This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Robert Kirby column originally published Sept. 11, 2001

On Friday, I became a pilot. It was only for about an hour, but I got to fly a real airplane. I took my first flight lesson from Great Western Aviation, courtesy of the "BE A PILOT" program I found at www.beapilot. com. Thousands of people are plugging into the aviation industry's growing demand for pilots.

Great Western Aviation's assistant chief pilot Brian Vanderwel met me at the Salt Lake City airport. Our airplane was a highly maneuverable and small Cessna.

Unlike the movies, we couldn't just hop in and zoom away. First, we had to perform a long and tedious "walk-around" check designed to keep us from becoming a messy news item.

Good pilots tend to be incredibly anal about how many wings a plane has (at least two), and whether or not the tanks actually contain gas. Five hundred feet off the end of the runway is not the place to figure it out.

Weight is an important part of taking off, which is why Brian wanted to know about the bowling ball, six bricks and bucket of lug nuts I tried to bring along.

When I tried to explain by showing him a piece of paper containing the home address of Tribune Editor James E. Shelledy, Brian said, "Negative." This turned out to be aviation-speak for "not even."

We took off at dawn. Early morning is the best time to fly. Not only is the air clear and sharp, but morning also gives search and rescue people the entire rest of the day to look for you.

Actual flying turned out to be way different from the "Red Baron" flight simulator program on my computer." For one thing, it was bumpier. Also, we didn't get to strafe any French field hospitals.

We flew up Emigration Canyon and over to Park City. Actually, I flew. After taking us off, Brian sat in the right seat and told me what to do.

The driver's seat of an airplane is an extremely complicated place. Among the hundreds of gauges, switches and levers (sadly, none labeled "bombs" or "guns") is all the information a pilot needs to keep from bashing into stuff.

You've got your altimeter, airspeed indicator, transponder, GPS screen, tachometer, compass, oil pressure and engine temperature gauges, and airsickness bag. To a new pilot, it can be fairly daunting.

It's actually much simpler than it sounds. According to Brian, the most important thing to watch was the front window. One glance pretty much says all a pilot needs to know.

If the ground is sideways in the window, you're in a turn. If it's mostly at the top of the window, you're upside down. If all you see is ground, it's a mountain. If you can see individual bugs and leaves, scream.

Truthfully, flying is safer than it sounds. Especially if you take your lessons from someone who says "negative" a lot. I saw three crashes on the freeway below us, none involving aircraft.

The chances of dying in a plane crash are 1 in 4.6 million. Those are slightly better odds than winning the lottery (1 in 4 million), dying in a car crash (1 in 125), and/or going to Hell (locally, about 1 in 2).

We flew over Heber Valley, down Provo Canyon and back to the airport, where Brian landed us. Landing is the trickiest part of flying, the idea being that you do it in such a way that plane is usable again later.

When I asked Brian if he thought I could eventually qualify for a pilot's license, he didn't come right out and say "negative." He said that if I could, any invertebrate could.

See how easy it is?