不惑之年，沖上云霄

Parked beside the sleek Air Canada jet， she looked like a toy. But my enthusiasm would not be curbed.

The tiny two-seat Cessna shone in the sun. And for one hour she was mine. Well， sort of. The bill was mine alone. Control and responsibility for my first flight lesson would be shared with my instructor， Glen.

Id enrolled in ground school last winter， and by spring had morphed into a plane geek. I struck a deal with myself： 100 hours of ground school and online study would be rewarded in summer with one hour of shockingly expensive inflight instruction.

So， there I stood on the Kamloops tarmac.

Our pre-flight inspection indicated the bird should fly. To my untrained eye， the weather seemed fine. “Nice today，” I offered.

Glen eyed the wind sock and scanned the skies. “Wind from 270 at 10 knots； cloud ceiling 6，500. …Should be okay in the valley， but well stay away from the mountains.”

I made a mental note to review my meteorology.

After squeezing into the teeny cockpit， we buckled up. Uh oh—trouble already. My eyes were perfectly level with the instrument panel. I cursed my 5-foot-1-inch frame while Glen reached behind the seat and produced a pillow. Sliding it under my butt， I felt more like a grandma than ever. But at least I could see out the window.

The engines were run up and tested， the compass aligned， the GPS turned on and tuned in and radios readied. It was time to warn whoever was out there that we were coming. I keyed the mike.

I spelled out the Cessnas FBMZ registration—Foxtrot Bravo Mike Zulu—and requested an advisory. The tower responded immediately and my confidence surged. Current wind conditions and altimeter settings were given， and runway 26 suggested for departure.

Glen released the brakes and eased the throttle in. The engine purred hungrily， sucking up the extra fuel. The propeller spun into a blur and pulled us forward.

“Take us to 26，” Glen directed.

I turned the yoke left and right to no effect. We drifted onto the grass.

“Steer with your feet； use the rudder.”

Fighting years of automobile-induced instincts， I released the yoke and manoeuvred with the rudder pedals at my feet. We weaved unsteadily to the hold short point on the runway.

Full power and a dose of flaps are needed for takeoff. I applied both and we sped down the runway. With one eye on the airspeed indicator and the other on the white centre line， I struggled to keep us straight， both of my feet working the pedals. At full throttle we hit the 55-knot sweet spot and I pulled back on the yoke， lifting the nose. The Cessna （and I） shuddered as the runway slipped away below.

We climbed steadily into the blue. Wisps of cottony clouds rose beside us. Stratocumulus？ Id have to check my notes. For now， however， whirring， purring FBMZ had my full attention.

My heart soared， but my arms soon tired from pulling back on the yoke. Glen seemed to read my mind. He reached down and rotated the trim wheel between us. The pressure vanished， and the Cessna stopped fighting me.

“Its like cruise control，” he grinned. “Trim her right and shell practically fly herself.”

I released my death grip on the control column and was amazed at how responsive the plane was to even the smallest adjustments. I struggled to make sense of what the instrument panel was telling me. Our altimeter indicated 3，900 feet and our airspeed was steady at 90 knots. No turning or vertical speed was suggested， so this must be straight and level flight.

“Try a turn，” Glen suggested.

As I rotated the yoke to the right， the wings banked and we headed unsteadily northward. Dual controls allowed Glen to correct my mistakes and keep us safe.

My gaze kept drifting back to the instrument panel， and Glen caught it.

“Private pilots license allows you to fly VFR. Remember what that stands for？”

“Visual flight rules，” I replied.

“So， look where youre going. Your focus should be outside. Where are the clouds？ Make sure you stay out of them. Which direction are the mountains？”

And the mantra Id heard before was repeated：“Aviate， navigate， communicate.” In other words， first fly the plane.

The wind was behind us now， pushing us back to the airport. We made the necessary radio call and began our descent. Keeping my eyes outside as instructed， I watched a pair of hawks riding the same thermals that were giving us a bit of bump and grind. They eyed us warily， unimpressed with our noisy intrusion into their world.

Glen handled the landing. After slowing to stalling speed， we floated above the runway. Our touchdown was smooth as silk.

