There's the famous flight to "Beno," Oregon, and another flight with my best buddy Kimberly that simply says, "Great Circle Route to the Wine Country"-shorthand for a flight in which we became so hopelessly turned around and lost that she and I still laugh about it, seven years later. There's the trip to Cedar Key, Florida, with Jim in the 120, where the official approach included a buzz job over the tiny downtown area to let Edna, the owner of the only taxi in town, know that there were pilots who needed a ride coming in to the tiny island strip. There's my magical lunar eclipse flight with Roger, some dual instruction in a T-6 Texan, and a riotous, wonderful and oh-so-memorable trip to Glacier National Park with Kimberly. There are flights into Middletown, Ohio, to have lunch at Frisch's; Seymour, Indiana, for dinner; Chino, California, for a ride in a B-25 Mitchell bomber; and Billing, Sudan, to pick up relief workers from a war zone. And in between, everyday notes from the roller-coaster ride of a pilot's progress through the school of experience. "Seven landings. Humbling." "Touch and Go" entries that would add up to months of my life if I totaled the hours they mark. "25kt G direct xwind, downdrafts, wind shear, TURBULENCE! 53 kt gndspd, 1,500 fpm up and down, YUCK!" The entries go on and on.