I've been spending the evening tinkering with fs9 to get thermals over S Ontario; finally got it.
While I was doing it; it started bringing back all sorts of fond memories. Haven't been out to a glider field in a few years now (politics are a total bitch - long story; let's just say reservist CIL pilots - a bunch of red-hot aces; just ask 'em - don't like civilian pilots making them look bad, ignoring the fact that he has minimum three times their flight hours, and leave it at that); but sitting on the virtual ground just outside Trenton really brought back memories.
Like this one: Still fairly new to taildraggers; really new to towing. I'd had a ton o' flights with my instructor; Steve (great guy; a talker, moderately insane) guiding me through; today was my first solo tow. Heh heh - no students in a 2-33 for me; my first glider was to be a 1-26 flown by Hans; one of the club's senior instructors. (What is it with Germans being such damn good glider pilots anyway?
)You know that first solo feeling? My actual first solo in a 2-33 was bad enough; I almost quit and climbed out of the cockpit. (Hey; I was 16.) My solo in the 172 was fairly tame. This was the worst though. All the possible disasters; all the mistakes, malfunctions, problems that can happen in the tow were burying me - it was the first time in my life I ever dreaded climbing into an airplane. Suddenly 6 years of flight time didn't seem nearly enough. An hour earlier; I was the Great Vereran Flyboy; right now I was Chicken Little.
I wasn't worried about flying the Citabria; I had that thing down cold; what I was worried about was being responsible for that white thing 'way behind the tail - it's a completely different worry. What if I screw up so bad he's got to pull? What if he climbs high and I can't get off the ground? What if through my sheer total incompetence we both die? You get the idea.I remember just sitting in the seat of the Citabria for a few moments, cycling the controls. I dunno why; but that reassuring 'clunk-clunk' as I pushed the rudder to its stops made me feel a lot better. The Cee-tab is a solid airplane; it takes care of its pilots.
That was the longest taxi I've ever done; bouncing gently down the grass towards the pickup point. Taxi into position off the side of the strip; shut down for a few minutes while Steve, Hans and I went through procedures - again - and waited for the glider line to reach Hans. Finally; it was his - and my - turn. get in, close up, start up, (lap belt extra tight; for some reason); there's the Cadet with the tow-end of the rope; swinging it over his head - the line-up point. I taxi out; a touch of juice and toe turns me into position. Heart pounding; hands shaking; I keep 'em on the controls. I'm in serious 'machine' mode; operating totally on habit; concious thought seems to have gone missing. (Oh; it's there; picturing an endless series of green taildraggers and white-and-blue Schweizers digging big holes in the ground.)
