Aviation articles by Garth Wallace

My dad was a pleasure flyer in the 1950s and 60s. If the weather looked good early on Sunday mornings, he’d come into my room, wake me and ask, "Are you flying with me this morning or going to church with your mother?"
It was a heck of a question for a plane-crazy kid but if you think aviation always won; you never met my mother. I tried to strike a balance by attending church on bad weather Sundays. It wasn’t always enough. Mom wanted me to be a preacher.
Dad didn’t particularly care what I did. He just wanted to fly.
I became a flying instructor, preaching aviation in cockpits daily.
I believe aviation is a good thing for most people. Student pilots are taught applied mathematics, science, engineering, history, geography, economics, communication and art. Flying develops mental and physical skills and fitness. Aviation teaches safety awareness, regulation savvy, practical decision making, independence, caution and emergency response. Pilots learn basic medicine, aircraft mechanics and human behaviour. They also become tuned to the environment and nature.
That’s a huge skill set from just one hobby. Did you know you were that empowered?
Does it mean that pilots are smarter than others or at least more practical? Certainly we must be better prepared.

SMARTER?
I once suggested to my wife, Liz that she should look at her tires before hopping into her car and driving away.
"I haven’t had a flat tire in 20 years," she countered, "but I’ll know when I do. The car tells me. The steering goes wobbly and the tire makes bad noises."
"Yes, but if you spotted the flat tire before getting into the car you wouldn’t be a hazard wobbling down the road and we could get the tire fixed before you shredded it in a flurry of bad noises."
"Those radial tires always look soft to me," she replied.
"Then use this," I said pulling a tire gauge from my pocket.
She looked at it and frowned. I thought she was going to tell me to stick it.
"Next you’ll be wanting me to check the oil every time," she said.
"I always do."
"Tires and oil every time?"
"Yes."
"Good for you. Please check mine while you’re at it."
I think I lost that one but I’m not sure how.
Liz – 1, pilot – 0.

MORE PRACTICAL?
Liz and I went to a New Years Eve dance.
"You look very nice," I said. We were nearly ready to leave. "But are those the clothes you want to walk home in if the car breaks down?"
"No. Do you want to dance with your wife wearing hiking boots, a parka and snow mitts?"
"No, but let’s take them just in case."
"Go ahead," she replied, "but if the car breaks down, I won’t be walking." She pulled her cell phone from her purse and waved it at me.
"What are you going to do when the cell phone doesn’t work?" I asked.
"Get out and flag down the next car. I’ll have better luck in an evening dress than you will looking like Grizzly Adams."
Liz – 2, pilot – 0.

BETTER PREPARED?
I plan road trips much like a flight. I know how far I’m going, how long it will take and what the weather will be on the way. I check the car before departing and carry an emergency kit just in case.
Liz’s idea of planning a trip is to make a gooey dessert for the host at the other end. Then she grabs a magazine, jumps into her car and roars off. She has an unshakeable faith in the automobile manufacturer, the road crews and her driving ability. She believes she will make it every time.
My wife ignores the gas gauge until the low fuel light comes on. When it does, she knows she has 90 kilometres left although she has little concept of how far that is. If the fuel companies miscalculate in providing a filling station where she needs one, then she drives until the engine fails, dials *CAA on her cell phone and reads the magazine until the nice man arrives with more gas. I know all this because it has happened while I was riding with her.
"What are you going to do it he doesn’t come this time?" I asked while we were waiting by the side of the road.
She looked up from her magazine and smiled, "Eat the dessert," she replied.
Liz – 3, pilot – 0.

One day we traded cars. I checked both of them and climbed into hers. The low fuel light was already on and the gas gauge needle was just above empty. I hopped out, tossed the lawnmower gas can into the trunk and drove toward a town 20 kilometres away.
The car quit partway. I pulled over and dug out the lawnmower gas. The five-litre plastic can was half full. I discovered that the collapsible little nozzles on those small cans are not long or strong enough to reach and depress the metal flap in the car’s filler neck. I got some fuel in by shoving a finger in with the nozzle. Most of the gas went on my shoes. The car would not start. It was parked on a slant.
I found Liz’s cell phone in the glove box. I dialed *CAA.
"I’m sorry Mr. Wallace, but you are not a member. If you’d like to sign up now, I can dispatch a truck."
I didn’t feel smart, practical or organized, just humble.
Liz – 2, pilot – 0.

HUMBLE?
Later that week, I went to a party of aviation friends. I knew I would be in good company. The pilot-talk was deep and wide with each aviator trying to top the last with stories of, "There I was…"
Then an air traffic controller told this joke.
"How do you tell a pilot at a cocktail party," he asked.
"I don’t know," I replied.
"You don’t have to. Wait a minute and he’ll tell you."
I was about to protest when I realized that others were laughing heartily.

So enjoy your flying, put your aviation skills to good use in whatever you’re doing but don’t let them go to your head. If you think you’re better than someone else, get another opinion. Ask my wife, or my mother, or an air traffic controller.