A hot spring day saw me outside the Old T's for my third lesson, a good 30 minutes before it began. With nothing else to do, I stood around and kicked the dirt (because dirt sucks and deserves to be kicked). It didn't help when I learned Stephen would be 15 minutes late.
So after waiting near an hour total, he finally arrives, and we head into the building only to learn my airplane is seriously ill. Avgas spirting from fuel controls, engine not starting, power fluctuations ... not a safe bird. The only other aircraft we could take, N854AC, is in the sky for another two hours.
So ... a three hour wait total. After a lunch and some more doing nothing, it was finally time to preflight. 4AC wasn't too different from my usual plane 9UL, just had a few switches in different places and some older radio equipment. This time I preflighted without talking my way through it, and we were in the plane with the engine puttering inside of 20 minutes.
I chatted with ground and with tower, and I did 1/2 of the takeoff (yoke and throttle, with Stephen on the rudders). We headed north to San Pablo Bay again. Unlike last time, I maintained altitude and heading with dead on precision. I never strayed more than 30 feet from my assigned altitude. I claimed it was 4AC, but Stephen said I was getting better. I still think the plane had something to do with it.
Upon arriving at the bay I learned (or reviewed, depending on how you look at it) the fundamentals of slow flight -- or as professionals call it, the "back of the power curve" or the "area of reversed command."
We brought the airplane back to 60 knots -- right above stalling speed -- and practiced slow flight turns. At 60 knots, the airplane feels like it's turning about its own wingtip, and the controls respond a little bit like a whale flopping about in the mud. We tried it again with full flaps, and this time the slow flight maneuvers were performed at 40 knots, the minimum speed the aircraft will fly.
Next came stalls. I've practiced stalls before in two very maneuverable aircraft: a SIAI Marchetti SF.260 and a Grumman aircraft whose model I've forgotten. These aircraft can run circles around a Skyhawk, but they also stall like an airborne freight train. I was prepared for a stall like I had experienced in the Grumman: an end-over-end earthward spiral. Honestly, I was excited to tumble through the sky like that.
Unfortunately, the 172 stalls like Queen Elizabeth coughs. The right wing stalled first, and the aircraft hiccuped a bit in the sky and then returned to normal slow flight. I was underwhelmed. No death defying spin. I practiced the recovery procedure for stalling, and then it was time to head back to Oakland. As before, I was given the option of talking to NorCal approach. Ready to face my fears, I swallowed my pride and aired my voice.
"NorCal approach, Skyhawk 854AC, request."
"4AC, go ahead."
"854AC is over Richmond, three thousand four hundred feet, landing at Oakland, with golf."
Hooray, I did it. Approach responded. "4AC, cleared to enter the pattern, make right traffic for two seven left, track a Citation a your 10 o'clock, 3 miles, crossing your beam and climbing to three thousand; yield to him then enter the pattern, report over the Mormon temple."
This was a mouthful, so Stephen keyed his mic and read back the lengthy instructions. It took two updates from NorCal to finally locate that Citation; he crossed our path as we flew to the Mormon temple.
The Mormon temple is one of many reference points used by pilots to state their position. There's some CalTech building in the South Bay, the Alameda Hill, and various other tiny landmarks, in addition to the big one's you'd expect (Golden Gate bridge, etc.). With each flight, I'm becoming more familiar with the locations of these conspicuous buildings.
Anyway, as we crossed over the temple Stephen radioed in, and we were cleared to land on 27L. Stephen had me do the landing (and his hands were well clear of the controls; I checked), and as before I was all over the glideslope. The turbulence around 400 feet didn't help. At the last minute Stephen needed to punch in rudder to correct for a crosswind I was ignoring, and at that point I think our landing was a tandem one.
As before we fueled at Kaiser (where I wanged my face on a wingtip; bound to happen eventually) and then taxied back to the Old T's. My next lesson is Wednesday at 5 pm. I'm looking forward to it.
