Without a current husband or any kids I could remember, and since the engine had only 10 hours since a major, I heroically flew the first leg over the hills alone. It was perfect heaven, skimming the ridges with my finger on the sectional and, well, maybe an occasional glance at the 396. At London, we topped the 12-gallon nose tank, and Danny Bridges climbed in the back. Danny, a cop and student pilot, is a pretty hefty guy, and friends don't put even small friends in the front seat of a Cub for two hours. I think it was the same day, getting near sunset, when we arrived at Gene Snyder Field at Falmouth, Kentucky, for fuel and I thought seriously about stopping there. Nah, we had light and Danny knew how to find David's farm even though the batteries on the handheld and the 396 had long since died.