"So, are you going to camp at Sun 'n Fun this year?" It'd hardly be spring without hearng those words from someone. The first time someone asked, I wound up packing a mess of camping gear into a Piper Navajo with a bunch of friends, and, once airborne, we joined up with a Beech Debonair and a Baron on an epic adventure for a 15-year-old airport kid. I'd heard tell of a mythical place where you could walk all day and hardly run out of airplanes to look at. It was all heady stuff for a country boy who had hardly left the county without family members present. I was just leaving the sphere of one family and flying into the sphere of another. I came to call the latter family my airplane-in-laws.
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