The following is a descriptive log of some of my flight training experiences. This is based in part on emails I sent to family and friends at the time. My IFR training experiences are on a different sheet. Duck Soup: IFR Lessons

I live 4.3 nautical miles from the end of Hillsboro Airport (HIO) runway 2. My primary instructor has been Jason Wright, who celebrated his thousandth hour the week I became a private pilot. In the fall of 1998 Jason took a "paying job" flying for UPS.

Early experiences

I've been interested in flying since I was a brat. My 8th birthday present was a flight from Madison, Wisconsin to Milwaukee and back in a North Central Airlines DC-3. I was allowed to talk to the pilots during cruise.

A few years later a neighbor kid and I were in the back seat of a Cessna on approach to a 2000' grass strip between potato fields near Sugar Camp Wisconsin. On short final the kid lost his cookies. The pilot handed him a barf bag without interrupting his approach. That was cool.

Junior year in college found me in the right seat of an Air Force C-47, but I lost 100 feet of altitude before locating the altimeter and the pilot insisted "George" (the autopilot) fly the plane. Later the Air Force decided my fuselage was too wide for their cockpits.

In the intervening years I've flown with friends including Norm Winningstad and Ernst Massey. I won the toss to fly right front seat back from Vegas in Norm's twin Cessna. A few years later Ernst flew up the Willamette River as I took pictures of possible houseboat sites. Ernst orbited several interesting locations so I could get better pictures. After that flight it took more than ever to knock my socks off.

The required level of finances, free time, and commitment did not come together until 1997. A year or two earlier I picked up a copy of Microsoft Flight Simulator and started flying Boeing 727's out of Troutdale.

I signed up for an introductory flight with Eagle Aviation at the Hillsboro airport. We tried several planes but I didn't fit into any of them except a Cessna 182. We preflighted, got in, and took off. The left door popped open. A Cessna bugsmasher is quite safe with a front door ajar, but it is noisy and a bit drafty. It looked as if this was going to be a short flight since most of the hour had been spent looking for an airplane. The instructor managed to get the door closed while I held the wheel and my $35 was saved, what was left of it.

I didn't like the 182 because I couldn't see over the nose during climbout. I hate not seeing where I'm going. I flew in a Commander 112 and liked being able to see where I was going. Now I fly my own 182 and I still can't see where I'm going.

I started ground school that summer. I found the give and take of a live class more enjoyable than watching a set of videotapes could possibly have been. That summer the Flying M Ranch (OR05) became an obsession, a personal Mt. Everest. On the computer I flew various virtual planes into a virtual Flying M, including a DC-3.

The Knowledge Test

After ground school the next order of business was the Knowledge Test. This is traditionally called the Written Test. Nowadays the test is administered by computer, which chooses 60 questions from a bank of 700. Thanks to the Freedom of Information Act, all the questions and their answers are provided with the textbook and study materials.

I decided I would like to ace the test, and the supplied tools made it possible to get a perfect score without bothering to learn everything about aviation. I set the materials on a table and went over all 700 relevant questions. I skipped most of the math type questions because they are time consuming and I didn't have a problem with them in class. I purposely answered the questions as quickly as possible, not using any of the usual multiple-guess test taking techniques. I wanted to miss all the questions I didn't have down cold, rather than risk missing them during the actual test. The first time I missed more than 100 questions out of the 700. This would have been a passing grade but nothing to write home about.

I put a mark beside each question I missed. (Don't mark the answers on the question sheet!) In a few instances I reread relevant sections in the textbooks. Then I redid the questions I'd missed, getting most of them right. I made a different mark next to the questions I missed twice. I repeated the process a few times, each time missing fewer and fewer questions until I didn't miss any.

By this time these questions were, figuratively speaking, spilling out of my head. I tried not to memorize them, but by this time some were rather familiar. I knew there was a possibility I might miss one of the questions I had initially answered correctly, but I wasn't sufficiently motivated to revisit the whole lot.

I now have a appreciation for the problem the test designers face. Given the constraints of the multiple guess format, some areas of knowledge are difficult to test with straightforward questions.

On the drive to the airport to take the exam, a truck bumped into me while I was stopped at a traffic light. The only damage was a scuff mark on my bumper, and the other driver offered me $50 to ignore it. That paid for the test!

The morning I took the test was actually the second attempt. When I showed up the evening before, a snafu prevented the test computer from recognizing me.

Some of the questions have more than one correct answer, forcing the student to choose the best answer. I almost missed a question. A later question suggested the FAA was anal retentive about equipping planes with Mode C transponders. (Without a Mode C altitude reporting transponder ground radar can't tell if an airplane poses a collision hazard.) I changed the answer to the previous question and scored a perfect 100 on the knowledge test. That perfect score doesn't guarantee I know everything. No, not by a long shot. But it may have saved me some time on the oral test next April (see below).

Gotta Fly!

My first training flight with Jason took place the second week of September. Sensory overload was the order of the day as I learned new ways of doing new things in an unfamiliar environment. Alter all, student drivers don't cruise the LA Freeways after their first lesson. After a while I got up to speed, but it is never easy to fly the plane, listen to the instructor, and listen to the tower all at the same time. In the terminology of flight training this is called "learning to fly while dealing with realistic distractions".

I seemed to be making good progress in the flight lessons, perhaps a result of my virtual flying experience.

Soon I realized much to my frustration that I would be ready to solo long before the beauracracy in Oklahoma City would get around to acting on my medical. (Students can't solo without an official medical certificate.) Hurry up and wait. Jason reshuffled the order of lessons, giving some lessons that normally come after the first solo while we were waiting for the FAA to act on my medical. When this reshuffling reached its limits I stopped taking lessons during an entire month of excellent flying weather. If the Clinton White House hadn't spent so much money on lawyers and spin doctors maybe the FAA could have staffed up to reduce the obscene delays processing medical certificates. The FAA delays added at least a thousand dollars to the cost of my training.

I can thank the Compuserve AVSIG crowd for the most memorable landing so far. The discussion of ultra-short landings in a Cessna 150 a while ago led to the comment that some of the traffic watch pilots at Hillsboro Aviation can make the Alpha-7 (A7) turnoff at HIO RWY 30, about 330 feet from the threshold, flying 172s. Therewith I offered Jason a $50.00 bill if he could make that turnoff with me in the plane. (I weighed about 340.) The first time he tried it, a plane was holding short at A7, so no turnoff. I reminded him he had to actually make the turnoff to get the $50.

