Solo #4: A successful flight in N4312R "The Death Trap"

Sharp-eyed readers will remember that 4312R was the airplane that I suffered an electrical fire in, and the airplane that Stephen called "bad luck." Well, fortunately, I don't believe in luck, and I'm an ingratiating sort of fellow, so I figured I'd give "The Death Trap" another go. I had reserved 4AC, but her pistons still haven't been broken in, and with 9UL out, I had no choice but to switch my reservation to 12R.

I opened her squawk log with a sort of dread.

There, written on photocopied forms, for all the world to know, were listed her problems. Testaments to her failure as enscribed by pilots past, who had presumably at least survived her throes. I could only summon the courage to read the latest entry. Apparently 12R was having transponder problems of late.

This is not a surprise. See, about three weeks back, 4AC began having transponder failures. So, Ginny the club mechanic, in her infinite wisdom, decided to swap the transponders on 12R and 4AC (presumably to determine if it was the transponder or the transponder antenna). Well, lo and behold, now 12R pilots are squawking transponder failures. Fun times.

In addition, apparently the plane has a tendency to roll to the right when kept in level flight.

My preflight was also filled with such portentous omens. Not 2 minutes in to the preflight had I noticed that the landing and taxi lights had failed. Checked the switch, checked the circuit breaker ... yep, definitely broken. I walked back into the clubhouse and read the squawk log again. Sure enough, someone else had noticed the same thing a few flights back.

Oh well. If he flew anyway, why shouldn't I? I marched back to 4312R, determined not to let these little gnats of problems stop me. 12R's right tank was filled to the brim, while her left tank was a quarter empty. I made a mental note to feed from the left tank for the first 30 minutes or so of flight (a mental note which was promptly forgotten).

The preflight was otherwise successful, and since the wind was calm, I requested a takeoff from runway 15. Given that I was parked not 50 feet from runway 15, I did my run-up right in my parking spot, then let the airplane roll up to the hold-short line. With so little taxiing to do, things were moving quickly, so I didn't have time to second-guess or doubt my ability to remember each little task.

Once I had (finally) gotten my takeoff clearance, I made a crosswind departure and headed straight for Mt. Diablo. I had called my father prior to taking off this time, so he should be listening for the sound of my engine. I climbed to 2,500 and passed leisurely over Oakland and the hills around Danville. Once I was nearing the edge of Walnut Creek, I began a descent to 1,500 feet and located first Northgate High School and then Arbolado Park, where I initiated my first turn.

Level at 1,500 feet, flying at a comfortably slow 90 knots, I circled my parents' house. I was low enough that I could make out my father should he materialize outside the house. Sure enough, on my second circuit, a signaling mirror caught my eye. My father was watching me. I rocked the wings abruptly to indicate that we'd made eye contact.



Even without the tiny point of light that was his signaling mirror, I could even see his tall figure walking around the backyard pool, to keep me in view. As I turned north of the house on my third circuit, I reflected on how small the coniferous trees in the neighbors' backyards seemed in comparison to the towering green giants that loom over you when your feet are planted firmly in the ground. As if to further hammer the altitude in, I saw a small white bird migrating northwest over the house, about 100 feet below me. I was truly enjoying flying.

After a fourth circuit I decided the point had been made and contact had been established, so I turned towards a course west of Mt. Diablo and pressed on at 2,000 feet or so. I made a languorous circle around Mt. Diablo, which yielded the most thrilling views I've yet experienced from the cockpit. I guarantee that the first person I take flying will get to experience this with me. The stark grandeur of Mt. Diablo rising above you and around you, its rugged beauty, the whole thing is unforgettable. I reveled in its marvel as I made a complete 360-degree turn around the mountain's peak.



I had decided that following this excursion I'd travel to the San Francisco Bay and do some sightseeing near the Peninsula, of the Golden Gate, Alcatraz, Treasure and Angel Island, etc. I flew a wide course that took me over Concord's Buchanan Field and on to Benicia, when I gave NorCal a call.

"NorCal Approach, Skyhawk 4312R is over Concord Buchanan, 2,700 feet, heading to the Peninsula, request flight following."

NorCal came back intermittently. I had to repeat my request a few times, and then frustrated, told them I'd call them later. I climbed to 4,000 feet to clear anything that might be obstructing my radio, but they were still intermittent.

"12R, still not picking you up on radar, ident please."
"12R, identing." Oh no, transponder problems...

No response. (Or possibly static.)

"NorCal Approach, 4312R, do you see me yet?"
"12R, did you get my ident request?"
Ugh. OK, forget San Francisco. Let's just get on the ground. "Affirmative, identing again. There were transponder issues in the past, I'd like to just land at Oakland."

Another pause.

"12R, did you receive my request to squawk 0367?"
Oh. "Negative! Squawking 0367, 12R."

Please tell me you see me now, NorCal...

"12R, radar contact, 8 miles west of Concord, proceed direct to the Mormon Temple at or above 2,500 then right traffic for 27R, advise when you have Hotel."

OK, so he is still assuming I want to land at Oakland, even though it wasn't a transponder failure after all, but ... whatever. I can gawk at the Peninsula another day. I flew over the hills to Emeryville, then turned south and passed over Berkeley, as per a typical approach to the Mormon Temple, which takes you over UC Berkeley with a great view.



