Jan Solo!

Maintain VFR at or below two-thousand, roger.

In the days before radios and intercoms were standard equipment on aircraft, the instructor (sitting behind the student) would tug on his shirttail to get his attention, then yell in his ear what he needed to communicate. It became tradition to cut the student's shirttail off and hang it up at the club after the student's first solo, symbolizing the instructor's confidence in the student (no need to get their attention and yell in their ear anymore).

While the tradition seems to have died off, at least in my flying club, the excitement and import of my first solo was not diminished by the intactness of my shirt. 

I am no longer an aspiring pilot. I am now a "pilot". Well, a "student pilot", if you want to get all technical, but I am now entrusted and permitted to fly an airplane by myself. Within certain limitations, of course. But still, I can now take the ship out and be completely responsible for flying it safely.

Typically, prospective solo students must be checked out by another CFI before that student can be signed off to solo the club's aircraft. Fiona duly made the arrangements two weeks out, but due to an acute instructor shortage (job opportunity!) and crummy weather, I was only able to complete the oral exam portion of the examination. After the second attempt at the flying portion of the test was scrubbed due to high winds, I was convinced that I wouldn't have an opportunity to solo before I had to leave for the Pacific Crest Trail.

I was in bed (at four o'clock in the afternoon, depressed) when the text from Fiona came through -- she had put in a good word with the club owner and he'd agreed to let me solo without the phase check. How's that for confidence? Now if only the weather would cooperate.

The First Solo
After weeks of brutal crosswinds, gusts, turbulence, low overcast, and all manner of lousy weather, Wednesday, April 22nd was nearly windless: perfect for a first solo. Fiona and I went around the pattern a couple of times to get in the groove, and then she had me taxi back to the tiedown, got out, and said "Have fun!".  This was it. I was on my own.

The very first thing I did when I had the airplane to myself was over-lean the engine and kill it.

I restarted and completed the rest of the taxi and runup, and suddenly found myself accelerating down the runway, and then airborne.

I couldn't stop smiling. The airplane seemed to leap into the sky. I had climbed a thousand feet before I had barely finished the crosswind leg. Ok, time to focus. Head in the game. Talk through it. Carb heat, throttle, pitch, flaps, pitch, throttle, flaps, cleared option, base turn, pitch, final approach, alllmost down...almosst.....the airplane just kept floating down the runway about five hundred feet farther than I was used to. All that right-seat ballast really does make a difference! Finally it settled onto the runway, and I was officially a solo pilot!

When Neil Armstrong landed the Eagle on the Lunar surface, after a journey of a half a million miles, with the eyes of the world on him, do you know what his first words were?

Celebration? Backslapping? "Woohoo"?

Negative. He said "Ok, let's get on with it..." And proceeded to run the after landing checklist with Buzz Aldrin. That's pure pilot. 

It was with that example in mind upon my first solo touchdown that I kept my mind on flying the airplane - flaps, carb heat, trim, fuel, throttle, let's go.

I went around the pattern a couple of times to get the yips out, and decided at that point that I'd had enough excitement for one day.

Fiona was all smiles when she greeted me. It sure felt good to mark that first .5 hours of "Pilot in Command" time in my logbook. Half an hour down, 249.5 to go until I'll be the one sending new pilots off with a "Have Fun!". I can't wait to log them.

 

 

The Tenor Contemplates His First Solo

According to my logbook, as of this morning I have completed one hundred and four landings and received 28.5 hours of dual instruction.  It is right around this time in a student's career that their instructor must take a deep breath and let them leap from the nest, unassisted.

I'm told that your first solo is when you realize what this flying thing is really all about. I'm nervous, of course, but confident in my ability and thrilled to be at this first milestone. Flying an airplane alone makes you the PIC (Pilot in Command). Previously, if anything went sideways, I could hand over the airplane to Fiona, and she could could ably save my bacon. When I'm up there alone, it's all up to me to make the mistakes and recover correctly before they kill me. I can't wait.

I've learned a lot up to this point -- crammed quite a bit of knowledge and skills into my (abnormally small) head in a short amount of time, but nothing teaches a lesson like making dumb rookie mistakes and having to fix it yourself. I taught myself engine mechanics using exactly this method.

Of course, just as I've reached this important step in my flying career, Real Life™ conspires to put a hold on flying for four months while my wife and I hike the Pacific Crest Trail. You can follow along on our epic hiking adventure over at our PCT blog at www.asinglestepPCT.blogspot.com

Until then - straighten up and fly right.

What's Our Vector, Victor?

Learning the radios is probably the single most nerve-wracking skill a pilot needs to master.

Proper radio procedure is essentially another language. Yes, it sounds mostly like English - sometimes remarkably like English - but it is not regular English. Just like any other foreign language, there is a unique vocabulary, grammar, and a cadence that needs to be internalized before one can be proficient in speaking it.