Several days later later an empty Alpha Seven beckoned. Soon I was calling off the airspeed for Jason. It was a calm day and Jason was flying much closer to the bottom of the white arc than normal, even for a short field landing. The intercom squelch wouldn't respond quickly enough to pass my airspeed callouts. I resorted to nearly shouting to keep the intercom from clipping my callouts. It must have sounded as if I were losing it.

Shortly before contact with the runway I modified the deal slightly: $5 off for each filling he knocks loose. The stall horn was blaring long before the final flare. The 172 stall horn rises in pitch the closer the aircraft gets to the stall, and this time it was soprano. We touched down most firmly, but didn't bounce much because the 172 was seriously stalled. I was sure a mechanic would be needed to put things right, but Jason says he's experienced harder landings at the hands of students. For me it was a learning experience. I'm not sure exactly what I learned, but it was worth the $50.

As it happened, some of the Asian students witnessed this caper from the lounge, and Jason told them it was MY doing. A pre-solo student pudknocker pulling off something the book sez you can't do. Right.

But that wasn't the end of it. Some days later when I called for landing clearance, the tower pointedly reminded me there was a plane holding short in Alpha-7. At least that's what I think I heard.

Subject: Solo flight Date: Mon, 1 Dec 97 22:13:00 PST

Didn't solo today, even tho Jason offered to let me do it. Maybe it's the Thanksgiving turkey's revenge, but I was just a bit under the weather. I just didn't feel sharp today, and I want the solo to be near perfect.

Besides, the power failed today so the solo flight wouldn't have been tape recorded even if it had happened.

Subject: Flying Date: Tue, 2 Dec 97 9:05:24 PST

Monday I was given the opportunity to solo after about 28 hours of dual instruction. I declined because I was not happy with my performance that day, and I want the solo flight to be glorious. I hope to solo sometime this week when I feel ready to do it well.

Today it is a bit windy, so if I get to fly it will be crosswind techniques, which I haven't had the opportunity to practice before.

Subject: Re: flying Date: Wed, 3 Dec 97 19:44:58 PST

Wx permitting, Thursday will be solo day. Tue & Wed were crosswind lessons.

Subject: 1st Solo Date: Thu, 4 Dec 97 17:43:06 PST

Did my first solo Today, Thursday December 4, 1997. Two touch-and-gos and one full stop. Details later. Film at 11.

Subject: First Solo Date: Thu, 4 Dec 97 23:53:30 PST

Well I did it today. Soloed Thursday Dec 4, after about 30 hours of dual in Hillsboro Aviation's 172 Skyhawks. I had the opportunity to solo a few days ago but declined because I felt I had been behind the power curve all day long. I didn't wish to contemplate a sub par performance. As it was, a power outage Monday took my tape recorder off line, and I wouldn't have had an audio record of this once in a lifetime (by definition) event if I had soloed then.

Tuesday and Wednesday I had my first taste of crosswind operations, I had a different instructor, Joe McQuillan, as Jason was booked solid those days. We landed nearly every which way except autorotation - 0 flaps, 10 degrees, 20 degrees, normal or power off. One mistake I made was dumping a notch of flaps on a go-around when I didn't have the full 30 degrees flaps to start with.

Every CFI has his own set of teaching priorities, and Joe really wanted me to keep the ball where it belongs. Jason also flies coordinated (I can feel his feet on the pedals), but neither he nor my haunches comment much when I'm not flying coordinated (with the exception of practicing stalls).

One of the interesting aspects of aviation is the variety of opinions on some of the most basic points, such as where in the pattern one should lower heavy duty flaps. I was not disappointed.

Today, Thursday, I was back with Jason. The winds were well behaved. I did a number of touch-and-goes that were reasonably gentle on the airplane, if not textbook quality. I taxiied to the ramp. Jason started writing things in my logbook and student certificate, and exited the plane. As I taxiied off to the runup area in preparation for my solo escapade, I felt like having just dropped off a date. Believe it or not, I did not feel at all anxious. Maybe I should have soloed Monday after all.

When weather is good, Hillsboro Airport (HIO) can be one of the nation's busiest airports. Today was no exception. At one point there were two planes on the runway when I was on short final, but people know the drill and there were no problems. Indeed, the pattern is so busy that we have been instructed to use shorthand when going round and round the pattern. Instead of the standard "Hillsboro Tower, Cessna 63843 on right downwind runway 30 for touch and go" we say as little as "843 midfield for touch and go". Sometimes It takes a while before one can even get those words in edgewise.

One one of the rounds Tower asked me to resume my downwind after I had been cleared for a touch-and-go landing and was making my turn to base. This was the second time in two days I was "uncleared for landing". As Brent, my ground school instructor might say, "cool". Not having an owl's neck, I couldn't keep the runway in sight during the extended downwind, and I was way off to the left by the time I turned final. There was plenty of time to get back on course so it wasn't a big deal. But it wasn't the tidiest of patterns.

The landings were OK for a first solo but not great. Perhaps I should have backed off a few knots flying at the lighter weight. I floated a bit. I didn't crowd the centerline. Nonetheless, the outcome was never in the slightest doubt. Unlike a helicopter student who crossed the runway ahead of me without clearance, I didn't mess up and get yelled at.

Different students have different experiences on their first solo flights. For some it is a momentous event. For others it is a white knuckle experience. A few have to deal with mechanical failure or other emergencies. And yes, one or two have come to grief. In my case, it was somewhat matter of fact. No butterflies in the stomach. Whatever bug might have been bothering me Monday had exited my body. I was focused on the tasks at hand but not tense or uptight. Of course it helped that the engine ran smoothly and no planes, geese, or serious air pockets crossed my path.

Maybe next time I'll make the Alpha-6 turnoff (about 1300').

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After 5 hours of uneventful solo flight including 20 "gentle dental" landings I had my first solo adrenalin rush Sunday the 14th.

I had scheduled two hours of time at noon to practice short and soft field simulated operations at Hillsboro Airport (HIO). The HIO Terminal Aerodrome Forecast called for conditions slightly worse than my current endorsement of 10 miles visibility, 4000 foot ceiling, 10 knot wind and 5 knot crosswind. But Raindance isn't always right, so I drove out the the airport. The tower was reporting good visibility, CALM wind, and a 3800 foot ceiling. That was close enough for pattern work, so off I went to the flight line.

After preflighting the plane (a Cessna 172), ATIS announced a sigmet for turbulence was in effect. Pilots could call McMinnville FSS for details. I called McMinnville and they said the rough stuff wouldn't get to Hillsboro for some time. The Tower did not have any reports of turbulence in the pattern, so I decided to fly.

