Winds Gusting to WHAT?
So What Does THIS Button Do?
Instructors Carry Airsick Bags At All Times
How to Imitate a Pilot in One Easy Lesson or Advanced Line Man Intimidation
It Really DOES Look Like Toilet Paper Tubes
The forecast was calling for variable cloudiness with a stiff breeze. I was not yet aware of what that meant. In fact, I was not aware of what a lot of things meant. As a student, this was indeed the most important job I had; the job of being totally unaware. This was the day of my first flight lesson.
So what would a 35 year old mother be doing wanting to learn how to fly? I won't bore you with the "ever since I was a little girl" story you've heard 100 times before. I really had wanted to learn how to fly since I could remember, but it had always been a question of not enough time, not enough money, or both. Not to mention a bit of insecurity about whether or not I could actually DO it. Like many of us born in the sixties, I was forbidden from taking classes like "small engines" or "auto mechanics." Of course, this didn't stop me from trying. Unfortunately, Manchester, NH was not the right place, and the early 70's were not the right time. Consequently, my mechanical abilities were limited to occasionally checking the oil in my car, and changing a few light bulbs now and then.
That day I was hiding my internal conflicts quite well. On that cold, windy day, I had driven from my house in Northern Virginia, around the Washington Beltway, towards Montgomery County Airpark, wondering what the hell I was doing. To be honest, I have to blame Reece for a large part of this. Reece was always talking about flying. I had known Reece for many years, through mutual friends in various places, but only as the person across the room telling interesting stories. Each time I'd run into him, he was "holding court" telling stories about the airplanes he flew, and the fun that he had. Silly me for showing interest. I must have shown enough interest to trigger Reece to invite me on a classic trip for $50.00 chicken wings on a beautifully still night when you could see for about 100 miles. I was totally seduced by the "calm side of the air."
Once flying, I forgot about the freezing cold and biting wind at the airplane tie downs while waiting for Reece to pre-flight the airplane. I learned later how essential pre-flighting is to safe operation of an aircraft. At the time, however, I just thought Reece was wasting time. After all, the wings were both on, it had a tail and a propeller, and the door opened and closed. Best of all, there was heat inside. This didn't seem to be much of an issue to Reece, as he went about his single minded task. He seemed to be inspecting every rivet, wiggling bits of the airplane up and down, and doing some strange secret ritual with some fuel he'd drained out of the tanks. The thought had crossed my mind that we might need that liquid he was throwing on the ground. He mumbled something about the wind always being colder at an airport, and we at long last climbed into the airplane, where a similar scene was repeated. Only the promise of dinner and the realization that my life was literally in his hands, kept me from making snide comments or whining about the amount of time it was taking.
During this wonderful flight, Reece had plenty of time to show me some of the hows and whys of flying an airplane. The still, clear air made everything look easy. Gee, if he could do it, why couldn't I? Of course, fear of suddenly being asked to leave the aircraft kept me from mentioning how simple it looked. We had flown up to Redding, Pennsylvania, to the "Wild Wings Cafe." The Cafe was an interesting little place with a bar on one end, and 40 or so tables scattered around. You could get wings there with all different kinds of sauces, from ranch and honey mustard, to "suicide" and "attempted suicide." I decided to have the wimpy ones in case of sudden abdominal eruption. Reece did the same, and we talked about this flying thing, and what "zulu " meant and why the heater was either way too hot or way too cold. Most of the subject matter was far beyond what I could understand, so I nodded a few times, and picked at the bones in the discard basket. The explanations all seemed so complicated for looked like a very simple action. Go fast, raise the nose, fly. At the other end, go slower, lower the nose, put the airplane on the ground. How difficult could that possibly be?
The way home was just as wonderful, with millions of stars, and different colored city lights, and huge black spots that I imagined might be huge lakes that suddenly appeared on the ground. There were a few airplanes out there talking to a central Air Traffic Controller, but there wasn't much activity on the radio. The flight home seemed to go far too quickly.
