No matter I say it, no matter how calmly I try to fit this into conversation, it never fails to draw odd stares from the uninitiated, and wild congratulations from those who knew I was looking to do this:

I own an airplane.

It’s true, I am now an aircraft owner. This late hour will preclude me from really getting into detail, but the basic idea is that I am now the proud owner of a 1966 Cessna 150, a little two-seat trainer aircraft that neither looks sexy nor goes fast. But it does go UP.

I bought the plane a couple weeks ago, but didn’t want to spill the beans until it was truly mine. Another deal fell through prematurely and I had spoken of that plane as though though it was my own, so I kept silent until this one was truly mine. The registration papers are on their way to the FAA, and the plane is parked in my spot. It’s my plane now.

Today, I met my friend for a couple of hours of flying the thing, looking through paperwork, playing with the GPS. Then, as the sun was going down on western New Jersey, I flew niner three fox to her new home. The day’s gusty surface winds and turbulence aloft had died down by the time I arrived at my new home base, and flying over the field checking the windsock I got this weird feeling that I was bringing a newborn home. Funny, because this plane is two years older than I am! But our relationship is but a few hours old, and aircraft ownership is new to me, so yeah, it feels like bringing a newborn home.

I bring it down to eleven hundred feet , ease into the downwind; abeam the threshold, carb heat on, power back to 1700, ten degrees of flap, three rolls of the trim wheel and I’m doing seventy-five; turn base, twenty on the flaps. There are no planes in the pattern, and because I couldn’t get the radio & push-to-talk switch working (user error, not the plane’s fault), I’m flying NORDO (no radio), not talking to anyone. It’s uncannily peaceful. Turning final, I put in thirty degrees of flap, line up, and enjoy the trip. Here comes the threshold, the runway threshold I’ve stared at from the ground while imagining this very moment for a few weeks now (when I paid the rent on my parking spot); power off, gradual flare, looking down the runway, I pull back on the yoke and try to hold the plane off the runway for as long as possible:

Slow, slow, straighten with rudder, hold it off, hold it off, chirp-chirp.

I turn off at the first taxiway, and laugh out loud. I haven’t told any jokes, I’m just laughing. The reality is starting to sink in, and yet it seems even more fantastic than ever. I’m just going to taxi my plane to my parking spot, thank you very much. It’s actually surreal.

I park it, tie it down, and take way to long to figure out how to put on the cover. I take pictures of it, I look at it. Driving away, I feel separation anxiety. This is a new sensation upon leaving an airport. Usually I pay a bill and turn in the keys. Tonight, I have the keys (and will pay bigger bills later). This is the start of a new friendship, and a new chapter in my flying book. I’m pretty psyched.