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Prologue
Today (July 10, 2001), I got home about 5pm and did my personal checklist. Left leg—check, right leg—check, left hand—check, right hand—check, eyes—looks ok, brain—still missing. Yes, I had not lost anything. Nothing was amiss, not a scratch anywhere. But I realized, I had cut the cord. The cord, that had me bound to the other woman in my life. Prior to coming home, I had gone over to Chandler Municipal
Airport (CHD) to spend an hour practicing takeoffs and landings. I was
assigned to fly a white Piper Warrior, tail number N80565. After the
elaborate preflight inspection (of the airplane) and the power-on testing
(called “run-up”) I had taxied to edge of the active runway and called the
control tower for takeoff. “Warrior 80565, cleared for takeoff on runway 22
right, for closed right traffic”, was the response. So
I pushed the throttle up and buzzed along for the takeoff roll. I was cleared
for the “right traffic” pattern. This means I would climb at a steady pace
along the runway heading, till I was about 400 feet off the ground and then
make a quick, 90° right hand turn. After I
was flying perpendicular to the runway (known as the crosswind leg) for about
3 seconds, I would make another 90° right turn. This would of
course, put me going back, parallel to the runway (called the downwind leg).
Maintaining my climb, I would be at the edge of the runway when I reached
about 1000 feet off the ground. At this point, I would level off, reduce
power, wait about 10 seconds, to fly along the length of the runway and then
start descending. One more 90° right turn, I am flying
“base”, and then another right turn and I am on “final”, flying to the
landing point on the runway. On final, I would perform one of the trickiest
maneuvers known to humans—landing a plane. As soon as I touched the ground, I
would gun the engines and go off again. After about five touch-and-go-s, my instructor,
Susie, told me to drop her of at the control tower. She climbed up the tower,
to watch, and left me with instructions to go and try it by myself, three
times. This was the dreaded moment. This must be the real origin of
the phrase “going solo”. Total Control
The plane felt empty and light. The controls moved
smoother, the cockpit was quiet. I spoke to the ground controller and he gave
me the clearance to taxi to the closer active runway (22 right). The weather
was clear, sunny, humid, and about 97°F and the plane was a
furnace. As I stopped on the “hold short” line, I noticed a plane approaching
for a landing. My glasses were splotched with sweat, so I took them off to
clean. The inbound plane touched down, and I radioed the tower “Chandler
Tower, this is 80565, holding short of runway 22 right, for touch and go-s,
need right traffic, this is my first solo”. The response was tinged with a
smile. “Roger, please switch to Chandler Tower at 126.1” I had forgotten to
change the frequency on the radio, and was talking to ground control. Feeling embarrassed I flipped the radio and called
tower. Tower cleared me to “taxi into position and hold”. So I moved on to
the runway, pointed the plane in takeoff position and noticed the just landed
plane was still waddling in front of me. As the plane turned off the runway,
the tower called, “Warrior 80565, cleared for takeoff, make right traffic”,
said the voice. Oh my, thank you, I thought, I had forgot to request right
traffic. (They could have assigned me left traffic, which is a significantly
more complicated pattern from the right runway). Full power, follow the centerline, and the plane
accelerated as fast as the fan mounted on its nose could pull it through. I
watch the needle climb to 60 knots, nose up, 70 knots pull harder and the
plane lifts off. We are in a steep climb, I lower the nose and the plane
speeds up to 80 knots for the “best rate” climb. Then I turn crosswind, and
downwind holding the speed steady. At 1000 ft, I power back, go through the
landing checklist, fly abreast of the landing end of the runway and power
down again, and began descending. I hear a voice, “Warrior 80565, cleared to
land on 22 right, you are number 2 following a Cessna on short final”. I
looked over my right wing to see another flying object whizzing past, down
below. “565, clear to land, 22 right, traffic in sight”, I respond. I am soon on final; I am slightly slow and a bit
low. A female voice speaks to me, “Add power if you need to”. Of course, I
need to—so I give it some gas. I look over to the next seat. It was empty.
The voice was in my head. She may be gone, but her voice will dog me forever. I speed up, align and soon I am on top of the
runway about 15 feet up. I stop my descent, level out, and note I am off to
one side. Too late to correct, I realize, but not too bad, hold it up, power
cut off, let the speed drop, the plane sinks, I pull harder and with a thud,
we are on the ground. I disengage the flaps, steer to the center and then
power up. Within three seconds or four, we are airborne again, and I have
done my first solo landing. Epilogue
Back again, on my second final approach, a bit too
high. I turn off the power, full flaps, and aim straight at the tarmac. I
come down steep, but the speed is fine. Just before hitting the ground I pull
up to stop my descent. I pull too hard and the plane lifts off. Now I am
flying level, way above the runway. I bring it down slightly, careful not to
slam it down. It sinks, I pull up, and it flies up again, slowing down as it
rises. I need power, or it will stall and fall. Add some gas, fly level a
bit, and then cut the power. Slowly the plane settles down and I am on the
ground, and have lost a lot of valuable runway length. Flaps out, power up,
yes, we can make it, pull the nose up, and off we go. Third landing was picture perfect—well almost.
Glide slope looks great, speed is right (70 knots), the alignment is perfect,
and this one will be a breeze. Not. At about the moment of touching, one wing floats
up, and one wheel touches and the plane swerves to the left. I correct, and
it overcorrects. I am on the ground, going 70 knots, and crossing the runway
sideways to the right. I swerve again and this time I get back control, in
the nick of time. Let the plane settle and apply brakes. Words cannot explain
how close this call was. “Done.” Pick up the even more relieved Susie at the
control tower. She was doing her best to be completely ecstatic. “You
solo-ed, you did a great job!” That was very sweet, but not quite honest. Next is a long arduous task of really learning to
do a lot of things right. Maybe someday, I can go to Chandler Airport, pick
up the keys and head over to lovely Sedona for a quick lunch. Nah, the
Mexican food is so good in Puerto Penasco, on the lovely blue Sea of Cortez
(yeah, “south of the border”) |
