Flight Journal: flight 1- part 1
Posted: Sat Dec 16, 2006 1:08 amWell, I've been threatening to do this for some time... about 150 or so flights.
Don't worry; many of the entries are very short.
But this one is special... not my first airplane ride, but my first actual lesson.
11-08-93
Intro Flight
1979 Piper PA-38 Tomahawk
N71 (Blairstown, NJ)
Local
The same year I attended my first airshow (where I took my first ride in a propeller-driven aircraft), then my first visit to Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome (where I took my first biplane ride), having now been badly bitten by the flying bug, I finally got around to taking a proper lesson. I'd picked up a "Take an Intro Flight!" flight-school flyer at the airshow at Mount Snow and kept it, realizing that Blairstown, where the school was located, was only about an hour or by car from my home. Might be schools closer,I figured, but it would probably be cheaper and less hectic to take lessons out there.
It was less hectic, all right... I arrived on a clear, calm autumn morning, pulling the old Volvo (may she rust in peace) oninto a gravel parking lot, just off a country road. Before me lay a small, friendly airport: split-rail fence, not chainlink- even a pair of picnic tables, as if to say "Got no real business being here? Well, that's all right; have a seat and watch for a while, if you like..."
The airfield was quiet; no traffic in the air or on the ground.
Suddenly, with a ghostly hiss, a glider swooped down from beyond the trees to my right and settled gently on the grass alongside the single paved runway. It was then that I noticed the little cottage that housed the soaring school.
I was very curious about soaring, but very eager to get started first in powered machines. So I made my way over to the larger single-story building, which housed the school and a restaurant. Nearby I could see a pair of Piper Tomahawks, waiting on the ramp.
I really had no idea what to expect from an "intro flight", but my guess was that it would be a short ride, followed by a little chat about taking lessons.
I was wrong.
I met B., a guy around my age who was an instructor there. As luck (or fate) would have it, he had a lesson scheduled for that hour, but the student was already half an hour late, so he grabbed a clipboard and a pair of headsets and led me back outside.
He'd already completed the preflight inspection on the plane, so we'd skip that part. I headed for the passenger-side door, on the right.
"Wrong side; you're sitting on the left", B. said.
Dazed, I slid into the pilot's seat, noticing that all of the main flight instruments were on that side. I was sure he could see them from the other seat, and the Tomahawk had dual controls, but... why put me in the seat used for solo flight? He wasn't going to let me fly this thing, was he?
He quickly explained the checklist, and once he had started the engine, he told me, "Okay; we're gonna taxi over there to the end of the runway. Use the rudder pedals, not the yoke."
This should be interesting, I thought... looks like I'll actually be taking a lesson today. My confidence and my apprehension were both growing now; simultaneously.
To resist the instinct to turn with the yoke, B. suggested I put my left hand in my lap as i worked the throttle with my right. Excellent idea, but i taxiied very poorly anyway. The main pronlem was that I kept activating the brakes by mistake with my toes while pushing the pedals in my attempt to steer the airplane. I was doing better with the throttle, making sure to reduce power once the desired taxi speed was attained so that we wouldn't roll too quickly. With my utter lack of skill with the pedals, a good slow rate of speed was critical.
I was just getting the hang of it when it came time to make the sharp turn onto the hold-short apron. Aha- a challenge. I was ready. Or so I thought...
Thbump. I had swiveled the nosewheel right off the taxiway, onto the turf, and- of course- into a small depression. We seemed to be stuck.
B. took over, chuckling as he pointed out that the tomahawk is not an all-terrain vehicle. He somehow powered the little plane out of the hole, and back onto the apron.
Surely, I thought, he won't let me take control again after that... especially in flight!
"No sweat," he said, as if reading my mind. "Taxiing is probably the hardest skill a pilot has to master."
He led me through the run-up checklist, revealing more arcane mysteries of how airplanes work, and asked me about my plans as a pilot. I told him I was hoping to fly for a living someday,and he seemed pleased.
"It's good to have an enthusiastic student..." he said. I was definitely enthusiastic, but I felt sure that in my effort to appear calm, cool and collected, I must have come off like a zombie. I was feeling a little numb.
But B. saw enthusiasm, and who was I to argue... maybe I seemed intent, or something. But I felt like I was dreaming; the act of beginning my first lesson was less real, in a way, than the anticipatory daydreams I'd been enjoying for months now.
"Okay; we're ready. Line her up with the centerline."
I managed to do as he asked, gingerly rolling and turning the trainer onto the runway, into the breeze. The runway stretched ahead, looking quite short, and beyond it were trees and low hills. A few miles beyond lay the blunt, low peaks of the Kitatinny Range, dappled with shadows from high-flying clouds. The sky beckoned, seeming like a new lover who seems oddly familiar.
