rtfm
Gold Member
- Joined
- Mar 24, 2004
- Messages
- 531
- Location
- Brisbane, Australia
- Aircraft
- Robin R2120
- Total Flight Time
- 105
Hi,
I came across this a while back - written after my introductory flight in a Cessna 152, and I thought you might find it amusing...
Regards,
Duncan
==========================
I had got to the stage where I was regressing into my teens again - all I could think about was flying, engines, avionics, airshows, aerodynamics, aircraft makes and models and so on. There were two things to be done to either cure me of this obsessive - compulsive mind set or certify me forever:.. (1) Go for a flying lesson to see if I LIKED it, for chrissake, and (2) get a medical. Last Sunday I went for the lesson.
My longsuffering wife dutifully tagged along to the North Shore Aero Club, where I met James, my instructor. I paid my $75, got my earphones and off we walked, absolutely sure that everyone was watching, and that I looked like an idiot following James out to the Cessna 152. I had trouble co-ordinating my arms as I walked - rather like rookie soldiers when they first learn to march.
In fact, I was trying so hard to appear relaxed and nonchelant about everything, that James must have wondered why it was that he always got given the basket cases. I managed to open the door of the aircraft, but then tripped on something, and skinned my shin (smiling wildly through the pain, of course). Then came the walk around to check that the wings were both there and so on. Quite daunting. I counted two of them, told James, and waited for further instructions. So he got me to check the colour, smell and purity of the fuel. It was supposed to look blue and be free of pollutants. It looked perfectly transparent to me, and the gauge which held the fuel was so ancient, I couldn’t have seen pollutants if I’d known what they were supposed to look like in the first place. While I was doing this, James was counting the tyres or something. I was asked to remove the chocks. I did so, with my best impersonation of a “Battle of Britain” accent as I called out “Chocks away!” (rather weakly, it turned out), because James looked up and said, “Sorry, what’s that?”. I didn’t repeat it at the other wheel.
Eventually, James was satisfied, and we climbed into the cockpit. I was on the left. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad, but decided not to ask, just in case. I’m sure it wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t un-tangle the headphone cord. I began to break out in a cold sweat, because James had untangled his, and already plugged both jacks into the roof. He smiled absently, and lent a hand. Well, a few fingers at any rate, and it was loose. I had some difficulty fitting the big jack into the smaller of the two holes, but figured that one out on my own.
Then came more checking. I panicked when James asked me to flick the master switch on, because it seemed to be already on. Oh no. The battery is now flat, and we’re going to crash. My catatonia of confusion must have alerted James, because he quietly informed me that in aircraft, down means off. Whew. Armed with this new information, I proudly flicked the main switch to the ON position. Ta-daa! Nothing happened. Well, nothing that I could see anyway. I began to entertain doubts about it being flat after all. But there was more to come. More switches. I had to lower the flaps to “position 3”. That seemed easy enough, and I managed it without incident. There were so many switches. The first something and the second something. Both were working James said. Good.
Then James pointed out the safety features of the plane, including the ancient axe stapped to the floor in front of his co-pilot’s seat. In case we had to hack our way out of the aircraft, he said. After the battery goes dead on us at 30 thousand feet. Or something.
Before I knew it, we were taxiing out to the end of the runway. James was in control, and I didn’t know where to rest my hands. In my lap seemed silly. On the controls seemed downright dangerous, given that I hadn’t a clue what to do. So I sat there, trying to appear casually relaxed, and attempted to adjust my mic and to test it with some small talk, which sounded far too brash in my ears, so I shut up quickly.
James said something to the control tower, and then spoke to me. “Ease the power to full.” I did. And the bloody plane took off down the runway with me holding on to the yoke like a possum caught in the oncoming headlights of a car... “Now pull back on the stick. More...” I pulled, and waited for disaster to strike. Or the bloody battery to go flat. Wondering how long I’d have to grab the axe before we both plunged to our deaths. And then we were in the air. Just like that. I glanced at James. His hands weren’t on the controls - which meant that I was doing it. I couldn’t believe it. Who needed a bloody battery? Not me...
The very first thing I noticed was that nothing I had read had prepared me for the fact that light aircraft don’t fly in straight lines. They fly like bluebottle flies on a lazy summer’s day on the back porch. They dart about, left, up, right, left, down. They never stop. The best they seem able to do is to ‘average’ a path through the air. That took a bit of getting used to, I can tell you. But James just said, now turn left a bit, and head for the Sky Tower. What was that...? Head for the Sky Tower? That instruction worried me, I can tell you. There it was, tall and ominous. But soon after, he told me to turn left again, and head out over the Hauraki Gulf a bit. I have to admit, I was pretty relieved that aircraft-types talk in left-and-right, not that bloody confusing port-and-starboard nonsense. Just as well, because the Sky Tower was the other way.