Cost so far: $1,325.35
Time so far: 7 days
Hours so far: 3.4
20070331
20070329
Lesson #2: Fear, doubt, uncertainty
Lesson #2 has come and gone. The exhilaration of flying has been tempered somewhat by my non-insignificant blunders in the air. Still ... supposedly I'm faring better than most. I haven't really asked "most" how they did, so I'm just taking Stephen's word here.
I skipped off work 'round 11:30 to get my airman medical certificate. I need a 3rd-class cert to fly but the doctor told me I might as well go for 2nd-class. So I have it, and hand in hand with it is my student pilot license (sans endorsement for now). Then at 5pm at the Old T's again, my lesson began.
Today was a review of turns and altitude changes, along with the fun of combining the two. Like last time I spoke to ground flawlessly, and this time I was allowed to talk to tower too. I blundered on tower, predictably; saying "request takeoff" as opposed to "ready for takeoff" is faux pas, I suppose.
Stephen shadowed the controls while I did a takeoff (wherein I mostly held the center line). I'm always distrustful of his shadowing. Not that I think he can't fly (he can), but I feel like when he's shadowing, I'm not "really" flying the plane. I feel like he makes small control inputs to smooth out my errors, when I'm not looking. When his hands and feet are way clear of the controls, I truly feel like the plane is mine.
We followed the 580 north to San Pablo Bay, and practiced turns, climbs, and descents. When he was satisfied (something I never was, given my inability to trim the plane to hold an altitude within a very generous 300 feet), he had me combine the two for climbing and descending turns. My performance won't be making Patty Wagstaff jealous, to say the least, but he seemed satisfied.
As an optional bonus, we got to try it with the hood on. To be honest, this really didn't change a damn thing. I mean, I've been "e-flying" IFR for a while now, so I've picked up the ability to scan and trust my instruments. So even when he tells me to make a turn in broad daylight with no hood, I go by the instruments. So he jammed the hood on my face, and ... I did my turns exactly the same way (i.e., sloppily).
But my biggest blunder was my response to a simple question. "Would you like to radio in to NorCal approach?"
"Sure." Wrong answer.
I cued the mic. "Oakland approach (shoulda said Norcal approach), Skyhawk 739UL is west of the Golden Gate bridge (forgot to say my altitude), request ... uhh ..." BRAIN FART "... request landing ... or ... approach ... uhh ... " I let my voice trail off.
"Cessna that radioed in ... you were completely unreadable and you trailed off. Say again."
At this point Stephen took over. I sorta slumped into my seat, a failure of a man. The typical order of these things is WHO (Norcal appraoch), YOU (Skyhawk 739UL), WHERE (west of the Golden Gate), HOW HIGH (2,500 feet), WHAT (inbound to land, Oakland). Had I strung those segments together, I would have formed a coherent radio request. But somewhere along the WHERE, the house of cards I had constructed to make it through this one radio call fell down, and I was reduced to babble.
Stephen guided me through the procedure of getting into the Oakland pattern, then talked me into getting the plane set up for final approach. He had enough faith in me to let me control it all the way into landing, but he did shadow my inputs, so I don't know how much of it was me and how much was him.
My landing was ... a C+ perhaps. I was all over the glideslope (PAPI lights going everywhere), and it was partially luck that I had the correct descent rate when the runway was "commit time" close. My flare was shaky, and I landed on my right wheel, bounced up, then plopped down on all three a little left of the centerline. Not bad, I guess. Not exactly Iceman though.
As before I handled the radio during the taxi to the FBO, fueled up the plane, and took her back to the Old T's. I had procured all the necessary documents I listed previously, so those were reviewed next. After bookkeeping and scheduling (join us Saturday 12:00pm for more), the lesson was officially over.
Stephen was pleased. I was not. I'm hard on myself. Until I can hold my damn altitude to within 100 feet, and until I can keep my VSI from pointing every direction in a climbing/descending turn, I'm still a kid.
Oh, the radio thing too. Sheesh. I gotta get my act together and act like a man on the radio.