I landed on 27R then taxied directly back to the Old T's, not needing to refuel the airplane. This was a good solo. 12R didn't kill me, and for the first time, someone else besides Stephen had seen me fly. I'm looking forward to my cross-country solos over the coming weeks.

Cost so far: $6,016.34
Time so far: 92 days
Hours so far: 31.8

Projected certification date: August 15, 2007 (50 hours) or July 17, 2007 (40 hours)
Projected total cost: $9,500

Lesson #18: I AM THE DEAD RECKONING KING

Boooo-yah! That's what it feels like to TOTALLY PWN a lesson. I rocked the cross-country challenge and for that I now hold in my hands a solo cross-country endorsement. My leash has gotten longer, baby!

So, Stephen had told me at the ground school to plan a flight from Metropolitan Oakland (OAK) to Sacramento Executive (SAC) using VOR navigation. Then, from there, I was to plan a flight from SAC to Modesto City-County Airport, a.k.a Harry Sham Field (MOD) using dead reckoning. And finally, we would navigate from MOD back to OAK using the GPS.

For kicks and giggles, on the dead reckoning leg, Stephen would smack the hood on my face so I couldn't see where I was going, forcing me to trust my calculations. After I was done navigating by the numbers, he'd take the hood off and we'd look around and figure out where I was.

I had it in my head that "where" would be "nowhere near Modesto," and I fully expected to be utterly and hopelessly off-course, after the lessons learned from my previous cross-country. To make matters worse, Stephen raised the ante. He told me that if I performed satisfactorily on this cross-country, I would get my cross-country solo sign-off. Now, previously I thought that it would be at least a few more flights before I got my sign-off, so this was at least a little good news.

I had completed last-minute checks and calculations of my flight planning while I was at work, downloading the current weather and calculating exactly where and how far I needed to fly to arrive at each waypoint on the trip. I was a little worried because my computerized flight planner was getting different results than I was by hand, but I had no time to figure out exactly what was going wrong. I had tentatively decided to trust my own calculations and head off to the airport.

I had originally reserved 854AC, despite the myriad warnings about her operation. She just received new pistons, which need to be broken in, meaning she can only be flown on long, fast, straight flights, not maneuvered around in local pattern work or sightseeing. Even still, Stephen switched my reservation to 739UL at the last minute, seeing that airplane was available. This would give us a handy-dandy GPS to use, rather than relying to Stephen's handheld GPS.

Because this was a cross-country flight, getting the plane ready to go took longer than usual. I had to organize my maps, my charts, my flight plans, my notes, and various pieces of scratch paper. Plus, there were plenty of additional tasks to do, like drawing pictures of the arrival airports and visualizing them as they would appear in the air. (Gee, I wonder who told Stephen I had trouble visualizing airports?)

With all the hub-bub in the cockpit and all the paperwork spread across my knees, I of course did forget a few tasks, such as noting my departure time. Fortunately, there is a stopwatch for measuring enroute time, so it wasn't a complete loss. Stephen did grate on me a bit for forgetting to write it down, which made me feel as if my cross-country solo endorsement was drifting further from possibility as he spoke.

NorCal departure asked me twice if I was still heading to Sacramento. Twice I told them yes, I hadn't changed my plans, thank you very much.

Departure cleared us to climb through San Francisco's Class-B airspace to our cruising altitude of 5,500 feet. I tuned in the Concord and Oakland VOR's and navigated using them to REJOY, the name of an intersection of those two VOR's. Stephen pointed out that because the two radials were nearly the same direction, it would be an inaccurate way to navigate. However, despite my worry that I would go significantly off course, I managed to bring the plane more or less over REJOY.



As I was handed over to Travis Center, they too asked me if I was still heading to Sacramento. What ... does no one trust me to get there or something?

I then tuned in the Sacramento VOR and flew inbound to it. Each of these legs of the flight was long, and probably quite relaxing for Stephen. Unfortunately, I always had something to do at any moment, whether it be keeping an eye on my altitude and heading, on the VOR needle, identifying stations and dialing courses, or adjusting the heading indicator. (Vacuum pressure was very low these days in 9UL, so I constantly had to reset the heading indicator every 10 minutes or so.)

I had my eyes so fixated on the instruments that I had no idea we were over Sacramento until Stephen suggested I pop my head outside for a look around. Sure enough, directly in front of us, about 7 miles out, was a large municipal airport. Of course, there are three airports in Sacramento, and I wasn't about to make the mistake of assuming it was the correct one.

The airport was too small to be Sacramento International, but that leaves Mathers and Executive, both of which are about the same size. I described to Stephen my thought process as I tried to figure out if the runways I was looking at lined up with what I expected Executive's runways to look like. He halted me and said that, yes, it was Executive, and I didn't need to worry. He pointed out Mathers off in the distance.

I listened to their ATIS, then Executive Tower cleared us for an approach to runway 20. I made a swift descent from 5,500 feet to the pattern altitude of 1,100 feet, trying to remember all the various things I had to do to prep the plane for landing. (As it would turn out, I would land and take off without the landing light on, but that's not like a huge issue.)