I practiced a soft field takeoff. (In a soft field takeoff, the plane is flown just above the runway in "ground effect" until it accelerates enough to fly normally.) This was the first time I took off this way solo. I did not attempt to replicate my instructor's trick of building up extra speed in ground effect to allow an impressive seat crushing zoom afterwards.

As I gained altitude it became clear the winds were not calm upstairs. My downwind leg was shoved somewhat further away from the runway than usual. When I called for landing clearance, Tower asked me to do a short approach, to which I agreed. The alternative would be to wait for the other traffic while the Hobbs meter ticked off the dollars.

Setting up for touchdown wasn't the neatest because the shifting wind was shoving me around. I bounced. A bodacious bounce. Oh to think of all the times I've sat in Eddie's Restaruant making fun of others' bounced landings! At that moment, however, I wasn't even aware of anyone watching. Spooked by this unexpected strangeness, I executed an instant goaround. There was no second bounce. I once mentioned to Jason that I wanted to practice a worst case goaround so I would know what to expect. Doing a nearly worst case goaround solo under actual conditions wasn't precisely what I had in mind.

The second time I made sure I had plenty of time on final to get the approach stablized. I crossed the controls for the crosswind, which disappeared, then reappeared. I ended up some thirty feet to the right of centerline after some hasty corrections. Not knowing what the weather might do next, I decided to cash in my chips rather than continuing touch and gos and risk having to land in a crazier situation. All the time it was calm at the surface, and the tower reported wind calm much of the afternoon.

When I got home I listened to the tower frequency for a while. Typically there is a merry-go-round of planes in the pattern but this afternoon was quiet. A few planes announced they were going to do touch and go landings, but decided one landing was enough. That made me feel better.

I wasn't sure if the bounce and go around should be counted as a landing. I asked around, and the consensus was to count it as a landing. Call it a real short t&g.

I've worked out a new weather observation system. I open the basement window and see if my cat Entropy jumps out. If she goes out, it's ok for flying. Works about as well as official forecasts.

The other day Jason and I had a cross country mini-adventure, flying to two nearby air strips in crosswind. They are narrower than the Hillsboro Airport I fly from. I can't say the landings were the best I've ever made, but it was a learning experience. The first was Portland-Mulino (4S9), 3600 feet long and 100 feet wide. We did two or three touch and gos with a moderate crosswind.

One of the other instructors popped up on the radio to correct my pronunciation of "Mulino". He didn't identify himself, and I thought it might have been my friend Ernst Massey, who flys gliders thereabouts. I strongly mispronounced "Mulino" again, and as expected he corrected me again, and I was able to identify him.

After Mulino Jason had me land at Skydive Oregon in Molalla (10S). This strip is 32 feet wide. When I landed at Skydive things got a bit lumpy on rollout. The plane wouldn't turn around normally. Jason asked if I were standing on the brakes. I wasn't on the brakes. I suggested that we had a flat tire. Sure enough, the nosewheel was flat as a duck, and there wasn't a Cessna repair station in sight.

Jason decided to fly the plane back to Hillsboro with the flat nosewheel. He handled the taxiing, takeoff and landing, keeping the weight off the nosewheel. We made it back to the hangar without further incident. Quite a learning experience.

Metty Christmas.

New Year's eve I returned from Tucson after a week with Connie and Sandy. From the day after Christmas ("ATIS Missletoe") to the 31st I took lessons in 172s and a 182.

Dec 28 was time for a little "mountain flying". Kevin Morris and I flew up to Mt. Lemmon, some 9000 feet above sea level. Wind at altitude was about 45 knots. We seemed to be flying sideways. As we approached the leeward side of the mountain, we tightened the belts and harness snugly, in anticipation of turbulence. We were not disappointed. Wham, bam, thank you sir.

One day we shared a runway with a coyote. Wyle Coyote decided Ryan 6L was a nice place to soak up some sunshine. After 15 minutes and several landings the coyote wandered off just as the tower was contemplating dispatching a truck to dispatch the coyote.

I also flew Leading Edge's 182 with Kevin. This was my first time piloting a 182, a heavier and more powerful plane than the 172s I'd been training in. Some people have told me the 182 flies much like the 172s I'm used to. Others warned me that the 182 is a whole new ball game, and I shouldn't touch one until after I get my license. The FAA requires a High Performance endorsement to solo a 182 because its 470 cubic inch engine puts out more than 200 horsepower. For me the 182 was more demanding, but nothing I couldn't handle given several hours of concentrated training.

New Year's Eve found a steady 10-12 knot wind blowing straight down the main runway. I can't recall ever experiencing such a steady wind. I told Kevin this would be an ideal day to practice crosswind landings under textbook conditions. Kevin suggested the tower wouldn't let us use the crosswind runway (the one we used the other day). Nearby Avra Valley (E14), where Patty Wagstaff and my stock broker hangered their planes, reported the same wind. Kevin didn't want to go there either, claiming too many people didn't use the radio. I think he just didn't want to do crosswind landings.

Jan 2 - Jan 7:

Back at Hillsboro I made some flights to practice maneuvers and various types of landings. Two hours of non-stop maneuvers of touch and gos was a bit tiring, but worth it. No pain, no gain.

Once again the wind started to act up, maybe not quite as much as it did Dec. 14th. Unlike Dec. 14, I understood what was going on and was not spooked. Yet, it was frustrating because the 10-15 knot tailwind (1 knot equals 1.15 mph) died out just above the surface. The effect is the same as coming in too fast; the plane floats down the runway and refuses to land until the extra speed is bled off. Meanwhile you're thinking of claiming cross-country miles for landing longer than desired. At the end of the session I did manage to make the 1260 foot A6 turnoff, so I could drive home in peace.

Subject: Flying Date: Thu, 8 Jan 98 10:28:11 PST

Well, I'm about to go do it - buy a plane.

It's a 1964 Cessna 182 Skylane, N2469R, owned by Ron Harmon of Kent, Washington. Ron is moving up to a twin Baron. Tuesday I drove to Auburn to look at the plane. As with many planes of this vintage, 69 Romeo has been updated over the years with new avionics, new interior, new paint, new glass, new propeller, and a factory remanufactured engine.

It you're not familiar with the Cessna 182, it looks like most Cessna singles, with a high wing and wing braces. From a distance you can't tell it apart from the 172 that appears on my web page. These planes are solidly built birds that almost never fall apart in the air. The price paid for this conservative design is lower cruise speed.

