Long ago and far, far away from where I am now, I was a relatively fresh private pilot attending college in a town sufficiently distant from my family’s home that impromptu visits were impractical. As a nationwide election approached, I realized the deadline for requesting an absentee ballot had come and gone, and I wouldn’t be able to vote, except in person. Unless, that is, I flew in for the day, voted, and flew back to school. Lo and behold, a relatively new Skyhawk was available to rent on election day, so I booked it and convinced a friend who had never experienced a small airplane to ride along.
On election day, the friend and I saddled up the rented Skyhawk and launched toward my voting precinct into good VFR. The flight home was without drama, and we arrived more or less on time. Meeting up with my father, who whisked us off to the polls and then took us to lunch, went smoothly and soon it was time for the return flight. Freshly topped-off tanks ensured we had enough fuel for the return, so we bade my father a good-bye, cranked up and began taxiing out.