Cost so far: $948.65
Time so far: 5 days
Hours so far: 2.1
I skipped off work 'round 11:30 to get my airman medical certificate. I need a 3rd-class cert to fly but the doctor told me I might as well go for 2nd-class. So I have it, and hand in hand with it is my student pilot license (sans endorsement for now). Then at 5pm at the Old T's again, my lesson began.
Today was a review of turns and altitude changes, along with the fun of combining the two. Like last time I spoke to ground flawlessly, and this time I was allowed to talk to tower too. I blundered on tower, predictably; saying "request takeoff" as opposed to "ready for takeoff" is faux pas, I suppose.
Stephen shadowed the controls while I did a takeoff (wherein I mostly held the center line). I'm always distrustful of his shadowing. Not that I think he can't fly (he can), but I feel like when he's shadowing, I'm not "really" flying the plane. I feel like he makes small control inputs to smooth out my errors, when I'm not looking. When his hands and feet are way clear of the controls, I truly feel like the plane is mine.
We followed the 580 north to San Pablo Bay, and practiced turns, climbs, and descents. When he was satisfied (something I never was, given my inability to trim the plane to hold an altitude within a very generous 300 feet), he had me combine the two for climbing and descending turns. My performance won't be making Patty Wagstaff jealous, to say the least, but he seemed satisfied.
As an optional bonus, we got to try it with the hood on. To be honest, this really didn't change a damn thing. I mean, I've been "e-flying" IFR for a while now, so I've picked up the ability to scan and trust my instruments. So even when he tells me to make a turn in broad daylight with no hood, I go by the instruments. So he jammed the hood on my face, and ... I did my turns exactly the same way (i.e., sloppily).
But my biggest blunder was my response to a simple question. "Would you like to radio in to NorCal approach?"
"Sure." Wrong answer.
I cued the mic. "Oakland approach (shoulda said Norcal approach), Skyhawk 739UL is west of the Golden Gate bridge (forgot to say my altitude), request ... uhh ..." BRAIN FART "... request landing ... or ... approach ... uhh ... " I let my voice trail off.
"Cessna that radioed in ... you were completely unreadable and you trailed off. Say again."
At this point Stephen took over. I sorta slumped into my seat, a failure of a man. The typical order of these things is WHO (Norcal appraoch), YOU (Skyhawk 739UL), WHERE (west of the Golden Gate), HOW HIGH (2,500 feet), WHAT (inbound to land, Oakland). Had I strung those segments together, I would have formed a coherent radio request. But somewhere along the WHERE, the house of cards I had constructed to make it through this one radio call fell down, and I was reduced to babble.
Stephen guided me through the procedure of getting into the Oakland pattern, then talked me into getting the plane set up for final approach. He had enough faith in me to let me control it all the way into landing, but he did shadow my inputs, so I don't know how much of it was me and how much was him.
My landing was ... a C+ perhaps. I was all over the glideslope (PAPI lights going everywhere), and it was partially luck that I had the correct descent rate when the runway was "commit time" close. My flare was shaky, and I landed on my right wheel, bounced up, then plopped down on all three a little left of the centerline. Not bad, I guess. Not exactly Iceman though.
As before I handled the radio during the taxi to the FBO, fueled up the plane, and took her back to the Old T's. I had procured all the necessary documents I listed previously, so those were reviewed next. After bookkeeping and scheduling (join us Saturday 12:00pm for more), the lesson was officially over.
Stephen was pleased. I was not. I'm hard on myself. Until I can hold my damn altitude to within 100 feet, and until I can keep my VSI from pointing every direction in a climbing/descending turn, I'm still a kid.
Oh, the radio thing too. Sheesh. I gotta get my act together and act like a man on the radio.
Cost so far: $948.65
Time so far: 5 days
Hours so far: 2.1
20070324
My first lesson
When I arrived at the Old T's on the sparsely-populated northwestern corner of Oakland International Airport, I was already 30 minutes late. After poking around the fenced off parking lot, I found no obvious building entrances, and it appeared as if I was shunted outside the tarmac without a pilot accompanying me. I was 30 minutes late partly because of a miscommunication between the BART schedule and myself, and partly because a respectably strong headwind kept my bitty little bike's top speed below 7 MPH for most of the 4+ mile bike ride from BART to the airport. I was hot, sweating, and exhausted, but at least I'm getting exercise.
