Flight Lesson #6 or "Look, Ma! No Hands!"

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Two words: Mornings suck.

I usually don’t like to drag myself out of bed early for anything. If it involves standing upright like a good homo sapiens and it’s before 10am, I’ll probably grumble about it. No, I WILL grumble about it. Hell, I didn’t know there was such a thing as a 6 am until I joined the Army. I knew all about 6 “P”m, but what’s the “A”m crap?

So why the hell did I schedule a flight lesson today for 8 am?

I asked myself this question numerous times as I made my way from my warm, comfortable king-size bed to the car and to the airport. Warm under the covers? Yes. Warm outside? Not even close.

I arrive at the flight school, and meet Chris, my instructor for the day. Unlike my previous attempts at a flight lesson, the day is actually lovely. It’s a clear, calm, chilly morning just perfect for a flight lesson. After a quick check of the weather, I sit down with Chris and he starts briefing me on Flight Lesson 6. Today will be a day for running around the pattern, which means we won’t be leaving the confines of Manassas Airport and we’ll just be practicing take offs and landings. This is good, because it’s precisely the kind of practice I want and need. This kind of practice will help build confidence in my newly budding skills.

I hop in the airplane, get clearance from the tower and taxi to the end of the runway. I had experienced problems taxiing on a number of occasions, but this time it was smooth as silk. I scoot the Cessna down taxiway alpha like I had been doing it for years and park for the pre-take off checks. Once finished, I push the throttle forward and head out on the runway, wait patiently for the plane to speed up enough for the wings to start working, and then lift off smoothly to the south.

Twice I run the pattern, each time getting more comfortable. I actually feel VERY comfortable on the take off and the first three of the four legs which constitute the pattern. But the damned landing still escapes me. I am all over the place, left and right, nose up and nose down and just can’t seem to keep it steady on the center line. So Chris, as is his mission, keeps me from doing something dangerous and assists me through the first two approaches, once of which is a planned go around, and the second of which is an actual full stop landing.

Once on the ground, I ask him to show me what it’s supposed to look like so that I’ll have a better idea of what to do. He says ok, and off we go. Take off number three. I handle it up until the final approach. Once I make the right turn into the glide path for runway 16R, I spout off a hearty “You have the controls,” to which he correctly replies “I have the controls,” and he starts refining the approach.

Damned if he didn’t make it look easy! Smooth as silk. Piece of cake. Easy squeezy lemon peezy!

Ahhhh… so that’s what it’s supposed to look like!

The critique follows, and we decide to do two more landings, one go around and one full stop landing. So off we go for approach number four.

I negotiate the pattern about as well as I have and make the last turn onto final approach. I do my best to dutifully keep the nose down to keep 65 knots, the landing speed, in the airspeed indicator. I’m wobbly. Uncomfortably wobbly. But I make it over the centerline enough to have this count as a decent approach. Certainly it was not really any worse than the other two I did that morning.

Now remember, after the critique, we decided to do two more approaches, one go around and one landing. So here I am yanking back on the yoke trying to keep the airplane from landing fully expecting Chris to tell me to go around.

But he doesn’t.

As the airplane proceeds down the runway bleeding off airspeed, I am doing my best to keep things straight and level, still not my best skill. Eventually, the Cessna settles in with a significant bump, but easily within the acceptable range. I slow the aircraft and make the next safe turn off the runway and park to do the after landing checklist, and ask Chris why we didn’t do the go around.

Chris said “Eh, that was a good enough approach and I thought you should have the landing. By the way, that was all you, you know.”

I blink two or three times.

“All me?” I ask. “You mean…”

“All you. That was an unassisted landing.”

Who knew? I was so busy watching the approach that I had no idea he was sitting there, feet off the pedals and hands off the yoke.

All me.

Unassisted.

I did it. Howzabout that?

The surprise gave way to a feeling of accomplishment which gave way to a confidence I hadn’t felt before. (“Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. ‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store.’”)

