The restorer’s Cub has always been part of his story, a family heirloom of sorts. His father brought it into his life when he was still young, and decades later, he wears it with the ease that comes from years of tailwheel flying.
For me, though, the Cub is something new. I’ve flown for work, in turboprop aircraft and multi-engine machines, but never anything quite like this little piece of fun.
Tailwheel flying is still awkward for me, though less so with each flight.
Normally the Cub is flown solo from the back seat, and I’m most comfortable there now. The front seat, though, is another story.
Climbing in and out takes some finesse, and once I’m there, the sight picture is completely different. I will always need S-turns to see down the taxiway, and getting comfortable up front is very much a work in progress.
Flying with the restorer, though, has been a gift. I’ve picked up a fair amount just by being aloft with him—learning the airplane, learning the local area, and settling into this new phase of flying life. The blue water tower a town over, the sprawling presence of Wright-Patterson to the south of our home airport—these landmarks are starting to feel familiar now.
This summer brought another gift: one of my old work friends, someone I still think of as family, came down after Oshkosh to fly in the Cub with me. I didn’t realize how much I needed that visit.
Sharing time at the airport, swapping stories, and making airplane noises together lifted my spirits more than I expected.
Back in the Cub
The day she arrived, we headed to the airport almost immediately. The restorer took her up first to knock the rust off and let her get comfortable again.
Before the sun set, she and I managed one lap around the pattern together before calling it a day and heading out for a late dinner.
The next morning, we were back at it. While the restorer went up to the restoration shop, she and I slipped out to the airport early to get some flying in before the day turned too hot.
She and I never flew together professionally at the air ambulance, but she was the one who sat with me for hours, helping me study for my commercial and multi-engine check ride. She made sure I knew my way around King Air systems when I stepped into that cockpit. By the time I was flying the King Air, she had already transitioned to the Lear.
All these years later, slipping into the Cub together—me in front, her in back—felt like coming full circle in its own way. Different airplanes, different careers, but the same bond over flying.
While this was our first Cub adventure, we have had adventures in Sis too.
Past Adventures
While at the air ambulance, we took Sis, the 1947 Beechcraft Bonanza I grew up with, to Madison for sushi and back to our alma mater for a friend’s book talk. Those flights fueled our days, when she and I would step back from professional flying to go somewhere because it was fun—Madison for sushi runs, or back to our college town just because we could.
On the return from southern Illinois, we filed IFR for ceilings but with no convective activity. I’ll admit—if she hadn’t been there, I would have waited it out. I’ve never been comfortable flying instruments solo. The crew concept in the soup just makes sense to me, regardless of how many engines are turning.
My friend has gone on to fly for a major airline, but her fascination with airplanes hasn’t dimmed. She’s still up for tailwheel hops off grass runways, which makes me so proud of the pilot—and the friend—she’s become. One type of flying pays the bills; the other feeds the soul.
For me, finding a way to balance both is an ongoing quest. These little flights, when schedules align, are more than just hours in the logbook. They’re reminders of why we fell in love with flying in the first place. They build confidence, sharpen skills, and stack the deck in favor of knowing both our own limitations and those of the airplane.
Before Mama’s Chief takes flight, I need to be comfortable and proficient in a tailwheel. The Cub is my classroom, and the restorer is my steady rock.
With time and repetition, confidence builds. Having the added perspective of an old flying friend—someone who’s seen me through the early stages and still shows up for the joy of it all—that’s the icing on the cake.
This story connects to others I’ve shared along the way — here are a few more if you’d like to keep reading:
Related Posts You Might Enjoy
Oshkosh Reflections: Time Suspended in Wisconsin
Mama’s Chief: A Family Airplane Comes Home
IA Renewal Symposium: Lessons in Corrosion, Fuel, and Propellers
Nell’s First Flight at the Aeronca Haven
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