USAF Pilot Training is a slog. Literally the hardest, and simultaneously, the best year of my life. I became an American fighting man. One year of waking at o’dark thirty. Flying 2-3 times a day and being evaluated every single time. Pop quizzes in front of your squadron mates every frikking morning. Simulator rides ad nauseam. “Finals” week every week. And you lose half of your friends to washouts. And blend in a couple of crashes and lost friends, it’s challenging. But, in the inimitable way of the American military, we found fun. One morning, I was the first aircraft to takeoff on a solo in the T-38. I was “launching the fleet.” Behind me were tens of other T-38s and T-37s, both with instructors and without, lining up in the “hammer head,” the taxiway just short of the active runway. I trained at Columbus Air Force Base, Mississippi. At 6 AM, I was #1 for takeoff. I lowered my canopy and locked it. The Columbus heat that scorched like the Congo was just settling in. I plugged in my Walkman and played “Sailing” by Christopher Cross. I know, lame song, but it fit my mood. I was going sailing, damnit.😎 It was a gorgeous morning. The -38 kicked into afterburner with ease. Here we go. Low clouds were hugging the glens and the rivers as I climbed out. Sun was coming up. Gorgeous. And so quiet. Just the sounds of jets and speed. I looked down on the houses and farms thinking “here I am.” “How did I get here?” At about 1000’, I snapped off a quick aileron roll. Why? Because I could.😎