Solo! (Part 1)

Over the course of today and the following three days, I am posting the story of what it is like to solo an airplane for the first time. This account, originally published as an essay in Eagles Tales, is from a collection of essays by my colleagues in the Aeronautical Science Department of Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University. Eagle Tales is available for sale at 20 percent off with the coupon code ET2011 on checkout through the BluewaterPress website. A portion of each sale goes toward the Jim Lewis Memorial Scholarship fund in the Aeronautical Science Department.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – –

There is only one time, that time you get to fly an airplane solo for the first time.  This is what it is like.

As I drove eastward toward the airstrip, I thought of how little time remained before I had to leave for college.  I watched the windshield wipers track back and forth knocking water away from the windshield and wondered how much more flying I could complete before leaving for school.  The rain seemed to get heavier as I continued east.  I was beginning to think of the long drive back.

Passing through Plant City, the rain began to ease.  Then the sky began to lighten just a little; maybe it was my imagination, but I believed it was improving.  I was praying it would clear.  The further I pressed on through town, the more I thought the weather was breaking.  I really wanted to fly this afternoon, more than anything.

Reaching the County Line Road exit, the impossible happened: the clouds broke and sunshine came out and I could see a little blue sky.  The winds stopped blowing.  There was freshness in the air, a freshness found only in Florida right after a summer thunderstorm has passed.  As I turned up Highway 92 toward Charlie’s, I drank in that freshness and thought of the sky and what I would soon be doing up there in only a few more short moments.

I was not surprised at all when Charlie said he could only fly me in the pattern.  The fact that he said I would not be able to solo went in one ear and out the other.  The only thing I was interested in was perfecting my landings to the point where they were good and safe.  I really didn’t care about the weather, leaving the pattern, or soloing.  I just wanted to practice my landings and get them as close to perfect as I could make them.

We went to Charlie’s newest and my favorite of all the Cubs, N6269H.  I gave the airplane a quick pre?flight and once I was satisfied it would fly, I climbed into the back seat and strapped in.  The old man stood at the front of the airplane and called, “Switch off!”

“Switch is off,” I answered.  He then began swinging the propeller back and forth.  About every third or fourth swing, he pulled it through a complete cycle.  From where I sat, I could hear the gurgling sound of fuel when the pressure of the intake sucked it into the carburetor.  With a couple of more swings, Charlie positioned the propeller where he wanted it and then called, “Contact!”

“Switch is hot!”  I yelled back.  I wanted him to make no mistake that he was now handling a “live” prop–a prop that could take off an arm or leg, maybe end a life.  With practiced ease, he gripped the trailing edge of the falling blade and pulled it through.  The little Continental barked to life and chased away the post-thunderstorm stillness.  Now instead of the still calm of the damp air, I felt the wind rushing by my cheek, cooled by the metal blades of the whirling prop, creating an instant wind-chill factor.

As Charlie settled into the cramped front seat of the Cub, he told me to go ahead and fly in the pattern and to work on my landings.  As I went through the motions of taxiing out and completing the engine run-up, I noticed he seemed a little more quiet than usual.

Once I was certain the engine was warmed properly and ready for flight, I gave one last look around the pattern checking for other aircraft.  Then I eased the throttle forward and moved out onto the grass strip.  Pausing momentarily, I took a deep breath to relax and eased the throttle all the way forward.

As the airplane began to roll, the nose began to swing ever so slightly to the left.  I countered with just a bit of right rudder to keep her straight down the runway and at the same time, pushed forward on the stick to raise the tail off the ground.  The noise, as usual, was deafening.  The wind outside the open window of the Cub suddenly went from a strong breeze to hurricane force.  The airspeed needle quivered over the “0” and then moved toward the “40” mark.  As the airplane accelerated faster along the ground and through the air, the controls began to feel solid, to come alive!  At 45 mph, I eased back on stick and the main tires became light on the ground.  We bounced along the roughness of the pasture, and then lifted off!  I was flying again and pleased.

-30-

© 2010 J. Clark

• Tweet
• Pin It