Take a Flike
Can you be at Tweed Airport in New Haven in thirty minutes with your bike?
My friend, Woody, was on the phone asking if I could be at Tweed Airport in New Haven in thirty minutes with my bike. Woody and I had biked up many mountains last summer in the Alps and on long slogs he started to talk about taking his Cessna on short flights around
I zipped through my Friday home chores and gave my commuter bike a quick check. I left a sweet note for my wife as I started to think what it would be like to go down in a small plane in winter into Long Island Sound. Talk about cold; we would last about fifteen minutes. I grabbed an extra pair of cycling tights and slipped them on toward what end I do not know. I had never flown with my fellow bon vivant , Woody Hittle. I knew him to be a reasonably careful and thoughtful guy, but how much can you trust a biker who calls you up in January to go cycling at Block Island, nearly a hundred mile distant over the cold North Atlantic?
When I pedaled up to Woody he was already laying out his bike and going over his safety check list on the airplane. Airplane? What? I feel best on the ground on my bike. I do combine running and biking which the triathletes call bricks, but what is a flight and bike combination? A flike. Sounds very close to flake, and had me wondering. We broke our bikes down and slid them into the rear seat and cubby of the Cessna 182. After stowing our bike bags, we donned headsets and Woody began babbling numbers at the control tower. In moments we taxied out to the runway, did a test power up and, given clearance, shot down the runway to rise over