This is not the story about how, after more than thirty years of wanting, I found my way into a circle of friends-turned-family who who got me up and flying in Moths, then a full-on checkout. That story is coming. This is simply a slice of breaking news.
I’m in what a dear friend refers to as "my belov’d southern Ontario" as I write this. Before I came on this latest trip, I got my US pilot’s license validated by Transport Canada, in effect giving me a Canadian licence as well. This means that when I go up with my friends here, and they let me fly, I can be pilot-in-command.
And, as the title (stolen with all respect from Roald Dahl) suggests, just a couple of hours ago, in the last light sky before sunset, I flew a 1941 DH82C through a couple of circuits as sole occupant.
And I didn’t break anything.
Here’s to the dreams that don’t end in disappointment.