Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

She removed her hands and the wing stayed put.

“One down and one to go.”

With Lori’s help I picked up the other wing and got it into place. It attached just as easily as the first. With both wings on, the ultralight was now wider than the driveway.

“Now it looks like a plane,” Lori said.

“It is a plane, I promise.”

I climbed into the pilot’s seat. The second seat was empty, but I could almost feel my father beside me.

Absentmindedly, almost instinctively, I hit the switch that fed fuel into the engine. It wouldn’t hurt to start the engine, just to make sure it still worked. It would also impress Lori.

“Okay. Stand back, well back,” I said to her. She retreated onto the lawn.

I hit the starter button and the engine roared to life. The propeller cut through the air, producing a breeze that blew back Lori’s hair. I revved the engine and the plane jerked forward along the driveway. I eased off the throttle and put on the brakes.

My heart racing, I looked over my shoulder. I half expected my mother or Herb to come running out to see what was making such a racket. Instead there was just Lori, standing there, clapping and cheering. I decided I’d put on a little bit of a show for her.

I eased off the brakes and gave it more gas as well as applied the left brake pedal. Slowly I began to move forward again, and the front wheel eased off the driveway and onto the road followed by the left and then right rear wheels. Giving it more brake, I turned it so I was in the middle of the road. Then I started to taxi up the street.

I looked over my shoulder, still expecting to see my mother running after me, but she was nowhere to be seen. Other people had been drawn out of their houses by the noise, though. Some waved and yelled out words I couldn’t hear over the engine behind me. Reaching the end of the street, I put on the left brake hard to turn it around. In front of me was a straight, completely empty stretch of road. My wingspan was only twenty-eight feet, so as long as I stayed in the middle there was plenty of room on our car-less street. This stretch of pavement wasn’t nearly long enough for a Cessna to take off, but it was definitely long enough for an ultralight.

I missed my flying lessons. I missed being up in the air. I missed my father. Being here behind the controls was as close as I could get to any of those.

No, there was one way to get even closer.

I took my feet off the brakes and gave it lots of fuel. The engine roared louder as the propeller pushed the plane forward and it rapidly gained speed. I tried to focus on the plane, but I couldn’t avoid seeing the reaction of those watching. They were cheering, raising their arms, waving.

I gave it more and more gas until I was racing along, approaching takeoff velocity, the wheels feeling like they were just skimming along the top of the asphalt. I caught a glimpse of Lori off to the side, and right then I pulled back on the stick and I was flying!

I was in the sky, and it was fantastic—and a terrible mistake. What was I doing? I needed to set it back down, but there wasn’t room. Up ahead the road ended in a cul-de-sac and there was a house, directly in my way. There was only one thing to do. I pulled the stick back even harder, gave it more gas, and climbed.

Within seconds I passed over the house and was above a field and then the highway, with the electrical towers looming ahead. Dead or alive, the electrical wires were a danger to any aircraft. I pushed the stick to the left, pressing the left rudder with my left foot, and the little plane responded instantly—almost too instantly. I eased off both controls.

Banking, I could see the highway clearly, a long curling stretch winding by our neighborhood and away into the distance.

To land, I had to come back over and approach our street upwind. I’d have to make a big, wide circle around the neighborhood. Below was the checkpoint at Erin Mills Parkway, and I was low enough to see the people. They waved and I waved back. I leveled off again and followed along the side of the neighborhood. There were more people below, and everybody seemed to stop and stare up at me.

I knew I should just do a tight circle and land, but I didn’t want to. Besides, once my mother heard about this, I didn’t think I’d be up here again, and it felt so amazing. I decided I’d just fly a little bit farther. My mom wasn’t going to be any angrier if I was gone twice as long. My father would understand. If he were around, he’d be down there cheering me on.

I pulled back on the stick to gain height, while at the same time banking right and giving it more fuel to keep up my speed as I climbed. I needed more elevation. Height was safety. If the engine stalled out, the higher I was, the more time I’d have to glide until I found a place to land. That was something my father had drilled into me—a pilot should always have a backup plan, should always think one step ahead. Funny, that sounded so much like Herb as well.

There were also other benefits to gaining height. It gave me not only a greater perspective but even more space and separation from anybody or anything on the ground. Up here nobody could get me. I leveled off when the altimeter read out close to three hundred feet. I was high but could go higher if I needed to.

Beneath me I could see the houses and streets of other subdivisions. The main road was littered with abandoned cars. It all looked pretty normal except there was virtually no movement. It was like seeing a real-life painting instead of real life. From this height it was all calm and peaceful. Distance could be deceptive.

I kept traveling, retracing the route we’d done on the ground yesterday to bring the Petersons to the neighborhood. Up ahead was the barricade where we’d had all that trouble. I could see cars back in position, blocking the road, but couldn’t see any people.

I crossed over the highway and left behind the houses and gained the fields and woods below, coming up to the farms. The fields were filled with the first shoots of crops that had been planted before this happened. That illusion of normalcy was once again so strong it was almost overpowering. I wanted that illusion to be real. Up here, for a while, it was. I just wanted to stay up here, fly until my tank was dry, and— My tank! How much fuel did I have?

I hadn’t intended to fly, so I hadn’t done any checks, hadn’t even looked at the fuel level. I knew my father had been the last to put any in. He and I were working out the kinks in the timing of the engine. How long had that taken and, more important, how much fuel had he put in? Assuming he filled it up completely I would be fine, but there was no way of knowing. There was no gauge, and the tank wasn’t accessible while flying. How could I be so stupid not to check? Really, I could have just done a turn and brought it right back in, but I hadn’t. Instead I’d just kept extending the flight.

I banked hard to the right until the six lanes of Eglinton Avenue were below me. The road could be both my guide and my emergency landing strip if I needed it, although with the positioning of the stalled cars I didn’t know if there would be space to put it down without running into one of them. Either way it was better to hit a car on the ground than crash into a house from above.

I tried to check off the variables in my mind. Height meant more safety if I did run out of fuel because I’d have more chance to glide to an open stretch of road, but climbing would cost me more fuel and make it more likely I’d need to find a safe spot to make an emergency landing. What I did know for certain was that speed sucked away fuel. The slower I flew, the farther I could go. I eased off the throttle and dipped down slightly—one compensated for the other so that I didn’t lose any speed despite feeding the engine less fuel. I just had to stay above stall speed.