C-150H
TEB
Local
2500 Bkn; wind 040/05; temp 45F
1.7 dual
1 landing
"Norm t/o, no flap ldg, fwd slip, emerg. proc., slow flight, pwr on/off stalls, stp turns"
Four weeks. Four weeks on the ground. Pretty rusty today, but I still manage to make some progress.
The world is gray this morning- there are no holes in the low, dark clouds anywhere nearby. Routine preflight, start, runup and taxi, and we're up and gone.
Takeoff is okay, mostly because the wind is kind. I make the first mistake while levelling off- at 800 feet instead of 1800! Have I really forgotten how to read an altimeter? This is not a good sign, and F. is no more pleased than I am with this blunder.
Okay, time to snap out of it. I've been rusty before, so I know what to expect. First to go (besides altimeter-reading) will be the ability to focus on multiple tasks. So I make a point of reviewing my scan as I fly... but I end up looking at the instruments too much.
"No more instruments for you..." says F., as if he were gently chiding an unruly baby. He somehow manages to fold a sectional so that is covers most of the panel, and somehow it stays put. He is very pleased with this little trick, and I silently curse him as I steel myself for flying solely by eye, hand and keister.
The 150's flaps are "inop" for some reason, so we aren't using them.No big deal- at least we found out about it before takeoff, which makes all the difference.
My first power-on, or departure stall, is on today's syllabus- it takes a lot of pitch to get a stall going with full power and no flaps, and I let 86S climb too much. But the break and recovery go well. I discover that it's not much different than a power-off stall, except that it uses up more sky and requires careful rudder work.
Next I try some constant-altitude 360s. Around and around... and around. Thirty degrees of bank; forty-five... and again I start to feel woozy. Finally it ends, and my new task is to try my first stall in a turn. I learn how it's done, but fail to do it properly.
I mention my queasiness, I suppose fishing for an excuse, and F. is again surprised, and seems to find it somewhat amusing. But he also insists I'll get over it.
A highlight of today's lesson is a proper simulated emergency landing. I like the fact that F. has me doing this not over a nice, safe airport, but a small stubbly field that I have selected myself.
There's no telling for sure what lies in wait there should I let our wheels touch down- sinkholes, stones, logs, fallen barbed wire, stumps- but there's no need to find out, because the engine is running just fine. It is very quiet as I glide down with the throttle back to idle, reciting the checklist aloud. I gun the engine at about 400 AGL and haul 86S up steeply.
Then... the seat moves again!
It does it later, too... I checked it, but it's out to get me today, I suppose.
F. is even more amused by this than anything else today... the bastard. I like him.
Heading back to the airport, he decides to share with me his interest in the fine art of opening one's door in flight (seatbelt on and with someone else at the controls, of course!) and just sort of leaning out into the breeze a bit, perhaps with one leg outside, foot resting on the step.
I hold full left rudder to keep 86S pointed straight and level as F. demonstrates, then of course I insist that I have to try it myself.
"I got it", F. informs me, after he's settled back in his seat.
I open the door, finding that at 90 knots, the wind as I lean past the edge of the door isn't too bad.
I look down and an incongruous scene meets my eye: my foot resting on the step on the landing gear strut, the tire just beyond, and beyond that... nothing. Well, not exactly nothing- there's a whole miniature world down there, over a thousand feet below.
Smiling, I survey a tiny parking lot, where wee mortals and their tiny cars go about their mundane earthbound errands. Eventually, I am fully refreshed, so I return to handling the airplane.
I call the tower, receive my clearance and squawk, and enter the pattern. F. takes over for the actual approach, demonstrating a good forward slip on the way in, because without flaps, it's the only way to bring this bird in slowly without getting too shallow in the glide.
Later, F. really boosts my ego again when he tells me that I'm "above average... well above average."
I am pleased, but take it with a grain of salt, because I know that "average" in most things is no big deal.
Next: flight 11
