8 am comes early and with that, my third attempt to solo. The first time was lack of skill and the second, a mechanical issue prevented me from completing this milestone.
I’ve got my fingers crossed.
8 am comes early and with that, my third attempt to solo. The first time was lack of skill and the second, a mechanical issue prevented me from completing this milestone.
I’ve got my fingers crossed.
When you’re at the beginning of the runway and taking off, one of the pilot’s goals is the keep the airplane rolling down the dead center of the runway. There’s a white dotted line there. Keep your nose wheel on it, and you’re good to go.
I had a dangerous thought today while I was driving.
I had the urge to drive my CAR down the center line for as far as I could.
In retrospect, probably not a good idea.
This is from a Facebook post. Please don’t hold that against me.
Ok. I admit it. I am a bum. (“Hello, I’m Dan and I am a bum.” “Hello, Dan.”)
But on the upside, I am actually logging into my Facebook account again. I went about three or four months without so much as a peek. But here I am again.
This time, things will be different.
*nods*
As I have said before, I am really rotten at keeping in touch. I’m even really rotten at keeping in touch on facebok where it’s so easy, a caveman could do it. (Copyright 2001: Geico) But with the new year comes changes. A change in attitude. A change in weather. A change in socks. (I got socks for Christmas!)
And here. I’m going to try to log in here more often than I have been in the previous decade. (And oh yes, I know that the decade doesn’t officially start until 2011. But who am I to argue with the media, the purveyor of truth and impartiality.)
I hope that all of you had a superb holiday season and that 2010 (the last year of this decade) is superb for each and every one.
My big deal this year? Finish flight school.
And for those of you keeping score at home, you can read all about my flight lessons here:
There’s other stuff there, too, but please ignore the part about the midget and the noodles.
Be well, everyone! Stay safe. Remember the Alamo.
Dan
Ok, so I am sitting here in my cubicle, lamenting the fact that both weather and the holidays have put a crimp in my flight training. Pissing me off is more like it. So I decided today to go back to the academic side of things, and refresh my memory about all of the things I learned for the FAA written test and have probably forgotten.
But before I do that, I’m doing my own list of the ten things I like and ten things I hate about aviation training. I’m trying to immerse my alleged mind in aviation activities because I am getting far too used to NOT flying, and I want to progress. Besides, I gots me a delightful t-shirt for Christmas that defines “pilot” as the “highest form of life on Earth.”
Definitely a motivational gift! (And yes, that’s a scan of the actual shirt.)
As Casey Kasem would say, “Now, on with the countdown.”
Ten things I hate about aviation training:
10. Motion sickness
9. The lingering smell of 100LL aviation fuel on my hands.
8. Landings.
7. Interacting with air traffic control and trying to sound smooth. (Note to self: Stuttering does not come across as smooth.)
6. Weather and mechanical cancellations.
5. No flight suits for student pilots.
4. Flaps which won’t retract.
3. The 30-minute drive to and from the airport.
2. The McDonalds conveniently located on the route home from the airport. (Can’t resist rewarding myself for a good lesson.)
1. WINTER!
Ten things I like about aviation training:
10. The view from 5,000 ft.
9. Takeoffs.
8. Safe Landings.
7. Taking time off work to go fly.
6. Cool aviation weather sites.
5. The cabin heater in a Cessna 172 is awesome making winter flight tolerable.
4. Exhilarating when you get it right.
3. The McDonalds conveniently located on the route home from the airport.
2. When I get my license, I can fly all by myself from here to Kitty Hawk, NC and the Wright Brothers National Memorial. (The airfield is called “First Flight Airfield.” I get goose bumps just thinking about it.)
1. Chicks dig pilots.
Last night, around 7-ish, I believe it was, I took the initiative and got the dogs rounded up to go outside for a potty break. Since Gizmo’s paralysis two summers ago, it’s been recommended by the veterinarian that he wear a jacket outside in the coldest weather to help keep his back comfortable. So I’ve been doing that, having discovered that it also prevents snow from accumulating on his undercarriage. Since I discovered this undocumented feature of dressing the dogs for the out of doors, I have complied because it makes my life far easier than before.
Even the rescue pup, Charlie, is reluctantly willing to don a jacket, though it’s still a challenge to get him to step into the arm holes on cue!
Once all three are adorned with their respective jackets, we proceed outside into the 18-plus inches of snow in the hope that they’ll be cued to do the dog thing.
