Publisher's Synopsis
The conquest of the air took a hundred years. Thanks, Wilbur and Orville! Thanks Bleriot and all the others! Then came the postwar boom, 1946 to 1975 and beyond; and every Tom, Dick and Harry was flying his own airplane. We all were. Aeronca, Beech, Cessna, Ercoupe, Piper, Stinson, Taylorcraft...those were the airplanes people flew. Maybe a couple million people at one time or other in the USA, half of whom actually got some some sort of pilot's license if only student status; as many or more who took a few flips in an airplane. At the peak, there were two or three hundred thousand personal airplanes (something like that), more than 20,000 airports. A critical mass if you like. Gas was cheap; enthusiasm was sky-high. Hing's exuberant memoir of this time tells of his own tiny piece of the action: starting out in England flying the Tiger Moth and Auster, moving to the United States and skylarking in homebuilts, warbirds, gliders, classic airplanes, and floatplanes. "Light-hearted writing about heavier-than-air adventures."
