Tracy waited patiently as her husband left a generous tip
on the linen-covered corner table, and together they waddled out
of the restaurant.
"Brian, I can't believe I ate so much and still finished that piece of cake," she said, patting her belly.
Brian smiled and rubbed his own stomach. "Yeah, Dave wasn't kidding. They do give great servings here. And did you see how big that cake was? We'll have to come back again."
"Sure, maybe after a few weeks of starvation dieting."
They both laughed and as the cool autumn evening greeted them, they linked hands and walked onto the tarmac.
The short stroll to the 172 took a few minutes longer than usual; partly due to the extra baggage of crab cakes, French fries, and chocolate cake they were carrying; but also undoubtedly because of Tracy's apprehension. Tonight was to be her first ever flight, and she was riding a seesaw of emotions, teetering between excitement and dread.
"Will this thing get off the ground with two heavies like us on board?" Tracy asked, pointing to the Cessna before them, only half smiling.
"It had better . . . we're not wearing our walking shoes, and it's a long way to Cliffdale by foot."
Tracy didn't laugh this time, but she did offer him a quick smile.
As Brian hurried through his preflight inspection -- he kicked the tires from several angles, checked the oil and fuel, walked around the plane a few times, and finally undid the tie downs and chocks -- Tracy gazed at the western sky . . . and frowned.
Clouds had formed along the horizon and were moving easterly, toward their destination. She contemplated saying something, but immediately remembered her husband's words from earlier at dinner. While waiting for dessert, she had expressed her tenth or eleventh concern of the night and he had shook his head, smiling, and said: "Let me do all the thinking up there, okay. You just come along for the ride and have a good time tonight. After a few trips you'll get used to it. Trust me."
Tracy was still staring -- and worrying about -- the clouds when Brian shouted "Good enough!" and guided them into the cozy confines of the 172. The craft was a bit worn and it showed its age with renters rash on just about every conceivable surface. The paint was blistering and peeling in several places and the entire interior could have used a decent rework, but the engine was solid and reliable.
Brian did a quick run of the electronics, opened the side window and slid the key in the ignition. "Clear prop!"
The 172 sprang to life, like a slumbering beast awakening, and the brakes gave for a second as Brian checked the oil pressure gauge. The needle crept into the green and he declared "all well" and proceeded.
All the while, Tracy sat rigid in her seat. From her position inside the plane, the building mass of black clouds on the horizon had taken on an even more ominous appearance. The clouds had grown darker now, and they cut a crisp, jagged line across the skyline.
Suddenly, the plane lurched into motion.
"Brian." Barely a whisper from her lips.
"In a minute, Tracy. I'm a little busy."
"Brian." More urgent now.
"Almost done, honey. Just try to relax and enjoy." He announced his intentions on the Unicom frequency and taxied to the edge of Runway 12. "Hmmm, not too many people flying tonight."
Tracy looked to the west again. "Brian."
This time he simply ignored her and just as she was about to demand his attention, he gunned the engine and turned to line up with the runway's center stripe. The old bird gained confident speed and -- answering Tracy's silent prayer -- slowly but surely the 172 rose from the pavement. Brian turned to course and dialed in the Cliffdale VOR at 340.
Finally, with everything in perfect order, Brian turned to Tracy . . . and it was his turn to frown. She was equal shades of green and blue and purple, but was quickly turning to all green. "Oh, honey,"he said, suppressing a giggle. "Are you okay?"
She shook her head.
"It's just the dinner . . . too much," he said. "Remember what I told you about the take-off?"
"Clouds," she answered, ignoring his comment.
Brian looked puzzled.
"Clouds," she said again, this time pointing. "Is it going to storm?"
"Oh, those clouds. No problem, hon. We'll just slip around them and scoot right in."
And there it was. She had been worrying for nothing. If a careful and experienced pilot like Brian wasn't concerned, there was no real reason for alarm. Just an amateur's silly worrying. Gradually, the color in her face improved and the boiling in her stomach subsided to a nervous itch, and she soon found herself actually enjoying the flight.
Brian was worried.
He glanced westward from the corner of his eye and saw that the clouds had amassed much quicker than he had expected. They appeared to dance and swell on the horizon and change to a darker gun-metal shade of gray right before his eyes. The clouds had shifted, too. They covered most of the sky now, and the ceiling was dropping fast. And to make matters worse, the wind had become stronger and gusty. Keeping the VOR needle pegged on course was becoming more and more difficult.
He stole a quick look at Tracy. Despite the swaying of the 172, she actually looked a lot better now that the take off was behind them. She sat staring out the side window, hands resting in her lap.