I entered downwind for runway 20, then turned base and final, making an acceptably decent landing on the nice, large runway. Executive Ground cleared me to taxi back for takeoff immediately. I guess we wouldn't be making pit stops at these airports.

"Oakland Tower, Skyhawk 739UL is ready to go at runway 20."

Stephen let out a sigh. "That was a good radio call. Except ... number one, you didn't tell her where you're going. You want to make a left crosswind departure."
"Right."
"And you're still on Ground's frequency."
"Whoops."
"And you called her Oakland, not Executive."
"... Oh."
"And you didn't key the mic, so basically you just said that to me."

I was speechless.

"In fact," Stephen continued, with obvious glee at this opportunity to lambast me, "I think that was your worst radio call yet."

I tuned the correct frequency and tried again. "Oakland Tower, Skyhawk 739UL is ready to go at 20, left crosswind departure."

"739UL, Executive Tower, cleared to take off, runway 20, left crosswind approved."

Stephen said, "Better. But you still called her Oakland."
"No way. I did not."
"You did."

Wow. I have to get out away from Oakland more. I made the takeoff and made my turn, then turned on course. It wasn't until I had flown for a minute or so that Stephen pointed out that I was heading nowhere near the correct direction. Apparently the heading indicator had drifted 50 or 60 degrees off course while we were on the ground. Right about then, Executive Tower's sweet female voice came back over the radio.

"739UL, state departure vector."
I glanced down at my flight plan. "150 degrees, 739UL."
"OK ... 9UL, I show you heading about 80 degrees ..."
Well, I guess they're there to help. "9UL, affirmative, having some minor heading indicator problems... Turning on-course now."

Once I had reached 3,000 feet, the hood came on. I was now at the mercy of my own calculations. No longer trusting that damn heading indicator, I flew my derived heading on the magnetic compass, keeping my airspeed and throttle as specified. I set the timer. In nine minutes I should have completed my climb to 5,500 feet and be directly over the first visual checkpoint, Franklin Field (F72).

Nine minutes later, I was a little worried at how off-course I might be. After all, the magnetic compass is finicky to fly by, my ground speed was 10 knots slower than I thought it would be, and any of a hundred other variables.

"I've got the plane." Stephen said it out of nowhere, and under the hood I saw his hands take the controls. I fully expected that I was miles off-course, and he would fly us back on course while lecturing me about my mistakes.

"Take off your hood and look down." He banked the plane to the right, allowing me to see the ground out his side window. Sure enough, as plain as day, there was Franklin Field, a bustling municipal airport, dead below us and filling my view out the window from fore to aft.

"See?" he said. "It really works."

"Well I'll be." I couldn't believe we were directly on top of it. I put the hood back on, and with a new spring of confidence, took us to our next waypoint.



This waypoint was Wallom Field (8CA8). Stephen was immediately dismayed at my choice of waypoint. "'Wallom'? I've never even heard of it. In all likelihood, it's a grass strip in the middle of nowhere that we'll never see." He fiddled with the GPS. "See? It's not even in the GPS."

I suggested that he locate perhaps nearby intersections or VFR landmarks that he could use if he wished to verify my position. He looked over the sectional chart and finally said, "Well, just tell me when you think you're close."

Ten minutes later, I thought I was close. Stephen, who had been watching the GPS intently, had me take off the hood and we looked around. He pointed off to the left. "I think that's it over there, that little paved strip."

I scanned the left side, but for the life of me couldn't see a thing. He tried to point it out to me, but ultimately we just decided to press on to Modesto. I put the hood back on for the last leg of dead reckoning.



As I got to the top of descent, Stephen had me descend to 3,000 feet while listening to the Modesto ATIS. We would fly over the airport at 3,000 feet, above their airspace, and get the lay of the land. Assuming I manage to make it there on course.

Nine minutes later, I could see Modesto City and then the airport peeking into view from under my hood. Unfortunately, the flight plan claimed we still had another 2 minutes to fly. I wondered what I should do -- tell Stephen that I see the airport from under the hood and "cheat," or be virtuous and fly two minutes past the airport and then pretend to look for it? Part of the whole exercise was that the hood stays on until I arrive at what I think is my destination, and then we see how far off course I am.

As the airport slipped underneath the airplane, Stephen kept his mouth sealed shut. It was obvious he wasn't going to spill the beans. So I decided on a compromise.

"Well, I think we should be sort of close by now; maybe I should look around for it?"

Stephen bought it. "Sure, take off your hood and see if you can find it."

I took off my hood and feigned surprise. "Oh, look. There it is right below me, a giant airport. Wowie."



I told Modesto Tower I was right above the airport. They gave me my choice of runway, so I chose the bigger one (why not). I made a teardrop maneuver to enter a right 45 for runway 28R at the pattern altitude. I brought the airplane down on the ground, though the last few minutes before touchdown were dicey. I'm not sure if it was wind shear or my overcorrecting, but the airplane yawed left and right significantly just before touching the pavement. Stephen was not impressed.

I got my clearance to taxi back, then requested takeoff clearance with a straight-out departure to Oakland. Modesto Tower gave me the go-ahead to take off.

"You called them Oakland again," Stephen said in a deadpan tone.
"What?! You're kidding me."
"You're terrible!"
"I need a solo radio certificate or something. This is awful."

