A one-of-a-kind tale of high flying aviation adventure!
Excerpt
Chapter One
Bang! . . . bang! . . . bang! Buzz-z-z-z-z. Splash, swoosh, splash-h-h-h . . . The sounds of
hammers, saws, and paint echoed throughout the giant factory. When the noises finally stopped, a squeaky hoist lowered
something slowly to the ground. Ooohs and ahhhs moved through the crowd. It had taken many
months for the workmen to shape Homer’s body into a perfect flying machine. And now, Homer
the helicopter was being born right in the middle of the factory’s scrap heap.
Unlike other newborn helicopters who were timid and made fussing noises, Homer was brave
from the start.
His shiny skin was cut from the finest silver metal. And on top of the little ‘copter sat two sparkling
new blades. As the blades began to spin, Homer felt a gentle wind above his head. With each
quickening turn of his new propeller,Homer’s emerald green eyes danced and flashed even brighter, and his smile turned to a wide
grin. The dimples in each corner of his mouth and on his chin deepened with delight and his
stubby nose stuck out like a silver jewel.
It was time for the factory workmen to turn Homer over to his mother, the wise, golden-colored
Elsa. She was elegant with six glowing lights on her frame. On top of her huge blades sat a
brilliant strobe light that twirled around, brightly flashing on and off.
Elsa had waited a long time to raise a son just like Homer. She was so thrilled and proud of her
new son that she took him in tow behind her and flew around the factory in a precise, zigzag flight pattern. Elsa
wanted to show off Homer to all the other mothers who had come to celebrate the little ‘copter’s arrival into the
world.
Elsa was a graceful flyer, and under her guidance the two of them drifted lightly through the air
like floating swans.
After several minutes, Homer became restless and decided to play a prank on his mother. When
Elsa zigged, Homer zagged in the opposite direction. Again and again the rope swiftly jerked him backward,
each time giving the little helicopter a thrill.
Young Homer’s daring behavior amazed the crowd. His antics were starting to make his mother
dizzy. Shelooked behind her to see what was going on, only to discover what Homer was doing. He was
snapping back and forth harder than a rubber band from a slingshot! Elsa quickly whirled around, giving Homer a sharp
jolt.
“Now listen to me son,” she scolded, pointing one of her long blades at Homer. “Do not play tricks
on your mother like that again. When I’m flying, you should keep still and just enjoy the ride.”
Homer cringed with embarrassment, his face turning bright red.
“You should always mind and listen to what I tell you,” Elsa continued. “It’s for your own safety,
Homer. Do you understand?”
Looking down at all the other helicopters below, Homer nodded, ashamed. He got Elsa’s
message loud and clear.
The other mothers, taking in the whole scene, were chuckling. Pointing upward toward Homer,
they began teasing Elsa. “You have quite the frisky rascal there, Elsa,” called out one of the mothers. “We
wish you lots of luck raising that wild little ‘copter!”
Elsa was embarrassed by the heckling. She vowed to find the best flight instructor for Homer.
She knew one day Homer would make her proud.
CHAPTER TWO:
Homer grew very fast. Soon he was old enough to learn how to fly mothers, fathers, and children
on trips through the enormous Grand Canyon. Homer knew right away that he would enjoy his work. His
fondest wish was to gracefully soar in the sky, like the birds he often watched gliding freely on the west wind.
But first, Homer had to learn how to fly on his own.
The day finally came for Elsa to take Homer to the Whirly Bird Aviation School, in southern
Arizona, to meet his flight teacher and pilot, Hank. Elsa strapped Homer tightly on her back, right up against her
cabin, and curled the tow-rope securely around him. She wasn’t taking any more chances of letting him loose until
he was properly trained to fly on his own. Elsa flew her little ‘copter piggyback to his new airport.
Hank was a famous instructor who had trained many young helicopters during his career. He
didn’t allow his students to disobediently romp around the sky. Learning to fly was serious business!
Elsa sternly told Homer, “I want you to always, always listen to Hank. He will not waste valuable
time with naughty little ‘copters who do not pay attention to his instructions.” Then with a big kiss and tight
hug, Elsa bid farewell to her son. Homer couldn’t see the tears glistening in Elsa’s eyes as she turned around
and slowly flew away.
With a twinkle in his eye and a slightly crooked smile, Hank walked over to Homer. Hank was tall
and skinny, and as he walked, his sandy-brown, rumpled hair blew in the breeze. He was dressed in blue
jeans with a wrinkled flight instructor’s jacket worn over a frayed T-shirt that peeked out at the neck.
“Hi, ya, pal . . . Nice to meet cha,” Hank said, his words forming slowly. “We’ll al’ have some fun
together, and maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll find adventure too!”
Homer was so excited to meet his new pilot and hear him say the word “adventure”, that when
Hank started polishing Homer’s blades and checking out each control stick in his cockpit, the little ‘copter could
hardly stand still.
Looking Homer straight in the eye, Hank said in a friendly tone, “Now listen up, son. I want you to
learn the right way that a young helicopter should fly. First, you should fly forward and then climb straight
up into the sky as far as you can go.” Hank pointed up toward the clouds high overhead. “I want to see if you are
fast enough and strong enough to reach those puffy clouds towering above. But, first, Homer, you need to know
how each controlstick works.”