There are just a few simple rules to follow that will have you sounding like a real pilot in no time. Follow these and you're most of the way there:

1. Thou shalt not utter the name any number above 9 (pronounced "niner"), for they are unclear and profane. Numbers higher than niner shall be pronounced by their individual digits. For example: thirteen is "one-three", 270 is "two seven zero", etc.
2. Thou shalt identify yourself after every transmission, JanDrees.
3. Thou shalt utilize the NATO Alphabet when spelling anything or saying any letter. Only November-Oscar-Oscar-Bravos use civilian letter pronunciations.
4. Thou shalt speak rapidly and with a marked vocal fry. You are a pilot and in a damned hurry, but you also need to sound cool and collected.

A Typical Conversation in Aviation Procedural English
Any flight departing a towered airport requires a call to Ground Control to let them know who and where you are, and what you want to do:
 
"Oakland Ground this is Cessna SevenFiveSevenJulietDelta, a Cessna onefivetwoslantUniform at Landmark West. We'd like to taxi to two-eight right for VFR to San Pablo Bay with Romeo."

Ground will come back with an acknowledgement and taxi directions. At Oakland, there's pretty much just one taxiway for GA aircraft, so it's easy:

"SevenfivesevenJulietDelta taxi two-eight right via Delta Charlie maintain VFR at or below two-thousand squawk zero three five six"

...to which you reply: "Taxi two-eight right via Delta Charlie squawk zero three five six, SevenJulietDelta".

Next, after preparing the airplane for blastoff, you switch your radio to the tower frequency and ask for permission to use the runway:

"SevenJulietDelta holding short of two-eight right ready for departure." Which gets reply:

"SevenJulietDelta winds three four zero at one-two, runway two-eight right cleared for takeoff, maintain VFR at or below two-thousand, follow the freeway north-west" to which you reply:

"Cleared for takeoff two-eight right, SevenJulietDelta."

Being thus properly blessed, you may now escape gravity's surly bonds.

You probably see the pattern here - identify and request, response with instructions, acknowledge by repeating the relevant parts of the instructions and identify. At the basic level this is how most exchanges go.

Why Not Just "Rrrrrroger"?
Instructions are read back to double-check that the pilot understands the instructions. Simply acknowledging ATC with a "roger" is not the same as verifying you heard it correctly. It may seem pedantic, but there's a very good reason for this.

Imagine a complex traffic situation, where the controller is attempting to wrangle five or six aircraft in the pattern at the same time.  Bonanza FiveSixSevenPapaOscar is a fantastically important pilot-guy in a big hurry, and he doesn't hesitate to let the controller know that he's not happy about being kept waiting. She gets fed up and tells him to "Continue holding short at two-eight left. I will TELL you when you are cleared for take off !" SevenPapaOscar, half his attention diverted by his girlfriend in the right seat, and the other half occupied with the letter that his wife's lawyer just sent him, doesn't hear the whole transmission - he hears only "blah blah cleared for take off". Playing the part of the fantastically important pilot-guy for his girlfriend, he responds "rrrrroger". The controller assumes pilot-guy has been sufficiently told-off and shifts her attention to the other aircraft to let PapaOscar cool his heels a bit longer.  PapaOscar, thinking he finally got his clearance, proceeds to attempt a takeoff directly into the path a Gulfstream on short final, resulting in a really neat explosion and a handsome insurance payout to his widow and her boyfriend.

This is more than just a scary story - the worst accidental air disaster in history happened in almost exactly this way.

_________________

To not end this post on a total downer, I will relate a story that happened recently to me a friend of mine. I My friend thought he was getting pretty good at this flying thing, having just completed twelve touch-and-goes in a busy pattern. After the last landing he clears the runway and calls ground "SevenJulietDelta is clear of runway two-eight right on Golf".

Those of you paying attention will notice that I left off the "where to" part of the transmission.

The controller replies "SevenJulietDelta, say parking." (meaning: "where are you parking so I can tell you how to get there."  "Uhh, Parking!" Fiona laughed all the way back to the tie-down.

Until next time, straighten up and fly right.

________________
If you want to listen to professionals speaking the aviation language at a busy airport, go here.  KOAK also has some streams; if you listen, you just might get to hear me making a fool of myself on the radios.

Why We Don't Have Flying Cars

Well, why don't we? Besides the engineering and regulatory difficulties involved with everyone being able to get in their cars and fly to Whole Foods (can you imagine that parking lot?), there is also a damned steep learning curve in learning how to safely operate within the laws of aerodynamics and keep the FAA happy.