I did it. I took off, ran the pattern and landed all by myself. (Sorta.)

What a wonderful feeling it is to know that you’ve done something you hadn’t done before. And I am delighted that Chris chose not to tell me in advance, because NOT knowing freed me from concentrating on the “Oh crap, I am doing this all by myself for the first time!” I got to land the plane without the added pressure of the additional goal of a “first.”

Very cool. Very, very cool.

Flight Lesson #5 or "The Saddest Day has Gleams of Light” — Sarah Winnemucca

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7 November:

I know I’ve talked with you briefly about the flying stuff over the last couple of weeks. I had meant to write sooner about my most recent experiences, however, I’ve been consumed with studying for the big FAA written exam on Monday. More on that later. For now, here’s the one I REALLY wanted to write about.

29 October:

I had been trying to get into a flight lesson with our ground school instructor, Brad, and finally was able to schedule one which DIDN’T wind up getting canceled. I was scheduled for 5:00 pm on Thursday, October 29th. Around 1:00 that afternoon, my cell phone rang and it was from Dulles Aviation, the company who runs the training program. Knowing that the weather was questionable, I was fully expecting to hear that no one was flying, and that we’d have to reschedule. However, luck was with me, and Brad had called to see if I could be there any earlier. Since my boss had already told me that I could take whatever time off I needed to finish my training, I told Brad that I’d be there as soon after 4 as I could be.

So I took off from work around 2:30 and headed down the Capital Beltway to I-66 toward Manassas Airport, happy as the proverbial clam.

That was until I saw the clouds to the west.

The ceilings were pretty low, and it looked as though the chance of actually getting aloft was waning. But as I grew closer to Manassas, I could see brilliant sunshine behind the clouds to the west. This gave me some hope that I’d make it up today.

About 2 miles shy of the exit, there was an auto accident, so I was delayed and finally wound up at Dulles Aviation around 4:20-ish. Brad was ready to go, so we dashed out to the airplane, did the preflight and proceeded to the end of runway 34L for takeoff.

I gently shoved the throttle in to full causing the 160 horsepower engine to roar to life pusing me back against the seat. It’s kind of like the experience of flooring the accelerator in your car, but it noisier and you’re wearing headphones. But it’s the same thing. I pulled back on the yoke and the Cessna 172 cheerfully responded by lifting the nose upward beginning it’s take off climb leaving runway 34L behind me where it was supposed to be.

The dark clouds were well above us, but menacing nonetheless. If you’ve traveled in an airliner in cloudy weather, you have experienced it. You can see the bottom of the cloud layer above you with wisps of grey cloud stuff occasionally hanging down and passing closely overhead.

I climbed up to about 2300 feet, and the cloud layer was so close! I felt as though if I opened the window and stuck my hand up, I could touch them. But they were still dark and menacing. Clouds often spell disaster for pilots who fail to heed the warnings of the instructors to stay the hell away from clouds. Being prudent, we hung below them by the requisite 500 feet proceeding southwest toward the practice area.

Ahead of me I could see the edge of the cloud cover and the welcoming sunshine to the west just beyond. As we flew toward the west, the edge appeared to move toward me faster and faster, though we were flying at the same speed the whole way. As I approached the very edge, I could see the sun streaming down from above and illuminating the darkened landscape below.

I lived in Alaska for five years. I drove part of the way up, electing to take the ferry from Seattle to Haines, Alaska. But I drove down all the way five years later. I saw some amazing scenery in Alaska and western Canada. In fact, in all my travels, only that part of the world has shown me such inspirational majesty and breathtaking beauty as Alaska. Hands down. Bar none. The last time I got to experience Alaska in that fashion was in 1990

As the little Cessna cleared the edge of the clouds, I was treated to a sight far more majestic and far more beautiful and far more inspiring. I can’t describe it except to say that it would be something like an insect crawling out from under a very short table into direct sunlight. But that doesn’t do this scene any justice.