If the weather and everything else cooperates, I will be flying in it in a couple of weeks. (FAMOUS LAST WORDS!)

Subject: Flying Date: Wed, 28 Jan 98 9:20:25 PST

Raindance finally relented a bit Tuesday night and the long awaited night flight took place. Jason and I flew to Corvallis and back, about 150 statute miles round trip. It was a learning experience, primarily in getting used to correlating cities and towns on the sectional charts (maps) with what I see out the window.

I made a math mistake calculating the course heading, which I quickly diagnosed when Jason pointed out that we were several miles to the west of the planned course. It would have taken me longer to notice the error on my own, but perhaps I might have been more careful checking the course if flying solo.

The whole point of this flight is to navigate purely by pilotage, using only map, compass, and clock. No electronic filgerkarb allowed. (Flying to CVO and back using electronic navigation is trivial as long as the toys keep working.)

Subject: Re: cool! Date: Wed, 28 Jan 98 15:37:01 PST

The main issue I have with night flying is the difficulty making a forced landing in case of an engine failure. By day forced landings are almost always successful in avoiding injury. Nighttime forced landings are another matter. Pilots have a saying: When making a forced landing at night, turn on the landing light. If you don't like what you see, turn it off. This saying leaves unstated the fact that if you don't like what you see by the time you get close enough to the ground to see the landing spot, you don't have enough altitude left to get to a better landing spot.

I've been told that engine failures of the type that cause forced landings are extremely rare in airplanes that are properly maintained, preflighted, and operated. When I get a maintenance history on Romeo's engine with a series of engine oil analyses I may be in a better mood to trust the engine. In the meantime, I don't quite trust it not to die on me.

Otherwise I have no problems with night flight. Perhaps my experience on flight simulators that provide few visual cues has reduced the strangeness of flying at night. Indeed, one of my most enjoyable flights was the evening Jason and I spent going around the pattern at Hillsboro in deteriorating weather until Tower declared IFR.

As for getting lost between Hillsboro and Corvallis, that's not likely. I've practiced the flight several times on the computer. The airplane, 365ES, has a GPS that tells you which way to fly to anywhere you want to go. There are radio stations near each airport I can home in on with the Automatic Direction Finder. There is a VOR navigational station at Corvallis, and one near Hillsboro. If the electrical system had failed I could have pulled out my battery operated nav/transceiver and navigated with that. As long as the engine is running and you're not in the soup it's easy to find yourself in the northern Willamette valley. It's not like Lindy crossing the North Atlantic.

Raindance has turned over a new leaf this week, and I have been able to fly more than I've been flying lately.

Wednesday Jason and I practiced maneuvers, both visual and under the hood. Then we went back to the airport to check on my soft and short field landings. The wind was a bit cranky, maybe I wasn't in the best of form, and the landings weren't the best I've made.

Jason seemed frustrated by my apparent lack of progress in polishing these landings. He took over and announced he was going to show me how it's supposed to be done. He set up a glorious approach but at the last moment a puff of wind got him. He did not hit the numbers. He did not straddle the centerline. There was a noticeable step function in the vertical velocity and an obvious side load on the landing gear (plane not aligned with the direction of travel). I told him that landing made me feel really good, and warned him he wasn't going to hear the end of it until such time as I had a major screw-up. (Ever since Jason was careful not to make rash unconditional predictions about the smoothness of upcoming landings.)

Thursday I had a progress check with Larry Carroll, the head instructor. Larry has flown a variety of planes in the Alaska bush in addition to Boeing 727 airliners. He had some interesting insights into the whys and wherefors of soft field takeoffs. Previously my soft field takeoffs were accomplished with a pronounced nose high attitude. This increases drag, something one doesn't need for takeoff. The point is to get the weight off the nosewheel. A few inches is plenty.

For a while it appeared the clouds would be too low to do the required maneuvers but we fudged a bit and lucked out. We checked out some maneuvers, including recovery from bad attitudes (getting the plane back under control) under the hood. Then he had me fly various compass and electronic headings while still under the hood. After that I was supposed to be lost when he had me remove the hood and find my way back to the airport. But Jason and I had flown that way enough times that finding my way back to the airport was easy.

Larry had me perform a short field landing. Nothing special, except that the Tower asked me to land past the runway intersection. After a short field takeoff Larry pulled power and had me do a dead stick soft field landing. Because of the geometry of the exercise I had to do some serious side slipping to bleed off excess energy. Coming down sideways over the field was way cool, but a bit intimidating. That 6600 foot runway didn't look so long anymore. Afterwards Larry said I did well on the check. He complimented Jason for training me well.

I enjoy being challenged with new situations such as that mid-downwind power loss, but I don't feel comfortable pushing the limits of my envelope without someone next to me who's been there, done that.

Today, Saturday Jan 31 I had planned a couple of hours solo for touching up maneuvers and landings. But flying isn't always that simple. Today's winds were 12 knots gusting to 20, coming from ESE. That's about twice as much wind as I'm signed off for, and certainly more than I'm comfortable with. A search for a willing and uncommited instructor yielded Tanya. I drove to the airport, preflighted the airplane, and waited for Tanya to appear. To save me from the possible heartbreak of a failed romance, Jason showed up at the airplane in her place. His scheduled student had canceled (chickened out?).

Aside from emergencies, few things in flying get my attention as much as gusty crosswinds. Even on the ground, the plane wants to move around in response to the wind. Normally I unchain the airplane before getting in, but this time I waited until Jason was seated with his feet on the brakes.

Startup, taxi, and runup were uneventful. But when I was cleared for an IMMEDIATE takeoff, I forgot the "cleared for takeoff" checklist. Haste makes waste. Jason flipped on the transponder and landing light. Since then I've learned to perform that part of the checklist, now called "Ready for Takeoff" before asking for clearance.

During crosswind taxi and takeoff roll one keeps the controls positioned to prevent the wind from tipping the plane on its side. This is most important with high wing planes. As the plane picks up speed, less deflection is used. At liftoff the plane weathervanes into the wind, a 20 degree turn under Saturday's conditions. Once aloft, the plane lurches and the airspeed needle twitches. At times the wind is strong enough I seem to be flying sideways. By now I'm getting used to the wind drift.

