Transported to 1986 by a Song (A Look Back at a Look Back)

Originally posted in 2019. Revisited with a little more grey hair—and maybe a little more wisdom

Music has this magical quality. It can yank you across decades in a single chord. I wrote the bones of this post back in 2019 after a particularly nostalgic drive home. Sirius XM’s 80s channel was counting down the top songs from this week in 1986, and number three was “Highway to the Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins.

Boom. Instant time machine.

It was a beautiful day, the kind that makes your memory lean in close. And with that music, I was twenty-one again. The summer of ’86. What my old roommate called the “God Summer”the stretch of time right after graduating from the U.S. Air Force Academy. We felt immortal. Young, fit, and brimming with plans. I still had a full head of hair and was ready to start my Air Force career as a pilot. At least, that was the plan.

Graduation Day May 28, 1986

Just a few months earlier, Top Gun had hit theaters. It was like pouring jet fuel on our collective dreams. Graduation was just weeks away, and we were all convinced we’d be flying fighters soon. That movie hit us like a shot of adrenaline. A few of us actually made it.

Undergraduate Pilot Training (UPT) is a beast of its own. They say you can teach a monkey to fly if you give it enough bananas, but the trick is keeping up with the Air Force’s pace. Some of it was glorious. Walking off the flightline in a G-suit, helmet tucked under one arm, after a smooth T-38 sortie. I felt like Maverick. My callsign was “Woodrow.” I even rode my motorcycle home afterward. Almost comically on-brand, but it was real.

UPT Official Photo on a very windy day. Sometime in September or October 1986

Up to that point, I’d been pretty successful at whatever I put my mind to. But somewhere near the midpoint of UPT, I hit a wall. A full-blown crisis of confidence. I started to wonder if I’d make it through. That was new. And deeply humbling.

The first half of training was twelve-hour days minimum, with multiple sorties, and every spare second was spent studying instruments, procedures, and systems. At the end of a sweltering Mississippi day, my brain felt like a microwaved burrito. I’m not wired for relentless repetition, which didn’t help.

But it wasn’t all grind. We blew off steam like it was our job. Work hard, play harder. Weekends were packed with beer, dancing (yes, I was actually a good dancer, ask literally no one), and even a little FM fame. My best friend and I had a Saturday night college radio show. Eventually the pool won out, and we ditched the booth for sunshine and cannonballs. I regret nothing.

We were so young.

When I look back now, with a few more miles on the tires, I can see how much time I “wasted.” Not in a hand-wringing way, it was mostly fun, but it wasn’t productive. If I could give that version of me some advice, it’d be: find something you’re passionate about and chase it with everything you’ve got. It took me a long time to figure that out. And truthfully, I wasn’t exactly searching with a map and flashlight.

Back in 2019, I mentioned they were making a Top Gun sequel. Top Gun: Maverick hadn’t come out yet. I joked it looked like a cheesy rehash and added: “I don’t care. Take my money.”

I stand by that.

Kenny Loggins confirmed that “Danger Zone” would be in the movie, and that hit me in the gut. Because that song? It carries more than nostalgia.

It carries Pete.

Pete was a year ahead of me at the Academy. We were in the same cadet squadron, me a freshman, him a sophomore. Solid guy. At Columbus he and some of the others had a house on the edge of town with a pool, and they threw some legendary parties.

The one I remember best? Assignment night. Pete got an F-15. He cranked “Highway to the Danger Zone” on repeat, screamed the lyrics, and danced around the house like a kid who just got handed a fighter jet for Christmas. I can still see it, his joy was electric.

Pete flew for a few years, left the service, and eventually came back. He died in a crash. I don’t know the whole story, just that he was gone.

But I remember 22-year-old Pete, alive, ecstatic, fists in the air, singing that song like it was a promise. And in that moment, for him, it was.

I graduated from pilot training in the fall of ’87. Didn’t get fighters. I got the KC-135 Stratotanker. Less dogfighting, more flying gas station. But it mattered. I ended up flying tankers for 32 years. Not bad for a guy who once feared he wouldn’t make it.

Right after I got dowsed on following my last flight in the KC-135, my youngest children in the background.

Sometimes I wonder what might’ve happened if I’d found my “thing” sooner. Maybe writing. Maybe art. Maybe gaming, approached from a creative side, building worlds or writing articles for magazines. But those are just musings. Water under the bridge.

Revisiting this old post reminded me how strong those memories still are. One song, one sunny day, and I’m back in that summer. Remembering how it felt to be weightless with possibility. Remembering friends. Remembering who I was becoming.

No real regrets.

Life is good.

And it’s only getting better.