We were climbing steadily, and so far the battery hadn’t gone flat, and I was happy enough. A panicky glance down at the altimeter seemed to indicate that the altitude was changing, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember if the long hand had to go clockwise or anti-clockwise to indicate a climb. Yes, I know that reading this in the comfort and safety of your chair in front of your computer you’re saying, “Jeesh - what a git!”, but the instrument simply didn’t make sense to me at that moment. Not a damned bit of sense. At least I had missed the Sky Tower and was headed steadily into the Stratosphere...
The next thing I noticed was that I was smiling. I could feel my face crumpling into a fixed grin as I felt the aircraft responding to the little adjustments I was making. It was magic. Once over the gulf, I looked down, and there was Orewa beach. I could see puffs of breeze spreading out over the bay, and for the first time understood what it was those guys up in the masts of racing yachts were looking for.
James got me to bank and turn a bit, and commented that the queezy feeling in the stomach was normal, and that I’d get used to it. But I didn’t feel any queezyness. I felt vertigo. Every time the plane turned, I got dizzy. I would have mentioned it, but I didn’t want James to think I was a wimp. But it was quite nice, actually, and soon it didn’t seem to happen quite as noticeably.
All too soon, James said that we had to return to the airfield. Could I see it? he asked. Not a chance. It’s over there. Nope... See those little yellow buildings? No... And that was another lesson I learned. You better make damned sure you have a good idea of exactly where you are, because there is NO WAY you can recognize a bloody thing from up there.
Then we did a “wing over” which was huge fun, especially when I glanced the ground *above* my head out of the corner of my eye. Bugger the battery going flat - I had bigger worries at the moment. But James was great. “Pull her back... now straighter her up...” And there it all was again - flat and level and ordinary. I’ve GOT to do that again.
Coming in to land was a bit of a nail-biter, however, because the damned runway kept scooting off to one side as we came in for the final approach. Every time I corrected our approach to put us on the runway, the Cessna would over-correct (I say the Cessna, because it couldn’t have been any heavy-handedness on my part - not after that perfect wing-over...) But as usual, James was quietly working away in the co-pilot’s seat, and by some miracle the runway stayed where it was supposed to, and with a little squeek, the wheels touched down, and it was all over.
“Are you thinking of carrying on and taking lessons?” James asked, a little apprehensively. “Yes” came my reply. I’m not sure, but I think his left eye started a nervous twitch when I said that, but I could have been mistaken.
I came across this a while back - written after my introductory flight in a Cessna 152, and I thought you might find it amusing...
Regards,
Duncan
==========================
I had got to the stage where I was regressing into my teens again - all I could think about was flying, engines, avionics, airshows, aerodynamics, aircraft makes and models and so on. There were two things to be done to either cure me of this obsessive - compulsive mind set or certify me forever:.. (1) Go for a flying lesson to see if I LIKED it, for chrissake, and (2) get a medical. Last Sunday I went for the lesson.
My longsuffering wife dutifully tagged along to the North Shore Aero Club, where I met James, my instructor. I paid my $75, got my earphones and off we walked, absolutely sure that everyone was watching, and that I looked like an idiot following James out to the Cessna 152. I had trouble co-ordinating my arms as I walked - rather like rookie soldiers when they first learn to march.
In fact, I was trying so hard to appear relaxed and nonchelant about everything, that James must have wondered why it was that he always got given the basket cases. I managed to open the door of the aircraft, but then tripped on something, and skinned my shin (smiling wildly through the pain, of course). Then came the walk around to check that the wings were both there and so on. Quite daunting. I counted two of them, told James, and waited for further instructions. So he got me to check the colour, smell and purity of the fuel. It was supposed to look blue and be free of pollutants. It looked perfectly transparent to me, and the gauge which held the fuel was so ancient, I couldn’t have seen pollutants if I’d known what they were supposed to look like in the first place. While I was doing this, James was counting the tyres or something. I was asked to remove the chocks. I did so, with my best impersonation of a “Battle of Britain” accent as I called out “Chocks away!” (rather weakly, it turned out), because James looked up and said, “Sorry, what’s that?”. I didn’t repeat it at the other wheel.
Eventually, James was satisfied, and we climbed into the cockpit. I was on the left. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad, but decided not to ask, just in case. I’m sure it wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t un-tangle the headphone cord. I began to break out in a cold sweat, because James had untangled his, and already plugged both jacks into the roof. He smiled absently, and lent a hand. Well, a few fingers at any rate, and it was loose. I had some difficulty fitting the big jack into the smaller of the two holes, but figured that one out on my own.