I had been watching and listening and thinking all the way home. Once safely on the ground (when he couldn't push me out), I told Reece that I was finally ready to learn how to fly. Although something in the back of my mind said that it really couldn't be as easy as it looked, I was hooked. After shaking his head sadly, Reece put me in touch with Paul Hamilton, his primary flight instructor. On first contact, Paul did not seem to be the sadist he eventually turned out to be (that's a bit of foreshadowing, since flight students often miss the subtleties of life). Paul seemed to be a normal human being on the telephone, as soon as he'd discerned that I was not trying to get him to switch long distance companies, or buy encyclopedias. We arranged for Paul to fly his airplane from its happy home at National Airport over to Montgomery for my first lesson that coming Saturday.
Reece, probably because he didn't believe I would actually go through with it, drove me up to the Gaithersburg Airport on the morning of the flight lesson. Lots of people in the area don't even know Montgomery County HAS an airport. Shady Grove Road, a major thoroughfare in the County, turns into Airpark Road at the major intersection closest to the airport. As you drive along Airpark Road, you'll suddenly see a parking lot on your right. Part of it was paved, but the inner part was almost a muddy pit. A few four wheel drive vehicles were parked in there closest to the fence. Beyond the fence were rows and rows of airplanes, noses pointed in alternating directions. All of the planes were tied down at the wings and tail. Some of them had little covers on them that covered the cockpit part of the plane. A few rows down, I recognized the airplane that Reece had flown me to Readding in, and then the realization finally hit. Reece wasn't going to be flying today. I was. Thank goodness the gulp wasn't audible.
Montgomery Airpark looked quite a bit different in the daylight than it had during the night flight with Reece. It was a rather cold, but sunny day, with fluffy clouds moving around the sky. It was a bit difficult to walk from the car to the door of the terminal building since the winds would seem to pick up, then die off. I also noticed that the flags were flapping in the breeze, as was a rather faded windsock sitting in a circle off the runway. The windsock itself looked like a red elephant's trunk, pointing at the one end of the runway. It would sag a bit, then stretch itself completely out a few seconds later. When Reece saw me looking at it, he told me that "yeah, it's a bit windy. But that's really normal for the wintertime." I wondered aloud if I should wait until summer then, trying somehow to maybe put this off a bit. I didn't expect that I would be quite so nervous.
Reece then informed me of the most important criteria for judging any airport: its restaurant. It was a significant bonus that Montgomery had one. This fact alone put it into the top eshalon of small local airports. PJ's Landing was a rather dark greasy spoon, reminiscent of New Jersey Diners. There was a peg board hanging on one wall by the door, with different coffee mugs, some with different names on them. All of the names were male. As we sat and had something to drink, I noticed a group of people sitting by the window, seemingly having a wonderful time joking about something to do with "the stupid student who did something stupid" and were loudly rating the few landings ocurring on the runway behind them. Reece greeted this bunch, and told me they were part of his flying club. When I was introduced as a new student, they looked at each other, looked at the wind sock, and sort of stared off in different directions. One of them then cleared his throat, and said that no student should be out today in this weather. This was most confusing to me, since it looked beautiful outside, and I had no idea what he was talking about. The confusion must have been easy to read, because Reece extracted us from the conversation and we went back to our table where our tea was waiting. Reece then explained to me that since the winds were gusting to 25 knots, many people decide not to fly. To me, 25 knots was what you used to pitch a tent at girl scout camp. Reece assured me that it was not too bad, however, and that Paul would never take someone out in unsafe conditions, especially not for a first lesson. I figured he must be right. After all, Paul was flying his own airplane from National to Montgomery (approximately a 20 minute flight) and if it was bad out there, he would certainly not want to take some green (or soon to be green. More foreshadowing, don't you know) student into the wild blue yonder.
