and how dumb I was to ever leave the newspaper business.

He was demanding to know what I was going to do about the sound of
children's feet pitter-pattering from the suite above, and demanding to know
why he couldn't park closer to the door, when something inside me cracked.

The next 60 seconds are a blur, but suffice it to say that I ended my tirade
by stating, unequivocally, that I would be physically placing all of his
belongings -- and him -- out at the curb if he didn't leave the lobby. At
once. It was not pretty.

After he left, I stood there, shaking. The day did not improve.

Flash forward a few hours. Mary and I have finally escaped the madness, and
are sitting at the hangar. I've just finished downing a grilled Boca
burger, my butt is planted in a comfy chair, and we're discussing what has
easily been the worst day of our 3-year hotel experience.

And there sat Atlas. Fully fueled. Ready to go, anywhere we pointed him.

We both looked at each other, and knew it was time to get some air beneath
us.

With the sun already down, we were soon rolling down Runway 25, right next
to the Inn. Climbing out into the silky smooth darkening sky, Mary expertly
carved the pattern behind a primary student who was on his first night
flight, his instructor beside him, patiently waiting for "legal darkness" to
arrive.

After one circuit, and a perfect landing, we switched positions (always fun,
without opening the doors or shutting down the engine!), and I was soon
smoothly applying power on the takeoff roll. Feeling the wheels rumble down
the familiar pavement, my heart soared as the ground fell away from us, that
big ol' O-540 rumbling happily just inches in front of me. .

With the lights of the city twinkling below, and the hint of fog moving into
the valley through the still, heavy air, it was magical as we arced
effortlessly around the pattern. With almost no sense of motion, outside
of the turns, it was easy to imagine a place and a time far removed from the
trials of the day. It was easy, and beautiful, and my troubles all seemed
to fall away beneath me....

Turning to final, watching the VASIs, keeping the approach speed nailed, I
landed and called it a night. It was a beautiful evening, still in the 80s,
and it was hard to believe that anything in this world could be anything
less than perfect.

The whole flight took just 0.3 hours. The day was wonderful.
--
Jay Honeck
Iowa City, IA
Pathfinder N56993
www.AlexisParkInn.com
"Your Aviation Destination"