About twenty miles out of Ripon, Wisconsin, he handed the papers to Raf. “Start on page six, please, where it says something like ‘approaching Ripon.’”
Raf dove right in and Dustin followed the directions. He flipped on his lights, obtained ATIS (Automatic Terminal Information Service), which told him the current air traffic, then made sure he was going ninety knots at eight thousand feet as he flew into Ripon.
He listened to the tower’s instructions as the sky began to fill with other small planes.
“Holy crap, Dusty. How the hell do we not crash?”
“Don’t worry, just keep reading. They do this every year. This is why the tower told me to turn into the line and follow the Beechcraft in front of us.”
Raf took a deep breath. “Okay, it says to follow the train tracks and keep at least a h
