Nothing by Chance
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Setting out to explore his beliefs in the environment of a simpler time, Richard Bach shares the adventure of one magical summer he spent as an old-fashioned barnstormer flying an antique biplane. The journey is another soaring personal adventure of wonder and insight from the author of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. HC: Macmillan.
shock, that all his torture on the crank had gone for nothing. I was just shaking my head, to tell him I couldn’t understand why the engine didn’t fire, when I found the trouble. I hadn’t turned the switch on. I was so familiar with the cockpit that I had expected the switches and levers to work by themselves. “Stu … ah … hate to say this … but… I forgot to turn the switch on sorry that sure was a silly thing to do let’s crank her one more time OK?” He closed his eyes, imploring heaven to
there on winches. “The battery’s probably dead. But if we get it started, we’ll go for a ride.” He lowered the boat into the water on its electric winch and pressed the starter. There was only a hollow clank and silence. “I’ve got to remember to keep that battery up,” he said, and hoisted the boat back into the air. Carl had brought a little fishing pole with him and he began working for his Two Fish in the First Five Casts just at the moment that Stu and I hit the water in running dives off
turned the furniture into museum pieces, and mounted lifelike detail drawings of “Hamburger,’ “Cheeseburger,” and “French Fries” in wide glowing plastic cases over the mirror, and over at least a thousand glasses stacked upside down. Hanging on the wall was a rough old triangle of oak, notched like a great blunt saw along one edge, and bolted to some other moving sections of wood. “Wagon Jack” was printed on a board a few inches beneath it. “Stu.” “Yeah.” “The tail of the Parks weighs more
to committee-think our desires? Would it be a different world, or are we living in one that is pretty much that way right now? I refused to believe that we were, and put the doughnut into the ash tray. “You should get old Kenny up. Man, he would just go wild in that thing! I’m gonna bring him out. Bring ’im out tonight! I’m gonna see you guys get a good crowd … it’s a fine thing, your comin’ here. That little old airport just sits out there and nobody cares about it. Used to have a flying club
help us understand, a thousand “coincidences” and friends come to show us the way when the problems seem too hard to solve alone. True for me, true for my country America. We turned gently about a cloud, and flashed sunlight, a mile in the air, setting course for the towns of Nebraska. Problems for overcoming. Freedom for proving. And, as long as we believe in our dream, nothing by chance. The Luscombe and the biplane in earlier days, as we were practicing landings in fields, wondering if