Lo and behold, before I could give up all hope, up comes a truck with a woman who I would later learn is Ginny, the AAC's maintenance officer. She asks me what I'm doing, and after hearing my story, invites me into the AAC's office building on the tarmac. We found Stephen, my instructor-to-be, nowhere in sight, so it was a relief when he randomly dropped by the office and found me waiting there. He thought I had flaked out, and had canceled the lesson.
Stephen remarked that the weather was not improving. He pointed to a massive, imposing wall of clouds, a cold front moving eastward that in an hour or so would likely blanket Oakland International with cloud cover. I looked at the monstrous bank of clouds and saw the doom of my lesson.
He decided to chance it anyway and put me back on the schedule, then he gave me an introduction to the process of renting an aircraft from the AAC. He then gave me a checklist and a logbook, and we headed out to our airplane, N739UL. We walked through the exterior checklist together, as it consisted of things I had never before done (check the fuel levels and quality, check the various nuts and bolts holding key parts of the airplane together, inspect the prop and fan belt ... you get the idea ...).
Once we had sat our butts comfortably into the cockpit seats, however, it became my time to shine. As I looked out the cockpit windscreen I saw the ominous cloudbank now covering half the sky above me. Time was not on our side, but previous familiarity with the 172SP's cockpit from flight simulators allowed me to locate a majority of the switches and dials with ease, and the engine startup and cockpit checks went quickly and smoothly. That's not to say I rocketed through the checklist, either. I certainly stopped dumbfounded at some items ("where's the alternate static air switch, now?").
One lovely thrill was talking over the radio. He let me talk to ground during the taxi. It felt so profesional! I wonder if the controllers knew I was a nub. I bet they did. Still though, listening to channel 9 on the in-flight headsets of jetliners for years pays off: I had no trouble understanding the air traffic controllers.
So with the engine running, the aircraft freed from its chocks and ties, and the preflight check complete, we listened to ATIS (I set the Kollsman knob without his asking, booyeah!!) and he allowed me to get my clearance. Once I felt I was ready to brave my first comm over the radio, I gave it my best.
"Oakland ground, Skyhawk seven three niner uniform lima at the old T's, request taxi to runway three three, VFR departure to Mt. Diablo."
Okay, so I wasn't quite that good. I didn't say "Skyhawk," I just said "Cessna" (it's the difference between telling someone you own a Ford and telling them you own a Taurus), and I said "nine" instead of "niner" (what a noob mistake). But, other than that, not bad for a first.
"Cessna that just radioed in, restate your callsign."
He didn't need to tell me what to say. "Seven three niner uniform lima."
"Cessna niner uniform lima, cleared to taxi, runway 33, hold short."
Again, my response was without prompt. "Taxi to runway 33 and hold short, seven three niner uniform lima."
A bunch of other aircraft were communicating with ground. I kept my ears open, listening for my callsign, eager to prove to myself and Stephen that I could pick my messages out from the soup.
Stephen taxied the plane to start out, but allowed me to take her to the runup area, where we did our runup checks. Again, familiarity with doing runups in flight sims meant it went quickly and smoothly. On the way to runway 33, ground came over with a message for me.
"Niner uniform lima, squawk 0245." I knew exactly what this meant, and I wasn't about to let the opportunity slide! Without hesitation, I punched 0-2-4-5 into the transponder and responded over the radio. "0245 for seven three niner uniform lima." Stephen seemed pleased.
I understood the controller perfectly. Things were looking good for my future in radio communication. I was eager to talk like a jet jock for the whole flight over the radio, but unfortunately, that's not how it works. Stephen would allow me to communicate for one more step of the flight after each new lesson. So, for the first lesson, I only got the first step: clearance from ground. He would do the rest.
