Topic: Undefined
Boats . They take forever to get there. Then there is all that bobbing around like a cork. No thanks. Choppers. Glorified Egg beaters. One hundred thousand nuts and bolts, heading in different directions. To me they seem like playing hopscotch in a minefield, not a sensible form of transport. Then there are little planes. I'm much happier with a bourbon and coke up the back where I can't see the pilot panicking. I know that it's twenty seven times safer then driving down the street but I'm always happier when we are back on the ground, and I'm not packed into the glove box with two hundred of my friends.
My mate has been threatening to take me up in his plane for the last fifteen years. He has even worn out one plane in that time. Friday night at the pub " Wanna fly tomorrow", beer makes you do strange things. Why not. Lilydale airport is on the edge of town, fields and hangers full of small planes. You can learn to fly there. We push open the hanger door, the little red plane is just that. Little. Two seats, three hundred and twenty kilos. Even surrounded by little planes it's little. A marvel of modern technology, made from carbon fibre, space age, electronics, and unobtainem. After an hour of checks, I squeeze into my seat. I'm not that big, but there is only one place I can put my hands without getting in the way of anything important. And I'm surround by important. Normally I'm in the back with the hosties, but the only thing behind me is a little window in the roof, a reusable grocery bag, and what looks like a large fire cracker beside it. " What's that" , I ask. That's the plane parachute. "OH" good to see the guys who built this have complete confidence.
"Clear prop", taxi , after what seem like using up about fifty feet of runway were in the the air. A couple of hours later we're back at the pub. Aside from a few bumps, it was great to see town from a different angle. Thanks mate.
Click here for the views of town.