Stephen had me do a short-field takeoff. I remember him saying that all my takeoffs and landings would be short- or soft-field once, and I wondered why he wasn't insisting on this flight. OK, I did a short-field takeoff. No problem.

After takeoff and climb-out, Stephen walked me through how to use the GPS to fly back to Oakland. I had already located Mt. Diablo in the distance, but with the GPS doing the navigating, we both got a chance to relax and enjoy the sights and setting sun for this last leisurely leg.

And oh, the sights there were. Among the most memorable was when we passed just 20 feet or so from a pair of floating helium balloons. That was unique. We used the GPS to learn about each of the little dirt-field airports we passed over, and enjoyed the backwater vistas of the Central Valley.

"So I guess I'm better at DR than I am at pilotage," I said, remarking on my previous failure at pilotage.
"Well, the Central Valley all looks the same." Amen to that. I felt like I had done well today, and I was eager to learn if I would get my endorsement.

Stephen asked me if I wanted an IFR lesson. I took that as good news. If he feels he can give me a lesson from the IFR lesson book, then I must be doing well. He showed me how to use the GPS to fly an IFR approach. He wanted me to fly an IFR approach to runway 27R, by the book. Okay. No problem. The GPS handles most of it anyway.

Once we got to the SUNOL intersection I gave NorCal Approach a call and let them know I wanted to practice an ILS approach to runway 27R. Apparently, if you ask for such a thing, they think you're an IFR-rated pilot, so they see it as license to talk a mile a minute to you. In her soup of words I picked out that I was cleared for the ILS approach, that a Boeing 737 was descending into my altitude, and that it was crowded in the sky around me. I did my best to cope.

The GPS brought us along a picture-perfect ILS approach for 27R, and Tower gave me clearance to land about 5 miles out. At 200 feet was the decision altitude, when I stop flying by instruments and start flying by my eyes. The GPS and ILS had faithfully brought me to 27R, and I landed the plane with only a little bounce.

I took the plane to Kaiser where I immediately went for a much-needed restroom trip, then refueled the plane, and then taxied Stephen and I back to the Old T's. When we landed, Stephen couldn't believe the tach. It read 2.4 hours. No way we flew 2.4 hours on the tach. Despite his incredulity, he took the instrument's word, and I was credited 2.9 hours of cross-country training. After all, we did return the plane a good 45 minutes past the end of the block I had scheduled, so it's not completely inconceivable.

Stephen was very impressed with my performance. Needless to say, he gladly gave me my solo cross-country endorsement. He told me to plan a flight from OAK to either SAC or MOD (one of the two airports we had been to), so that I could fly it next weekend. In addition, I was to schedule a night lesson sometime next week to learn night flying. And finally, I was to finish my ground school in preparation for the written examination.

Things are beginning to wrap up. My private pilot certificate never felt closer than it does now.

Cost so far: $5,936.64
Time so far: 90 days
Hours so far: 30.8

Projected certification date: August 17, 2007
Projected total cost: $9,600

Solo #3: The obligatory flight over my own domicile

Saturday was too windy for a solo, so I felt lucky when ATIS told me this Sunday morning is prime condition for soloing. Riding in on BART, a thickish fog made me concerned that I wouldn't meet the 7-mile visibility minimum, but it cleared up by the time I was preflighting my plane.

4AC was having vacuum gyro problems, and a large sign said that it was unavailable for touch-and-goes, maneuvering, or pattern work (meaning basically you could only take it on long straight flights). Fortunately, 9UL was available so I simply switched my reservation. Once again I would be able to use the GPS to keep from blowing through anyone's airspace.

Accompanying me in the clubhouse was instructor Liz Sommers and her student, Mike, whom I had met the previous flight. Mike was doing his checkride today. He and Liz would take N6605D up for a last-minute review, and then Mike would have his checkride. If all went well, he should be holding a private pilot's certificate as I write this.

After finishing my preflight for 9UL, I asked for my clearance.

"Oakland Ground, Skyhawk 739UL is at the Old T's with papa, taxi runway 33, VFR departure, I'd like to take some photos over Rockridge and then proceed to Hayward." I wanted to make immediate use of my Hayward signoff.

"739UL, Oakland Ground, state your departure vector?"

Hell if I knew what direction to fly to get to Rockridge, and I wasn't about to guess. I picked a standard departure that sounded reasonable.

"739UL will follow the 880 northwest-bound."

"739UL, Oakland Ground, taxi runway 33, follow the Nimitz freeway northwest-bound, VFR at or below 2,000, squawk 0364."

I read back the instructions and brought the plane to 33. Once again I had that sinking feeling that I might have forgotten something. It always happens when I solo. It's worst right before starting the engine ("Did I forget something that would make the engine blow up?"), before taking off, and before landing. Fortunately, nothing exploded for this takeoff.

I also tend to talk to myself when I'm nervous, which I did.

I brought the airplane off the ground, and was told to stay on Tower's frequency and report on station. I followed the 880 up the bay (looking carefully for traffic-watch planes) until I was over the MacArthur Maze, where I made a right turn towards a large golf course I knew was near my apartment.