I then taxied to the hold-short line for runway 33. There Stephen took over, contacted tower, received takeoff clearance, and had me hold the yoke and feel the rudders, to get a sense of what control inputs are necessary to take the plane off. We accelerated down the runway and lifted into the air.
Of course, for a big jet like we all fly in, acceleration and takeoff is a monumental affair where a gigantic steel beast trundles down the runway, and makes a mathematically precise slow climb off the ground. For our bitty little 172 though, a takeoff is as casual as taking a leak. We pushed in the throttle, the plane accelerated a bit, and before I knew it we were bumping through the air, gaining altitude.
Stephen transitioned out of OAK airspace and gave me control of the aircraft, having me follow the 580 eastward over the Hayward basin. We stayed just out of Hayward and Livermore airspace where we practiced the four first maneuvers any pilot learns: straight and level flight, turns, climbs, and descents. Aside from my inability to remember to lift the wing and check for traffic before turning, I did swimmingly on all accounts. He told me most new pilots over-correct, and try to fight the turbulence, but I knew well enough to just hold the yoke steady and live with the turbulence. This was a good thing to know, too: With the wall of clouds now well over into the East Bay, the air was as choppy as can be. He told me, "you will not fly in choppier weather than this, I promise you." I was glad to hear that: any choppier and I'd need some dramamine.
Personally I felt as if my altitude control was sub-par, but Stephen didn't seem to want me adjusting the trim wheel or the throttle too much, so I just let the inaccuracies of 100-200 feet slide for now. When we finished covering the first lesson's material, he had me follow the Richmond-Fremont BART line back north to Oakland International (which kept me just west of Livermore airspace). He requested special VFR clearance direct into runway 27R (given that Oakland was now smothered in rainclouds) and assisted me as we lined up with 27R. He was pleased that I knew what a PAPI was, and I used the runway's PAPI lights to acheive the correct glideslope into the runway.
Well, I would have used the PAPI lights, but they went out halfway into the approach! Stephen raidoed to tower that the lights went out, and they confirmed the malfunction. No matter. We eyeballed the approach in. He allowed me to control the descent but took control of the aircraft for the last 20 seconds of the landing. Probably good too, as the rainclouds brought with them a strong crosswind.
After he requested clearance to taxi to Kaiser (an airport service facility), he had me taxi there, where we stopped at a fuel pump. He mentored me as I fueled the plane (something else I had no idea how to do; and indeed I got a lot of gas on the ground compared to the gas I actually managed to get into the plane), and then we got back in and started her back up. He had me do the radios for the final leg of the taxi, back to the Old T's. There we ran through the shutdown procedure, and that was my first lesson.
He mentioned a good 5 or 6 times that my skill level coming in was higher than normal, and that he was impressed, and (this is the best part) that would save me time and money as we would be able to skip more lessons. Years and years of religious devotion to flight sims pays off, folks.
Finally, Stephen gave me some quick instructions on how to get the more obscure among the things I need to bring to my next lesson: 3rd-class medical certificate and student pilot certificate, California driver's license and driving record, and birth certificate. That all needs to be done before next Thursday, since that's my next lesson (5 pm) and I only get the one flight without having produced these documents.
I rode my bike home in light rain from those rainclouds that nearly ruined the day. They didn't dampen my soaring spirits though. I had taken to the skies, controlled the plane professionally, and made a lasting impression on my instructor as someone who was serious about becoming a pilot. This is a good start.
Cost so far: $626.60
Time so far: 1 day
Hours so far: 1.0
Lo and behold, before I could give up all hope, up comes a truck with a woman who I would later learn is Ginny, the AAC's maintenance officer. She asks me what I'm doing, and after hearing my story, invites me into the AAC's office building on the tarmac. We found Stephen, my instructor-to-be, nowhere in sight, so it was a relief when he randomly dropped by the office and found me waiting there. He thought I had flaked out, and had canceled the lesson.