Then came more checking. I panicked when James asked me to flick the master switch on, because it seemed to be already on. Oh no. The battery is now flat, and we’re going to crash. My catatonia of confusion must have alerted James, because he quietly informed me that in aircraft, down means off. Whew. Armed with this new information, I proudly flicked the main switch to the ON position. Ta-daa! Nothing happened. Well, nothing that I could see anyway. I began to entertain doubts about it being flat after all. But there was more to come. More switches. I had to lower the flaps to “position 3”. That seemed easy enough, and I managed it without incident. There were so many switches. The first something and the second something. Both were working James said. Good.
Then James pointed out the safety features of the plane, including the ancient axe stapped to the floor in front of his co-pilot’s seat. In case we had to hack our way out of the aircraft, he said. After the battery goes dead on us at 30 thousand feet. Or something.
Before I knew it, we were taxiing out to the end of the runway. James was in control, and I didn’t know where to rest my hands. In my lap seemed silly. On the controls seemed downright dangerous, given that I hadn’t a clue what to do. So I sat there, trying to appear casually relaxed, and attempted to adjust my mic and to test it with some small talk, which sounded far too brash in my ears, so I shut up quickly.
James said something to the control tower, and then spoke to me. “Ease the power to full.” I did. And the bloody plane took off down the runway with me holding on to the yoke like a possum caught in the oncoming headlights of a car... “Now pull back on the stick. More...” I pulled, and waited for disaster to strike. Or the bloody battery to go flat. Wondering how long I’d have to grab the axe before we both plunged to our deaths. And then we were in the air. Just like that. I glanced at James. His hands weren’t on the controls - which meant that I was doing it. I couldn’t believe it. Who needed a bloody battery? Not me...
The very first thing I noticed was that nothing I had read had prepared me for the fact that light aircraft don’t fly in straight lines. They fly like bluebottle flies on a lazy summer’s day on the back porch. They dart about, left, up, right, left, down. They never stop. The best they seem able to do is to ‘average’ a path through the air. That took a bit of getting used to, I can tell you. But James just said, now turn left a bit, and head for the Sky Tower. What was that...? Head for the Sky Tower? That instruction worried me, I can tell you. There it was, tall and ominous. But soon after, he told me to turn left again, and head out over the Hauraki Gulf a bit. I have to admit, I was pretty relieved that aircraft-types talk in left-and-right, not that bloody confusing port-and-starboard nonsense. Just as well, because the Sky Tower was the other way.
We were climbing steadily, and so far the battery hadn’t gone flat, and I was happy enough. A panicky glance down at the altimeter seemed to indicate that the altitude was changing, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember if the long hand had to go clockwise or anti-clockwise to indicate a climb. Yes, I know that reading this in the comfort and safety of your chair in front of your computer you’re saying, “Jeesh - what a git!”, but the instrument simply didn’t make sense to me at that moment. Not a damned bit of sense. At least I had missed the Sky Tower and was headed steadily into the Stratosphere...
The next thing I noticed was that I was smiling. I could feel my face crumpling into a fixed grin as I felt the aircraft responding to the little adjustments I was making. It was magic. Once over the gulf, I looked down, and there was Orewa beach. I could see puffs of breeze spreading out over the bay, and for the first time understood what it was those guys up in the masts of racing yachts were looking for.
James got me to bank and turn a bit, and commented that the queezy feeling in the stomach was normal, and that I’d get used to it. But I didn’t feel any queezyness. I felt vertigo. Every time the plane turned, I got dizzy. I would have mentioned it, but I didn’t want James to think I was a wimp. But it was quite nice, actually, and soon it didn’t seem to happen quite as noticeably.
All too soon, James said that we had to return to the airfield. Could I see it? he asked. Not a chance. It’s over there. Nope... See those little yellow buildings? No... And that was another lesson I learned. You better make damned sure you have a good idea of exactly where you are, because there is NO WAY you can recognize a bloody thing from up there.
Then we did a “wing over” which was huge fun, especially when I glanced the ground *above* my head out of the corner of my eye. Bugger the battery going flat - I had bigger worries at the moment. But James was great. “Pull her back... now straighter her up...” And there it all was again - flat and level and ordinary. I’ve GOT to do that again.
Coming in to land was a bit of a nail-biter, however, because the damned runway kept scooting off to one side as we came in for the final approach. Every time I corrected our approach to put us on the runway, the Cessna would over-correct (I say the Cessna, because it couldn’t have been any heavy-handedness on my part - not after that perfect wing-over...) But as usual, James was quietly working away in the co-pilot’s seat, and by some miracle the runway stayed where it was supposed to, and with a little squeek, the wheels touched down, and it was all over.
“Are you thinking of carrying on and taking lessons?” James asked, a little apprehensively. “Yes” came my reply. I’m not sure, but I think his left eye started a nervous twitch when I said that, but I could have been mistaken.
