Tainted by the air falling, I reached the crystal blue dome of the sky at Old Collin Palin Airport in Rheinbeck in early October, and I made my way behind the snack bar and the new gift shop in the field to Biplanes Rides Booth, and I keep one of the four passenger seats on the new D- 25 open at Qamjoun Valley Air Tours.
My ticket, which now amounts to $ 100, and a significant increase over its price of $ 25 in 1995, will guarantee me space on Flight HV 007, which departed at 1215 hours. Although that is unofficial, the flight number is designed from the fact that it is It was the seventh ascent of the day.
I will be accompanied by a young couple sharing a front between the two wheelchairs, and a bearded white man, who will join me in the back. The pilot, of course, with his cockpit, was behind all of us.
The signal at the departure station – translated as "Outside Rides Booth" – was approved, "New Standard D-25, American, 1928, 220-hp engine. The D25 was explicitly designed for the superstorm, and the D.25 was an aircraft. Charles Day 25 carried four driven passengers, was easy to fly, ran from the smallest fields, and used modern building technologies (1928). And this is our first new standard, carrying over 11,000 passengers here at Old Rainbod Aerodrome. ”
It was not entirely true. The total number of passengers has only been accurate for several years, and I have joined the registered D195 N19157 since then, the N176H, which I would have flown for the first time today, the other flights I make in the Hudson Valley in 1995, 2000 and 2006 .
The field settled after its previous circle, he imposed taxes on the cabin and disposed of his quadruples of passengers, before the next four, armed men were allowed to surround safety before departure and covered with helmets and glasses, crossing the grass to the step "ramp" stationed on the edge of the trailing lower wing. The spin time of this 89-year-old plane can be measured within minutes.
After the rootstrap tape in the orange-winged fuselage with two Portuguese surfaces, whose engine had flipped and bragged all the time, I went up to the cockpit and into the golden age of brainstorming. Claiming the left of the seat back (2A) and extending my seat belt, such as the metal handshake, to the side of the passenger seat next to me at 2B, I have attached it closely to it. Seats shared seats mean shared safety belts.
Ear and nose attacks, even with the fan in idle rotation, led to instant immersion in the late 1920s, a cabin-free technology. It was violent in the riverbed, where my gash was unable to absorb the air and spitting the throat in the engine was deafening. I had hoped, as on other occasions in the cockpit, to experience this flying era through my soul. Maybe you – and I was still on the floor no less.
If his idle position is afternoon nap, his advance in braking has resulted in rude awakening. After launching the brakes, the plane started racing on the grass towards the runway threshold, which, in this case, was the southern end of the field, a hill covered with grass, overcoming it and swinging to its right, in a 180-degree rotation, on the flywheel.
There was no clearance clearance. There was no radio to provide it. There was no other wild movement of concern.
Offering full throttle, opening arteries of fuel and pumping the plane's engine with plasma exploding life, the plane was pushed into the momentum with the help of gravity down the hill, at the bottom of its tail raised on a horizontal stabilization flight, allowing the wings to do the rest and generate the elevator.
The airway created by the rotating fan and the increased air velocity, hopelessly untied by the small Plexiglas glass, pounded my face and acted as a nostril attack on my nose, and they failed to mock, despite the abundance of air, that was required of my lungs.
Sure, it reached the wings, but its increased speed was counter-reversed by lower pressure and enabling the biplane to jump off the rolling grass strip. Double wings indicate twice the surface area and the ability to generate lift. Surrendered to the cool, pulsating blue color, she passed the seemingly line-up flight line in a preserved pocket of history on the side of the port in the form of Caudron G.III, Albatros D.Va, and Fokker Dr.1 glitch.
D-25 beats the northern end of the field and briefly passes to the left, defeating the reduced-size color in the Hudson Valley. Norton Road, now narrower than the tape used to package it, passed under the dock wing. Looking at it from a different perspective and down, the road from which I looked at this particular plane was when I approached the airport, which had now slipped behind my left shoulder.
Having crossed the physical boundaries of the Earth, D-25 was crossed through a penetrating blue with the autumn bite, and its orange, interconnected, wings covered in cloth passing over stains of green trees and farmland most of which are still highlighted by the lemon harpoon.
A pause that facilitated my inner thinking, both in the four-person cabin and my position on previous surveys in the stormy skies of Cole Palin. She currently occupied my original seat, the seat she was introduced to in the era of air travel exposed to the elements in 1995. At the front, José, one of the two-seat 1B, was seated in one of the seats participating at Farmingdale State University students participating in the history of flying beside him in one year, He is a Christian, as I remember, another in our class. I replaced Jose on my next two air crashes in 2000 and 2006 and my mother sat next to me on both of them.
Now theoretically I sat behind her – or at least her seat – but since I left the physical plane about 20 months ago, I could only have included it on my current flight by approaching the confirmed slip and height of ground bonds whose spirit was now definitely capable. It was now here with me, I knew.
Cole Palin himself, the founder of his famous airport, overcame the dividing line between physical and eternal dimensions two years before that initial battle in 1995, and after graduation, I never saw Jose or Christian again. Well, at least I still have myself.
The wind, perhaps all echoed, was wrestling with the engine of dominance of sound, but although the latter technically won, it was crowded and loud in its own way. Would the outdoor driving experience have been authentic without it? I doubt it.
Aligning the sidelines of the Hudson River, a blue snake interspersing the green terrain, the D-25 left the left bank before reaching the steel, erecting a cluster resembling the Rhinecliff Bridge, indicating a return very soon to the field.
Its shadow, the reflected silhouette ground, leapt through the geometrical shapes of the farm below like a boundless spirit and surely bears a Cole footprint.
Riding the invisible air currents, the biplane embarked on a series of sharp turns, its wings swaying and protesting with each maneuver and its fluctuations in airspeed recording the intensity of audible winds.
Passing perpendicular to the green stand that was the 500-foot stormy Old Rainbike Airport, the D-25 curved around it in a descending left direction in a gravitationally moving direction, actually diving toward the groups of trees blocking its southern end.
After passing over the hill, he stopped the rate of descent at a height of 100 feet above the ground, igniting and suddenly hijacking the path of gravel that traverses the field with two wheels and allowing her herb to drain its momentum.
Swinging to the left with a bunch of strength, taxing Biplane Rides Booth's intense lower back.
When I released the seatbelt buckle I shared with the man I had never known, but I had exchanged it with spiritual gazes from time to time in the air, I got out of the biplane biplane cockpit and the wing root is still to the ground and back to 2017.