Prologue- part 2
Next on the list was Lincoln Park... I was wondering if I was on the correct country road when I spied a bright yellow sign on the shoulder... it said LOW FLYING AIRCRAFT.
Right on cue, a 172 skimmed over the trees, engine idling, crossed the road in front of me, then dwindled down the runway. Yes, definitely the right road. I took my eyes off this pleasant sight just in time to turn into the driveway, and instantly fell in love with this airport. Very much like Blairstown: one runway, no tower, a restaurant, lots of grass and trees and hills nearby; outside the Class Bravo... but half the distance from home!
I walked into the first school I saw, which was the only one, as far as I could tell. The young man behind the counter may have been an instructor or a mechanic, but regardless, he didn't leave a very good impression on me. He wasn't Norwegian, which seemed strange all of a sudden, but that wasn't the real problem.
He just didn't seem happy. I don't mean grinning-idiot happy; I mean quietly passionate and eager to welcome new students, like the first few instructors I'd met so far.
When I mentioned that I'd already taken an intro flight, he immediately asked what type of aircraft it was.
"A Tomahawk?!" he nearly shouted. "Deathtraps!" he added, shaking his head.
He went on to explain that they were unstable and impossible to recover from a stalled attitude, something I'd heard about before. My admittedly limited experience with the type led me to believe there was nothing inherently wrong with the design- it just had its own limitations and peculiarities, like any other. I know for a fact that pilots have gotten themselves killed in just about every other type of airplane, including "stall-proof" jobs like the Ercoupe.
I sensed narrow-mindedness in this guy, and I don't like narrow-mindedness.
I considered that I might wind up taking lessons from him, and didn't like that thought very much.
I was still shopping... so I grabbed a price list and left, disappointed. Such a nice little airport...
A few weeks later I visited Teterboro Airport, a large, busy suburban field with a long and storied history. Its tower handled all sorts of traffic, from blimps to business jets. I had heard of three schools there,all probably fairly expensive, but I had this ingenious scheme in mind: to do my primary training at night, thus avoiding delays on the ground and in the pattern... the fellow at Lincoln Park had mentioned a friend who had done just that, allegedly at Teterboro.
I was to find out later that it was much better to begin in daylight, for a number of very good reasons...
Next: My search ends
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