I was 17 years old and having the time of my life. I had been a line boy in Lakeland since I was 15 and was cashing in on the experience by being allowed to go to Wichita and pick up a new airplane. The instructors working at our FBO were too busy instructing, so it fell to us line boy/pilots to do the free ferrying work.
The Cessna 150, N1515Q, was white with a light blue trim and had blue stripes painted on the wing roots. It even smelled new—and with the five or six cases of Coors the Cessna rep had purchased and carefully loaded for me, I was pretty close to max gross when I lifted off from Strother Field for the trip home to Florida.
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