I remember back to when I was a child, in which I would constantly dream of flight and its characteristics of freedom and serenity. Throughout my younger years I collected miniature model airplanes of metal and plastic, longing to be the pilot of the real machine; this obsession continued until the day my grandfather introduced me to radio controlled flight. My grandfather and I visited his model airplane flying field where he effortlessly controlled a piece of machinery which my glowing 11 year old eyes watched in pure awe. The soothing whir of the propeller left me with a calm sensation and a peace that settled throughout my motionless body. Ever since then, I have endlessly been pursuing and achieving this same momentary emotion, as no other sensation has ever been as gratifying to me.
After five exciting years of bonding with my grandfather, as well as painstakingly building and flying model aircraft, there is nothing that I enjoy more than visiting that same flying field. The familiar gravel road to the spacious grassland raises a film of dust, which not only obscures my vision, but is also blown every which way by the wind that unintentionally affects the aircraft. After parking, we struggle to unload the crammed vehicle filled with the covered wooden frames as carefully as possible, being sure not to blemish the delicate airframes that were meticulously assembled. The throaty roar of an engine pierces the surrounding air as the motor of an aircraft is started. The noise changes its pitch to a low purr as the throttle is returned to the idle position. The strong and bitter smell of the exhaust of nitromethane fuel fills my awaiting nostrils. The unique smell of the fuel is one of gasoline and another unexplainable scent that only helps to attribute in the stimulation of my senses. I can feel the strong vortex of air produced by the propeller that is spinning ever so quickly as it pastes my clothing firmly against my skin. My grandfather...
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