She had been the one worried about the dark clouds, about a storm, he thought. Maybe I should have listened. But there was no way I could have expected this to come up so fast . . . unless, that is, I had used my brain and checked with weather before I departed . . . The plane jumped, gripped in a nasty gust of wind, and this time Tracy did notice. "Brian, is everything okay?"
Brian faked a smile and said, "Just a little turbulence, honey."He descended to 2000 feet in an attempt to avoid some of the lower cloud cover but the turbulence only grew worse.
"Whoa, what's going on," Tracy asked, concern creeping back in her voice.
Time to decide, Brian thought. Stay on course for Cliffdale or turn back. The plane bucked again, and just that quickly, the decision was made for him. He swung around in a wide 180.
"Tracy, we've got a little bad weather coming, nothing to really worry about, but I think it may be better if we play it safe and head back."
Tracy now looked concerned and green again.
As the plane banked it cut into a low cloud and everything went gray. Brian dipped the nose to get under it but there seemed to be no bottom. He watched nervously as the altimeter spun down below 1000 feet.
He looked over at Tracy and saw that she wasn't doing very well. Her eyes were wide and moist and transfixed on her lap, and she was wringing her fingers together. She was really scared this time, and Brian suddenly realized, that he was, too.
He patted her leg and squeezed her knee gently. "It's okay, Tracy. Just a little IFR practice, that's all."
His attention had slacked for only a few seconds, but when Brian turned back to the controls -- and the surrounding gray clouds -- he realized with a jolt of terror that he had no idea where the plane was and the increasing turbulence made it nearly impossible to hold a steady course. He quickly flipped through the channels on the Com radio but there was nothing but garble. He reached behind the seat and fumbled for his sectional chart. After a few minutes of hurried refilling, he searched for elevations. Hills at 450 feet, but that wasn't much cause for concern . . . but a tower at 1200 feet and the plane at 900 feet!
He pulled back on the yoke and the plane began a slow and bumpy ascent. He risked a glance at Tracy and saw that she had her eyes closed and there were tiny slivers of tears staining her cheeks.
He leveled the plane at 2000 feet and held a general course. "I'll just keep it steady until we fly through this mess, no problem. This stuff has to clear up soon."
Tracy opened her eyes and they were wide with fear. "Oh, God, I hope so. I just want to go home."
But instead of clearing, the clouds seemed to be actually thickening and darkening, like an ever tightening noose. Several minutes later, lightning flashes illuminated the cabin and violent thunder rumbled, vibrating the plane's sturdy frame.
It was then -- just after the thunder and lightning came -- that Brian noticed Tracy staring over his shoulder, eyes widening to saucers, a shaking finger pointing. He turned and looked in the direction she was staring, his own eyes flashing wide, and he almost fainted . . .
My God, it was another plane!
The hulking mass seemed to form out of thin air right off the left wing of the 172. Brian watched in horror as the twin engine monster hovered inches from his wingtip. He yanked hard -- too hard -- on the yoke and brought the 172 into a steep dive right. At 1500 feet Brian leveled the plane and his sigh of relief was audible in the plane's cabin.
"It's okay, honey. A close call, but it's okay now--"
A squeal from Tracy's mouth interrupted him and she began pointing frantically out the left window again.
He looked out the window.
The plane was back!
The big twin had evidently dove after the 172 and was flying inches from the wing tip again. Before Brian could react, the hissing static in their headsets was broken with the soft, pleasant voice of a woman.
"Howdy, folks."
Brian and Tracy stared at each other momentarily, mouths open in surprise. Neither one answered the voice, though. The situation was quickly changing from dangerous and frightening to downright bizarre.
Again the static was broken. "Going somewhere, folks?"
Brian looked back out the window. The clouds were still thick around them, but the darkness was lifting some, changing the background from black to ashen. He peeled his eyes away from the precariously close wing tips and looked into the cockpit of the vintage aircraft. A young woman, clad in a leather jacket, smiled and waved.
To Brian's astonishment, Tracy waved back. Then she surprised him again by saying, in a calm and steady voice: "Brian, she doesn't look lost. Let's follow here."
He shook his head. "You don't understand. This isn't normal. Something is--"
"Just ask her, will you?"
Brian cleared his throat and swallowed the remaining pride this adventure had spared. He spoke softly: "Hello there. Umm, we kind of got disoriented in the clouds and we're trying to get back down to--"
Laughter boomed through the headset. "Kind of got disoriented . . . I'll say. You've been flying around in circles like a dog chasing his own tail!"
Tracy giggled loudly with approval -- prompting Brian to look at her like she was nuts! -- and piped in on her own headset. "Are you lost, too?"