The Superior Pilot
The truth is, nearly anyone can fly an airplane with a couple hours of practice. Tooling around in good weather is easy once you figure out what the controls do. It's so basic that even cheeky teenagers can figure it out on the go. But flying around in good weather is the equivalent of driving around an empty parking lot. Just as being a good driver requires much more than just knowing which pedal does what, the ability to perform basic maneuvers is only a starting point toward becoming a good pilot. The lion's share of piloting lays in knowledge, experience, and especially, good judgement.

My wife's dedication in my logbook sums it up nicely -- 

"The superior pilot uses his superior judgement to avoid situations that would require his superior skill."

Hitting the Books

That's just for starters.

I'm no stranger to self-motivated study. I earned a college degree (Dean's list every semester), I've taught myself the basics of foreign languages, the basics of calculus, orbital mechanics, engine mechanics, and amplifier design and repair. Learning to fly is by FAR the most involved and consistently challenging endeavor I've attempted. When I get my home after an intense lesson, I'm so overwhelmed with new information that I can barely keep my eyes open.

Weather, navigation, engine management, emergency procedures, FAA regulations, radio protocol, pre-flight, checklists, more regulations, more aeronautics, more radio protocol, checklists, keep your eyes on the attitude indicator dammit, head in the game, is it too cloudy to fly?, the runway is heading 280 and the wind is 230 at 15, is that too much of a crosswind component?  Acronyms. Mnemonics. What was that noise? ah, nothing. heading, dipshit. She said 340, not 345. Traffic at 10 o'clock level Piper Cherokee, looking....we have traffic no factor. Checklists. ok call NorCal approach, wait where are we? Who are we? What am I doing? This is not my beautiful house... More acronyms. More checklists. Head to Mormon temple then the coliseum for right downwind on 28R. Enter the pattern 1000' feet agl. Watch your airspeed, watch the mixture, watch that idiot who's bounced halfway down your runway and will probably need a go-around. 757JD you are number two for landing behind the Citation eight miles out on final, caution wake turbulence, I will call your base. Watch your speed and pitch. Sinking, add a bit more power. Did I run that checklist?  Oh well too late now. Landed and parked. Breathe.

Most people are so lousy at splitting their attention between driving a car and talking on a phone that laws have been passed to prevent it. Flying an airplane requires a pilot to split their attention between three or four things at a time. It's exhausting. Can you imagine if that idiot who cut you off on the freeway because they were too busy texting was instead attempting to fly 3,000 pounds of aluminum at 150mph, while texting? 

Do you still want your flying car?

Here's to You, Ms. Robinson

 "So, what kind of plane are you flying?" The truthful answer is: the cheapest one available, and the cheapest pony in Oakland Flyer's stable is the venerable Cessna 152: the Cadillac Isuzu Trooper of the skies.

Juliet Delta - my Jalopy

The Cessna 152 is a two-seat high-wing monoplane (under)powered by a 110 horsepower four-cylinder engine that burns leaded fuel. It's not fast or maneuverable, luxurious, comfortable, or even particularly looksome. It is, however, stable to a fault, forgiving of youthful inexperience, and very predictable. In other words, it is the perfect airplane for beginning pilots, and most pilots first learned to fly in one of these or its slightly bigger sister the Cessna 172 Skyhawk.

These aircraft were built between 1977 and 1985, which means that the newest possible example you can find was built before the internet. My particular airplane was built in 1977 - the same year as the advent of punk rock, the same year as my Vespa, and three years before me. Her name is N757JulietDelta, which I think is a wonderful name, since we share initials. I affectionately call her "The Jalopy".

Even for how simple she is compared to nearly any other airplane, there is still a dizzying array of things to pay attention to.

Firstly, she's got dual controls, so if I screw up real bad Fiona can take over from the right hand seat. I don't think there would be a such thing as flight instructors without dual controls in airplanes. They'd all be dead as doornails. There wouldn't be all that many pilots, either.

Bells and Whistles

All of the usual "sixpack" of aeronautical gauges are there on the left: Airspeed Indicator (speedometer), Attitude Indicator (for checking your bad attitude), Altimeter (to see how high you are), Turn Coordinator (helps you straighten up and fly right), Direction Indicator (easier-to-read-than-the-compass thingie), and Vertical Speed Indicator (if the needle is low, houses get bigger, if the needle is high, houses get smaller). RPM gauge is over on the right. The red knob is mixture (something your car takes care of automatically thirty times a second), and the black one is the throttle (gas pedal). The fuel gauges are only accurate at indicating "empty", so make sure you top off before flying. The button on the top left of the control yoke fires the machine guns or operates the radio, I forget which.

Most importantly, there's a sticker warning us that acrobatics are not to be performed in this aircraft. Even though that seems a given, it is illegal for us to fly without that any of the other stic...er...FAA mandated placards stuck haphazardly with scotch tape permanently affixed in clearly visible locations. 