The beauty of it was literally breathtaking. And the once ultimate beauty of Alaska was demoted to the mere penultimate, replaced with the view as I emerged from under the clouds.

It was a feeling unlike any other I have ever experienced. It was unique in my experience.

It was magnificent!

And it made all of the angst I had been feeling about flying vanish just as the gray sky vanished behind me leaving me in the glory of the late afternoon sun.

Yep. It’s different now. That view and the genuinely fun lesson with Brad that followed made all of the previous weeks of worry worth it.

Now I know why people want to do this. It’s because of moments like that one.

Stage Three Written Exam or "You Can Lead a Boy to Flight School, but You Can’t Make Him Think. – Anon."

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I think I mentioned Jim, my classmate, at the start of this. Jim and I have much in common. Jim is a computer geek. So am I. Jim drives a hybrid. So do I. And, of course, Jim has a similar budding interest in aviation.

Jim and I have always worked together on some of the more tough classroom problems, often sharing little tips we’ve learned from our flight instructors and comparing answers, which is encouraged. We find ourselves asking each other questions and providing answers when one of us is stuck.

When it comes to study habits, however, we differ drastically. I’ve recounted my lack of discipline when it comes to all things academic, so I won’t repeat myself here. Suffice it to say that Jim is the polar opposite. He always comes to class prepared with questions, and engages in discussion with the instructor, Brad, regularly.

As we did for the two previous written tests, just before we scored them, we compared answers. That consisted of casually comparing the dots on his mark sense form to the dots on mine. Usually, they were damned near exact. Tonight, however, my dots were in different places.

Lots of different places.

Most of the first column of 25 questions were identical. I think there was perhaps one different. But the second column looked substantially different. I started counting where my dots were different and got discouraged and stopped after I counted three. Since Jim is such a genuinely outstanding student and more likely to provide the correct answer, I was really sweating my final results of the exam.

Upon viewing our papers together, we began whispering back and forth to each other things like “This was a hard test!” or “I struggled with a few of the (fill in the blank) questions,” achieving unanimous consensus that this test was NOT a cake walk.

At 7pm sharp, Brad started the class and we finished the chapter on weather graphics that we’d skipped over some weeks back. But of course, the time eventually came for us to score our tests.

It works like this: Brad has the answer sheet and reads out the question and its associated answer. If we get it wrong, we’re to mark it as incorrect on the mark sense form and fill in the correct answer. That way, we can go back and resolve the particular problem. The final percentage gets recorded on the top of the form and that grade is transferred to the official record. (“This is going to go on you permanent record, young man!”) So Brad starts:

“Number one is B.”

“Number two is C.”

… and so on and so forth.

Et ceterahhh, et ceterahhh, et ceterahhh.

I started to sweat as I reach the tenth dot. “OK,” I thought to myself, “at least I got the first ten right.”

Brad continued revealing the answers to the test like a seasoned game show host, one by one, through the teens and on to the twenties. I hold my breath with each pronouncement of the correct answer, waiting for a discrepancy in Brad’s answer and mine.

“Twenty one is A.”

“Twenty two is C.”

(I should note to anyone using the Jeppesen course materials that these answers are NOT the real answers to the Stage III Written Exam. Just so you know.)

“Twenty three is C.”

“Twenty four is A.”

Holy crap! I’ve gotten to 24 and I still haven’t let the red pen touch paper.

“Twenty five is A.”

Amazing! I didn’t think I had done all that well, but here I am with half the answers and all of them are correct! Yeah, that second column has got to suck big time.

You may remember that this was a take-home, open book test. I did it last night spreading out on the king-sized bed about 7:30 last night figuring it would go fairly quickly.

Not so fast, Kemosabe!

