The last inch [antikvár]

The Last Inch At forty you were lucky if you still enjoyed flying1 after twenty years of it, and you were lucky if you could still feel that artistic pleasure of a beginner when you brought the pláne down well: a little wheel grip, a puff of dust, and the smooth conquest of that last inch above the ground. Especially in the snow, because the snow made a good pad under the wheels. A good touchdown in snow was as good as walking barefoot2 on a thick hotel carpet. Bush piloting and flying the old DC3s3 in any weather [and over any landscape were things of the past.4 Canada [had been good flying country for his sort of flying;5 so pt seemed all right that he should end up flying a FairIchild6 over the Red Sea deserts for Tex-Egypto Oil Extploration Inc.,7 which had exploration rights all down |he Egyptian Red Sea coast. He had flown the Fairchild lover these deserts until it had flown itself out.8 There pere no landing fields. He put it down where the geolojgists and hydrologists wanted to get down; and that was janywhere on the sands of the Red Sea shore. The shore fines were the worst, because under the smooth-looking