The real fun comes during final approach and landing. Instead of steering into the wind, I have to drop a wing into the wind to keep from drifting while at the same time pushing opposite rudder to keep the plane pointed down the runway. When the wind is gusting nothing stays corrected for long, so I have to stay nimble. If that's not enough, I have to keep the nose down longer than I'm used to because of the winds.

As the end of the hour drew near it was time for a full stop landing. Just to keep things interesting, Jason pulled the throttle as we passed the numbers, simulating an engine failure. I'm used to this routine now, and the landing was one of the day's best.

A few of that day's landings weren't too pretty, but Jason said all were safe. I have to trust his judgement on the point, He asked what I thought of the day's festivities and I had just one word. Exciting. I certainly wouldn't want to take friends up on a day like that unless they were really into flying.

Meanwhile, "69 Romeo" is still in the shop. It should be ready to fly in 2-3 weeks.

February Down the Tubes

By this time Romeo was airworthy. Jason and Dirk (the mechanic) took her up for a check while I was still in hospital.

A girl named Romeo? Why not. I don't know any guys named Romeo. ("Romeo" comes from the plane's registration number 2469R, where R is pronounced ROMEO.)

Fortunately many friends visited, including my sister Christie and her family who were visiting the area. I especially enjoyed a visit by Jason and Tanya the Saturday after the surgery. Hanger talk beats hospital talk, and Tanya was easier on my eyes than any of the nurses.

They sprung me on the 25th, and after some fast talking I was allowed to go home rather than spend a week in a nursing home. A nurse visits Caddyshack to change the dressing on my wound. The ration of megaton antibiotics lasted until Wednesday, March 4. The nurses were not pleased when I mentioned I'd be flying very soon.

My original plan was to finish training in 172s, then transition to Romeo after I had my license. But my lost month of February intervened. I called the insurance company and they explained I could solo (under my instructor's supervision) in my plane before I got my license. This was welcome news because I had interpreted the policy endorsement limiting me to flights under my instructor's supervision to mean no solo flights.

My first flight in Romeo!

Thursday March 5 was my first flight in my own airplane. I was far more excited about this flight than I was about any other, including my first solo flight. The weather was good, but Jason was short on time so we just buzzed over to the coast and back. Romeo has two new cylinders that had to be broken in, so we flew fast with the engine running at the top of the green arc. (Unlike an automobile engine, piston engines in general aviation airplanes are designed to be broken in at nearly full power.) The flight was a bit of a circus, what with checking the performance of the various toys (radios, GPS, Loran, and ADF navigation aids) and just winging it from Hillsboro to Seaside, up the coast to Astoria, then back to Hillsboro.

As we approached Hillsboro, the radio went crazy. Everybody and his brother was flying into Hillsboro because this was the first nice day in a coon's age. It took an eternity before I could get in a word edgewise. What's more, I had mistakenly disabled the squelch on the radio and the radio was making nonstop chatter.

Imagine the situation. I'm returning to the airport from a direction I'd never come from before. I often have difficulty spotting the airport from a distance because it blends in with the surrounding roads. The airport is busier than the proverbial twin-peckered toad. I hadn't flown for a month. I'm flying an unfamiliar plane. There's more to flying this plane than the 172s I've trained in. The flight instruments aren't where I'm used to finding them. I'm trying desperately to avoid large changes in power to minimize "shock cooling", something neither I nor my instructors worried about in rented 172s. I'm not fully recovered from the surgery and antibiotics. Let's just say Jason helped out more than usual.

I did the actual landing pretty much by myself. To be truthful it was somewhere between a landing and an arrival. Nowhere near hard enough to ruffle Romeo, but it was just as well the landing wasn't where the restaurant crowd could see it.

My first flight in my very own Romeo was a hoot. Yet, it was not an entirely happy day. A chute failed to open near Molalla.

Friday March 6 Jason and I flew to Eugene and back, a distance of about 100 miles each way. As with the Astoria flight and the next two flights, the primary purpose of this flight was to continue engine break-in. Cross country (XC) training was an added benefit.

On the way down to Eugene we checked out George the autopilot. (Early autopilots were little more than gyros. In those days the phonetic for G was "george", hence "let George fly the plane" meant enabling the autopilot.) George worked fine in heading hold and altitude hold modes. We tried coupling George to a VOR receiver but by that time we were were too close to Eugene to mess with it much.

At first, Eugene tower cleared me for a straight-in landing on runway 16, but switched me to runway 21 when an airliner took off on 16. Having just seen wake turbulence videos in my IFR ground school class, I was even more motivated than usual to avoid the jet's wake. As I landed I flared too high and was rewarded with a bodacious "drop-in" arrival, otherwise known as a "carrier landing". Rather displeased with myself, I elected to taxi over to Flightcraft for a quickie. On the return flight I misread my prepared flight plan and tried to fly an incorrect course, only to notice that the roads that point back to Hillsboro pointed elsewhere. Maybe that landing was harder than I thought.

Scud Running.

scud 1. to run or move quickly or hurriedly. 2. Naut. to run before a gale with little or no sail set. 3. Archery. (of an arrow) to fly too high and wide of the mark. -n 5. clouds, spray, or the like, driven by the wind; a driving shower or gust of wind. 6. low-drifting clouds appearing beneath a cloud from which percipitation is falling. Random House Dictionary of the English Language, 2nd ed. unabridged

Scud Running is an attempt to maintain visual flight in unsuitable weather by flying under low clouds.

When flying south from Hillsboro we normally climb to 3000 feet or more and aim the airplane directly at our destination. Monday the clouds were too low to allow us to overfly the 1500 foot high Ribbon Ridge, so we flew around Ribbon Ridge instead of over it. As we flew down the valley we deviated to avoid most of the scattered rain showers. Dodging the clouds and showers was fun, but it is obvious why real scud running is responsible for a lion's share of light plane accidents. [Flying in the rain is hard on the prop, the tips of which are travelling near the speed of sound.]

On the way back I diverted to the east of Salem to avoid showers along my path to Hillsboro. Even with this diversion I was too low to fly above Salem's Class D airspace. Salem Tower gave me permission to transit their airspace when I told them I was "scud running". Jason suggested talking to Tower about scud running was unwise, but I figured it was harmless since there is no official definition of scud running.

The Airman's Information Manual does not define Scud Running. Informally, Scud Running means foolishly continuing flight when confronted with lowering ceilings and worsening visibility. We didn't do anything like that. Everything was perfectly safe and legal VFR. It would have been legal VFR (1000 foot ceiling, 3 mile visibility) even if we hadn't flown around the showers. But why fly through a shower if you can fly around it easily? Some of us can't resist using the phrase for literary effect. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times, pilots like to exaggerate.

