Flight 07 (part 2)
"Eight Six Sierra; clear for takeoff; Runway One..."
They're playing my song- but I'm not on the centerline.
"Um... I guess I'd better get lined up, here," I mumble.
"Nah... you're okay. Go ahead," F. tells me.
I guess he's confident I can get airborne without running off the runway; a real morale-booster. E. always was a stickler for staying perfectly centered. It's a lot to ask of a new student, whether rolling or climbing out- not as easy as it may seem.
Yes, I like F., he seems sensitive to my needs...
"Eight six Sierra, confirm you are rolling- it's been thirty seconds since I gave you clearance-"
It suddenly dawns on me that we've been sitting here, wasting fuel, while who knows how many planes, large and small, are barreling through the sky, headed for this very spot.
My takeoff is good- I've been thinking hard about how to do it properly.
First of all, don't spare the horses. Previously, I'd been reluctant to apply full power, despite E.'s coaching; now I make sure the throttle is all the way forward, and the little plane lurches smartly towards the numbers, seeming happy that I'm gaining confidence.
Of course, I'm not quite centered, and as soon as I reach the centerline, we're already showing 70 knots, well above normal rotation speed.
I have nobody to blame for this but myself, but F.'s casual air and lack of commentary has left me adrift.I've growwn accustomed to E.'s constant hints and reminders
Finally I ease the yoke back and we're off. Good pitch control this time, and I establish a crab early to follow the extended centerline as we climb over the condos north of the field.
It feels good to be up here today. The 150 is becoming a comfortable, familiar place to learn new things, and F. is an agreeable companion to have along. He's also turning out to be a pretty slick intsructor: each seemingly random suggestion has a purpose- he's testing me.
We review MCA,and I find it easier to manage than last item. after that, F. takes the controls and asks me to look for something on the chart. When I look up again, the horizon is tilted about 45 degrees! F. has managed to roll into a steep turn without my feeling it. My brain gets things sorted out quickly, but my stomach is handicapped by the big greasy lump of starch, milk and broiled chicken I've just stuffed into it. I'm not sweating yet, so I probably won't puke...I don't, and the feeling soon passes.
Another interesting trick of F.'s is to provide me with a very effective marker for the windshield, so I can maintain proper pitch while keeping an eye outside... a small piece of yellow Post-It paper. E. used to do this by making a mark on the windshield with a pen, which could leave several lines to ponder.
We do a little more of this and that, and F. abruptly asks:
"Wanna thrash it around a little bit?"
Such a question! Had she been built to take it, I would be happy to try an outside loop! "Thrash it around", eh...?
"Oh yeah, I forgot you can only do a short one today", he remembers. "Let's get back to Teterboro."
He steers me towards the Alpine beacon. It stands just outside TEB's airspace, so we will use it as a reporting point on callup. Turning to circle the tall tower, I see a Citation, seemingly very close, banking steeply. Maybe the jet's crew is also holding near the tower, or perhaps they spied the little 150 just in time to turn away. In any case, it's... interesting.
I make contact with Teterboro, and Tower tells me to stay clear of the Class Delta until further notice. Later I will wonder if this had something to do with that jet... at any rate, I decide to circle nearby, planning it so that the circle won't take us out over the edge of the cliffs, just in case there's turbulence. I know it wouldn't be a big problem, but I take it on as a neat little challenge: limiting myself to a certain area. As it turns out, there's plenty of room.
Finally cleared to enter, we cruise towards the field and receive a much-welcome straight-in approach for 19.
F. is apparently not sure yet of my competence, so he assists me on final, making minute adjustments as we flare for a perfect landing.
As we taxi back, F. expresses his admiration for my skill, especially the radio work:
"Man, you've got that wired!" he tells me. "You're better at that than I am!"
"If you say so!" I laugh.
I often listen with my scanner to learn more about aviation comms, but I still get a little tongue-tied or confused sometimes when it's my turn to speak. It's one thing to be able to drawl in "pilotspeak", but quite something else to figure out what you've just heard, what to do about it, and how to say what you're going to do... all while trying to fly the airplane, witrh, for all you know, a jet tailgating you.
but, hey- if the man says I've got it wired, who am I to argue?
Next: flight 08
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