Some of these questions were particularly tedious, requiring actual problem solving skills and the use of complex and unfamiliar navigation instruments. I worked on one problem for about 40 minutes before I gave up and moved on. This was a poor exhibition of my rusty test taking skills, and I won’t make that mistake on the real written exam. By about midnight, I had actually answered all the questions to the best of my ability. But as I reviewed the answers one last time, I realized that for many of the more complex questions, I couldn’t easily recreate the process. So I went back and did the more complex ones again, showing my work in my notebook so that I’d be able to review my logic. I finally hit the sack about 1:15 am and was up for work at 7.

Today, I reviewed the questions during my lunch hour, foregoing the usual daily lunch with the boss. So I genuinely put quite a bit of time into the test, confirming my suspicion that I was WAY under prepared.

Back to question 26.

Brad called the rest of the second column from 26 to 50. (Actually, it was more like calling Bingo than a game show host.) I wound up marking just three questions I had answered incorrectly, all of them in just one subject area. (Radio navigation, if you must know.) Doing the arithmetic, i discovered much to my surprise and delight that I scored a whopping 94%. Whodathunkit? For a guy with crappy study habits, I did OK.

The next big step is the FAA written exam. It’s a computer-based, multiple-guess test not unlike the written tests in ground school. They offer the student a random sample of 60 questions from the question bank of 900 questions, all of which are listed in one of my textbooks. So now the task is to go though all 900 questions over the next week or so, answer and understand the answer for each and every one of the 900. Most of the questions are just ones you have to know. So there will be a lot of rote memorization over the next couple of weeks.

Jim did well, too, though I haven’t a clue what his score was. And really it doesn’t matter, because I still think he has a fluency with the material that I have yet to achieve. Regardless, I’ve been delighted to have Jim’s acquaintance these last eight weeks. He’s not only been a good classmate, but a good friend as well.

Jim solos on Saturday. I hope I am not too far behind.

Flight Lesson #4 Canceled Again or "Fly the Friendly Skies of Manassas"

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I talk to myself in the car. Actually, to be more precise I talk WITH myself in the car. They say it’s OK to talk TO yourself, but if you start answering yourself, then well, that’s something different entirely.

Those who know me even casually know that this is completely consistent with my everyday behavior. And while I’ve never been hospitalized for any sort of mental illness, nor has that been recommended, I think it’s safe to say that yeah, I know I’m a friggin’ head case.

Mostly, I talk to the radio. If it’s talk radio, I scream back or agree wholeheartedly. In either case, I’m pretty loud.

One evening some years ago, I was late to my 3-11 pm job at E! Entertainment Television. I pulled into the parking lot – or tried to, and was met with a single car whose driver had pulled up to the gated lot and parked in order to use the ATM machine in our building. Parked. In front of the gate. Not on the street, but pulled up to where you wave your badge at the little box and up goes the gate and you get in.

Needless to say, the driver had no badge, except for the ATM card, which had absolutely no effect whatsoever on the gate.

I was really late, and a little bit frazzled, and I started yelling at the top of my lungs, shouting obscenities and calling into question among other things, the size of her ass and her parentage.

Yes, I had the windows up all the way.

No I didn’t think she’d be able to hear me.

Yes, she did.

When she acknowledged that fact that I was referring to her, I got the one-fingered salute and a few choice words from her. I was overcome by my embarrassment and the overwhelming urge to rear end her car through the gate and proceed to work.

So you can see from this little bit of ancient history that I talk in the car under various circumstances and for various reasons.

Today was one of those days.

I have related before the apprehension with which I have approached the flight lessons I have had to date. But today, all the way home about every third of fourth mile from the airport to my home, I kept shouting to myself “That was fucking AWESOME!”

This was my fifth time up in the air, and the second time that I was unable to proceed to the practice area because of bad weather. Last week, I had to settle for doing take offs and landings around Manassas Airport in what I can describe accurately as one helluva lot of wind. Unlike the last time up, though, today’s winds were calm.

This instructor, Chris, was new to me. Chris is a young instructor pilot who appears at first glance to be too tall for such a small airplane. He had called me when I was on my way to the airport to tell me the practice area was closed, and when I arrived, he filled me in.