At the end of the flight we had accumulated sufficient time on Romeo to properly seat the two new cylinders. With oil consumption down to normal the engine was broken in and ready for normal operations.

Romeo is almost the same size as the Skyhawks I had been training in, and not that much heavier. The wing area is the same. The book figures for landing performance (shown above) are similar. Landing HAI's older 172s at Hillsboro's runway 30, I could usually make the 1260 foot A6 turnoff without strain unless the winds were acting up. But landing Romeo is distinctly different from landing Skyhawks, and the quality of my landings took a major hit.

Romeo can haul adult rear seat passengers and baggage without becoming dangerously tail heavy. Compared to a Skyhawk, Romeo is positively nose heavy; this is the engineering compromise that was made. With full tanks and only the front seats occupied, full aft trim and some back pressure on the yoke are needed to avoid excessive airspeed on landing. A Skylane is more demanding than a Skyhawk, and one should get a checkout from an instructor with "bush pilot" experience in a 182. If you don't need short field capability, other planes are faster or more economical to fly.

Thursday and Friday Jason and I did touch and go landings and the various maneuvers student pilots execute to gain proficiency. Afterwards Jason signed me off for the high performance endorsement as well as solo cross country flights.

The weather that Friday was suitable for a flight to Corvallis. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, so I had Jason sign me off for a solo flight to Corvallis and back that same afternoon. My first solo cross country flight was also my first solo flight in my own airplane. When I landed at Corvallis I taxiied to a strange FBO (Fixed Base Operation) just like a real pilot. I procured souveniers and took pictures of Romeo at CVO. It was a near perfect flight. And I did it all on Friday the 13th.

It takes two to plan a flight.

Romeo at Corvallis, parked in front of Bertea Aviation.
My first solo flight in my own plane was also my first solo XC (Cross Country flight).

Romeo back in the stable at HIO after my first solo flight to Corvallis and back.

Longer XC

Saturday I flew 300 miles solo cross country. The route was Hillsboro - Oregon City - Troutdale - The Dalles - Troutdale - Corvallis - Eugene - Corvallis and back to Hillsboro, with landings at The Dalles and Eugene. The challenge was staying out of Portland's Class C airspace and spotting the Eugene field.

Because the clouds were too low, I had to fly around Portland's 10 mile Class C airspace and Troutdale's 5 mile Class D airspace. If the weather were better I could have just flown above one or both.

Eugene is famous among local pilots because it blends in so well with its surroundings. A reservoir to the west of the airport is visible almost to the horizon, but the airport is difficult to distinguish from streets and highways. Ten miles from Eugene I called the Eugene tower, who promptly told me to call Approach first. I called Approach, who promptly handed me back to the Tower. By this time I was getting close to the airport but hadn't spotted it yet. I gave the Tower my distance from the airport (as shown on the GPS) and I mentioned I hadn't spotted the field yet. The tower did not seem concerned. I didn't spot the field until I was less than a mile directly off the wrong end of the active runway. Not quite the standard 45 degree entry to downwind. Uncool. To top it off, I didn't understand Flightcraft's hand signals directing me to parking. All in all a satisfactory flight except for the last mile and the last 200 feet....

On the way back I used ATC flight following. I didn't see any of the planes center called out for me, and center didn't call out any of the planes I saw. Flight following might have been more successful if clouds hadn't kept me down to 2500 feet.

I flew most of these solo XC flights at 2500 feet because the cloud cover wouldn't permit me to fly any higher. Weather was better at The Dalles, allowing me to climb to 4500 feet for the first part of the return flight.

Service with a smile at The Dalles Municipal Airport. He's wearing a roller skate on one foot thanks to a recent surfboarding accident. He didn't want to wear a foot cast. In the meantime he gets around rather quickly. The roller skate did make moving the FBO's 152 trainer to its tiedown a bit tricky. Good thing he didn't have to move Romeo.

Ah, the simple pleasures of youth.

March 17th Jason and I flew to Bremerton, Seattle and back. I flew parts of this trip under the hood, navigating with VOR signals, while Jason looked out for other planes. After a landing at Bremerton (PWT), I flew by a Navy shipyard complete with aircraft carrier before crossing Puget Sound to Boeing Field (BFI).

Boeing Field in Seattle was an exciting place for me to visit on a weekday. The place was crawling with aircraft of all types, not all of them built by Boeing. After a pit stop at Galvin Aviation, I retraced my route back to Hillsboro.

SHARC Bait.

I wasn't pleased with my first landing at Scappose, so I did it over. Finding Woodland State wasn't easy. Once found, it looked bloody narrow (it's only 25 feet wide) and not all that long (1965 feet plus 290' stopway) so I let Jason land the airplane. Kelso and Toledo were next.

The NDB at Toledo was on intensive life support. I could see the transmitter and antenna on the field but the signal was down in the noise. I'd guess the antenna connection was loose, or maybe the final amplifier was fried.

Chehalis was next, and then we flew northwest to Elma. On the way Jason was all excited because we couldn't see one of the two railroad tracks shown on the sectional map. I could see where the railroad right-of-way had been but my eyes told me the tracks had been removed. Before landing at Elma we investigated an abandoned nuclear powerplant construction site just south of the Chehalis River, part of the stillborn WHOOPS project.

The next stop was Bowerman-Hoquiam at Gray's Harbor on the Washington coast. We ate some "$100 hamburgers" at Lana's Hangar Cafe, a fifties style diner that is well worth the trip. The "$100" refers to the cost of flying there, not the price of the food.

By the time we finished lunch, Jason was running late. We skipped the remaining stops and headed back to Hillsboro.

The next morning I got a call from the airport. They thought the Emergency Locator Transmitter (ELT) in my plane had gone off. Hmm, that would explain why Romeo's radios were acting up, but I didn't think any of Thursday's landings were that hard.

It doesn't always require a hard landing or crash to set off an ELT. Sometimes an ELT will even set itself off, without provocation. When I got to the airport a Port Authority agent had wrapped aluminum foil around Romeo's ELT antenna in a futile attempt to squelch the transmission, which had "kept the tower up all night". Fortunately, Romeo is parked within a few hundred feet of a radio shop, and I was able to get a technician to reset Romeo's SHARC-7 ELT.

