Camping in Water Canyon near Winnemucca, Nevada

Most RVers leave their day jobs behind when they hit the road, but mine follows me mile after mile with a happy sense of deja vu. I'm a commercial seaplane pilot in Seattle, and I start noticing similarities between flying and RVing even before a trip.

By departure day, my wife and I have already emptied the holding tanks, made mail-forwarding arrangements and completed other chores. When you've been parked for months, though, last-minute considerations always pop up. My wife decides to refill a prescription now at her regular pharmacy rather than hassle with it later away from home. To save weight and bulk, I decide to leave behind several books we were going to bring with us. That necessitates driving them down to our storage unit 15 miles away (we're working full-timers who live in our fifth-wheel). And our dog has been itching a lot lately; shouldn't we buy some medication from our veterinarian here, to avoid having to consult an unfamiliar vet in some strange community? These delays intensify my eagerness to be under way, and I glance impatiently at my watch as I tend to this and that.

A Dehavilland Beaver floatplane takes off

It's a familiar scenario. Getting ready for a flight also involves tasks and delays. In the office I must check the weather for each scheduled stop on my itinerary and, if crossing the border into Canada, file a flight plan. Out at the dock the airplane must be "preflighted," which includes inspecting the control surfaces, checking the fuel and oil quantities, making sure the cockpit has the proper charts and documentation, and seeing that each seatback pocket in the cabin contains a briefing card. Perhaps I discover that the left landing light is burned out. I grab a mechanic from the hanger and ask him to replace it. After I've loaded the passengers' luggage, someone says, "Oh, I need my camera; it’s in the little blue case with the tag on the handle." Of course, the little blue case is at the bottom of the pile and I have to pull out the other bags to reach it. Then, as the passengers are boarding, someone else asks to run to the restroom back in the terminal. I sigh and gaze impatiently at the sky.

At last everything is done and we step into our pick-up. The diesel engine begins its raucous rhythm, our 12,000-pound trailer starts rolling slowly behind us and my wife ritualistically places a LeAnn Rimes CD in the player. Even after 12 years of RVing, this moment still shoots ecstasy through my veins.

The 10 passengers are finally settled in their seats and we taxi from the dock. Flaps, 30 degrees. Elevator trim, nose down. Boost pump, on. Fuel transfer valve, off. Transponder, mode C. Altimeter, directional gyro, attitude indicator, set. "Okay, folks, everyone have a seatbelt?" I push the throttle to takeoff power, and 750 horses roar. The airplane struggles at first against its 8,000-pound load, but moments later we're accelerating across the wavelets. Forty knots, 45, 50, 55, 60.... The pontoons glide off the water. I've logged more than 23,000 hours of flight, yet my spirit never fails to squeal with the first ascent of the day.

A scene from the road: Route 26, near Dayville, Oregon

Our rig is lumbering down the freeway in the right-hand lane. Metropolitan Seattle still surrounds us, but my mind's eyes are 1,000 miles away, gazing across uncluttered vistas of desert and range. What neat campgrounds will we discover this trip? What colorful characters will we meet, what quaint towns will we drive through? I imagine myself hiking in some isolated canyon, backpack on, looking constantly around at the geology and the majesty.

Panoramic visibility expands as we continue our climb to cruising altitude. I study the horizon ahead, trying to see if any fog is lingering on Admiralty Inlet. Will we spot whales along the San Juan Islands today? Is that salmon troller still aground on the rocks off Johnstone Strait? Will the cloud cover permit a return over spectacular Strathcona National Park on Vancouver Island?

On the road my wife and I always have a destination, be it a state park where we'll camp a week, or a Wal-Mart for an overnight stay. And in the air, of course, I also have a destination, usually a marina

A scene from the air shows Powell Lake, British Columbia

or fishing resort. RVing or flying, I keep track of distance and time and fuel. RVing or flying, I stay alert for weather developments, for mechanical problems, for physical fatigue. And RVing or flying, I savor the sights as they slide continuously by.  

In logbooks I've recorded my aerial experiences since my first solo, and I've kept a journal of my RVing experiences since my first trip. My albums and computer contain thousands of photos and digital images of both RVing and flying.

After weeks of RVing, I start longing to be aloft again. I still enjoy the camping and exploring we're doing, but the sky is beckoning. After weeks of flying, I start daydreaming about the RV life again. I still enjoy the flights and adventures, but the road is beckoning.

It's like having two mistresses, so different and yet so alike.