Stephen remarked that the weather was not improving. He pointed to a massive, imposing wall of clouds, a cold front moving eastward that in an hour or so would likely blanket Oakland International with cloud cover. I looked at the monstrous bank of clouds and saw the doom of my lesson.
He decided to chance it anyway and put me back on the schedule, then he gave me an introduction to the process of renting an aircraft from the AAC. He then gave me a checklist and a logbook, and we headed out to our airplane, N739UL. We walked through the exterior checklist together, as it consisted of things I had never before done (check the fuel levels and quality, check the various nuts and bolts holding key parts of the airplane together, inspect the prop and fan belt ... you get the idea ...).
Once we had sat our butts comfortably into the cockpit seats, however, it became my time to shine. As I looked out the cockpit windscreen I saw the ominous cloudbank now covering half the sky above me. Time was not on our side, but previous familiarity with the 172SP's cockpit from flight simulators allowed me to locate a majority of the switches and dials with ease, and the engine startup and cockpit checks went quickly and smoothly. That's not to say I rocketed through the checklist, either. I certainly stopped dumbfounded at some items ("where's the alternate static air switch, now?").
One lovely thrill was talking over the radio. He let me talk to ground during the taxi. It felt so profesional! I wonder if the controllers knew I was a nub. I bet they did. Still though, listening to channel 9 on the in-flight headsets of jetliners for years pays off: I had no trouble understanding the air traffic controllers.
So with the engine running, the aircraft freed from its chocks and ties, and the preflight check complete, we listened to ATIS (I set the Kollsman knob without his asking, booyeah!!) and he allowed me to get my clearance. Once I felt I was ready to brave my first comm over the radio, I gave it my best.
"Oakland ground, Skyhawk seven three niner uniform lima at the old T's, request taxi to runway three three, VFR departure to Mt. Diablo."
Okay, so I wasn't quite that good. I didn't say "Skyhawk," I just said "Cessna" (it's the difference between telling someone you own a Ford and telling them you own a Taurus), and I said "nine" instead of "niner" (what a noob mistake). But, other than that, not bad for a first.
"Cessna that just radioed in, restate your callsign."
He didn't need to tell me what to say. "Seven three niner uniform lima."
"Cessna niner uniform lima, cleared to taxi, runway 33, hold short."
Again, my response was without prompt. "Taxi to runway 33 and hold short, seven three niner uniform lima."
A bunch of other aircraft were communicating with ground. I kept my ears open, listening for my callsign, eager to prove to myself and Stephen that I could pick my messages out from the soup.
Stephen taxied the plane to start out, but allowed me to take her to the runup area, where we did our runup checks. Again, familiarity with doing runups in flight sims meant it went quickly and smoothly. On the way to runway 33, ground came over with a message for me.
"Niner uniform lima, squawk 0245." I knew exactly what this meant, and I wasn't about to let the opportunity slide! Without hesitation, I punched 0-2-4-5 into the transponder and responded over the radio. "0245 for seven three niner uniform lima." Stephen seemed pleased.
I understood the controller perfectly. Things were looking good for my future in radio communication. I was eager to talk like a jet jock for the whole flight over the radio, but unfortunately, that's not how it works. Stephen would allow me to communicate for one more step of the flight after each new lesson. So, for the first lesson, I only got the first step: clearance from ground. He would do the rest.
I then taxied to the hold-short line for runway 33. There Stephen took over, contacted tower, received takeoff clearance, and had me hold the yoke and feel the rudders, to get a sense of what control inputs are necessary to take the plane off. We accelerated down the runway and lifted into the air.
Of course, for a big jet like we all fly in, acceleration and takeoff is a monumental affair where a gigantic steel beast trundles down the runway, and makes a mathematically precise slow climb off the ground. For our bitty little 172 though, a takeoff is as casual as taking a leak. We pushed in the throttle, the plane accelerated a bit, and before I knew it we were bumping through the air, gaining altitude.
