SoloI have one piece of metal in my hand. Its only a small, V-shaped piece of sterling silver, no more than an inch and a half across, with nothing but a very modest triangle within a circle in the center. It is very plain; its only a pin to some people. But to me, this pin is a shiny memory.
The twenty-five-hundred-pound machine I am sitting in is just a light framework of aluminum and fiberglass, and its interior is no more than three feet wide at its widest point. Its roughly the same size, different dimensions taken into account, as a Kia.
My nervousness isnt helped by the fact that theres a very gusty crosswind. I dont even look back at my instructor now as he retreats from the tarmac and heads into the terminal to warm up. I open the window for some air, letting the wind, laden with the smell of rain, circulate through the cockpit. The smell that usually calms me does little to ease my jitters now.
I put the battered, laminated checklist on my lap