Solo! (Part 2)

Excepts from Eagles Tales, a collection of essays by my colleagues in the Aeronautical Science Department of Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University continues. 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.

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Relaxing the backpressure on the stick, I allowed the airplane to accelerate to its climb speed of 55.  Looking down, I saw the fenceline at the end of the runway pass beneath us.  I looked over at the school bus stop along Highway 92.  Back to the left, I watched the smoke blowing east from the stacks at the plant just southwest of Charlie’s airstrip.  I noticed the airplane was climbing a little better than 300 feet per minute according to the vertical speed indicator.  Charlie was still quiet, not saying a word.  An unusual feat for him, for usually, you could actually hear the old man yelling at his students over the noise of the Continental–all the way from the downwind–while you were on the ground!  At 400 feet, I lowered the left wing and began my crosswind turn.

I became completely engrossed in the mechanical aspects of flight and forgot all else.  And of course, I was absolutely consumed by my happiness in flying on a day I thought there would be no chance to do so.

Climbing out toward the pattern altitude of 700 feet, I was again amazed with joy I found in the controls of the airplane as they bumped and vibrated and responded to my every input.  The airplane seemed so alive!  So much an extension of my body, my mind–it was a part of me!

As I turned downwind, I eased the nose over slightly to maintain my 700-foot pattern altitude.  At the same time, I pulled the power back until the tachometer settled on 2100 rpm.  I always enjoyed pulling the power back as it eased the noise level in the cabin of the little yellow airplane.

Looking down at the field, I made certain the airplane was tracking parallel to the runway.  When I was directly abeam the approach end of the runway, I reached forward beyond Charlie’s seat, eased on the carburetor heat, and idled the engine.

As the power dropped off the 65?hp Continental, I let the nose fall through when the airspeed settled on 55.  The next step was to control the glide until reaching the point of flare, finessing it until touchdown using pitch and skill, instead of power.  Charlie taught us that way–to land without the crutch of throttle. 

That was the real difference between pilots taught to fly by Charlie and others taught elsewhere.  There was no doubt Charlie’s pupils could successfully handle an airplane in any engine-out situation without having a serious accident.  We were learning how to fly and survive at Charlie’s long before we learned how to sound good on a radio.

Now my concern was making the best of this half-hour God had given me between thunderstorms.  Around and around and around.  More touch and goes followed by more touch and goes.  Time seemed endless and the landings improved.  I had no idea of time for I was unconcerned.  All that mattered was getting my landings just as smooth as possible.  I did not notice the sun lowering in the western sky, nor did I notice the weather moving further away.  The sky was now gloriously clear.  None of this I noticed as any pilot of merit would.  It would be a long time before I was to hear the term, “situational awareness.”

I started to add power on about the fifth or sixth touch and go when the old man in the front seat pulled the power back to idle.  He turned to me and said it was time.  I looked at my watch and sure enough, we had been airborne the customary 30 minutes.  Damn!  It seemed as though we had just started!

As I taxied the little J?3 toward the hangars, I slowed down a little too much.  Giving the power a slight nudge forward to maneuver toward 69H’s hangar, Charlie gripped the throttle in his left hand and stopped me from going any further.  I had no idea why he would do it, as we were nowhere near the hangar; we were still out next to the runway.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked me over the chugging of the little Continental.  “Do you think you could take this airplane around the pattern by yourself?”

Instinctively, I said yes.  As I did, I wondered why my mouth said that.  I was also acutely aware my body was turning to gelatin!

“What about the weather?”  I asked.

“Don’t worry about it.  It’s perfect,” Charlie reported.  “Now she is going to feel a little different and she’ll fly a little better without my weight in here.”  He leaned in and adjusted the seatbelt of the seat he had just vacated–and had always occupied while I was flying.  “She’ll have a tendency to climb quicker and fly faster.”

As he finished securing the belt, the old man looked at me and said, “You’re on your own, now.  Take it around once and bring it back to the hangar.”

Charlie closed the door to the plane and suddenly I was fully aware I was alone in the airplane.  He stepped away.  I put a little forward stick pressure on the controls and gave the engine a little throttle to swing the tail around.  Then I headed back to the runway. 

This was the day I had been waiting for all of my life and now I was scared!  Scared beyond description!  I was all too aware I had lost feeling in my legs.  The taxi back to the end of runway 27 was a long one, 2,300 feet worth of long to be exact.

As I taxied the airplane down the runway, I wondered if I would have enough strength left to run the rudders on take?off.  In my mind’s eye, I saw all those headlines!

STUDENT PILOT

CRASHES ON FIRST SOLO

STUDENT PILOT CRASHES

INTO CHICKEN COOP,

KILLS HUNDREDS OF CHICKS

STUDENT PILOT LOST

ON FIRST SOLO,

ENDS UP IN CUBA

In my mind, I could hear the broadcast media: “See it here first on News Channel 8 at eleven!”

-30-

© 2010 J. Clark

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