This would be the first time I'd spotted my apartment from the air, so I had to make a few turns before I really figured out which building it was. In addition, I forgot if my clearance was at or below 2,000 feet or at or ABOVE 2,000 feet, so I just flew at 2,000 feet the whole time. (Next time, I will bring the plane down to 1,000 feet and wake up anyone who might still be sleeping.) I snapped some photos of the area, then told tower I was ready to move on to Hayward.



"9UL, proceed southeast to Hayward at or below 1,400." I thought 1,400 was a pretty low altitude to be flying at or below, so I confirmed the instruction. He verified that 1,400 was the upper limit, so I did as told and brought the plane down. It later occurred to me that Hayward's airspace probably ended at 1,400 feet up, which was why -- he wanted to keep me out of Hayward's airspace until I was in contact with their tower. No matter, though: With the GPS I was able to skirt the lateral boundary of its airspace without penetrating it. I made tracks to Lake Chabot, a common reporting point for Hayward pilots that I was familiar with. This took me through the Sunol pass, where the hills meant I was flying only 500 feet or so above rooftops. I enjoy flying to Hayward from Oakland for this very reason. Nice, scenic, low flight over suburbia.

Over Lake Chabot, I gave Tower a gentle reminder of my position.

"Oakland Tower, 9UL is over Lake Chabot."
"9UL, radar services terminated, frequency change approved, contact Hayward tower with your current squawk."

I tuned out Oakland Tower for Hayward Tower. I briefly considered whether or not I was "in the system," as Stephen says -- the controller had said "radar services terminated" (which would imply I'm not) but also told me to keep my current squawk (which would imply I am).

"Hayward Tower, Skyhawk 739UL is over Lake Chabot, looking to do pattern work on the active."
"739UL, make right base for runway 28L, report over Cal State."

Cal State is another Hayward reporting point. It's Cal State Hayward. Unlike Lake Chabot, I was unfamiliar with this reporting point. Stephen pointed it out to me once; there's this tall white building atop a hill that's easy to recognize. I thought I saw such a building out in front of me, so I figured that was probably it, but I wouldn't know until I got closer.

Fortunately, Tower changed their mind. "9UL, previous restriction lifted, make your right base for 28L now." Alright, I can forget finding Cal State. I continued on my right 45 for a mile or two more, then turned right base and then final for Hayward. I made my first touch-and-go (which went acceptably), then made left traffic. I did a go-around (which went horribly), a full-stop (which I tried to make a short-field landing), and another touch-and-go, before deciding to head back to Oakland for a little more pattern work there.

Hayward told me to make a right crosswind departure. I departed 28L and headed east back towards the mountains, when I was handed off to Oakland Tower. Oakland cleared me for a straight-in to 27L, which was about 8 miles off. I flew a long final. Tower informed me that another Cessna was also doing pattern work on 27L, and -- lo and behold -- it was 6605D. Mike was doing some last-minute landing practice with Liz before his checkride. With Mike in the pattern for 27L and me right on his heels, it became almost a competition. I would touch down, and take off, and Mike was hot on my heels behind me.

Unfortunately, that didn't help my landings.

In particular, my second touch-and-go on 27L was probably the worst of my career. The plane whacked the ground with a solid thump, bounced three or four feet back up, then slammed back down with another whack on my head. I could almost hear Mike and Liz chuckling at me in 05D. I took a few deep breaths and told myself to get it together. Out the side window I watched Mike bring 05D to a gentle flare, and kiss the asphalt. Sigh. We all have our off days, I guess.

I decided I'd do one more touch-and-go then call it quits. I briefly entertained the notion of practicing a landing on runway 33. Runway 33 is a tricky landing. Since it starts right near the edge of 27R, generally what Tower has you do is fly down 27R, very close to the ground, then quickly turn into 33 and land. I had wanted to practice this landing, but decided my third solo was not the time. (I will try at least on the computer, then with an instructor.) As if to taunt me, I heard Mike's crisp British accent over the radio.

"Tower, 05D, we'd like a full-stop on 33."
"05D, Oakland, make a low approach on 27R, cleared for the option 27R, cleared to land 33."

I watched out my side window, carefully studying his technique as he performed the approach, overflying 27R and banking carefully and smoothly into a landing on 33. I tried not to let it distract me too much from my own imminent landing.

One touch-and-go later I was ready for my full-stop. Tower cleared me to land on 27R. I performed a reasonable landing, planning bring the plane to Kaiser for fuel. After leaving the runway, Tower told me to "go to Ground point-seven-five," referring to Ground frequency 121.75. This was unusual, because 121.75 is the frequency that the Big Jets use to talk to ground. Little Planes generally use 121.9.

Regardless, I hesitantly tuned 121.75 and found a barrage of Big Jet Chatter. Southwest, ATA, American, all of them on the frequency. I found a moment and told ground I was off 27R and I wanted to head to Kaiser.

"Cessna calling Ground, tune to 121.9." Color me shocked. He said it quickly, like a machine-gun burst, and promptly resumed his duty of vectoring Big Jet traffic around the south field. I tuned to 121.9.

After returning to the Old T's and securing the aircraft, I walked back to the clubhouse to find Mike, Liz, and a crusty old fellow who I assumed was the checkride examiner. He looked like he could crush a skull with his pinky, and he was babbling on about his time as a Navy pilot in the Vietnam war.