Homer paid close attention as Hank continued, “You have a ‘C’ stick and a ‘P’ stick which are
located in front of the pilot, and two foot pedals on the floor. When I press the right pedal, you turn right; when I
press the left pedal, you turn left. When I push the ‘P’ stick down, you dive down; when I pull the ‘P’ stick up,
you climb high. When I hold the ‘P’ stick in the middle, you hover right in midair and keep your blades spinning fast, or
we’ll drop like a big rock! When I push the ‘C’ stick forward, you fly straight ahead. When I pull the ‘C’ stick back, you
fly backward.”
Hank paused a moment and a grin crossed his face. “Homer, did you know helicopters are the
only aircraft that can fly backward? . . . So, got all that?”
Homer’s mind began to spin. He wasn’t sure he understood all the new instructions.
Hank encouraged his little student, “Now don’t worry, Homer. You’ll soon get the hang of all your
controls working together perfectly.”
Hank gave Homer his first tank full of gas. Homer felt a powerful sensation flow throughout his
frame. His confidence started to rise but quickly dropped when he began to wonder, “Will my new engine
start up right away? Will my blades go ‘round and ‘round, turning faster and faster, whistling whir . . . whir-r-r-r . . .
whir-r-r-r?”
“Now, don’t try to do any of those fancy flippy-flops or cartwheels that other new helicopters try,”
Hank warned, climbing into the pilot’s seat. “They only get themselves into a lot of trouble!”
The moment had finally come. Hank turned the start key and pushed on the thrust button. Homer
tightly held his breath then let out a coughing gasp followed by a booming puff of smoke. His
engine started up and began making a purring sound. The engine shook louder and louder. Soon it became a deafening roar.
Homer’s blades began spinning faster and faster. The vibrations felt like a jumbo eggbeater. He was ready to take off.
“WHOOPEE!” He shouted.
With a hard, fast jerk, Hank pulled the little ‘copter’s “P” control stick. This was a brand-new
feeling and experience for Homer. He started to wiggle and wobble on his feet. With all his might, Homer
gave a giant leapfrog lunge. To his surprise, he lurched straight up into the sky. He began sliding and staggering
sideways in a crooked flight pattern — but at least he was flying!
Although Homer had been warned by Hank, he couldn’t resist doing at least one big flip-flop followed by a double cartwheel. As he did these fancy tricks, he punched
out of the clouds and started falling wildly out of control.
“Help! Oh, help! Somebody help me!” he cried.
Hank quickly corrected Homer’s mishap by bringing him back into level flight. “Now listen, Homer,
ol’ buddy,” Hank called out firmly from the pilot’s seat. “Ya gotta pay much more attention to your lessons
and quit goofing off if you really want to learn to fly. Understand me?”
Homer lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hank,” he said guiltily. “From now on, I won’t show off any
more.”
“Good,” replied Hank, “then, let’s try again.” Hank pressed all three of Homer’s controls, sending
him shooting swiftly back into the air.
Again and again Homer tried and tried his best to fly. At first he flip-flopped by mistake, doing a
nosedive toward the ground. Hank quickly yanked the power stick backward. Homer climbed higher and higher,
speeding toward the white-capped clouds. But the little ‘copter was flying at such a steep angle that his blades
stopped spinning.
Homer’s engine started coughing and all of a sudden quit working. Homer froze dead still, right in
midair; he had stalled out!
Homer’s whole body turned upside-down, and he slowly floated out of control, going round and
round in lazy circles. Spinning in tighter circles, he started to gain speed, coiling into a deadly, tight curve.
Again, Hank came to the rescue, pulling Homer into level flight. Soon the little ‘copter’s crazy flying began to upset
Hank’s stomach. He and Homer were getting dizzy.
Hank instructed Homer, “We’re both pooped-out. I think we’ve practiced enough for today. Let’s
head for home.” Hank eased the control sticks to the middle and flew Homer at a gentle pace. Soon they
arrived back at the helicopter landing pad. Hank held Homer hovering above the pad while slowly lowering him until
his landing skids softly touched the ground.
Homer breathed a sigh of relief as he thought, “It’s wonderful to be in the hands of a skilled pilot
like Hank. I’ll do better next time.”
Homer didn’t give up. At each lesson he practiced harder, becoming better and better. Then one
sunny spring morning, to his utter amazement, Homer found himself flying perfectly. He skillfully circled, spun,
and darted sideways, backward, and straight up and down. He even hovered just inches above the ground without
flopping over.
Hank was so proud of his new student. Homer had, at last, earned his wings. “Congratulations,
Homer,” Hank happily hollered, “I knew you could do it!”
Hank then revealed some remarkable news to Homer, “After you have had enough flying
experience, you might be able to operate your own controls without a pilot on board. But remember, pilots who fly
helicopters have to think and act fast. So you, too, will have to pass the test of patting yourself on the head while
rubbing your belly at the same time.” Hank teased, “Want to give it a try, Homer?”
Homer decided he’d try that trick another day.
Homer worked hard over the next few months, paying close attention to his lessons. He quickly
became very good at flying under Hank’s instructions.
Hank thought now was the perfect time for Elsa to come for a visit so she could see her little ‘copter had become a skillful and obedient flyer. Hank decided Elsa’s visit
would be a secret; he wanted to surprise Homer!
Elsa was thrilled when Hank asked her to fly to the canyon; she promised to meet them
the very next day.
Copyright 2008 Julie W. Buscher. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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