As we sipped our tea, Reece turned on his hand held radio and was listening to what to me was incomprehensible jibberish puncutated with the occasional "Cessna on downwind! You cut me off! Don't you look where you're going?!?." Reece assured me that these types of communications were the norm for Montgomery Airpark. At some point, things seemed to become repetitious on the radio, and I asked Reece what "downwind, base and final" meant. Reece did a handy napkin drawing of a rectangular pattern, then said, "but Montgomery is backwards," turned the napkin over and drew the right hand traffic for runway 32. Having understood nothing but the fact that there was a runway there, and there was some sort of rectangle you use to get there, I decided I probably should just finish my tea and wait for Paul. It didn't take very long for a call from "six three zero niner victor" to perk up Reece, who announced that Paul was arriving. We went out to meet the plane.
When Paul had landed, taxied to the transient area and parked, Reece introduced us. Paul smiled and shook my hand, giving no impression whatsoever of how truly sadistic he could be (more of that foreshadowing stuff). Paul then introduced me to his Cessna 172RG, complete with more buttons and knobs and flashing lights and switches and placards and stuff than I had ever seen. I wondered why the inside of this airplane looked so much more difficult than the inside of the Piper Dakota we had flown to Redding that wonderful still night. I guessed that it was because things look just a little bit different from the left seat. Most pilots fly airplanes from the left seat. Although there are two sets of controls in most planes, the vast majority of the instruments are located on the left side. Sitting on the right, where I was in the airplane with Reece, it seemed that the only things I needed to look at was the yoke that steered the airplane in the air, and outside the window, where the horizon was. Fight instructors, being special creatures, sit in the right seat of the airplane so the student can learn how to be a pilot from the seat they will most likely be flying from in the future. Staring at all those instruments can certainly be a sobering experience. Paul gave me a quick explanation of what everything was and did (of course said explanation went over my head at warp speed), then pulled out a checklist that he told me was for preflighting the airplane to make sure that nothing strange happened to it between flying to Montgomery and now. The thought crossed my mind that if something bad could happen in twenty minutes of flying time, maybe I didn't want to leave the ground in this airplane. But then, I figured this must be part of the "learning experience". I toddled along behind Paul, watching carfully as he checked everything on his little list, and practiced nodding my head knowingly as my brain happily swam around in total confusion. Then he handed me this evil looking green headset that I knew would just mess my hair up horribly. I put the damn thing on, and felt that all I needed now was the special goggles and silk scarf, and I'd look just like Snoopy. Thankfully, it didn't seem too long before Paul said we were ready to start up and go fly.
Paul had been carefully coached at the CFI (Certified Flight Instructor) "School of Not Frightening New Students Too Badly" so he started the engine and taxied the plane out to the run up pad rather than having me attempt to start the engine then laughing hysterically while I flooded his airplane. Of course, he'd let me flood the flying club's airplane in the future, but of course, that would be for learning purposes only. We taxied up to the pad, with me blissfully clueless that the lack of dozens of airplanes in the pattern and stacked up waiting to take off could possibly have been an indication of anything strange. Since this was only the second time I'd been to Montgomery Airpark, I had no idea about the usual Saturday morning follies. Paul politiely turned the tail of the airplane away from oncoming traffic, and he showed me how to follow the checklist to do the run up. I never knew there were so many little buttons and dials and gauges and levers in such a teeny tiny airplane. Paul seemed happy that everything checked out, and the next thing I knew, after a quick call to non existant traffic, we started the take off roll.
