Dylan grasped the wheel tentatively, tried a few shallow turns, then spied Lake Minnetonka in the distance to the north and banked that way. I explained the altimeter, VSI and directional gyro, thinking these would be of the most use, but then realized he was staring at the attitude indicator — a truly ancient instrument I suspected was handcrafted by Mr. Sperry himself. I had a good chuckle, remembering that Jerry Graham, my first flight instructor, covered up the AI to get me to stop fixating on it. “It keeps wanting to go down,” Dylan noted as the plane dipped 100 feet low for the third time. Very astute. It actually was a little mistrimmed. “Here, see this little wheel between the seats? Rotate it backward and it’s like you’re pulling back on the wheel a little bit.” Another memory of Jerry floods over me, this one from my second flight lesson, at age 13: “Remember, Sam, a professional pilot always keeps the plane trimmed!” Jerry knew I harbored hopes of flying for a living and used that as motivation all the time. He’d flown for a regional airline in Montana in the 1970s, making him the closest thing to a big-time airline pilot I knew at the time. His word was God’s word as far as I was concerned, and his advice in my ear persists to this day.