Except that Romeo's ELT hadn't been activated. Romeo was not transmitting. The Port Authority man resumed wandering around with his handheld radio looking for the active ELT. Since the sky didn't look like I'd be flying that day, I grabbed my handheld transceiver and started "fox hunting" myself. Five or ten minutes later I located the culprit, one of Eagle Aviation's 152's parked a few hundred feet away from where everyone else was looking. I may not be an ace pilot, but I do know a thing or two about radio waves.

Fox Hunting

If you can't get into the plane to reset the ELT, you may be able to silence it by wrapping the fuselage and antenna with kitchen foil. Just wrapping the ELT antenna in foil is useless; you must "bandage" the antenna to the fuselage as if the antenna were a large wound. It may be worth consuming an entire roll of aluminum foil to quiet the ELT without having to break in to the aircraft.

STALLS AND CHILLS

Before the 7th, all my practice stalls had been downright innocuous compared to stories I've read. With power off and full flaps, my Skylane mushes but there is no distinct stall. At 20 degrees flaps and partial power there is an obvious buffeting but still nothing dramatic when the ground is a safe distance below. Power on (departure) stalls yield a modest drop of the left wing caused by engine torque. Ease up on the yoke, push right rudder, piece of cake.

A Kooter specialty is a modified departure stall. With flaps up and moderate power, start a 15 degree bank and pull back on the yoke. The horizon disappears altogether from both the windscreen and the AI. Cool. When the plane gets tired of imitating a space shuttle launch it drops the downward wing and the nose follows it. Guaranteed to impress pax if they're not scared into taking Greyhound. Kooter also had me practicing the "Falling Leaf" wherein I fly the plane in a continuous stall and repeatedly drop one wing and then the other. These semi-aerobatic maneuvers were fun but it was time to work on high performance landings.

The next few flights were solo practice.

One approach gave me a scare when I saw the plane ahead flying all over the place at what appeared to be a terribly low altitude. T(his is actually a result of the viewing geometry, an optical illusion of sorts. He wasn't really that low. But I didn't have enough experience to know that at the time.) I was so concerned he was going to crash, I mentally reviewed what I'd have to do to avoid the wreckage.

Often as not I fly a steeper than usual approach. Sometimes that's because I misjudge, but I also know 2469R cannot maintain the standard 3 degree glideslope if the engine quits. 2469R's "barn door" flaps and/or forward slips permit me to use a steeper approach that should allow me to clean up and make the runway if the engine quits.

This was one of those days when the wind, while not strong, was shifting around unpredictably. After one touchdown I steered too sharply during rollout and had to scramble with the ailerons to prevent an upset. Days like this keep pilots' egos in check.

I did two simulated dead stick landings solo that day. To make life more interesting I pulled the throttle at midfield, as Carroll did in the progress check, instead of abeam the numbers at the approach end of the runway. Simulated dead stick landings can be intimidating because the final turn to the runway is done at a rather low altitude. Normally one tries to avoid pronounced turns at low altitude because the margin for error or wind upsets is reduced. The engine failure is only simulated, but much of the drama of a forced landing remains. I monitor airspeed and altitude with a healthy paranoia knowing there is always the possibility, however slight, that the engine might not come back to life if needed to correct an error in judgement. The second time I did this I turned off the runway because I didn't feel I had enough runway left to safely execute the takeoff part of a touch-and-go. I was going to taxi back to the beginning of the runway for more practice but when Tower cleared me to taxi to parking. I decided to call it a day.

Afterwards I watched others floating and bouncing down the runway from the comfort of Eddie's Restaurant. Shifting winds prompted the Tower to switch active runways. Before I left I saw a twin bounce several feet in the air and drop a wing way low before settling down. Change o' drawers for sure.

Easter day I went up for about an hour, practicing ground reference maneuvers and steep turns. The wind made the ground reference maneuvers interesting. When I returned to the airport, the reported wind was beyond the limits of my solo signoff. I've landed in stronger winds, but not flying Romeo, and not recently. A bit uneasy with the situation, I saw a windsock indicating winds favoring a landing on runway 12. The tower's gauge indicated the wind favored neither runway. I decided that even if the wind weren't any better for runway 12, the longer runway would give me more chances to "fix" a bad landing. I got clearance to land on runway 12 instead of 20. As the windsock promised, the landing was easy and I taxiied down a very long runway 12 to the Alpha-7 (A7) turnoff.

Monday's lesson with Jason was short because he didn't want to miss a free barbecue Hillsboro Aviation was throwing at noon. The high point was a simulated engine failure abeam the numbers. I had to apply power to keep from landing on the chevrons.

Tuesday was my last chance to polish things up for the next day's checkride. I was particularly interested in refining the skills that would be needed for successful forced landings in the event I ever had to do one for real. So it was time for one last Kooter lesson before the checkride.

Tuesday's weather forecast included the code symbol VCTS. This means thunderstorms will be nearby. Even wimpy Willamette Valley thunderstorms are to be avoided. A brief encounter with hail can cost thousands of dollars, and a lightning strike can fry everything electrical and even a few things that aren't. I listened to a distant radio station as I drove to the airport, and the static crashes did not cheer me. One crash was accompanied by a visible stroke of lightning a few miles west of the airport. It was raining cats and dogs. I waited in a hangar for the rain to ease up before preflighting Romeo.

The weather did not scrub this last pre checkride training flight. We avoided the worst of the showers and practiced three forced landings. I blew the first one because I decided to experiment with pulling the prop to see if that would improve the glide ratio (it didn't). The next one was better, approaching Van's Sunset Airport, a 3000 foot grass runway whose bright green color beckoned to me. The next time Kooter pulled the throttle he insisted I approach the North Plains glider port (shown here). After a successful approach, I flew a low pass over the runway to check out the aircraft parked there. (It wasn't until much later that I felt comfortable operating out of grass strips.)

Next we flew to Scappoose to practice spot landings. A spot landing is the successful conclusion of a forced landing. One practices spot landings by simulating power failure, then executing a landing touching down at a specified point on the runway. After a few iterations I was finally getting them calibrated even with the crosswind (remember that VCTS forecast?) that was blowing across the runway.

I had to abort the last landing because a tailwheel airplane ahead of me had nosed over on the runway. I did not see the accident happen, but I suspect the pilot had encountered a gust of wind that required him to "fix" the landing with a burst of power, causing him to land longer than usual. He might have wanted to make his accustomed midfield turnoff, and rode the brakes too hard. Excessive braking can tip a tailwheel airplane over on its nose. Nobody seemed to be hurt except for a major hit in the pocketbook. A noseover usually destroys the propeller, and the engine must be completely dismantled for a careful inspection. Five to twenty thousand dollars can change hands before the airplane is airworthy. (A few months later I learned that the airplane suffered a ground loop; it looked like a noseover because that's how it came to rest.)

