A couple of days later, I found myself in Atlanta with one day off between work trips, not quite enough time to commute home but a perfect interlude, I hoped, for some fun flying. The day prior, I called every listed FBO and flight school within a 30-mile radius of Atlanta. About a third of the places I called were out of business. The survivors, however, were apparently doing very good business. “You should have called a few days ago; we’re really busy on the weekends,” said one receptionist, not unkindly. Oh, yeah — it’s Saturday, isn’t it? “Next time, try scheduling a week or two out,” she suggested. Several other FBOs had converted to flight academies. “Wait a minute, so you’re already an airline pilot … why are you calling us?” asked one obviously confused correspondent. “Because you have Cessna 172s, and that is what I’d like to fly, with an instructor,” I responded patiently. “But we train people to be airline pilots,” he replied, still mystified. “Can’t you retrain airline pilots to fly Cessnas?” I queried. I think I broke his brain.