Although I had been in small airplanes a number of times in my life, I was still a bit nervous about taking my first flying lesson. I'm the type of person who is afraid of rapid acceleration in cars, turning the corner too quickly causes my stomach to leap into my throat, and I get horribly sea sick if things aren't precisely correct. As the little blue and white airplane rolled down the runway, picking up speed, I felt my level of, lets call it tension, rise dramatically. I was actually about to leave the ground on my first flight lesson. It was a strange feeling indeed. This nervous feeling became a bit more pronounced when the wheels left the ground and we started to gain altitude. It not quite what I expected. We'd climb a bit, then stop climbing, then climb a bit more, then stop. Then Paul told me it was my turn to fly. Uh oh! My brain started one of those fragmented high-speed arguments with itself. You mean I actually have to fly this thing? Gee, what else would I expect from a FLYING LESSON? You mean I have to touch the airplane to learn how to FLY? What a concept! I imagined Bugs Bunny calling me an ultra moroon from the back seat of the airplane. I was afraid to touch the yoke. But I'd wanted to do this since I could remember. But we were 2000 feet above the ground. But I love flying, remember? Inch by inch, my fingers reached forward for the shiny black plastic yoke. I glanced over at Paul, who was trying very hard to hide the sadistic smirk on his face. Something inside warned me that if I actually touched that pretty U shaped steering wheel of sorts, my life would change forever. I would grow permanent circles around my ears. I would have grease and oil on my hands and under my nails. My hair would never be the same again. My banker would wonder whether someone stole my checkbook. I would say silly things like "niner" and "that's affirm". I inhaled. I exhaled. I inhaled again. I slowly reached out and touched the yoke. I was hooked.
Strangely enough, at about the same time I took the airplane from Paul, things up there got a bit bouncy. That little gauge that was at 2000 feet was not nice and steady like it had been before. This was truly confusing. I must have looked quite perplexed, because Paul told me that was only some "light chop". Light chop? Sounded like a diet Chinese restaurant or something. All I knew was that we were bouncing around, and somehow it had to be my fault. Paul pointed out a hill over to the left and said that was Sugarloaf Mountain, beloved landmark of all Montgomery flight students. He told me to head over there. I assumed that in order to "head over there" I would turn the yoke in the direction I wanted to go. Well, that seemed to work out ok, and we were indeed heading towards the mountain. Paul thought it would be a good idea to go around the back of the mountain, then follow the river out towards Harper's Ferry. That seemed like fun, except that near the mountain, things got bumpier than they had been before. I figured I must be doing something wrong, otherwise this wouldn't be quite so rocky. We skirted along the back of the mountain, altitude fluctuating with the bumps, and started following the river. It was an amazingly clear, cold January day, and the view from the airplane was magnificent, even though later I would realize that the plane had its wings in the wrong place, above the fuselage instead of below it. I tried to get a mental picture of how things were supposed to look, with the panel of the airplane on the horizon, keeping things level, or how things looked when you turned the airplane gently to the right or the left. Unfortunately, each time I would get a nice clear picture in my mind, the airplane would jar, and change things just a bit. The fleeting thought of Norman Rockwell on acid crossed my mind. I knew that trouble would soon follow.
Somewhere between Norman Rockwell and the river, Paul decided it'd be ever so much fun to practice a few climbs and descents. At about the same time, however, I noticed that my hands had become cold and clammy. My head started to swim. I began to sweat even though the airplane was cool. I felt a few waves of nausea. This had only happened once before, on a Bar Harbor flight from Manchester, NH to New York City where a pilot for American looked at me, and looked at the airplane we'd arrived on and told me that I was a braver soul than he. I did a few of these climb and descent things, but it soon became a bit more than I could handle. I really didn't want to embarass myself in front of someone I didn't know, but I felt that if I didn't say something, I'd embarass myself even more if I had a bit of a problem inside the airplane. I gave Paul the "pity me" look, and uttered the words that strike fear into every Pilot in Command: "I don't feel too good". I hadn't known Paul for too long by this time (about 45 minutes actually) but I could swear that he moved at twice the speed I had previously seen, grabbing an air sick bag and dumping it in my lap "just in case." Then he pointed to a bare spot to our left and calmly said "see that airport? Head over there." Airport? What airport? I took his word that the bare spot was an airport and headed over in that direction, tummy yelling that it was very unhappy at this point.
