We were flying a little Cessna 150 at 5,000 feet on a black-as-ink night flight from Lebanon Airport to Rutland, Vermont and back. It was 1991, and I was building time toward my private pilot’s license.

Chris, my flight instructor, was building his own hours to fly for the airlines. He was perhaps 15 years younger than me, tall, quiet, and never fearful. I admired him.

But, being a non-valedictorian, I still hadn’t figured out when not to ask stupid questions. Questions I didn’t really want the answer to.

“What happens if the engine stops now?” I asked Chris. He looked down, then turned ever so slowly toward me, his headset on straight, the mouthpiece close to his mouth. I assumed he was going to say “don’t worry” and tell me he would quickly take over the controls.

He smiled. “We’re toast.”

On Dec. 17, 1903, another two high school non-valedictorians completed the first powered airplane flight. Orville and Wilbur Wright were loner brothers from Ohio who, didn’t receive high school diplomas, but were tenacious experimenters in their bicycle shop. They experimented for years before happening upon what looked like a dragonfly made from a bunch of popsicle sticks and Kleenex; they then slapped on a little motor and flew into history.

I’ve felt a kinship with Orville and Wilbur, being a poor high school student myself. I languished, like them, for before jumping on the dream of flying an airplane.

They had to build theirs first, though. I just had to rent mine.

It should be a rule that high school non-valedictorians do not fly airplanes. But, of course, that is ridiculous. They are out there because I’ve seen such pilots take off from taxiways or heard that they landed at an airport only to discover their destination is still 50 miles north.

I’ve had my share of mistakes while flying. I once forgot to latch the copilot door shut, and on takeoff it banged open, scaring the heck out of me.

Since I was not an athlete or a brilliant student, I turned to aviation as a hobby at age 14. I soloed and got my student pilot’s license at 16, before I had my driver’s license. I worked for a furniture store all during high school and pumped that money into flying lessons with an instructor. I was going to be an airline pilot! I could feel it.

Unfortunately, the military draft feeding the Vietnam War ended that dream. After four years in the Army and then finishing college, my dreams had changed. I followed a different profession, got married and had children.

I took up flying again because one of my son’s loved aviation, and he wanted to be a pilot. So, I bought my first airplane in 1992, a Piper Cherokee 180, built in 1966. She was older and had a lot of hours on her airframe, but I loved N9467J. I had her long enough to fly to Florida and back with my son, then I got my instrument rating. I put a lot of hours on that engine. She and I lived at the Lebanon airport for years.

My son found a recent picture of N9467J in an accident report that happened somewhere in the southwest in 2021. She ran out of fuel one day and had a tough off-airport landing. The picture of her crumpled airframe broke my heart. I swear, it had to be a damn non- valedictorian pilot that mismanaged her fuel.

Speaking of asking stupid non-valedictorian questions I don’t really want the answer to, we were flying 9467J into some nasty weather during my instrument training. We were in clouds saturated with rain and it pummeled the poor airplane and created an awful noise. The up and down drafts buffeted us such that we had to cinch up our seat belts to stay seated. My hand on the yoke was now sweaty.

The rocking of the plane and a noise like someone throwing marbles at it made me feel like we were almost out of control. I finally looked over at Chris in the copilot’s seat to see if he was ready to wrest the yoke from my hand. He simply sat there, arms folded over his chest and looking out the window.

“Want to take over?” I asked.

He slowly turned to me.

“We LIKE challenges.” That was all he said, and he turned toward the window again. He was fearless.

If he wasn’t worried, then neither would I be. I stopped sweating.

I am trying to make a reasonable emotional connection to Orville and Wilbur, as they were high school failures like me, then fell in love with aviation and airplanes and learned how to fly. The one big difference was they were that rich combination of entrepreneur, student pilot and instructor all at once, and fearless, whereas I have always been a student pilot of sorts with an experienced instructor next to me.

I have to say, though, Chris the instructor was right when we got into critical situations. Saying “We like challenges!” helps conquer most of the fear I experience.

Mike Skinner lives in Lebanon and can be reached at mikeandpams@comcast.com.