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.