Page:The Fun of It.pdf/111



HAT initial flight of mine across the continent proved to be a pleasant interlude. I later found that it marked the first solo trip a woman had made from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back again. But at the time it was to me primarily a vacation—a minor adventure in vagabonding by air and a relaxation from writer’s cramp.

The first stage of my hobo journey took me to Pittsburgh, Dayton, Terre Haute, St. Louis, Mus­kogee, and on into New Mexico. After straying from the course, I finally landed at Pecos, Texas.

Automobilists universally complain about the lack of parking space. For vehicles of the air the absence of landing fields may be even more incon­venient. When a plane’s motor fails—an occur­rence becoming rarer every day—the pilot must make a landing. True, the machine can be con­trolled from the air and made to glide gently down without the engine running, but it must have a smooth open space for alighting.

As there is always the possibility of some failure in anything man-made, so even with the well be­haved motors today, occasional descents are inevi­table. And when they come, “parking space” is es-