After wed parked， tied down and locked up the plane for the night， I made the first entry in my fancy new pilot logbook， bursting with pride.

Now its time to hit the books again. Meteorology must be mastered if this old dog is going to learn new flying tricks.

I had my doubts about learning to fly at the age of 43， but after taking the first steps I know I can do it.

“Attitude plus power equals performance” is a phrase used to explain how an aircraft handles under different scenarios.

Perhaps the same can be said of life， and， regardless of our age or situation， how we choose to live it.

?？吭谠煨蛢?yōu)美的加拿大航空公司的噴氣式飛機(jī)旁邊，她就像一個(gè)玩具。然而我的熱情，絲毫不減。

這架嬌小的雙人賽斯納飛機(jī)在陽光下閃耀著光芒。接下來的一個(gè)小時(shí)，她是屬于我的。好吧，在某種意義上屬于我。我獨(dú)力負(fù)責(zé)買單。而我第一堂課的飛行操控及責(zé)任則是由我和指導(dǎo)員格蘭共同承擔(dān)。

去年冬天，我入讀空勤預(yù)備學(xué)校，到了春天，我就儼然一名飛機(jī)控。我和自己打了個(gè)賭：攢足100小時(shí)的空勤學(xué)習(xí)和網(wǎng)上研修之后，夏天時(shí)要獎(jiǎng)勵(lì)自己一小時(shí)貴得讓人咋舌的飛行訓(xùn)練。

于是，我站在了甘露機(jī)場的停機(jī)坪上。

我們的飛行前檢查意味著這只鳥兒要展翅高飛了。對(duì)于外行的我來說，天氣似乎不錯(cuò)?！敖裉焯鞖庹婧?，”我說。

格蘭看了看風(fēng)向袋，向天空掃視了一眼?！帮L(fēng)速大概是每十節(jié)270公里；云層高度6500千米?！谏焦壤镲w還行，但是我們今天不會(huì)飛到山峰那邊。”

我在腦中記下筆記，復(fù)習(xí)學(xué)過的氣象學(xué)知識(shí)。

我們擠進(jìn)狹小的駕駛員座位，系好安全帶。哎呀——麻煩來了。我的眼睛正好與儀表板持平。當(dāng)我在詛咒自己這五英尺一英寸（約1.55米）的身高時(shí)，格蘭從座位后面抽出一個(gè)枕頭。我把枕頭塞到屁股下面，從未感覺自己如此像一個(gè)老太太。不過至少，我能看到窗外的情況了。

啟動(dòng)并測試引擎，羅盤已經(jīng)校正，衛(wèi)星導(dǎo)航已打開并調(diào)好，無線電準(zhǔn)備就緒。是時(shí)候警示附近的人我們準(zhǔn)備起飛了。我調(diào)好麥克風(fēng)的音量。

我念出這架賽斯納飛機(jī)的登記號(hào)—F、B、M、Z—并要求信息導(dǎo)報(bào)。發(fā)射塔立刻給予回復(fù)，我的信心倍增。發(fā)射塔提供了現(xiàn)時(shí)風(fēng)速情況及高度表撥定值，并指示我們從26號(hào)跑道起飛。

格蘭松開手剎，慢慢推進(jìn)油門桿。引擎饑渴地咕嚕嚕響，貪婪地吸食著燃料。螺旋槳旋轉(zhuǎn)著，模糊成一個(gè)影子，帶動(dòng)我們向前。

“帶我們?nèi)?6號(hào)跑道，”格蘭指示道。

我左右轉(zhuǎn)動(dòng)著軛架，未見有任何反應(yīng)。我們滑到了草地上。

“用雙腳來導(dǎo)向；用方向舵。”

