The first plane I ever flew was 25 years before the glider ride. For $3.50 the Instructor would take you up in a J-3 for the basic stuff.
That plane was horribly old. NO radio. You waggled your wings to get a green flashlight from the tower to land. The floor was wood, torn up where the pedals were. The fuel gauge was a coat hanger on a cork out front of the windshield. In order to prime the engine for start, you pumped the throttle post thingy back and forth until fuel was seen dribbling down the dashboard. <-- TINS
Two magnetos on, brakes being held by Hisself, and the guy pulled on the prop. Oh dear. It started. He jumped in and we went boompit, boompit across the grass for about forty fargin feet -- and we were in the air.
That's when I noticed the that toy teeny barrel-bolt that held the door shut had rattled loose and the door fell wide open.
So the guy asks how high are we? I guessed 1000'. We were at 300. So he cut the motor to idle, and told me to pick a place to land. I saw a hayfield and angled the paper plane over to it. Actually landed it, which I thought was cool.
I tried and tried to get "one inch of dirt over the nose and one foot of air under the wings". Very hard to do. Oh. Just remembered: There was a ribbon to tell you if you were skidding.
But then we did "Effects Of Unusual Attitudes In Flight". Dutch rolls, skids, tilt slides, stalls. Eventually, I hadda lean out the open door and call dinosaurs.
Here is something it is better you hear than experience: If you barf downwind in an airplane, a vacuum forms immediately behind your face... and you become perfectly spray-painted with grug.
When we got back and I had cleaned the outside of the airplane (and myself, somewhat) I asked him:
"Did anybody else get airsick on their first flight?"
He grinned evilly: "Every. Single. One."
That caused the hiatus...