More often than not, adventure is a solo endeavor—or, at least something pursued in very small groups. In part, this is because adventure tends to take place in the unexplored or little-explored places in life, whether that’s in the sky, on a mountain, or in a new, entrepreneurial venture. Which means, pretty much by definition, that there aren’t a ton of people already milling around there.
In the case of physical adventure, it’s also often because the places adventurers go don’t accommodate large numbers of people. Narrow rock ledges are dicey enough with one or two other climbers. And anyone who’s hiked or climbed on popular routes can attest to the difficulty posed by too many people on a route. One of the group I attempted to climb Mt. Blanc with, a couple of years ago, noted that on the toughest, steepest “wall” of the climb, the biggest danger was the loose rock dislodged and falling from the many people descending as he was attempting to climb up the route. “It was like New York at rush hour on that wall,” he said, shaking his head. “With about as much chivalry or manners.”
And yet, as much as we’d really love to be the only person or team on that mountain, or (in the case of pilots) in that traffic pattern, we still seem to have an irresistible urge to get together with others who share our passion—at least every now and then.
I’m thinking of this inclination at this particular moment because I’m getting ready to head off for the annual Experimental Aircraft Association convention in Oshkosh, Wisconsin next week. EAA’s “AirVenture,” or simply “Oshkosh,” as most pilots who’ve had their licenses more than 15 years or so call it, is the largest gathering of pilots and airplanes in the country each year. How large? Something in the neighborhood of 12,000 airplanes and half a million people, over the course of about six days. [click to continue…]
Risk and adventure come in all kinds of shades and flavors. We tend to think of activities involving physical risk as requiring the most courage. But financial and professional risk can be equally scary. As one entrepreneur friend of mine once put it … “failure in a business is a death you have to live with.” So I’m not sure who, in the end, had more courage: the subjects of a brand-new documentary about the first women’s transcontinental air race … or the woman who made the film.
The film is called Breaking Through the Clouds, and it tells the story—or, rather, the many stories—behind the 1929 transcontinental women’s air race (dubbed the “Powder Puff Derby”) that put many female pilots’ names on the national map. Contestants included Pancho Barnes, Amelia Earhart, Lousie Thaden and Bobbi Trout, as well as 16 others. They came from a wide range of backgrounds, and had all kinds of different motivations for entering the race. But air racing is, by its nature, an uncertain adventure, and all of the women would certainly fit the “No Map. No Guide. No Limits.” motto. Especially because they were taking on the challenge of flying a cross-country race at a time when women just didn’t DO that sort of thing. And that goes for both flying and racing.
Without question, all the women in that race had courage, gumption and guts. But consider, also, the woman who made the film about them. Heather Taylor was a college film student looking for a good story when she went to interview a famous woman pilot in her native Tennessee—a woman by the name of Evelyn Bryan Johnson, who was born in 1909 and has logged more than 57,000 flight hours. Johnson mentioned the 1929 race during the interview, and Taylor was captivated at the idea of young women in that era taking on such a culturally challenging as well as physically challenging feat.
“It wasn’t so much that they flew across the country that got me,” Taylor said. “It was what they had to overcome in order to do that. Which included overcoming themselves. They knew what they wanted, and they went for it, and didn’t let anything stop them. That was inspiring to me.” [click to continue…]