I quickly got my instrument rating in the airplane and then flew the heck out of it. I logged 140-plus hours in the first year—my dog, Seven, flying right (rear) seat for just about every one of them. New York to Los Angeles and back. Went the safer, southern route heading west, stopping to see friends in Austin, Texas, and Louisville, Kentucky. Flew over the Rockies on the return. I landed in Sedona, Arizona, which took my breath away, and Taos, New Mexico, which took the Bonanza’s breath away. Leaning that far on takeoff is a strange thing the first time you do it. Back home in New York, I made quick trips to Montauk for seafood, Great Barrington for burgers. I flew neighbors, friends and family. I flew in poor weather and sunshine. I just flew.