I asked if the local weather would permit me to do take offs and landings around the airport as I had the last time I was up, and he agreed, essentially saying that if I wanted to spend the money on a non-lesson, he was happy to show me around the immediate skies around Manassas Airport.

I won’t belabor the point, but the last time I went up in that awfully windy weather, it was a less than positive experience. Apart from the normal overload that is student flying, I felt completely uneasy with even being up there. So by the time I got on the ground, I was pooped, frustrated, and frankly, quite discouraged.

This time was completely different.

All the flight instructors are different. Each has his own style of instruction and his own items he checks. Chris’s style and checklist made sense to me. (Not that the others didn’t, but I believe that he teaches more like I learn.) So it was far more positive, far more productive and virtually terror free.

We did four take offs and landings. On the third landing, I said to Chris “I’m having some trouble here. Would you demonstrate what a landing is SUPPOSED to look like?” He agreed and then landed the plane as if he’s set it down on a 3,400 foot long pillow top bed. Nice and soft.

Next time around, I had the right idea, but didn’t do a whole lot better than I had done before. But at least now, I had an idea of what a good landing was supposed to look like and feel like. That was very helpful.

When we finished the lesson, we went over the lesson and he asked me questions from the academic side of my training, and I knew more of these than I had before, so I didn’t feel quite as uninformed as I had the last couple of times.

Chris was very accommodating and encouraging, and I genuinely enjoyed this lesson far greater the others I have endured. Perhaps I am just getting less inept. Perhaps today’s lesson was just the right lesson at the right time. Regardless, today was fantastic. It’s the first time I can genuinely say that I had fun flying and wanted to go again. Kind of like the roller coaster when the ride ends and you run around to the line again because you just HAVE to go again. Yeah, it was like that.

So today’s lesson summary follows: “That was fun!”

No. Not exactly right.

“It was awesome!”

Flight Lesson #4 Canceled or "It’s too damned early. Insert your own clever title here."

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Prologue, 16 October:

I have reservations for both Saturday and Sunday for lessons 4 and 5 respectively, however, it looks as though the weather is likely going to prevent me from flying. I will have to be satisfied with “flying” Microsoft Flight Simulator X. It’s pretty cool now that there’s “real” controls attached to the computer. This means I don’t have to fly with a keyboard and mouse or joystick. And my base airport is in the database, so I can simulate take off and landing from the very airport from which I will be testing. And from initial toying with the software, it’s prett damned accurate.

So much so that our flight instructors recommend it. P.S. My headset arrived the other day. Woo Hoo!

17 October:

It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday.
The regular dogs sleeping in.
There’s a phone call ringing next to me…

DAMMIT! Who the hell is calling me at this hour? I was supposed to be sleeping in today!

It IS Saturday, and the weather is crap. That’s why Tom, the owner of the fixed base operator at which I am taking flight training, is calling. My lesson for today is cancelled due to weather. Probably tomorrow too.

I was expecting his call. I have been practicing.

I checked out AviationWeather.gov last night and discovered that we were going to be socked in until at least the start of my lesson. The aviation specific forecast, called a SIGMET (Significant Meteorological Information) told me this. So I knew ahed of time to expect a call from the school telling me to stay home today. I told Tom that I was expecting his call because of the SIGMET, and he basically chided me for not calling him earlier, because they expect the students to be proactive about weather. Well, I WAS. I just didn’t call in because:

1.) At the beginning of class, Tom told all the students that they’d notify us of cancellations due to weather, and

2.) I was sound asleep and my lesson wasn’t until 1 pm.

Most importantly, though, I learned how to read and evaluate weather forecasts well enough in ground school to predict the cancellation. Granted, the weather is REALLY crappy, so it was a no brainer, but still I was tickled that I was able to read the weather products and glean the correct answer.

Score one for the student!

(Apologies to Billy Joel.)