This morning as I looked out at the snow, I thought back to warmer days, to one warm day in particular: my first Stearman ride. Below is a story of that day.

My First Stearman Ride
by Rachel Aukes

Just like an old western, I sauntered from the Stearman. And then I promptly threw up.

Okay, maybe that’s not the best place to start. Let’s take a step back.

For me, it began with a shirt; a silky aloha shirt. It was attached to a guy named Brian with a killer smile and a quick wit, which meant he was pretty darn irresistible in my book. The night we met, we talked until my voice ran out, and we had to go our separate ways. The next day he called and asked if I was interested in going for a flight in his plane. Now, just so you know, Amelia Earhart was my childhood hero, and I’ve always dreamed of dancing through the clouds. I just never took it to the next step. So, when Brian called, I gave out an enthusiastic (albeit hoarse) whoop and in 2.3 seconds I was waiting at my door in anticipation for my first biplane ride.

I was giddy as a little school girl as Brian drove us to his hangar in Ames. If I had a voice, I would’ve asked him hundreds, no, make that thousands of questions. Instead I fantasized about my upcoming adventure. You see, just two days earlier I had gone skydiving, and that was a heckuva rush. And so I laid down the gauntlet for Brian… I mean, seriously, how can you possibly beat the adrenaline rush of freefalling and cart wheeling (I admit the latter part was unintentional) at 12,000 feet?

Boy was I ever wrong.

When he opened the large bi-fold door, my feet froze and a giant smile crept onto my face. A cheerful open cockpit biplane was looking out at me from the hangar. Oh yes. This was going to be fun.

With a couple quick instructions, Brian and I pulled the Stearman into the sun. Light glimmered off its yellow wings as if it was as excited to go flying as I was. He showed me around the 1942 plane that he and his father had restored back to its original Army configuration. We strapped on parachutes and climbed on in.

With a smoky cough, the radial engine rumbled to life, and the first thing I thought to myself was that it sounded even better than the potato-potato-potato of Harley Davidsons. The Stearman took its time to warm up (which I’ve long since learned that Stearmans don’t like to do anything fast except guzzle av-gas). After a quick check, it took only seconds to be in the air and sailing through the skies.

We chased deer, startled boaters, and had an all-out blast. Then Brian’s voice came through the intercom. “You sure you want to go through the ringer?”

“Hell yeah!” Let’s just say I was much younger and had too much energy back then. Now you’d get a very different answer from me.

It was then I learned that Brian is a man of his word. I couldn’t name most of what happened over the next several minutes and lost snippets of memory where my vision tunneled in on me. But I remember that I loved the Avalanche and the Falling Leaf but hated the Hammerhead. I remember that skydiving couldn’t compare to the wild aerobatics in an open cockpit biplane. It was loud, windy, perfect.

Like every great adventure, it couldn’t last forever. We touched down just as the sun dipped below the horizon. As I lost my lunch (while still wearing a smile), I knew two things.

First. I was going to marry this man. Second. I loved this plane. 

(This article was originally printed in the Stearman Flying Wire, the magazine for the Stearman Restorer's Association)