Next: flight 1, part 2
Don't worry; many of the entries are very short.
But this one is special... not my first airplane ride, but my first actual lesson.
11-08-93
Intro Flight
1979 Piper PA-38 Tomahawk
N71 (Blairstown, NJ)
Local
The same year I attended my first airshow (where I took my first ride in a propeller-driven aircraft), then my first visit to Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome (where I took my first biplane ride), having now been badly bitten by the flying bug, I finally got around to taking a proper lesson. I'd picked up a "Take an Intro Flight!" flight-school flyer at the airshow at Mount Snow and kept it, realizing that Blairstown, where the school was located, was only about an hour or by car from my home. Might be schools closer,I figured, but it would probably be cheaper and less hectic to take lessons out there.
It was less hectic, all right... I arrived on a clear, calm autumn morning, pulling the old Volvo (may she rust in peace) oninto a gravel parking lot, just off a country road. Before me lay a small, friendly airport: split-rail fence, not chainlink- even a pair of picnic tables, as if to say "Got no real business being here? Well, that's all right; have a seat and watch for a while, if you like..."
The airfield was quiet; no traffic in the air or on the ground.
Suddenly, with a ghostly hiss, a glider swooped down from beyond the trees to my right and settled gently on the grass alongside the single paved runway. It was then that I noticed the little cottage that housed the soaring school.
I was very curious about soaring, but very eager to get started first in powered machines. So I made my way over to the larger single-story building, which housed the school and a restaurant. Nearby I could see a pair of Piper Tomahawks, waiting on the ramp.
I really had no idea what to expect from an "intro flight", but my guess was that it would be a short ride, followed by a little chat about taking lessons.
I was wrong.
I met B., a guy around my age who was an instructor there. As luck (or fate) would have it, he had a lesson scheduled for that hour, but the student was already half an hour late, so he grabbed a clipboard and a pair of headsets and led me back outside.
He'd already completed the preflight inspection on the plane, so we'd skip that part. I headed for the passenger-side door, on the right.
"Wrong side; you're sitting on the left", B. said.
Dazed, I slid into the pilot's seat, noticing that all of the main flight instruments were on that side. I was sure he could see them from the other seat, and the Tomahawk had dual controls, but... why put me in the seat used for solo flight? He wasn't going to let me fly this thing, was he?
He quickly explained the checklist, and once he had started the engine, he told me, "Okay; we're gonna taxi over there to the end of the runway. Use the rudder pedals, not the yoke."
This should be interesting, I thought... looks like I'll actually be taking a lesson today. My confidence and my apprehension were both growing now; simultaneously.
To resist the instinct to turn with the yoke, B. suggested I put my left hand in my lap as i worked the throttle with my right. Excellent idea, but i taxiied very poorly anyway. The main pronlem was that I kept activating the brakes by mistake with my toes while pushing the pedals in my attempt to steer the airplane. I was doing better with the throttle, making sure to reduce power once the desired taxi speed was attained so that we wouldn't roll too quickly. With my utter lack of skill with the pedals, a good slow rate of speed was critical.
I was just getting the hang of it when it came time to make the sharp turn onto the hold-short apron. Aha- a challenge. I was ready. Or so I thought...
Thbump. I had swiveled the nosewheel right off the taxiway, onto the turf, and- of course- into a small depression. We seemed to be stuck.
B. took over, chuckling as he pointed out that the tomahawk is not an all-terrain vehicle. He somehow powered the little plane out of the hole, and back onto the apron.
Surely, I thought, he won't let me take control again after that... especially in flight!
"No sweat," he said, as if reading my mind. "Taxiing is probably the hardest skill a pilot has to master."
He led me through the run-up checklist, revealing more arcane mysteries of how airplanes work, and asked me about my plans as a pilot. I told him I was hoping to fly for a living someday,and he seemed pleased.
"It's good to have an enthusiastic student..." he said. I was definitely enthusiastic, but I felt sure that in my effort to appear calm, cool and collected, I must have come off like a zombie. I was feeling a little numb.
But B. saw enthusiasm, and who was I to argue... maybe I seemed intent, or something. But I felt like I was dreaming; the act of beginning my first lesson was less real, in a way, than the anticipatory daydreams I'd been enjoying for months now.
"Okay; we're ready. Line her up with the centerline."
I managed to do as he asked, gingerly rolling and turning the trainer onto the runway, into the breeze. The runway stretched ahead, looking quite short, and beyond it were trees and low hills. A few miles beyond lay the blunt, low peaks of the Kitatinny Range, dappled with shadows from high-flying clouds. The sky beckoned, seeming like a new lover who seems oddly familiar.
Next: flight 1, part 2