You see, I didn't learn to fly in order to get anywhere. I learned to fly because somewhere in the course of a summer evening biplane flight, I touched something in the sky that made me remember, just for a moment, a secret about beauty, life, or magic that I think I must have known once, long before I was born. As a result, my dream airplane was always a Waco, a Travel Air, or a melt-my-heart Piper Super Cub. And my first airplane actually was a 1946 Cessna 120, with a sum total of six instruments, including the engine gauges. An instrument rating is a laughable thing, in that kind of airplane. But nobody cares, because you don't buy a Cessna 120 or a Waco if you're looking to get to St. Louis on time. Waiting out weather is simply part of the adventure, and part of the appeal, of flying a classic old airplane.