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Just before getting married (this was some time ago) I decided to take the plunge and get my pilot’s license. I mean, one of my life’s goals ever since I was a kid (and that’s human, not goat) is I’d wanted to fly. But I discovered that there’s a difference between flying and being a pilot.

A big difference.

Flight school was going rather well, I’d successfully performed many T&Ls (that’s take-offs and landings, for you earth-bound folks), and everything was going rather peachy. Then one fine day when I showed up for my lesson the instructor said those dreaded words, “Hey, have a good flight!” and walked back into the office. It was time for me to solo. (Flash of lightning, crash of thunder, terrified scream; oh, and cue the organ music.)

You know how they say during times of crisis, this is no time to panic? Well, for a few moments, I was thinking this was an absolutely perfect time to panic! But after the initial surprise, I managed to calm myself enough to say to my instructor, “Hey, great, no problem. See you in a few hours.” My voice didn’t quaver or anything.

(Oh, did I mention that I’m flying out of Hobby Airport in Houston, one of the busiest traffic per volume airports in the country?)

So now I’m flying southeast toward a small local field called Houston Gulf to shoot a few T&Ls – takeoffs and landings (although, now that I’m airborne already, I guess you would call them L&Ts), and I was about to switch the radio over when I realized I couldn’t remember what frequency they were on! Yikes!

Now, I don’t know if this is still true, but I remembered my instructor telling me that for small, uncontrolled airports, it wasn’t absolutely necessary to call in; but it’s definitely considered the right thing to do. Common courtesy for other small planes, etc., you know.

So I did the only thing I could; shot an L&T (since I was already there anyway) and beat it back to Hobby.

By now I’m starting to get really flustered. I had just dropped in out of the blue on this unsuspecting airport and then flown off again. I had visions of a small army of angry people hunting me down and giving me a thrashing (similar to a beating, but with a little more feeling). But at least I was heading home.

I reached 1500 feet, took a bead on the airport and called the Hobby tower (since I never changed the radio frequency I knew I had the right guys). As I approached the airport things started to look strange. (Yeah, I know – since things always look strange to me, how could I tell?) Well, it’s like this.

Have you ever traveled a road during the daytime and gotten so familiar with it that it’s become automatic? Then you try driving it at night. Everything looks different, right? Well, it was sortof like that. I mean, nothing looked familiar! The buildings were odd, the runways were… similar; even the roads around the airport looked totally foreign. I thought I was in a Twilight Zone episode and had accidentally popped through a time warp.

Well, now I’m getting really close, perhaps a mile away, when suddenly it dawned on me (cue the sun): I was about to land at Ellington Air Force Base! And, just to really give the ol’ ticker a goose, right about that time the Hobby tower calls me and says words to the effect of, “where the heck are you going?” Holy moley! And Gadzooks!

One of the really great things about driving a car is that when you get lost, you can actually stop somewhere and ask directions. Yeah, I know guys, it violates the Manly Men’s Code of Conduct, but sometimes, you just gotta swim against the stream, ya know? But in an airplane… you can’t. (Well, I suppose you could – but that first step is a dilly.)

Anyway, I had to sheepishly admit that I was a student pilot on his first solo flight, AND that I had just realized I was targeting Ellington AFB (who were no doubt targeting me – I had visions of fighter planes scrambling, etc.). Thank goodness they were professional about it, pointing me in the right direction (about 70 degrees west of my current heading) and getting me down safely.

Mrs. MZM (who was my fiancé at the time) tells me that when I came in (she lived a few miles from there so I visited her after my flight lessons), I just walked in, sat down, and didn’t speak for about two hours. Oh, and I was somewhat… pale. I can’t say; I really don’t remember.

OK, lesson learned: flying a plane is the easy part! Knowing and handling the details is what makes a pilot. You know how they say (who are “they”, anyway?) don’t sweat the details?

Well, all I have to say is, sometimes details are everything.

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