Stephen transitioned out of OAK airspace and gave me control of the aircraft, having me follow the 580 eastward over the Hayward basin. We stayed just out of Hayward and Livermore airspace where we practiced the four first maneuvers any pilot learns: straight and level flight, turns, climbs, and descents. Aside from my inability to remember to lift the wing and check for traffic before turning, I did swimmingly on all accounts. He told me most new pilots over-correct, and try to fight the turbulence, but I knew well enough to just hold the yoke steady and live with the turbulence. This was a good thing to know, too: With the wall of clouds now well over into the East Bay, the air was as choppy as can be. He told me, "you will not fly in choppier weather than this, I promise you." I was glad to hear that: any choppier and I'd need some dramamine.
Personally I felt as if my altitude control was sub-par, but Stephen didn't seem to want me adjusting the trim wheel or the throttle too much, so I just let the inaccuracies of 100-200 feet slide for now. When we finished covering the first lesson's material, he had me follow the Richmond-Fremont BART line back north to Oakland International (which kept me just west of Livermore airspace). He requested special VFR clearance direct into runway 27R (given that Oakland was now smothered in rainclouds) and assisted me as we lined up with 27R. He was pleased that I knew what a PAPI was, and I used the runway's PAPI lights to acheive the correct glideslope into the runway.
Well, I would have used the PAPI lights, but they went out halfway into the approach! Stephen raidoed to tower that the lights went out, and they confirmed the malfunction. No matter. We eyeballed the approach in. He allowed me to control the descent but took control of the aircraft for the last 20 seconds of the landing. Probably good too, as the rainclouds brought with them a strong crosswind.
After he requested clearance to taxi to Kaiser (an airport service facility), he had me taxi there, where we stopped at a fuel pump. He mentored me as I fueled the plane (something else I had no idea how to do; and indeed I got a lot of gas on the ground compared to the gas I actually managed to get into the plane), and then we got back in and started her back up. He had me do the radios for the final leg of the taxi, back to the Old T's. There we ran through the shutdown procedure, and that was my first lesson.
He mentioned a good 5 or 6 times that my skill level coming in was higher than normal, and that he was impressed, and (this is the best part) that would save me time and money as we would be able to skip more lessons. Years and years of religious devotion to flight sims pays off, folks.
Finally, Stephen gave me some quick instructions on how to get the more obscure among the things I need to bring to my next lesson: 3rd-class medical certificate and student pilot certificate, California driver's license and driving record, and birth certificate. That all needs to be done before next Thursday, since that's my next lesson (5 pm) and I only get the one flight without having produced these documents.
I rode my bike home in light rain from those rainclouds that nearly ruined the day. They didn't dampen my soaring spirits though. I had taken to the skies, controlled the plane professionally, and made a lasting impression on my instructor as someone who was serious about becoming a pilot. This is a good start.
Cost so far: $626.60
Time so far: 1 day
Hours so far: 1.0
20070322
Finally, a first lesson is scheduled
After some phone calls and e-mails to the AAC, I received a suggestion that I try a woman named Liz Sommers for an instructor. They say she's new but she knows what she is doing. After some phone tag, it turns out I am incapable of raising her on the horn, however, so another instructor (Mike, I think? I'll know Saturday) volunteers.
My first lesson is Saturday, 2 pm, E-gate. I'm damned excited, but of course anxious to suffer the agony that will become my ever-lightening wallet. A double-edged sword.
Another thing nagging at the back of my head is an interesting desire. "I wonder how well I could fare if I just told my instructor, 'Sit back and let me see if I can wing it!'" See, I've been playing flight sims for a good long while, and flown a few real planes too, and I've gotten to a point where (at least in my own head) I think I could do a fairly good job if I was plopped into a sleeping plane on the tarmac.
Assuming it's a 172, I might be able to successfully start it up. I figure I'd have a tough time with the ATC, but I might get by. Flying the thing would be a cinch; done it before, could do it again. Takeoffs, probably. Landings ... well, maybe. There's a chance.
Anyway the thought going through my head isn't, "Let me prove to the world how awesome I am by starting up and flying around a plane all on my own on my first lesson!"; it's more of, "I wonder if I'm deluding myself or if all this knowledge I think I have is actually useful in the real world." The question actually burns pretty strong in my head.