Good luck with this guy, Mike.

I shouldn't laugh. The Bay Area basically has this one checkride examiner, so unless Mike blows up the plane or something, I will probably have to wrassle this guy into giving me a license as well, soon enough.

Later in the week I have another cross-country lesson. At the ground school with Shannon, Stephen told me to plan a flight from OAK to SAC using radio-navigation, then from SAC to MOD using dead reckoning, then from MOD back to OAK using GPS navigation. This will be my most intense flight yet. I'd better wear comfortable clothes, because it will be a long one too.

Cost so far: $5,492.04
Time so far: 85 days
Hours so far: 27.9

Projected certification date: August 23, 2007
Projected total cost: $9,900

First phase check: Continued

The days are getting mighty warm, which makes the ride up very laborous. In addition, the fact that there's not been a cloud in the sky for the last week or so means that the planes are always checked out, and getting a reservation is proving difficult.

Joel once again wouldn't be showing up until later, so I had some time to preflight 9UL, enjoy the breeze, locate my headsets (which weren't stolen, thank the Jesus), and chat with other pilots. Well, not so much the last one. I'm pretty convinced that there are maybe 3 pilots besides me in the AAC that aren't stir-crazy. Fortunately the stir-crazy people (the other 100 or so pilots) are all on the older side, so I can outrun them if they try to approach me for conversation.

I checked 9UL's oil like a diligent little student pilot, and sure enough she was a quart low. Just in case you were worried. I tried to get some air in the cockpit by pulling open the vent, but the whole thing came right off its housing. I carefully tucked it away and made a note to squawk that problem when I returned.

Joel finally arrived at around 4:45 PM, still leaving us with plenty of time to do the phase check. He told me we'd be going to San Pablo Bay. I got my clearance, took the plane to runway 33, and took off. Joel instructed me to show him a soft-field takeoff. And once again, Joel spent the whole time talking with me, a sort of mix between earnest conversation and lecture material.

During run-up I'd noted that 9UL had abnormally low gyro suction, and sure enough, it was obvious the heading indicator would be inoperative this flight. It took only ten minutes for it to drift noticeably. I'd be using the magnetic compass for this flight.

I was instructed to follow the 580 northwest-bound, remembering to keep to the right side since the traffic-watch airplanes tend to use the left side by convention. Over San Pablo Bay, Joel had me do a series of turns at increasing bank. First two 90-degree turns at 10 degrees bank, then two 180-degree turns at 15 degrees bank, then a 360-degree steep turn at 45 degrees bank. Though my altitude was far from constant, it was within 100 feet, so it was within private pilot standards, and Joel gave me the checkmark of approval on the syllabus.

Following these banks, Joel had me transition to slow flight and imminent stall. Once again I passed within acceptable standards, and I got my checkmark. Then ... uh oh! ... engine failure! Joel pulled the power back, and it was time to find a place to fake an emergency landing.

I chose the marshlands on the north side of San Pablo Bay. I did my checklists, called Mayday over the fake radio, and prepared for the fake landing. When the plane broke 500 feet descending, Joel reapplied power and I climbed to 1,000 feet where we would practice turns about a point.

I chose a pair of outhouses near the shore and performed two full turns about them. During this Joel continued to quiz me orally. Stephen had taught me turns about a point differently than most instructors, so I got confused when Joel asked me questions that would be relevant to the standard way of doing the maneuver, but not Stephen's Way. He seemed pleased enough though, and I got my checkmark.

"Okay, now take us to Napa Airport." That was easy enough with the GPS. I pointed the plane at the airport and flew until I could locate it visually. Joel tuned in the Napa ATIS; they were using runway 24 for departures and arrivals. I continued to fly directly towards the airport, and Joel asked me to point out which one was runway 24. I then called Napa Tower and got clearance to land on runway 24.

It wasn't until I was nearly in the pattern that I realized I was heading for runway 18R, not 24. In fact, I was directly in the path of departing airplanes for runway 24, a very dangerous place to be. I quickly turned to the downwind for 24, but it was too late. Tower had seen my blunder, and they were not happy.

"9UL, did you follow the VOR in?"
"Negative, we're a slant-golf."
"Well, be advised that your approach was extremely dangerous; you were directly in the path of departing airplanes."
"9UL, acknowledged. Sorry about that, my mistake."
"Well ... yes. Just be advised it was extremely dangerous and I strongly recommend you don't do it again."
OK, I get the point. "9UL, acknowledged."

Joel apologized to me, since he should have seen it coming and prevented it before it escalated into a "dangerous situation." He also mentioned, "you can always count on getting a lecture from Napa." Apparently it's big-fish-little-sea syndrome. Nevermind that there was only one other airplane at the airport, Napa was a 'big' airport for this part of hicksville so the controller there likes to play King of the Hill.

Joel had me do a touch-and-go on 24, but then at the last minute had me do a go-around. Remembering my blunder from last time, I brought the flaps up incrementally, and Joel was pleased. Tower then advised us that winds had changed to 160, and we were free to begin landing on runway 18L if we wanted to continue pattern work.

