Pilotage

To take an airplane ride, most of us will drop what we're doing; many will beg off work or other "important" engagements — just given the opportunity. It's hard for us to comprehend that many of our own species shudder at the thought of being airborne, even though most of us are closely associated with and/or related to these folks. This closeness means that would-be nonfliers often become reluctant passengers.

You see lots of them when flying commercially. In the terminal (perhaps they'd prefer another choice of words), you find them in the bar at 9 a.m. Later — in the airplane — they display various behavior patterns that separate them from the happy fliers. On a recent transcontinental trip, I shared a row with a pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman who, before departure, donned a headset and a blindfold and hung on to the armrests all the way to the stop in Milwaukee.

We lightplane pilots often find ourselves taking two or more friends or kin on a trip and finding that one party (often a spouse) tags along only to avoid being excluded, feeling trapped in a situation that he or she doesn't like.

I see it a lot when towing gliders. It could be the macho guy, eager flier, or airplane buff who wants to thrill and impress his new young girlfriend, or it could be the globe-trotting matron with her stay- at-home, workaday husband. All too often, it's a surprise treat.

"I never could have gotten him over here had he known, but he'll love it," she'll confide.

It's a setup for a bad time, with one party balking at the gate and the other, disappointed, sometimes resorting to ridicule in a public setting. So common do we see it coming that we move quickly to smooth things out, using techniques from our little trick bag.

Fears are the primary source of reluctance. When someone says he or she hates to fly, he or she generally means that they dread it. The fears shake out into two distinct types. The first — and easiest to deal with — is fear of the unknown. Many people — too many these days — are so ignorant of basic science that they can't easily understand the principles of flight. They commonly believe that flight is sustained by power, period. Any interruption of that power will cause the aircraft to drop, spiraling straight down in an uncontrollable, screaming dive of doom, just as happens in the movies. Imagine the confusion and fear in such a person when dragged along on a ride in a light single or — God forbid — a glider.

That fear is dealt with by a brief but patient, practiced description that allows the passenger to visualize how a wing works. That done, I often draw the analogy between gliding and coasting down a very gentle slope leading back to the airport. By now, they're strapped in the aircraft, and the jumpy one is calmed to the point where a question can form. It's nearly always the same.

"How many years have you been flying?"

Asked that way, the answer is straight: "Twenty-eight."

Asked another way, the question draws a joke: "How long have you been doing this?"

"Let's see...what time is it?"

Either way, there is relief, and we go flying, starting with shallow, gentle changes in pitch and bank and progressing gradually to a full soaring experience as fear becomes delight.

The second type of fear is that of the known. There are fewer options for the pilot faced with an experienced air traveler who has had some rough times in the sky. Usually he or she has been terrified in flight by a phobia and/or airsickness, and a pleasure flight is oxymoronic.

The phobic type — it seems to me — is a bit more self-involved than most. While he or she needs attention, he is often helped by distraction. I use conversation, sticking to external topics and pointing out distant objects of interest that can be observed and discussed for a period.

Airsickness can often be diverted by removing fear. Taking the time to explain thermals and to debunk the idea of "air pockets" can be of great comfort. Also, diverting attention to long views avoids jerky eye movements that can lead to nausea.

If a once-talkative passenger falls silent and/or begins to perspire, I ask if they're beginning to feel queasy. If he or she nods yes, I pass over an opened barf bag to hold. The bag itself removes anxiety and often is not needed.

When conversation turns to the "alarming number of air disasters in the news," I point out that these incidents are reported — worldwide — because of their rarity rather than their frequency. A woman I know recently confided to me her fears for her college-age son with whom she had temporarily lost communication while he backpacked somewhere in China.

"I'm just petrified for him every time I read of an air crash in that part of the world."

She expressed no concern for bandits, exotic diseases, or many other hazards that might confront an innocent abroad. Distorted media coverage can distort one's assessment of risks.

I take numerous rewards from my job, least of which is the paycheck, greatest of which comes at the end of nearly every flight. My passengers rarely let me thank them for their business; they're too busy thanking me for the experience. My ego is plump and happy. The pleasure is greatest when a trepidacious, unwilling aero-phobe comes back grinning broadly, a convert, reluctance turned to joy.