我努力對(duì)抗著多年的駕車本能，放松軛架，用雙腳操作著方向舵踏板。我們迂回不穩(wěn)地來到跑道的暫停點(diǎn)。

起飛之前需要開足馬力及扇動(dòng)飛機(jī)的副翼。我做了這兩個(gè)操作，我們沿跑道飛馳。我一只眼睛看著航速表，另一只眼睛看著跑道上白色的中間線，努力讓飛機(jī)沿直線滑動(dòng)，我的雙腳都在操作著踏板。滿油門時(shí)我們達(dá)到了55節(jié)的最有效點(diǎn)，我拉回軛架，抬起機(jī)頭。賽斯納（和我）顫抖著飛離了跑道。

我們穩(wěn)穩(wěn)地朝著藍(lán)天爬升。一縷縷棉花似的云在我們旁邊升起。這是層積云嗎？我得翻一翻筆記。然而現(xiàn)在，旋轉(zhuǎn)著，咕嚕叫著，F(xiàn)BMZ這架飛機(jī)霸占了我所有的注意力。

我的心已高飛，但是沒過多久我的手臂就因?yàn)槔椉芏械狡诹?。格蘭似乎讀懂了我的心。他伸出手旋轉(zhuǎn)著我們中間的操縱舵。壓力消失，賽斯納不再與我對(duì)抗。

“這跟定速巡航一樣，”他笑著說。“舵掌好了，她就會(huì)自己飛了?！?/p>

我放松死抓著的操控桿，對(duì)飛機(jī)在每一細(xì)微調(diào)整之下作出的回應(yīng)嘖嘖稱奇。我試著解讀儀表板給我展示的信息。我們的高度讀數(shù)是海拔3900英尺，航速為90節(jié)勻速。沒有轉(zhuǎn)彎或者垂直速度的提示，因此，這一定是水平直飛。

“試試轉(zhuǎn)彎吧，”格蘭提議道。

隨著我把軛架往右邊旋轉(zhuǎn)，飛機(jī)的機(jī)翼傾斜轉(zhuǎn)彎，我們不太穩(wěn)定地朝北邊飛去。雙人操控時(shí)，格蘭可以更正我的錯(cuò)誤，讓我們安全地飛行。

我總?cè)滩蛔⊥騼x表板，格蘭發(fā)現(xiàn)了這一點(diǎn)。

“私人飛行員駕照允許你以VFR飛行。還記得VFR是什么意思嗎？”

“目視飛行規(guī)則，”我回答說。

“那么，看看你正往哪兒飛吧。你的注意力應(yīng)該在外面。云層在哪里？確保你不會(huì)飛進(jìn)云層里。山在哪個(gè)方向？”

我重復(fù)讀著之前聽到過的準(zhǔn)則：“飛行，導(dǎo)航，通信。”換句話說，首先考慮如何開飛機(jī)。

現(xiàn)在，風(fēng)在我們的身后，推著我們飛向機(jī)場。我們發(fā)出了必要的無線電呼叫，準(zhǔn)備降落。我雙眼注視著機(jī)外環(huán)境，就像格蘭指導(dǎo)的那樣，我看見兩只鷹隨著上升的暖流滑翔，這股暖流同時(shí)也給我們帶來一些顛簸推撞。它們警惕地看著我們，對(duì)我們給它們那世界帶來的嘈雜侵犯不為所動(dòng)。

格蘭負(fù)責(zé)降落。在減慢至失速速度后，我們?cè)谂艿郎巷h浮了一會(huì)兒。飛機(jī)觸地時(shí)順滑得像絲綢一樣。

我們?？?、綁穩(wěn)并鎖好飛機(jī)以便過夜，之后我在我那本想象中的飛行日志上寫下第一條記錄，洋溢著自豪。

現(xiàn)在，又到了好好學(xué)習(xí)的時(shí)候了。如果這個(gè)老家伙想學(xué)習(xí)點(diǎn)新的飛行技巧，他就得好好掌握氣象學(xué)了。

43歲才來學(xué)習(xí)飛行，我曾一度懷疑自己，然而在初次試飛之后，我知道我能行。

“態(tài)度加上馬力等于表現(xiàn)”是一句用來描述一架飛機(jī)如何應(yīng)對(duì)不同飛行情況的短語。

也許這一句話也適用于生活，以及我們?nèi)绾芜x擇過自己的人生，不管我們是什么年齡、在何種處境。