Cross-country solo #1: A flight to Oakdale and back

I hadn't realized just how hard it would be to do even one cross-country solo. The weather would have to be clear and calm from Oakland to Oakdale and back again, meaning winds would have to stay below 10 knots even into noon. This happens virtually never. I needed to get an instructor's sign-off for each flight, after he reviews my planning and discusses the flight with me.

Stephen was away until the fourth, meaning I was calling every instructor in the club's Rolo looking for a coveted signature. Joel finally agreed to review my flight at 9 am on Saturday, and after making the effort to bike out to his house, he went over my math and the weather briefing with me and talked about all the challenges I might face on this flight. Finally, at around 9:45, he decided I was fit to travel, and gave me my signature.

By the time I got back to Rockridge it was already 10:00 AM, and I knew in my heart that when I got to the airport the winds would be too strong. So, I didn't chance it.

On Sunday the clouds didn't clear up soon enough, so there goes that window.

Finally, on Wednesday, the fourth of July, my time would come. The previous night I was able to get ahold of instructor Liz Sommers, who reviewed my flight plan and gave me the sign-off. And, to my surprise and luck, the weather this morning couldn't have been better. Not a cloud in the sky, not a gust of wind, and the forecast showed continuing calm skies past noon. If this was ever going to happen, it would happen today.

I hopped on my bike and made the trek.

At the clubhouse I got a fresh weather briefing and updated my flight plan with the new winds. I wouldn't need these numbers, as my primary navigation aid would be the radios and the GPS, but it's always good to have backup. Liz and Joel both told me to emphasize practice on dead reckoning over other forms of navigation, but I reckon (excuse the pun) that they don't realize I've already got that DR shit down-pat-cold. I don't feel I need much more DR practice, and I thought it would be fun to try another method.

Joel told me to file a flight plan with the FAA, so I went ahead and used the computer to submit it. As I was printing my new flight plan, Stephen walked in the door. He must have been back from wherever he was. He and I discussed the plan a bit, he gave me some appreciated advice, and wished me luck as I headed out to 9UL.

I'm glad I was able to switch to 9UL -- that GPS is a terrific crutch, and I love having it for my first solo cross-country.

I hopped in the plane after preflight and started her up. All signs pointed to a safe flight: No squawks in the log, no problems on preflight, no weather, no winds, no nothing. Next step: Figure out how to input my flight plan into the GPS.

After some fumbling with the GPS's knobs I got my waypoints entered and my course activated. The GPS provided me with the bearing to my first waypoint. I organized my papers and maps, set my comm and nav radios, and got my taxi clearance.

It had dawned on me that I left the mixture fully rich during the 10 minutes since I started the engine, forgetting to lean it while idling. This wasn't a good thing.

I asked for 33 but they gave me 15, so I did my run-up immediately. After takeoff I turned on-course. I wasn't given any instructions to turn on-course before reaching the 27 runways, but I figured I might as well. I watched carefully for traffic in the pattern, knowing full well I might climb too fast and interfere with aircraft circling runway 27R. I tried to stay low until well clear of those runways.

On my notes I had written what altitudes I could fly at to stay clear of SFO's class-B airspace, and Oakland Tower helped me out. Stephen had told me, once Tower switches me over to NorCal Departure, to ask them for a quick frequency change, then pop over to the Oakland FSS and open my flight plan.

Well, the problem was Tower wasn't letting me go. I was already 10 miles out from the airport and they hadn't told me to switch to NorCal. Over Lake Chabot, and crossing the Sunol pass, I gave them a friendly reminder.

"Oakland Tower, 9UL is over Lake Chabot..."
The controller responded suddenly. "9UL, go to NorCal departure 125.35."
"125.35 for 9UL."

I checked in with NorCal then requested the frequency change, but he refused on account of nearby traffic. There were two nearby aircraft, and though he told me where they both were, I couldn't for the life of me see them. He kept giving me updates on their position, but to no avail.

One of the airplanes passed behind me unseen, and became no factor. The other remained at my 12 o'clock. I finally saw two little dots in the distance, slightly above me.

"NorCal, 739UL sees two airplanes at my 12-o'clock..."
NorCal must have been satisfied. "9UL, roger. Frequency change approved, report back on this freq."

I popped over to Oakland FSS and finally opened my flight plan, already a third the way to my destination.

"Oakland Radio, Skyhawk 739UL would like to open his flight plan to Oakdale, departure time 9:46."

Oakland Radio came back with a Texan drawl. "Now hold a minute there, folk ... If y'all speak one at a time, I can deal with ya one at a time, y'hear?" I was pretty sure there wasn't anyone else speaking, but I paused for a bit to give this possibly-imaginary pilot the right of way.

