The 90°F June sun is beating down on me, and beads of sweat are running down the sides of my face as I strain to pull my Cheetah back up the taxiway. What was I thinking, buying an airplane that was so flippin’ heavy? I stop for a break, wiping the sweat out of my eyes and scanning the 500 feet of tarmac remaining to my tie-down. Maybe if I pull the plane behind me. I turn around, grasp the handle of the tow bar with both hands behind my back, and bend to the task.
“You are so lucky I like you,” I mutter to the plane as I resume my plodding up the taxiway, hair askew and sweat dripping onto the tarmac.