Rode hard and put away wet

So here's to you, Ms. Robinson. I know that even with all your cosmetic issues, funny noises, and idiosyncrasies; long after I've moved on to younger, faster, and sleeker models, I will always remember your patience in teaching me how to fly with finesse and skill, and I will always look back fondly on all the hours I've spent inside you.

Of course, you'll be on to some younger and better looking student pilot the minute I walk out the door, but that's the way it should be. Until next time - straighten up and fly right.

Mrs. Robinson was a knockout, though.

Discovering New Ways to Spend Copious Amounts of Money

Before I had even taken my first lesson, I was already in it for $680. "Welcome to aviation!" said the club owner as he handed me my receipt and credit card. I barely heard him, as my head was already buzzing with adrenaline, excitement, and self doubt about the journey on which I had just embarked.

I dove into the textbooks with a ferocity fed on a potent mix of equal parts leg-shaking excitement and heart-sinking dread of doing something stupid and somehow ruining this dream. Much of what I was reading was familiar from years of model airplanes, flight simulators, talking to pilots and having an aeronautical engineer for a dad. My first lesson was scheduled for a week thence, and the hours of studying were a useful way to bridle my anticipation of soaring at over 2,000 feet(!), and peeling the paint off the cowling at over 90(!) knots.

The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship
I was like a kid on Christmas Eve the night before my first lesson. Sleep was more or less out of the question, which was fine since I would be functioning purely on adrenaline and caffeine anyhow and a rested mind would have been overkill. Looking at the sky, I saw some low clouds (uh oh), and the flags standing taught at their stays (double uh-oh). I kept a positive outlook (maybe the wind will die! Those clouds have got to lift as it warms up!), but my erstwhile instructor had already decided to scrub the flight before I got to the club. It was simply too windy to fly comfortably or safely, so as much as we WANTED to go, it just wasn't a smart decision. This was my first good lesson in ADM - Aeronautical Decision Making. "It's always better to be down here and wishing you were up there, than to be up there wishing you were down here."

What's worse than getting winded out was when we looked at my instructor's calendar. He was absolutely slammed, with very few openings for me to get any flying in for at least six weeks! This did not jibe with my plans at all, and I let him know. I didn't want to fire him before we'd even started, but I came to learn to fly, like, yesterday. 

With a sigh, he said "I hate to lose such a motivated student, but I don't want to frustrate you. However, it looks like Fiona has weekdays and some weekends available right now. Fiona, do you have time for another student?"

Fiona looked up from the reception desk she had been flying all morning and said, "Yes, I believe I do."

Sierra Hotel with Ice Water for Blood
A lot is made of Naval Aviators landing on aircraft carriers in the dead of night in foul weather. Much ballyhooing is made of steely-eyed airmen flying unflinchingly through flak so thick you can walk on it. Neither of these breeds nearly embody "pilot" to me more than a CFI.

It takes a certain personality to get into an underpowered, thirty-year-old airplane with a person of absolutely no experience or flying skill, and allow them to attempt to kill you every five minutes by doing something completely idiotic, all the while only offering helpful pointers in a calm manner and showing no outward signs of panic.

God help me I'd like to be that cool some day.

Logging Hours
The life of a pilot is measured in hours. To land any kind of a paying gig requires logged hours, which requires time in an airplane, which costs money.  Flying is not like some civilian job where you can aggrandize your skills and experience a little and make up for it with hard work and quick thinking later. People hiring pilots don't take your claim that "ya sure I can fly that thing" as assurance that you are actually qualified to pilot their G650. They want to see your logbook, and there is no lying on that. I haven't looked up what the penalty for falsifying log entries is but I imagine it's at least comparable to tearing the tags off of mattresses or illegally duplicating VHS tapes.

 Your first forty hours qualify you for your private pilot license. This is a minimum figure and most people require 50+ to gain the confidence and skill to pass the check ride. Next, you need another fifty or so hours for your instrument rating. High performance and complex aircraft are more hours, then multi-engined, jets, commercial, CFI, CFII, MEII, ATP, and a whole alphabet soup of other ratings. All of this costs gobs of Real Money™. To become an ATP (airline transport pilot), for example, requires at least 1,500 hours as PIC (pilot in command). Obviously I'm not going to be able to afford 1,500 hours in rental multi-engine airplanes, so I'll probably end up flying rubber dogshit out of Hong Kong to pay the bills and make the hours. At least I'll be flying.

For now that is all the distant unknowable future; at the present I'm just trying not to scare Fiona too badly, and endeavoring to soak up as much of her flying skill and knowledge as I can. She's already letting me perform what may generously be called "landings", so I suppose there is some level of confidence there, which gives me the encouragement to keep on keeping on.

Until next time -- straighten up and fly right.