May I See Your License

Hold on a minute, let me just drag this over. Hrrrrmph. One more second while I climb on top. Ok, I’m now firmly entrenched atop my soapbox and ready for this month’s sermon… I mean column. We vintage racers have a problem that for one reason or another we’ve chosen to overlook for a long time. Recent events have highlighted this problem to such a point that many are saying that it’s finally time we address it. Before I tell you what the problem is though, let’s look at an analogous situation that might make the problem more clear.

Let’s say that your hobby – your passion in life – is flying. You’ve loved airplanes since you were a kid, and now, as an adult you want to start flying. Great! But, how do you get started? You don’t know anything about flying except that 1) it necessitates an airplane, 2) the airplane makes cool brrrrrrrrrr engine sounds, and 3) in order to make those cool engine sounds you need a crap load of cash. Well, like all other aspiring Lindberghs, you go to flight school. You take your classes, you put in your mandatory flight hours with an instructor and, if in the end you haven’t killed yourself and your instructor you get your license… for small aircraft. So you have your license (maybe for a short period of time, maybe for many years) when suddenly, your stock options in “My-Belly-Lint.com” go through the roof. With your newfound loot you run down to the airport and buy the biggest, baddest Gulfstream or Challenger jet you can find. The question that has to be asked at this point is, “Are you a competent enough pilot to fly it?” The FAA doesn’t think so. Despite your many years in small aircraft, they want you to have some advanced training – put some time in behind the wheel – so that 1) You don’t kill yourself, or perhaps more importantly, 2) You don’t kill somebody else. Any of this starting to sound familiar?