Flight journal: flight 67

[beaky]

[color=#000000]Flight 67
02/04/97

C-172
TEB-N07-TEB

1.2 dual

"Norm t.o &lndg; short t.o. & lndg; pattern work; pilotage; go-around; x-wind t.o. & lndg."

High overcast; vis, 4 miles; hazy; wind NW 5 kts


This is my first dual flight since December, when I took that pathetic stage check with H. I've been fretting about how it will go, but after a halfhearted review of the books and my notes, I feel confident that I am ready to demonstrate my proficiency at basic maneuvers. Ah, but that casual assuredness has killed many a pilot...being confident is not the same as being prepared, as I will soon find out.

The weather is not so much forbidding as merely depressing. The sky cringes under a cold, dark blanket of high cirrus, and the ridge just west of TEB is languishing in a greasy-looking mist. I arrive early and go out to preflight 453. When C. arrives, he wonders why I haven't called for the weather yet. He's right... I know that conditions are suitable here at the home base, but elsewhere? I've been a fool to preflight without first getting a briefing.

I am now feeling terribly self-conscious as we climb aboard and prepare to start up. I am certain that C. is glaring at me, hawkishly evaluating my every clumsy move. With each moment, the veneer of swagger peels away. I am not truly prepared, mentally, for this flight. C. points out that the PTT button on my yoke is now working; i asset my right to set up my own portable one. after start-up, I key the mic to call Clearance Delivery. nothing happens. C. says nothing, but I sense an "I told you so!" I use the built-in switch to call C.D., but ehn for some reason later I try my button again to call ground, at which point C. says curtly: "Take it off. get rid of it. Get it outta here."

I successfully perform the run-up, although halfway through I realize I am not describing aloud what I am doing. Why...? Maybe I've decided C. will not be impressed by such thoroughness today. But I'm obviously not thinking straight- i should be talking while I'm demonstrating; it's the standard procedure; helps make the instruction and learning more efficient. On a more positive note, I at least manage to carefully follow the checklist. c. tries to trip me up by setting the fuel selector to the left tank, but I catch it as I run through the run-up checklist. And I knew he'd moved it because it was on "BOTH" when I did the startup checklist...

On takeoff, it is revealed that I have forgotten how to properly "rotate", and C. jumps on my case:
"No- don't pull it off the ground- pull back at rotation speed, and just hold it..."

The plan calls for a journey through the narrow corridor between the Caldwell Class D and the Class B shelf to the east.I  turn to an apporpriate heading after leveling off, then C. changes his mind.

"Turn to... 310."

"310", I parrot, then promptly bank to the right... to 030, or somewhere thereabouts. What am I doing?

"What are you doing?!" C. demands.

Quickly turning left towards 310, I mumble some vauge explanation which includes the word "whoops".

The visibility is poor, so there will be no stalls or ground-ref. maneuvers today. But before announcing this, C. tickles my sluggish brain with one of his uniquely C.-like questions:

"If you were by yourself right now, what would you do?"

My brow furrows. Lessee... we're headed north for maneuvers, so...

"I guess I'd head for the Mahwah Sheraton," I reply, referring to the squat block of glass and steel ahead that I know so well.

"You would?"he asks, with exagerrated incredulity.

My brain backpedals as my eyes remind me that the horizon is obscured by a close wall of haze- reported at 4 miles, and probably a little closer here... aha!

"no, no, that's not right... it's below my solo minimums, so I guess I'd turn around and go back."

"Good. Now take me to Lincoln Park."

It's been awhile, and as I usually do when approaching N07 from north of the