I can't believe we're doing this!"
Kimberly's laughing voice sails through the air from somewhere behind me as our horses canter through the ponderosa pines of an Oregon trail. I don't answer immediately, because just staying in the saddle is taking up most of my focus at the moment. But I laugh, inside and out. Because it's good to hear that phrase again.
It's a phrase I used to hear all the time coming from Kimberly as we plowed our way through various adventures, from flying our airplanes around California and hiking on snow fields at Glacier National Park to champagne moments at five-star hotels and restaurants in San Francisco and New York. But it had been a while since we'd had a flying adventure together. Four years, in fact. Ever since she'd been transformed by a life-changing event called becoming a mom.
Babies change things. Even if they're not yours. And their impact can be far more complex than just needing to arrange for childcare and protective cabinet locks. Kimberly and I still flew back and forth to see each other when we could manage it, but it seemed our days of joint adventuring were gone, or at least were going to be on hold for the next 15 years or so.
But then the forces of the universe suddenly realigned for a couple of days. I had to bring my airplane home from Redmond, Oregon, where it was having its annual inspection completed, and I'd gotten an invitation from a fellow Cheetah owner to go riding at a nearby dude ranch while I was in the Redmond area. I was still trying to figure out how to get to Oregon to do those things when Kimberly called. Her husband was going on a business trip and her mother had offered to watch the baby, leaving her with an airplane and an unexpected two-day kitchen pass.
Our first plan was for her to fly me to Redmond in her Cessna 210, but then another friend offered to fly both of us there in his P-210T Silver Eagle (a 210 retrofitted with a Rolls-Royce/Allison turboprop engine). That meant Kimberly and I could fly to Redmond in turbine style and fly home together in the Cheetah-a plan that sounded a lot more fun.
Bright and early the next day, Larry Turley (who makes kick-ass wine when he's not flying airplanes) arrived in what he calls his "Turbine Suburban," and we took off and headed toward Redmond. Normally, I wouldn't put a 210 in the category of exciting airplanes, but stick a turbine engine out front and even a 210 gets pretty darn impressive. We zoomed quietly up to 15,500 feet and just over an hour and a half later (the Cheetah can take up to four hours to make the same trip), we touched down in Redmond.
Kimberly and I had actually been to Redmond before. It was on our last trip together, four years ago, and it was a 20-hour stop that will remain near the top of my cherished-memories list for the rest of my life. The good-humored folks at Redmond Air had given us free popcorn and an unforgettable courtesy car-a rusty, faded-red Honda Accord with manual transmission, brakes that screeched loud enough to turn heads several blocks away, and a passenger door that flew open in any left-hand turn. We'd taken that car and burned up the town with it, including the back roads of the local golf resort where we spent the night-a resort memorable for having a really fun sprinkler system and martinis so huge that the extra had to be served in medium-sized bell jars. But that was in Kimberly's pre-baby years.