Will the real stall speed please stand up?

While reviewing the Oral Exam guide I came across two interesting items of information. The first is the knowledge that altimeters lie when the air temperature at altitude does not match the standard profile and you are considerably higher than the reporting station. If it's cold, you are lower than the altimeter reads. This can be dangerous when flying in mountains. This factoid is discussed in textbooks but it didn't get much attention in class.

The second item is the variation in what the white arc means on the airspeed indicator depending on the vintage of the airplane. Airspeed indicators read Indicated AirSpeed (IAS). During slow flight, indicated airspeed is considerably less than Calibrated AirSpeed (CAS). CAS predicts when a plane will stall from flying too slowly. In older planes, the bottom of the white arc is the minimum controllable airspeed at full flaps in CAS, nevermind that the airspeed indicator reads IAS. In 2469R the bottom of the white arc is painted at 60 mph, but the plane doesn't stall until the needle points to 40 mph. In newer planes the bottom of the white arc is painted according to IAS. If a pilot sets his airspeed according to the bottom of the white arc on one vintage of airplane, he will be too fast or too slow for a proper landing when he flies a different vintage of plane. I have not seen a textbook that explains this little gotcha. Good luck finding somebody who understands this, or even knows about it!

I called a guru at the Cessna Pilots Association . He called a retired Cessna test pilot to answer the question. This resulted in an article on the subject in the April 1998 issue of Cessna Pilots Association Magazine.

Checkride

I showed up at Joe Bogart's office at 0900 with aircraft records, weather maps and printouts from a DUATS briefing, some old flight plans, Flight Guide, Seattle sectional, and my logbook.

Joe probed my aeronautical knowledge and found plenty of weak spots. The questions I had trouble with mostly related to certain types of air spaces I hadn't encountered in my training flights.

In addition to going over the "Private Oral Exam Guide", I had spent much of the last few days boning up on aviation meteorology. I don't recall Joe asking me any weather questions. Maybe Joe was impressed by the GTE DUATS weather map I'd brought with me (shown above). (The purple front was some sort of computer error.)

Neither did Joe ask me weight and balance questions. He seemed to know what I did and didn't know. He didn't waste time asking questions on subjects I was familiar with.

In retrospect I would surmise that Joe picked up quite a bit of information when he looked over my logbooks. My logbook told him where I'd flown and (to an extent) under what conditions. Joe asked many of his questions about areas I hadn't flown to yet.

After the oral test Joe gave me some advice about the fine points of mixture settings for high altitude takeoffs.

The flight portion began with an XC to Corvallis. We hadn't discussed where we would fly before this morning, so I didn't have a flight plan filled out with the day's winds aloft data. I used a flight plan I'd written for my first solo XC, subtracted 20 degrees from the OBS, and winged it. Remembering a previous fiasco, I made sure I read the correct number, and carefully monitored the path of my progress. The first checkpoint was UBG, the Newberg VOR station. I dialed up the Newberg VOR on the GPS so I could confirm I would pass by UBG at the correct lateral distance from my plotted course to Corvallis. (It would have been cheating to dial up Corvallis on the GPS.)

By the time we approached the city of Newberg Joe decided I wasn't going to get lost on the way to Corvallis. He had me divert to McMinnville. (This is normal procedure on a checkride.) I did a normal touch and go landing, a soft field touch and go, and then departed to the east, climbing to 3000 feet for maneuvers. Damm, I forgot to open the cowl flaps again.

After clearing turns I did steep turns; as usual the turn to the left sucked. Next on the menu were slow flight, an approach stall, and a departure stall. I was sloppy on one of the stalls.

After that Joe pulled the throttle on me, simulating engine failure. That went OK except I didn't like any of the nearby fields by the time I got down low. But I would have made the field I'd selected. Now that I was down to a lower altitude Joe had me do turns around a point. Joe didn't ask for turns about a rectangular course or S-turns, which exercise much the same skills. It's hard to do S-turns around here because all the straight roads have airport patterns or ILS approaches over them.

On with the foggles for simulated IFR, starting with recovery from unusual attitudes. The unusual attitudes were much less pronounced than the ones Jason had presented me with, but Joe was more thorough in trying to confuse me. This time I made a conscious effort not to follow the airplane's movements while my eyes were closed. As a result it took me a bit longer to determine the attitude once I opened my eyes.

While still "under the hood" I homed in on the Newberg VOR while climbing to 2000 feet.

Finally I flew back to Hillsboro for a short field landing. During the approach I strayed below the VASI glide path. I was adding power to correct it as Joe pointed out my error. I feared flying below glide path would bust the checkride but adding power just before he spoke apparently saved the day. In a checkride, making a mistake is not necessarily fatal; leaving it uncorrected is.

The tower had cleared me for a touch and go, and this time I did make the Alpha-6 turnoff without skidding. I started the "go" part when Joe said this was to be a full stop, so I executed my first aborted takeoff (such as it was) and turned off at Alpha-4. In all the excitement I forgot the post landing checklist but Joe didn't complain. After taxiing back to my parking spot I did go through the shutdown checklist, and that was that. There wasn't much I did in the checkride that was perfect, but I didn't do anything unsafe, and that was sufficient. After parking Romeo we returned to his office and Joe filled out the paperwork for my license. Joe wanted to know when I'd go for my instrument rating. (I plan to get my insutrment rating in time for the next monsoon season.)

I am now a real pilot, PP-ASEL/HP (Private Pilot, Aircraft Single Engine Land, High Performance). Funny, I don't feel any more like Bob Hoover than I did the day before, which wasn't much.

Many people have dramatic stories about their checkrides, just as many have had dramatic experiences on their early solo flights. I had neither. (Really, I'm not complaining...) Some recall pronounced nervousness or stress during their checkrides, or not being able to sleep the night before. In my case, I spent an hour or so more than usual getting to sleep. I wouldn't say that day's flying was my "personal best", but it was at least average. I felt no more stress or nervousness that I would have on a first date with a new girl. (Would you believe -- first date with a beautiful new girl?)

Afterwards everyone asked me what I planned to do next. (The correct answer is "start my IFR training". )

No, I had lunch.

From the comfort of Eddie's Restaurant I watched students bouncing and hopping down the runway as they learned how to land.

Been there. Done that.

Now I have a third degree of freedom.