From Sea Level to 4,000ft: Part II 4,000ft

Mount Diablo Summit

Having spent the best part of Saturday at sea level, Sunday took on loftier heights. Whilst there had been aspirations to ride high with a new kite down at the beach, these didn't quite take off. The day was divided into two halves offering two of my favourite things. Firstly, a trip outdoors for a picnic as the temperatures soared in the East Bay. Secondly, another tick-off in the bucket list, a flying lesson. Many thanks to The Missus for an excellent Christmas present. 

Mt Diablo State Park but could easily be the Glastonbury boundary 2010

Reaching 3849 ft, Mount Diablo offers views stretching some two hundred miles. Mount Diablo State Park is 20,000 acres of rolling hills topped off with the mountain's double pyramid. The terrain in April, still lush green from the winter rains, took me straight back to the early morning annual Wednesday pilgrimage to the Glastonbury Festival. I could have easily been in Somerset driving (car full of tents, booze and gazebos) to that haloed land. For the first time in a long time, I had a real knot of homesickness for the English countryside as strains of "Jerusalem" and Elgar's "Nimrod" flooded out from my mind's left and right speakers. 

The actor Patrick Stewart, ham that he is, once described how, on hearing "Nimrod" while driving in LA, had to pull his car over, so overcome with emotion was he for England. I didn't cry but at that moment I knew exactly how he felt. 

                                         I have to admit I am welling up watching this video

The beauty of the state park was breathtaking in all its Northern California/South West England glory. As the car thermometer touched 90f, The Missus and I pulled over for some fresh air and a spot of lunch at a lookout point. The US does many things well. Not least, plenty of picnic areas in beauty spots and, because the country is so vast, these are rarely thronging with people. With wildflowers growing behind and a jaw dropping view in front, the leviathan lunch sandwich was served. 

Never in the field of human picnics was such a large sandwich consumed by so few. Backed by a quinoa support salad The Missus and I only managed to eat half of the monster, but this sturdy bread mountain was going to keep on giving, providing both a lunch and a supper snack as it matured the next day. 

A sandwich with a view

Even this giant sandwich was a warm up for the headline act. Though it may be geeky for some, I've always loved aeroplanes. As a child my babysitter would take me to Manchester Airport (then "Ringway") to watch the planes take off and land. The beauty of Manchester is that it doesn't have any snooty Southern prohibition, preventing a decent vantage point of the runway. Aviation enthusiasts encouraged. There's even a pub with a beer garden where the jets threaten to topple your pint. Ever tried watching a take off or landing at Heathrow? Impossible. The miserable powers that be have deliberately obscured all views, the spoilsports. 

Up close and personal

Now, watching is one thing, controlling a flying can with wings is quite another. Though I'd longed for this moment I can't say that I didn't feel a touch of apprehension mixed in with the excitement.  As the instructor walked me through the pre-flight checks with many, "check to make sure that's not going to fall off" comments, I tugged and checked obligingly. "Make sure the dents aren't too big" is not something anyone really wants to hear.

Safety checks are largely "tap tap tap, tap tap tap"

Once I'd strapped in, put on my headset, primed the engine, entrusted my life to a stranger, I started up the puppy by....turning the key. The engine cleared it's throat as it spat into life. I'd been told that I'd be in control whilst taxiing, take off and most of the flight but was relieved that the instructor navigated us onto the taxiway thereby avoiding the chance of careering into the stationary aircraft.

Learning how to operate the filanji

Taxiing is controlled by throttle (a large British Leyland type choke) and the foot pedals which control both left and right via the rudder and by breaking using the top of the pedals. Initially I forgot about the breaking part, swinging left and right of the yellow guideline as my subconscious "academic" mind considered that, because the word "rudder" was involved, left must mean right and right must mean left.  From careering down the taxiway like a driver searching for that last toffee he was sure he'd seen on the passenger side floor of his car, my flying skills appeared to improve dramatically.

Taxiing

Once positioned on the runway, the throttle we teased the up to 7,000 rpm, trundled, stumbled then skipped off the tarmac. As the aircraft left the ground the wind jostled it from side to side and for a moment I had a fear that a "paff" into the ground moment was imminent but it climbed steadily and, dare I say it, professionally. I had been told to head towards the wind farm, roughly west, maintaining a gentle climb and keeping the plane level. Never have I paid so much attention to a dashboard, to my actions and to everything going on around me. The little plane, like a person with a new nose job, was sensitive to every slight, no matter how appropriate or deliberate. As we levelled out at 2,500ft and the instructor seemed none too concerned in getting involved, I took a moment to relish the experience. I was flying.

As we turned over the bay, maneouvering from left to right, right to left, I fell into a common trap, fixating on one instrument. Now, I remember the Krypton Factor and alongside the assault course, the flight simulator round was just as good. I distinctly remember the instruction was to pay attention to the artificial horizon. Not so, or at least maybe that's the case for a passenger jet, but the damage had been sown at childhood. I found it hard to take my eyes off it. This day I learnt it's not accurate. Oh how illusions can be shattered. As I got to grips with the four different instruments that all corroborate each others' evidence, I couldn't help but wonder, "..but where's the iPod dock?" I had reasonably resigned myself that I wouldn't be able to crank up my own playlist for the experience but to have my faith an the artificial horizon undermined, this was a lot to stomach.

The hour passed by, fortunately, without incident. One of the most fun moments was getting the instructor to show me how to do a 45 degree "steep" turn and, as we lost altitude, he pulled on the throttle. The resulting g's, pulled when we went both left and right, were better than any rollercoaster.

From now on, just call me Captain. 

Terra firma with a California Veer from the yellow line