Chloe begins by hopping about bunny style. Charlie actually starts to frolic, then catches himself and stops. I swear if he’d just relax and let himself go, he’d be a very happy pooch! Gizmo starts wandering and dashing about, trying to burn off some of the pent up energy of having been under house arrest all day. He wanders off down the street and finds a suitable place to eliminate and does so — the only dog to have a clue regarding our most sacred mission! Then he dashes back toward me about 20 feet and stops.
He’s maneuvering around in a rut in the snow about 18 inches deep presumably made by our neighbor Bill’s truck awhile earlier. So it’s kind of like being in a maze in which the direction of travel is limited to two directions: toward me and away from me.
Naturally he chooses the away-from-me path and takes off like a rocket.
Initially, I am not too worried figuring he won’t go that far, so I advance and collect the leftovers in the appropriate bag and proceed to follow Gizmo. By now, he is easily off the side street and on a street that will be one of the first to be plowed, meaning there’s a slight potential for motor vehicle traffic. He’s still in the rut, running like he’s being chased, but he isn’t because I am standing there in the dark, cold night, hands on my hips trying to get Gizmo’s attention.
No such luck.
Since this IS a relatively major thoroughfare, it occurs to be that an oncoming plow, four-wheel drive truck or any other vehicle will be hard pressed to see a black and white dog running in the dark at warp speed in a rut that’s only a few inches taller than he is.
It is then that I make a command decision. Now is an appropriate time to panic.
I take off running after him and calling his name and he ignores me like a hot woman at a cocktail party. All I see is his little doggie butt and his little doggie elbows as he beats little doggie feet away from me. Now I am REALLY starting to panic, so I start running after him and hollering at him trying to make him stop. I’d have had better luck commanding the snow to stop.
Now he’s down to the next intersection and I hear laughter from my right. I glance over and there’s a gentleman shoveling the snow from his driveway. He’s decidedly amused at my race after Gizmo. I suspect that about all he could see of Gizmo was a wisp of white, fluffy tail moving like a snow shark against the subdued lighting of the night, being hotly pursued by a rather panicked human.
It had to be hilarious.
Finally, Gizmo stops, then teases me with one more short dash away, then comes back toward me, all smiles and panting like… well, like a dog. He’s safe.
I don’t have a leash with me so I cajole him and herd him and ask him and tell him and… Anything to get him to head toward home. But he’s had enough and is ready to go home on his own, so he again takes off leaving me in the snow to find my own way home.
When I get there a short while later, he’s nosing around Bill’s house looking for their dog, Blaze, to come out and join the fun. But Blaze isn’t to be found, so he’s wandering aimlessly about. Once I catch up to him, he’s still a little reluctant to go in, so I have to lure him in with the promise of food.
But first, I’ll try the straightforward approach.
“Gizmo! Let’s go home, come on!”
Nothing. He doesn’t even acknowledge me.
“Gizmo,” I say sternly, “let’s go, NOW!”
Nope. I do not exist from his perspective. So next, I try the bribe.
“Gizmo, do you want a treat?”
That stops him as he weighs his options. But since dogs have higher clock speeds than we mere humans, he decides in a flash that nope, this is not worth giving up for a mere treat.
I sigh. I want to go in. I started to sweat during the 100 yard dash to capture Gizmo, and I am starting to get cold.
“OK, Gizmo,” I say. “How about dinner? Do you want some dinner?”
He stops dead in his tracks and spins his head toward me, ears erect and definitely paying attention. After all, I said the “D” word!
“Gizmo, do you have rumbly in your tumbly?”
Yeah, that’s a little embarrassing to say in public. But the neighborhood is covered with at least 18 inches of snow, and no one’s there but me and Gizmo, so it’s worth the risk. And he knows precisely what this means. I say it again.
“Gizmo, do you have rumbly in your tumbly?”
I think he was just waiting for me to confirm what he thought he heard the first time. At the second mention of the “rumbly in the tumbly,” he starts making his way toward me, indicating that dinner is, in fact, an adequate motivation to end his front yard romp in the snow. He hops off the curb and starts making his way toward me and the house, but of course, he’s up to his chin in snow. So he’s having a tough time.
“Gizmo, do you need some help?”
He stops struggling, straightens himself so I can pick him up, and I relocate him from the snow drift to another rut where he can maneuver just fine. At this point, he’s ready. He shakes the excess snow from his body and heads off toward the front door and to the warmth of the living room and his bed.
I follow him in, finally relieved that he’s out of danger. Then I realize it. I have rumbly in my tumbly, too. Yep, food is a more than adequate motivation to come in from the cold.
I just hope we’re not having the same thing for dinner.