30 AUGUST 2018 ÇPlane&Pilot
the mist of oil blew through the cabin, sights and smells
conspiring to take us back in time.
I’m certain there are louder cabins out there, but I
was thankful for the modern foam earplugs I had, rather
than the pufs of cotton passengers of yesteryear stufed
in their ears to dampen the drone of three radial engines
and their propellers attached to a resonating metal cage.
he regional jet I lew at the time could have lown circles
around us. he Airbus I now work with could have carried
the Trimotor aloft if it could it through the door. A leet
of logging equipment might burn less fuel and oil than
a Ford Trimotor. But it was a glorious ride into the past.
he noise peaked and the wheels slowed to a stop as
the runway slipped behind us. In the seat ahead of me,
a young schoolgirl giggled and smiled, having appar-
ently swapped seats with the middle-aged lady who’d
been sitting there just moments before takeof. She
was dreaming of the day she’d grow up to work with a
company that restores aircraft. She pointed down to
the ields and orchards below, strangely familiar with
the land where she would live decades later, once this
lovely Tin Goose of a school bus stopped taking her to
class, and life would force her to become a grown-up.
We traced lazy circles over central Florida, enjoying a
smooth ride before the sun was high enough to roughen
our ride with the convective activity us southern aviators
know all too well.Our 20-minute ride into the past stretched longer
than expected. here was some operational reason, I
heard, like an airplane stranded on the runway. Perhaps
it was the Creator smiling on us, or maybe the guys up
front looked over their shoulders and couldn’t bear to
make the music stop so soon for those of us enjoying
our surprisingly afordable ticket into the past. Either
way, eventually our bird whistled and pop-popped its
way down through the pattern. After we landed, my eyes
came back inside to ind the schoolgirl gone. he lady I’d
boarded with was in the girl’s seat, and all of us aboard
were a little sad the ride was over.
As we walked away, it was apparently how difer-
ently we’d absorbed the impact of the ride. Some of us
visted the past they’d lived while others had gotten a
peek into a period we’d only known from history books.
Both groups, it seemed, walked away with a lightness
of step and a spark in our eyes not present when we’d
irst boarded. Most of what folks call magic is actually
sleight of hand, illusion and deception. But I can think
of no better description of riding around in such a bird
as the Ford Trimotor than pure magic. It was the closest
to a time machine one can get without a highly modiied
DeLorean or a British police call box. PPJeremy King is an airline pilot from Atlanta, Georgia. He
and his wife, Amy, are restoring a 1945 Piper J-3 Cub.The Ford Trimotor was the first really successful airliner. For one modern-day airline pilot, the chance to fly in one was both a dream come true and a
chance to step back in time to a different era when things moved more slowly and, in some ways, more beautifully.