Flavor #17 - Take a Helicopter Ride

Take a Helicopter Ride - Jon Moran, Elmhurst IL

The traffic had been grueling and we were a 1/2 hour late, but we had made it. Nick may or may not have driven the wrong way down a one-way traffic detour to get there, but we had made it.

The GPS guided us up a circular driveway to a brick building. For a moment, we questioned if we were in the right spot. The GPS said we were at Schaumburg Regional Airport, and just beyond the building we could see a variety of planes, but the sign on the building read, "Pilot Pete's: Steak, Seafood, Pasta."

After confirming with Chris, our Bachman Aero contact, that we were indeed in the right place, we entered the building and headed downstairs to where a man in a black baseball cap and green coveralls was waiting for us. He introduced himself as Tony, our pilot. I must have had an anxious look on my face, because Tony assured me that there was nothing to worry about. As he led us out onto the tarmac, I informed him that this whole thing had actually been my idea, but I don't think he believed me. We hopped into a doorless jeep, and zoomed across the wide field of cement. Scenes from several Air Force movies flashed through my mind, and silently I wished for some inspiring patriotic underscoring.

Within seconds we approached the sleek, compact bubble that was our helicopter. Chris welcomed us, and took us into the hanger to go over some standard rules and to sign something that basically stated that if we died, it wasn't their fault. Once all of the legal stuff was taken care of, Chris led us back out to the tarmac. Tony was already in the pilot seat. We approached the helicopter from the left, crossing in front and around to the right. Chris emphasized that you never want to enter or exit toward the tail rotor, because even though it was red, it was hard to see when it was moving.



We had decided that Nick would be the first to fly. I smiled as he folded his 7 foot frame into the two-seater cabin, like a clown cramming his way into a clown car. Quickly, I snapped a couple shots, then followed Chris off the tarmac next to the hanger.

The helicopter sat silent, so I kicked back in one of the chairs and lifted my face to a couple planes zooming through the first patch of blue sky we'd had in weeks.

Suddenly, the main rotor whirred to life and the three blades dissolved into a noisy blur. I watched in awe as this hunk of metal cautiously let go of the launch pad and crept upward into the air. As it balanced there, so graceful, it reminded me of a dragon fly hovering over a pond.

Then unexpectedly, the "dragon fly" banked to the right, halted, stumbled backwards, and halted again. It looked as though it was having trouble making up its mind, and it finally occurred to me that Nick had probably taken the controls. To my surprise, swung around to face me and through the tinted glass, I could faintly see Nick's goofy wave.

After a few more minutes of flight instruction, the movement became more fluid. Eventually it turned back to the runway, and with a exaggerated rev of the engine, took off into the distance, slowly climbing until I couldn't see it anymore.

Nick was the perfect guy to share this kind of experience with. He was quirky, clever, and had a way of making crazy situations sound fun. This knack for persuasion made his job as an Internal Sales Rep very fitting. In fact, it was he who had sold me on the idea that taking the controls, if only for a moment, would be much cooler than a cramped view of the Grand Canyon.

After about 20 minutes the helicopter returned and it was my turn. Nervously I grabbed onto the side of the door and pulled myself into the cabin. Chris buckled me in like a toddler, and I put on the headset, immediately hearing Tony's magnified voice in my ear asking if I could hear him. My voice replied back to him in clips that seemed far away.

The cabin was a like something from Star Wars. Glass boarded the fronts and sides and in the middle was a panel full of complicated looking dials and other instruments. Directly in front of me was a very large joystick called the Cyclic Control. Tony instructed me to rest my right arm on my right leg and lightly grip the controller. As I felt him barely shift it from side to side, he directed my attention to the rotor. Squinting I could faintly make out the gray edge of the blades responding to Tony's subtle movement.

Tony increased the torque of the rotor and we levitated off of the platform. The sensation reminded me of a ride at an amusement park, but unlike a ride, we were completely

unattached and weightless. After some instruction and much needed encouragement, Tony removed his hand from the control. In that instant I understood the delicacy of it all and forgave Nick for his shaky attempt. My hovering was nothing like a dragon fly. Instead, I'm pretty sure it resembled a June Bug, bouncing and

dipping through the air. It was so easy to over correct, and although we were just a couple feet off the ground, it was nerve-wracking.

Gratefully the hovering lesson only lasted a few minutes, and we realigned ourselves with the runway. After Tony made a quick call to the tower and looked behind him for traffic, we were off. The takeoff wasn't like on a plane with that crushing force pulling you backwards; instead it was a steady drive upwards. As the houses and trees grew smaller and smaller, I had to remind myself that I wasn't on a ride at a theme park; this little bubble called a helicopter was actually climbing into the sky.

Schaumburg isn't a volcano in Hawaii, but from the air it was quite beautiful . The neighborhoods looked more like villages, made up of multi-colored patches, boarded by a ribbon of winding asphalt. I gazed out the window, soaking up the lush green fields and Tony commented that it was a shame that not very many people had the opportunity to see Illinois from his point of view.

We were on our way back to the airport, when Tony mentioned that Nick had steered for a while in the air. The competitive side of me kicked in and though I really didn't want to, I decided to steer as well. The idea was the same as the hover, except, tilted every so slightly forward to move the helicopter through space. A couple times, the wind rocked us, and my heart jumped into my nose, but for the most part the ride was smooth and breathtaking.

As we landed, I felt a mixture of sadness and relief. It was so calm and serene up there with the birds, but I was also a little nervous the entire time. Unlike an airplane which is basically a bus flying 30,000 feet above sea level, the helicopter, which was 1500 feet, made me feel more connected to my surroundings. And it was that awareness that made me feel more vulnerable. There wasn't a whole lot between me and the open air, and after the hovering, I was very aware that one drastic move could send the whole thing crashing.

Nick and I bid farewell to the Bachman Aero crew and returned to the building. We decided to check out Pilot Pete's which turned out to be a hopping place. With all of the adrenaline coursing through our veins, it was hard to figure out what we wanted to eat, but finally I settled on a salmon sandwich and Nick, a meatball sub. As we munched on our food, we dissected our adventure, contemplating things like how it must be to fly a combat helicopter, when it was so hard just to try to stay still.

Outside the window to our left was the tarmac filled with several planes of all shapes and sizes. Watching them take off and land, I found myself asking, "What prompts someone to become a pilot?" I, like most kids, used to wish that I could fly, but flying like Superman and flying a hunk of metal are two very different things. Today, for a few minutes, I had the chance to fly a hunk of metal, and what it comes down to, is that I am content to be just a passenger. I'm very grateful for the experience and would love to do it again over the Grand Canyon or a Volcano in Hawaii, but I'll leave the flying part to the birds or someone with more nerve and less nerves than me.

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