When I was a child I dreamed of flying. The idea followed me deep into my sleep, occupied me during my days and was as close to an addiction or possession an 8 year old could have. I have flown more wooden desk chairs, with “Sally Loves David’ carved into the wood, to the highest clouds, through the greenest valley’s, over remote jungles islands and deep oceans. Oh the joy of being a child and having an imagination.
Years later, in my early 20’s, you can imagine how I might have felt, when my check ride was complete, and Frank Roth, Airline Transport pilot, signed my temporary certificate, I had a shift that it was finally done, and honestly, I didn’t shift. Nothing changed because I have always been a pilot at heart.
I learned to fly at a small strip, 2400 feet long, with trees (Obstacles) on one end, and water off the side of the other, the 30 foot wide strip was a fantastic place to learn to fly. Sugar Valley Airport was operated by Missionary Aviation Institute, in conjunction with Piedmont Bible College for which I was a student. The small strip, outside of Mocksville NC was a place where my dreams manifested into reality. It was here, where my body finally caught up with my spirit and soul. It was here where those dreams of a 8 year old boy, from Greensboro NC, could let the drive, determination and an inward voice find’s it’s destined outlet to soar.
To fly, to live the dream.
28 years ago I landed back at Sugar Valley with a piece of paper in my hand that told me what I had whispered to me as a child…’You are a pilot’. For those of us who fly, the ‘knowing’ on your deep insides parts that you are a pilot resonates loud and clear. I remember lining up for my final approach, slowing down, crossing the numbers and pulling back into a flare as my little 152 pointed skyward and touched down. Taxi to the ramp, which was grass, I parked, pulled the mixture back and the final wave of the prop stopped.
Back home, now a pilot for real.
I flew for a few years after that. I flew friends, just on my own but money, time and life wouldn’t allow me to keep it up. I moved to Raleigh where I kept flying as much as I could. It was always a threat that loomed over the dream that something would cause me to have to walk away. When the day came, 24 some years ago, where I had to let my currency expire, it was like something in me died. Though my heart and soul ‘knew’ what I was, the ability to be able to actually do it myself was not to be. It was some tough years. I dreamed of coming across the tree line in my little 152 like I used to. Walking down the street, I saw aircraft overhead and knew what they were yet I was stuck, glued, held to the ground. I found myself ‘talking’ like I was a pilot to others but my heart ached because I couldn’t. I wasn’t a member of the ‘club’ anymore…at least it felt like it.
Years back, on a day trip, I took Elizabeth to Sugar Valley in my car. It had been put up for sale. The sound of aircraft coming and going, the 
milling around of students ‘talking, bragging, expanding on pilot stories had fallen silent. The old hangars were leaning over as if their head were bowed in shame and sadness. It was hard to see and wonderful at the same time.
Because here was where it happened. Much like the condition of the airport, there were cobwebs on the skills and experience but the spirit of that little airport lived and so did my desire to fly. I know this might sound melodramatic but it is how I feel…With my feet planted on the runway, it was here where the spirit, soul, mind and body collided with destiny and I flew. I stood on small runway and closed my eyes.
I could remember. I could remember…
That was 2010. On June 13th, 2015, Elizabeth and I rented the old Cherokee and did a cross country flight to visit Sugar Valley. The small left behind and forgotten airport has been ‘reborn’. It’s own spirit lives and I had to go back home. I had reached out to the current group of owners and asked to come back. They not only said yes but they have my book for the children who come visit Sugar Valley on hand.
We contacted Raleigh approach after departing Henderson/Oxford and made our way west at 4500 feet, around Greensboro and toward Sugar Valley. I knew we were home when I saw Pilot Mountain off in the distance to the north and the brown waters of the Yadkin River. Lining up for a right downwind for runway 02, it came flooding back to me so real. For me this place was is a monument and a place I hope I will never forget. I keyed my mic and said for the first time in 24 years “Sugar Valley Unicom, 8432 Charlie is on final for runway 02, Sugar Valley”. After landing on runways of 5000 feet or more, little Sugar Valley seemed tiny. Crossing the numbers in the old Cherokee, I started my flair and touch the mains down just shy of the painted numbers. I will not lie, I did tear up quite a bit as we touched down. The bird was home… when it hit me. The airplane wasn’t the bird, I was the bird, the part of me, that knows it’s supposed to fly came back to it’s roost 20 plus years later.
The hangers, houses and pond zoom past as we slow down. I pull the flaps back in, turn off and pull into the parking area. Just like I used to except now it’s paved. As the swing of the big Cherokee prop flipped it’s final wave, we opened the door and stepped out.
Home…
We were greeted by Billy Carter, ambassador for Sugar Valley. Daniel Lobb and his son, Luke were also on hand to great us and welcome us back. I learned to fly here. I learned life lessons here and I had relationships with so many men and women that the bond, even if not experienced regularly, last till today. It is a wonderful little world. There are canoes out by the lake, a fire circle and new hangers have been built. It’s ready for a new life and a new set up pilots.
We walk the ground and watch as the lifeblood of a small airport pumps back into its veins. Piper Super Cubs, old Cessna’s are landing and taking off. The blue sky, pocked with white puffy clouds, are the backdrop for this hideaway location. The cub scouts, the local CAP and events of all kinds are held on the grounds. The runway has a smaller grass strip parallel to the old paved strip now and it’s clear, this little airport isn’t going away soon.
After a ton of pictures, we load back up, start up, run-up and taxi into position and hold. I called out on 123.00 “Sugar Valley Unicom, November 8432 Charlie is departing to the east”. One notch of flaps, full power and down the runway we go. As we rotate off the runway and clear the trees I hear a small voice over the radio. “Thank you for coming to Sugar Valley. Come visits us again….”
We climb through the clouds up to 7500 feet while Greensboro approach vectors us through their airspace toward Henderson Oxford which gave me time to think. A few weeks ago I had a interview with one of my superhero pilot friends. He’s done it all and it a real mentor around flying. He told me that he remembers being a little kid, running down a runway, with his outstretched arms, pretending to fly.
I don’t know how many of my fellow pilots get the chance to go back home where it started. It might be a busy commercial airport or a small getaway strip where you learned to fly.
I can say for me, It was worth the wait to go back home. Whatever the role of flying is in our lives, it is one of those events that can change you. It gives you a chance to see the world maybe a little more like God sees us. It puts things into perspective and gives you a chance to see how it all fits together. I know all of you don’t fly, but I do know this…All of us have places in our lives that are ‘home’. If you have the chance, go back, every once in a while…and remember.
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Peace on your travels this week.
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