So, I entered traffic for 18L. It became clear to me, upon turning final, that 18R would have been much more ideal. 18R was a large, beautiful runway currently undergoing repaving, and 18L was barely bigger than a taxiway. The situation was compounded by Joel's request that I do a slip to landing, meaning keeping aligned with this tiny strip in the dirt was a herculean feat. It was practically a miracle that I was able to get all three wheels on the pavement, and in doing so, a crosswind caused the airplane to slide across the very little horizontal space I had. Almost ironically, Joel said, "Wheee!" as I took the plane back into the air to complete my first touch-and-go.

I flew the pattern again, and prepared for my next touch-and-go, which became another go-around. Joel then had me depart straight-out and head back to Oakland. Over San Pablo Bay again, I got the Oakland ATIS, got my approach clearance, and entered traffic for 27R. Joel took the controls to demonstrate a slip to landing, but let me take over the landing at the last minute so I could get credit for the touchdown on my log. I was "off at Echo," as they say, referring to taxiway Echo, the first taxiway you could turn off at. Only the slowest planes with the shortest ground rolls can get off at Echo.

I brought the plane to KaiserAir, refueled, then returned to the Old T's. At Kaiser they fly three flags: the United States flag, the California state flag, and a Chevron flag. Guess which two flags are flown highest. All hail Chevron. At the Old T's, Joel gave me the overview of what I did wrong.


"There was something wrong with your slip to landing. That's why I showed you how to do it. When I did it we were losing more than 1,000 feet per minute, but when you did it the plane was barely descending more than 500 fpm. You need to practice that. Also, a few times in the pattern I noticed your airspeed drop below 60 knots. You need to feel the slow flight regime and react to it. Don't let your airspeed drop. Finally, of course, you picked the wrong runway at Napa, so you need to visualize the airport and figure out which runway is which."

He had praise for my radio work though, and my control of the aircraft. We had a lot of problems to squawk (low gyro suction, broken pilot's side air vent, loose exhaust pipe...), so hopefully Ginny will take a look at them. I like 9UL, I consider her the flagship of the fleet.

I have ground school tomorrow with Stephen and Shannon, where we will learn how to plan flights, and another solo on Saturday, weather permitting. I will be practicing slips. Joel gave me my Hayward solo signoff so I will do pattern work there for a change in scenery. Until next time!

Cost so far: $5,371.21
Time so far: 81 days
Hours so far: 26.8

Projected certification date: August 22, 2007
Projected total cost: $10,000

Solo #2: A tour of the East Bay

This was it! I had scheduled the plane maybe four or five times previously, but each time the weather was just barely not good enough to fly solo. Stephen's been out sick so I couldn't use the time as lesson time, so it meant over a week of being stuck on the stupid boring ground.

Well, my time finally came. At 9 AM today I arrived at the Old T's alone, and the Oakland ATIS was showing winds under four knots -- perfect! Visibility nine miles -- perfect! Scattered clouds at 1,000 feet -- per-- oh crap. I needed a cloud layer of 2,500 feet or higher to fly.

I looked up. The scattered clouds mentioned were off to the south. I wouldn't be flying south. I bet I could still do it. I gave Stephen a call to make sure, but he wasn't there, so I said screw it, and prepared to fly my second solo.

I checked the plane out, got my fuel slip, and headed out to 9UL for preflighting. During the preflight I was unable to remove the dipstick from the engine. I wrenched and gripped and twisted as hard as I possibly could, but that dipstick was not budging. Exasperated, I entertained the notion of maybe just flying without first checking the oil. After all, I had biked such a long way...

I decided I'd try the dipstick once more after I finished my preflight, and then rethink the matter. So, I got the plane ready, and lo and behold, the damn metal rod separated itself from the engine. I read the oil level.

Five quarts. Two quarts below the recommended minimum.

Okay, so maybe flying off without checking the oil would have been a bad idea. It all turned out well, anyway. I ran back to the clubhouse and got two bottles of oil, filled the plane up, and I was ready to go. Having never refilled a plane's oil before, I was fumbling around trying to figure out where the club stored the oil, how to get it in the engine, etc. etc., and it was nearly 9:40 by the time I was in the plane ready to taxi. I only had the plane until 11 AM, so I felt a little rushed. I wanted to see the sights, fly, and be free!

With the engine started and everything hunky-dory, I got my clearance to take off from 33 on a VFR flight to Mt. Diablo. I was instructed to turn right on course after takeoff and head towards the mountain. Takeoff went smoothly (other than some minor radio problems that were solved by noticing that the volume was turned down), and there I was, flying casually along an eastward course towards Walnut Creek.

First I would do some sightseeing around this city, my hometown, and maybe enjoy the splendor of Mt. Diablo from the air. Then, time permitting, I decided I'd head north to San Pablo Bay and practice whatever maneuvers I'm rusty at. While heading over the hills that separate Oakland and the Inner East Bay from the Outer East Bay, NorCal terminated my radar service and gave me clearance to change frequencies.

I turned off the chatter of the radio and enjoyed the view 2,500 feet above Walnut Creek. It didn't take long for me to locate my parent's house, and I did a few circles around the neighborhood. Northgate High School on a Saturday morning was a large empty plot of parking and fields, though I did see tiny white dots preparing for football practice on the field. Arbolado Park was bustling with soccer players in the north and south fields. Cars creeped up and down Sutton Dr., but squint as I might I couldn't make out any people at the house. Oh well.



