"Fly the Plane"

On Vancouver Island, British Columbia, there is a tiny airport named Cassidy Airport. It is on the main highway between Nanaimo and Duncan. A short stroll from the main Airport building stands Vital Aviation, a small yet charming flying school. I took flying lessons there.

One day, while going through our checklist on the ground prior to taking off, Don Brown, my instructor, told me a story. Don was an instructor with a teaching technique his wife Lynda described to me as “Waiting quietly for you to screw up so he can tell you what you should be doing instead.” He had a charming way of telling a story about something you should do to avoid dying.

He told me about Eastern Air Lines Flight 401.

A red light had come on in the cockpit. This immediately caught the eye of the pilots, and as they became more focused on the red light, the entire crew became involved in trying to find the cause.

While focused on the flashing red light, they disconnected the autopilot. The plane crashed into the ground, killing 101 people, including three of the four cockpit crew members.

After finishing his story, Don paused for a moment and said, "Fly the plane."

He explained that the brown Cessna 172 we were in was a tough airplane. In a crash, the front of the plane crumples to absorb impact.

"If you are in level flight and crash into trees, you will probably survive," he said and paused once more to make sure I was listening.

"Just fly the plane," he said again.

What Don was trying to tell me was how important it is to only pay attention to essential things required to stay alive. Ensure the plane is safely in level flight, the engine sound is pure and strong, and you are calm, focused, and in control. Then you can check your gauges and adjust the speaker volume on your headset.

About two years ago, I bought the motorcycle of my dreams, a BMW R 1250 GS Adventure. I hadn't ridden a motorcycle for thirty years and looked forward to finally getting on a bike again.

The day arrived when the papers were complete, and my bike was ready to ride. I left the shop and turned onto the main road.

My happiness was immediately replaced by panic. I had no balance, and the bike began to oscillate under me. I was out of control.

I came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road. There were just a few seconds to decide; should I move to the side of the road or keep going? I remember an odd sense of time freezing, with rows of cars stopped behind me at an intersection.

The GSA is a bit heavier than a quarter of a ton. I didn't have the balance or strength to move it to the side of the road. The light was changing. Soon cars would be coming down the road.

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, looked down the street, and started off again. This time I was more in control. After a few wobbly corners, I arrived safely at home.

The motorcycle I had wanted for decades was now heavy and terrifying. But the idea of dying without doing something I had wanted to do for so long was more terrifying than dying in an accident.

For the next few days, I got up early before there were cars on the road and practiced in darkness riding around a road in a park near my house. I slowly regained my balance.

On the first morning, a red warning light came on, indicating something was wrong, which is not a good thing on a motorcycle.

But I had to ride. I had succeeded in overcoming my fear and getting back on my motorcycle. If I didn't ride, it would be much more terrifying a few days later. Then I heard the voice of my flying instructor. It was as though he was standing next to me, speaking calmly into my ear.

"Just ride the bike," Don said.

I immediately calmed down. The engine sounded fine. A squeeze of the brakes told me they were fine too.

I was nervous, but I was also just fine.

So I rode that morning and have been riding ever since.

Now I own the motorcycle I dreamed of. But I have been on a journey with this motorcycle that was much more difficult than I expected, so my motorcycle owns me too.

It turns out that the ABS warning light comes on before the antilock braking system has time to calibrate itself. That means, for a few meters, before the sensors have gathered the input from the moving motorcycle, and well before you encounter any need to make an emergency stop, a light comes on. BMW has designed a red light to come on and terrify people who are about to ride after a long absence and have stubbornly refused to read the manual.

This experience taught me to focus on things essential for arriving safely at my destination, whatever it might be.