CHAPTER 10

Three Green Lights

We don’t need as much confirmation as we think we do.

I spend a lot of time on planes. I mean, a lot. People are everywhere, and

I like to be with people, so planes are just a part of my life. Last year I
flew almost a half million miles. They call me “Mr. G” at the local
airport. I’ve helped ticket agents with adoptions. I’ve celebrated high
school graduations and mourned tremendous losses with the people who
work at the airport. Sometimes I feel like Tom Hanks in the movie The
Terminal. I had always wondered who in the world would shop for clothes
in one of the airport stores. I’m a little embarrassed to admit to you—I’m
that guy.
I’m a pilot, which means sometimes I fly myself to places too. I
usually do this when the place I’m going is close by air and I don’t want
to take a long drive. Once, I had just come off an intense stretch of cross-
country trips. I think I flew over Kansas at least six times in one week.
I’m pretty sure I saw a farmer wave to me as I passed overhead. When I
realized the next place I needed to be was a long way by car but there was
a shortcut over some mountains by flying, I decided to save myself from
California traffic and take a small airplane instead. I called a friend who
was a member of a flying club, and he got me a deal—I could rent a plane
for a hundred dollars an hour. That was just a few bucks more than Hertz.
Granted, it was kind of a junky plane, but hey, it flew. So I took it.
I got a chart before I left for the airfield and threw together a quick
flight plan. When I first started flying, I wasn’t sure what a flight plan
was. I figured mine was pretty simple—to get there and get back without