In 1968, I was a 24-year-old single engineer. One day at work, I was
invited to go flying with two co-workers and another young engineer
who was going up to maintain his night currency in a 182.
Originally, there had been somebody else scheduled, but he dropped out
at the last minute and the other guys happened to think of me. I was
thrilled. I even broke an engagement with my old college roommate,
who was in town for that night only.

It turned out that the pilot had an instructor's rating from
Switzerland and was thinking about getting his US rating -- but he
only wanted to teach engineers because he didn't want to have to
explain basic physics.

How much would a license cost, I wanted to know. I was surprised by
how reasonable it was and jumped at the chance. (C150s were $14/hr
wet. I don't remember what Jean-Francois' hourly rate was, but I
wound up getting my private for $800. I had my first lesson on April
13, soloed on June 13 and passed my checkride on September 13.)

Prior to that, I had always figured that flying was for people with
lots more disposable income than I had.

Don