Have I told you about the day I almost killed my brother-in-law? Back when I was a new pilot 300-hour pilot — THE most dangerous time as a flyer — my sainted wife and I flew commercially to western Canada to visit family. I mentioned my new aeronautical skills to my brother-in-law, who was intrigued by an airplane ride over the Rockies. Eager to oblige, I trundled over to the local airport where a flight school offered training in venerable Cessna 172s. The FBO was happy to empty my wallet. There was a review of my flying experience, a written test on Cessna performance, and a check-ride with an instructor younger than the Skyhawk we flew. It was the proverbial piece of cake. Until it wasn’t.
