Nicest mean redhead ever shirt had cut visibility in half. The yellowish fog hung in the sky, casting an ominous glow over the East Texas forested landscape below. I looked down at my flight map, creased over my leg like a flimsy paper roof. The airport should be right here! A quick flight with my instructor on a 100 hamburger run to grab a cheeseburger and milkshake at an airport diner a hundred miles away. Planning for these flights was easy. Take a flight map, pick out a few small towns and lakes and you’ve got your route. My stopwatch indicated about 30 minutes of fuel left. In the airplane world, that’s when driving in an 82 Buick begins to sound appealing. I banked the Cessna and began a 360-degree turn. Certainly, I would find something. Not knowing what else to do, I navigated along the road.
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