The Last Checkride

I do believe that flying, or General Aviation (GA) is in some people's blood. A structural component of your DNA. I may have mentioned that I've done my Private Pilot License (PPL) a couple of years ago, actually completed it, but then the risk of flying, together with the stress of an ongoing divorce, was just too high for me. So I stopped real-life flying and reverted back to the much safer world of Flight Simulation.

Without disclosing too much details, I've also made a couple of very difficult (and probably wrong) decisions, especially in terms of a very popular virtual organisation which carried me through some of the most difficult months years and months of my life. I've met great friends there, most of them virtually, some even in real life. Great and sincere blokes who shared the same passion and DNA structure as me. But yeah, that's something that I probably will never have the guts to try and change. Although I miss that organisation and the people behind it every darn day of my life. (Another (very bad) bit of my DNA is not to be able to kiss and make up, even when it was my fault in the first place)

Anyhow, I still look up every time that I hear an aircraft passing overhead. I still believe that, should I ever have the opportunity to re-live my life, I would most certainly be an Air Traffic Controller.

This leads me to something that I would love to post and share with others who feel like me. Note that this is not my own work, I got this somewhere on the Internet many moons ago, but it's something that I must have read a zillion times in total.

I hope you will enjoy this as much as I have.

THE LAST CHECKRIDE

I hope there's a place way up in the sky,
where old flyers can go on the day they die.
A place where a guy can buy a cold beer,
for a friend and a comrade, whose memory is dear.

A place where no doctor or lawyer can tread,
nor an FAA type would 'ere be caught dead.
Just a quaint little place, kind of dark, full of smoke,
where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke.

The kind of a place where a lady could go,
and feel safe and protected by the men she would know.
There must be a place where old flyers go,
when their flying is finished, and their airspeed gets low.

Where the whiskey is old, and the women are young,
and songs about flying and dying are sung.
Where you'd see all the fellows who'd flown west before,
and they'd call out your name, as you came through the door.

Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad,
and relate to others, "He was quite a good lad".

And then through the mist, you'd spot an old guy,
you had not seen in years, though he taught you to fly.
He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear,
And say, "Welcome, my son, I'm pleased that you're here.

For this is the place where the true flyers come,
when their journey is over, and their war has been won.

They've come here at last to be safe and alone,
from the government clerk, and the management clone,
Politicians and lawyers, the Feds and the noise,
where all hours are happy, and they're all good ole' boys.

You can relax with a cold one,
maybe deal from a deck, this is heaven my son.....
You've passed your last check!"

(Author Unknown)

ZS-ETB/ZS-SOS/ZS-AWM/Springbok-222 in the blocks, request shutdown clearance...