In November of 2007, I helped my dad drive to Los Angeles. At the time, we were under the impression that we were going to return to the Promised Land. But the Exodus would not come to be.
At the time, I was big on classic rock. I tuned the radio to a few classic rock stations across the trip from Florida to Los Angeles (except when we were in Louisiana...zydeco prevailed there. We enjoyed it).
Before I continue, let me remind you that I firmly believe that aviation is the most important part of the history of man. Its pioneers, some still living today, blazed trails for us to follow, and their remnants still exist today.
Back to the story, after stopping in Las Cruces, New Mexico from a 36-hour continuous jaunt from the house in Florida, we found a local Chinese place not too far from New Mexico State University Las Cruces. The food was great. And, since I was single (and still am, though I am wishing it would change), I was, naturally, looking at the local girls. I was pleasantly surprised. But later on that. Even so, I am
The following morning, after sleeping so deeply I didn't even move from my original position in bed, I caught the sunrise over the mountains east of the city. I did not want to go anywhere else.
We got back in the truck, and we continued to Lordsburg, New Mexico. A very small town...a hamlet, I guess. Not even 3000 people lived in the town limits. The houses were small, and the environment was very warm (that morning was freezing cold, and windy...but not a cloud in the sky). We stopped in, starving, and stopped at a restaurant called "Kranberry's Family Restaurant" (their breakfast menu is awesome, and if you do drive on the 10 freeway, east or west through New Mexico, stop there). It seemed like every local girl in the town worked at the restaurant. All were very beautiful. But I kept those thoughts (clean, mind you) to myself. My dad stepped away, and I sat alone at our booth. The gentleman who was sitting in the booth behind my dad spotted my flight jacket, with my leather nametag with gold wings emblazoned with my name on it. He asked if I was a pilot. I replied that I was a student pilot, training to fly for the airlines. He asked warmly what I was doing in his little town, and if I flew in. I said that we stopped in for breakfast, and were to continue driving to Los Angeles the same day, returning home. He wished me the best of luck.
His inquiry stayed in my mind ever since. I researched Lordsburg, and found that it is the county seat for Hidalgo County. The airport there (across the street from Kranberry's off the 10 freeway) is the first one in the state. And, Charles Lindbergh landed there in his Ryan NYP when ferrying it to New York. Yes, every little airport, even in the most ungainly of locations or conditions, has their claim to fame. Santa Monica has the heritage of Douglas Aircraft, and the first round-the-world flight taking place there. Lantana's Palm Beach County Park Airport came into fruition during World War II, then flourished and grew under the vision of one man, Owen Gassaway, Jr (the airport is now named after him).
Aviation is truly something special. And it is special because of the people who make it up. A microcosm of people who do everything from fly, to maintain, to direct, to entertain, and to simply enjoy, all in aviation are special individuals who deserve our thanks and respect.
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