I was quite successful in pointing the airplane in the direction of the bare patch of ground that Paul swore was an airport. As we got much closer to it, I realized it was indeed an airport, and, better still, it looked like it was an airport big enough to have a bathroom. Being a very polite airsick student, I am unusually successful at "maintaining the status quo" until appropriate facilities are provided. Paul took the airplane back as we got closer to the airport, and entered the pattern at the now visible Frederick Municipal Airport. I was unaware at the time that Frederick is usually even more of a zoo than Montgomery on Saturday afternoons, however, it too was virtually deserted. By the time Paul landed the airplane, my usually polite stomach was having serious problems at keeping itself together. The need for facilities grew ever more urgent. Paul taxied the airplane over to Frederick Aviation, where a far too cheery line man directed us where to park. With a smile on his face that could have been used as an airport beacon, the unsuspecting line man sauntered over to my side of the aircraft and asked if we wanted fuel. I'm not sure if it was the look on my face, or the growled "No! Where's the bathroom" that scared him most, but he took two steps backward and pointed. I unfastened the seat belt, staggered out the door, and quickly headed in the appropriate direction. Paul soon caught up and told me that I had done an excellent job of imitating a pilot, and had stricken fear into the hearts of line men everywhere. I was too busy not listening to be amused.
After vacating the contents of my stomach, Paul thought it might be a good idea to just sit around for a bit and let things stabilize. This was a wonderful opportunity to ask all the questions I had about the lesson thusfar, including what I did to make the airplane bump around so much. Paul assured me that wasn't my fault, it was the turbulence. He then pointed out the "No Student Solos" sign on the desk at Frederick Aviation, and explained how it was too bumpy to let students out on their own, so I shouldn't feel too bad. A valiant effort, but I felt pretty stupid at getting sick on my very first flight lesson. Sure seemed like a "severly putzoid" thing to do. I suppose it could have been much worse, however, if I had gotten sick in Paul's airplane. I'm sure that thought had crossed his mind as well.
After about half an hour of stomach soothing, I was ready to climb back into the airplane and get my butt back to Montgomery, and to Reece who was probably worried about what was taking us so long. As we walked back to the plane, the poor hapless line man saw me coming, ran out to the airplane, grabbed the chocks holding the wheels, and ran back into his little hangar. Paul mentioned that advanced level of intimidation might come in handy someday.
Since we had made a landing, we must now make another takeoff in order to get home. Walking the 30 or so miles was not an option. Since takeoffs must equal landings, we must then make another landing to get to Montgomery Airpark. Since there was nothing remarkable about the landing to Frederick Airport, I figured that part wouldn't be too difficult. The take-off roll, however, was still something to be nervous about. Hurdling down the runway at 70 miles per hour or so, then flinging yourself into the air was still a bit of a hair raising experience. The little Cessna climbed pretty quickly with the combination of cold and wind, and soon we were high above the quarry that lies off the departure end of Runway 23 in Frederick. Looking down, that quarry looked to be 10 miles deep. Then we turned towards the mountain again. Paul pointed out that Sugarloaf Mountain made a handy landmark to get home to Montgomery Airpark. If you like up the tail of the airplane with Sugarloaf, and the nose of the airplane with a pair of watertanks up ahead, you find the airport every time. That handy trick would prove to be very useful on my student cross country flights. I got to fly the airplane back once we had achieved a safe altitude, and played around a bit more with gentle banks to the right and left, watching the ground change each time I turned that U shaped plastic thing in one direction or the other. Almost too quickly, Paul pointed out another bare patch in the landscape and said that was Montgomery and now we had to enter the pattern. He started doing some strange things to the poor airplane, which I would later realize included lowering the landing gear, richening the mxiture of gasoline to the engine, increasing the revolutions on the propeller, and making sure that everything was just right for landing. Then he told me to turn towards the infamous toilet paper tubes. Paul had told me to head for the toilet paper tubes so that we could make a 45 entry to downwind for Runway 32. Toilet paper tubes? I scanned the area, and did a double take. There was indeed a set of tanks that looked very much like toilet paper tubes. What a handy reference! We got to the toilet paper tubes, and Paul showed me how to join the downwind. Here's where Reece's napkin came in very handy. I actually knew what Paul was talking about when he told me how to make a base turn. I even figured out mostly how to turn to final. Paul took the airplane back on final and squeaked the landing in. Reece met us in the transient parking area after the plane was shut down, asking what took us so long. The first flight lesson was over, and I had a goofy looking smile on my face for the next week.
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