I turned southwest and circled around the west side of Mt. Diablo. Flying above the city, Mt. Diablo still rose higher than me, making for a view of some grandeur. I approached the south side with caution, knowing that many planes from Livermore use it as an area to practice aerobatics. I didn't see any planes, though. I had read on the Web that people doing aerobatics in the Mt. Diablo Practice Area tend to coordinate on 122.75, the common air-to-air frequency. I tuned that in but found only old pilots chatting about their families with each other, so I turned it off.

I made a sharp turn just before reaching the south side of Mt. Diablo, and turned around back north. I circled once more over my folks' house in case they didn't hear my ruckus the first time, then continued northwest to San Pablo Bay. As I was being careful not to enter either San Francisco's class-B airspace or Concord's class-D airspace, It had occurred to me that this would be a lot harder without the handy-dandy GPS installed in the airplane. That nifty device plotted all the airspace boundaries for me, taking all the guessing out of navigating and helping me ensure I didn't penetrate any airspace boundaries. I had reflected on what it would be like to fly in 4AC, without a GPS, and with myself having only a vague idea of where the airspace is. I would probably have been much more cautious.

As I flew over Hercules, approaching San Pablo Bay, a sudden red blur streaked across my view above me, heading southbound. I craned my neck to see, but it was too late. I think it was an airplane that flew a little too close to me for comfort. I wondered briefly if I should maybe change to a different altitude, but I couldn't think of any particular strategy to improve this situation other than keeping a more wary eye out for other traffic.

Over San Pablo Bay I did some clearing turns then practiced power-on stalls and slow flight, since I remember having trouble holding my altitude in those maneuvers. I did alright, but of course without Stephen to grade me I'll never know. Following that I chose to practice my steep turns a bit.

During all this I was checking my phone very frequently to keep track of time. I had it in my head that I would head back to Oakland at 10:30, giving me 30 minutes to land and taxi back. I thought that was a generous estimate. But still, I was so worried about having the plane past 11 am (a big no-no) that I had to fight myself to stay flying and enjoy my time up in the air.

Finally, at 10:25, over San Pablo and nearly 4,000 feet up, I relented and decided to head home. See, this is where I would love to have had a sectional chart. I couldn't remember which frequency to contact NorCal on if I am approaching Oakland from the north. I decided I'd just contact them on the last frequency they were with me on, and ask them. I got Oakland's ATIS and made my call.

"NorCal approach, Skyhawk 739UL, request."
"739UL, go ahead."
"Which frequency do you use for approaches to Oakland from the north?"
"Are you heading in to Oakland?"
"Yes, I'm heading in from the north."

NorCal was confused, since this wasn't a typical thing you ask over the radio.

"Do you want ... like, traffic advisories?"
"No, I'm wondering which frequency to use."
"9UL, that would be me!"
"Oh! Alright then." I hadn't thought about what to say next, so I fumbled through it. "Skyhawk 739UL ... uhh ... is a Skyhawk ... uhh, over Richmond at 3,000 feet ... uhh ... landing at Oakland with Xray."

I was so busy thinking of what to say, I didn't put any effort into trying to say it in the correct order. It was pure luck that the information happened to be stated in the correct order.

"9UL, squawk 0362 and ident."

"Ident" is the controller's way of saying, "You sound confused. I bet you're confused about where you are, so I don't trust that you're actually over Richmond, so I will have your transponder broadcast your position, and I will trust that."

"Squaking 0362 and identing, 9UL."

I punched the numbers in and hit the ident button.

"9UL, radar contact, directly over Richmond." You're damn right I was directly over Richmond, punk! I know where I am. Bitch. "Head to the Mormon Temple at or above 2,500 feet, then make right traffic for 27R."

I did as I was told, and as usual, I was handed over to Tower before hitting the temple, who cleared me into 27R. I passed over the Coliseum on a right 45, then turned downwind and base. Tower cleared me to land on 27R, and a quick glance at my clock showed it was 10:46. I was doing fine on time.

Right about then it dawned on me that I would have to refuel the plane. Okay, now I was worried. Could I land, refuel, and get back to the Old T's before 11:00? With little to no wind my landing was perfectly silky smooth, the type of landing that would have made Stephen proud. I brought the plane to Kaiser, and refueled as fast as I could. Hopping back in, I returned to the Old T's with not a second to spare.

I secured the airplane then returned to the clubhouse to do the paperwork. Waiting there was Stephen with his student; they were scheduled to take 9UL next. Stephen shook my hand and congratulated me on my second solo, but he was clearly feeling rushed. He took the keys from me and wasted no time in getting to the airplane.

I did my paperwork, finished up at the clubhouse, and rode home. And I had the foresight to take home the wrong headset, in a classic Tim move. My headset is still at the club, and the one I took home is one of the junky loaners that they make available for everyone.

Sigh.

The second part of my phase check is Wednesday with Joel again.

Cost so far: $5,150.11
Time so far: 77 days
Hours so far: 25.5

Projected certification date: August 21, 2007
Projected total cost: $10,100