My photographer and I surveyed the four-seater airplane with apprehension; neither of us had flown in a Cessna 172 before. For a moment, I questioned whether my weak stomach could sustain the probable turbulence. Our pilot, Phil Winiger, and flight sponsor, Wisconsin Aviation, promised no barrel rolls and a relatively stable ride. Though not quite reassured, my fears floated away while we rose into the sky.
With the runway melting away beneath us, Phil gently swung the plane toward Lake Mendota. Farm fields off to our right bumped and strained against the horizon. Streets spilled into cul-de-sacs like mercury collecting in thermometers as the afternoon traffic crawled through sleepy neighborhoods.
We continued en route to campus, soaring by rented sailboats and waves beating against Memorial Union. Our vantage point revealed the shallow waters off Picnic Point and a view of the stately governor's mansion. After crossing the lake, we began the first of our many passes over the downtown. High-rising cranes engaged in perpetual construction failed to reach us as we circled the Capitol. Phil would later remark that Madison and Middleton were once distinguishable from above; booming populations and urban sprawl have now joined the two municipalities.
It's amazing how close together and colorful landmarks appear from 1,000 feet up; Library Mall and Henry Vilas Zoo seem only inches apart. I'm sure aviators offer no condolences to students complaining of long walks to class, since the entire campus looks extremely compact. The crimson exteriors of Science Hall and the Red Gym are even more vibrant when observed from the sky. Camp Randall is a giant salad bowl, filled with tomato-red seat backs and surrounded by trees resembling parsley.
True to his word, Phil kept things steady, so I kept my lunch off my lap. He avoided the will of the wind and claimed that planes want to maintain a straight path; a pilot simply corrects for the occasional gust. Judging by the cockpit's instrument panel, which seemed to employ numbers and symbols I didn't know existed, I think Phil was being modest.
Navigation wasn't always so complex. Upon noticing the orange sunburst atop the Edgewater Hotel, Phil compared the pattern to the early days of aviation.
\Before radios could guide pilots, people used light towers and other geographic markers,"" he explained. ""Businesses would paint the city name on the roof of the most prominent building in town, with an arrow directing planes to the local airport.""
It seems so many of our experiences at UW-Madison are squeezed between two lakes, defined ever so precisely on this narrow isthmus. My time in the plane afforded me the perspective to see beyond the daily monotony that regularly clouds my vision. For a moment, I was free of midterms and deadlines; I was unrestricted by both gravity and anxiety. I was flying.
Earthbound once again, my photographer and I reflected upon our ascent into the blue. Like seasoned aeronauts, we laughed at our initial hesitations and left the airport with a heightened awareness of our city.
Former Wisconsin Gov. Lee Dreyfus famously described Madison as ""30 square miles surrounded by reality""-as denizens of this progressive burg, it was wonderfully surreal passing over the fiction we've created.
Dan likes to fly in small, one-engine planes. Do you? Compare your likes and dislikes at detierney@wisc.edu.