Whether I will actually have the gall to request my instructor let me "wing it" on my first flight, and if that happens, whether he will let me, entirely depends on how things play out when the time comes. I'm not making any resolutions now, and leaving it up to my questionable judgement down the line.
Anyway, to reiterate the big news. Saturday afternoon at the old T's, I have a date with a very old lady, tied up on the tarmac. Sure, she won't be a looker, and she'll be worn to hell and all used up, but when you're just getting started like me, beggars can't be choosers.
My first lesson is Saturday, 2 pm, E-gate. I'm damned excited, but of course anxious to suffer the agony that will become my ever-lightening wallet. A double-edged sword.
Another thing nagging at the back of my head is an interesting desire. "I wonder how well I could fare if I just told my instructor, 'Sit back and let me see if I can wing it!'" See, I've been playing flight sims for a good long while, and flown a few real planes too, and I've gotten to a point where (at least in my own head) I think I could do a fairly good job if I was plopped into a sleeping plane on the tarmac.
Assuming it's a 172, I might be able to successfully start it up. I figure I'd have a tough time with the ATC, but I might get by. Flying the thing would be a cinch; done it before, could do it again. Takeoffs, probably. Landings ... well, maybe. There's a chance.
Anyway the thought going through my head isn't, "Let me prove to the world how awesome I am by starting up and flying around a plane all on my own on my first lesson!"; it's more of, "I wonder if I'm deluding myself or if all this knowledge I think I have is actually useful in the real world." The question actually burns pretty strong in my head.
Whether I will actually have the gall to request my instructor let me "wing it" on my first flight, and if that happens, whether he will let me, entirely depends on how things play out when the time comes. I'm not making any resolutions now, and leaving it up to my questionable judgement down the line.
Anyway, to reiterate the big news. Saturday afternoon at the old T's, I have a date with a very old lady, tied up on the tarmac. Sure, she won't be a looker, and she'll be worn to hell and all used up, but when you're just getting started like me, beggars can't be choosers.
20070315
Decision day
Today is the day I decided to begin flight lessons. After a lot of research when I should have been doing work at the office, I've decided to go to Alameda Aero. It seems more informal than the other flight schools in the area, but with my 9-5 workweek hopefully that will work out for the better.
They don't offer ground school. I'll probably study independently, online or with software from Jeppesen or something. I'll wait to ask an instructor before I decide.
What's left to do now is call Alameda Aero and join the club. Then I can start requesting lessons. This won't be cheap. Thirty per month to be in the club, plus maybe $200-$300 each lesson for 55-70 hours of lessons. Add equipment like headsets, charts, study aids, etc., and we're talking $7,000 to $9,000.
And on top of that, once I get my license, it will cost me $300ish per month to remain a member of AAC and fly a couple times per month. Some may think it's foolish of me to spend this much when I'm only 24 ... and maybe it is ... but not so foolish that I will run myself into debt. Just foolish enough that I will have to watch my spending in the near (and maybe not-so-near) future.
I was born with a love of flying, not a love of macramé. So if this is what it costs, well this is what I'll pay.
They don't offer ground school. I'll probably study independently, online or with software from Jeppesen or something. I'll wait to ask an instructor before I decide.
What's left to do now is call Alameda Aero and join the club. Then I can start requesting lessons. This won't be cheap. Thirty per month to be in the club, plus maybe $200-$300 each lesson for 55-70 hours of lessons. Add equipment like headsets, charts, study aids, etc., and we're talking $7,000 to $9,000.
And on top of that, once I get my license, it will cost me $300ish per month to remain a member of AAC and fly a couple times per month. Some may think it's foolish of me to spend this much when I'm only 24 ... and maybe it is ... but not so foolish that I will run myself into debt. Just foolish enough that I will have to watch my spending in the near (and maybe not-so-near) future.
I was born with a love of flying, not a love of macramé. So if this is what it costs, well this is what I'll pay.
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