Again the laughter roared. "Oh yes, I'm lost, alright. In fact, I've been lost for years."
More laughter . . . but this time not the woman's. Other people were laughing in the background.
"You have passengers with you, huh?"
"Oh, yes. Lots of them."
"Well, it's sure nice to meet you. I'm Tracy and this is my husband, Brian."
Brian looked at Tracy and shook his head. Only a few minutes earlier, she had been crying and staring, eyes closed, at the floor. Now, here she was, eerily straight-faced and calm, introducing them to a crazy woman in an old plane in the middle of the weirdest storm he'd ever seen!
The headset hissed and the woman responded: "Well, hello Tracy and Brian. It's nice to meet you, too. I'm Amelia. Amelia Earhart."
The words hit him right in the gut and Brian panicked. He accidentally jerked the yoke and the two wing tips that had been dancing a few feet apart fluttered violently, then came together and met . . .
. . . and passed harmlessly right through each other!
There was no sound of crunching metal. No violent jolt. It had all happened too fast for Brian to cringe or even close his eyes and as a result, he had seen everything. The wing of the big twin had passed right through the 172 . . . almost as if it wasn't a plane at all, but some kind of phantom or mirage!
Brian looked at Tracy and he knew by the expression of fascination plastered on her face that she, too, had seen it happen.
"Do you mean the real Amelia Earhart?" Tracy asked, without missing a beat.
"Yes, ma'am. That's the one."
Brian finally ended his silence. "Where . . . how can . . . you can't be her. You'd be so old . . . where did you come from?"His voice dripped with defiance. This was all too much and it had to end!
Tracy hushed him, afraid that his rudeness would anger the other pilot, but the woman's voice was still gentle and friendly: "Brian, I'm here, well, because we're all up here."
"All? . . . who else is up here?" Simultaneously, Brian and Tracy searched the sky for more planes. They found none.
"There's lot of us. All the pilots who have gone on. The fighter jocks. The bombers. Test pilots. Astronauts. Hey, even flyboys who don't check the weather and get lost in the clouds."
The hardy laughter of dozens of voices crackled over the headset.
"You don't mean that we're . . . dead, do you?" asked Tracy.
Brian held his breath, waiting for the answer.
"Oh, no, you're just visiting."
Brian exhaled sharply, looked at Tracy. She still appeared calm and collected, as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring. As if to confirm his thoughts, she spoke into her headset: "Hey, Amelia. Did you know they named a line of travel luggage after you?"
Brian stared at her with a mixture of amusement and puzzlement. What the heck was she thinking?
"Well, well," the woman said. "That's mighty ironic. I was never much for packing for trips. If I had been I mighta brought along more flares and a life raft."
This time even Brian joined in with the laughter. After several seconds, he shrugged his shoulders and asked: "Amelia? What happened out there? You know, when you tried to cross the Atlantic?"
The question chased away the laughter and the drone of the powerful engines grew louder. Suddenly, though, the big twin rolled to its left into a steep dive and was quickly swallowed by the clouds.
"Wait, wait a minute. I didn't mean anything. I just wanted to know what happened to you," Brian pleaded, searching for a glimpse of the plane.
He was answered by a hiss of static.
Then silence.
After a short time, the hiss returned, then was replaced by the woman's voice: "I just disappeared . . . "
They flew in silence for another ten minutes -- neither knowing quite what to say -- before Tracy finally asked, "We're still lost, aren't we?"
For the first time since encountering the phantom craft, Brian was paying close attention to the plane's direction. Regardless, the answer was yes, he knew. They were still lost somewhere in the clouds.
"Yes, honey, we're--"
"Aircraft approaching from the southwest, identify yourself. Cliffdale control."
Brian's mouth dropped open. Cliffdale control? It couldn't be. They'd turned back, he was sure of it . . . but then again none of it made any sense.
He fumbled to make the call. "Cliffdale. This is Cessna November 35462 Kilo. We are at 1500 feet and unable to get below the ceiling."
"62 Kilo descend to 1000 feet and take up a heading on two zero."
Brian looked at Tracy and held up his right hand with two fingers crossed for luck. He dropped the 172 and at 1200 feet, they were greeted by a sun shining so brightly that they both had to shield their eyes. The airport was waiting straight ahead of them.
"It was almost as if she was guiding us." It was Tracy's voice, and the sound of it broke Brian's concentration.
He looked at her and nodded. Whispered into his headset: "Thank you."
And then it was Amelia's voice that answered one final time,
before the static returned for good, with a simple: "You
are quite welcome, my friend."