No one spoke.

I rolled my eyes and tried again. "Oakland Radio, Skyhawk 739UL, request."
"739UL, go ahead now."
"739UL would like to open his flight plan to Oakdale, departure 9:46."
"Say again yer departure?"
"Nine forty-six AM."

It dawned on me that he probably expected the time to be spoken in military time (zero-nine-four-six) and in Zulu time (one-six-four-six Zulu). Oh well.

"Alright, yer flight plan's open, have a good trip now, y'hear?"
"Thank you Oakland Radio, and good day."

I popped back to NorCal. With the last of my departure chores completed, my workload dropped drastically. I watched the miles to go tick away on the GPS, enjoyed the sights outside as they crawled past my window, and generally let my mind wander.

The plane trundled south of Mt. Diablo, over Byron Airport, north of Tracy, over Manteca and south of Stockton, and finally to the Manteca VOR. As I passed over the VOR I looked out the window, trying to locate it, as if to give myself some sort of visual pat on the back for making it to the radionavigation beacon. I didn't notice it until it was behind me, but there it was; a small building with an immediately recognizable shape, sitting in an orchard.

I continued outbound on that VOR, scanning for Oakdale airport, and descending to 2,900 feet. NorCal terminated their services as I got close, and I located the tiny airport when it was about 10 miles out. I tuned in their CTAF frequency.

The problem with CTAF and Unicom frequencies is it's not one frequency per airport. If you tune into Oakdale's CTAF, you can also hear pilots landing and departing at Tracy, Lake Tahoe, Truckee, and other airports. This means you get a lot of chatter as pilots report their position over these uncontrolled strips. Because the radio channel is uncontrolled, everyone steps on each other too. I'm not even joking when I say the ratio of people who talk over other people, or get talked over, to people whose messages come out without interruption, is much greater than 1.

And, in FM radio, when two people try to talk at the same time, all you get is a howling screech. What this ultimately means is that 122.8, the CTAF for Oakdale, sounds a little something like:

"Tracy traffic, Piper 29--SCREEEEEEEECH--Truckee traffic, Mustang 41 papa is making left base for runway 21, Truckee. Oakdale traff--SCREEEECH--Tahoe traffic, helicopter 2976D is departing straight out--SCREEEEEEECH--Truckee traffic, Mustang 41 is final for runway 21. Oakdale traffic, Skyhawk--SCREEEEECH--"

You get the idea. It's annoying to listen to for more than 5 minutes.

Anyway, amidst the chatter and the cacophony, I did the "studious pilot" thing, and asked for wind and traffic advisories as I approached the airport. No one responded. I tried again when I was over the airport, and again, no response. I saw an airplane on the taxiway taxiing to runway 28, so figuring 28 was the active runway, I began a descent for a right 45 to runway 28.

"Oakdale traffic, Skyhawk 739UL is descending for a right 45 to runway 28, Oakdale."

Now someone responded. "Uhh, runway 28 is left traffic, be advi--SCREEEEEEECH." I got the gist of the message. Let it be said, the best way to get someone to talk to you over the radio is to make a mistake.

I confirmed left traffic and turned the plane around hard. I maneuvered for a left 45, then downwind, base, and finally final. I was reminded how narrow Oakdale's runway is.

I came into final a little fast and landed long, but the runway is long enough for these sorts of mistakes. At least I kept the plane in the centerline; that's what mattered most. I cleared the runway and brought her back along the taxiway to where I vaguely remembered the fuel pump was.

$3.95 per gallon. I brought the plane up to the pump. As I got out of the plane, I was immediately awestruck by the right wing. There it was, resting not three inches away from the shed that houses the fuel equipment. Had I moved the airplane merely three inches forward, I would have dinged the wing and created a shameful dent. Embarrassing disaster: averted.

I fueled the plane at the dejected, dirty old pump, brushing cobwebs off of fueling equipment. Then, with a heave and a hoe, I pushed the airplane about seven or eight feet back from the pump, to give myself enough room to turn clear of the shed when taxiing out.

An old airplane I could have sworn was a P-51 Mustang was taxiing down the runway for takeoff. Lucky bastard got himself a WWII fighter. I waved.

After starting up the plane, I ever so carefully taxied it clear of the pump, my eyes glued to the right wingtip. I winced as the wing passed the shed -- I couldn't tell how close I was to dinging it, but I knew I was close. Fortunately, it all turned out OK.

I brought the airplane to the run-up area when it hit me -- I never closed my flight plan! A flight plan is not something you want to leave open. Thirty minutes after your scheduled arrival, if they haven't heard from you, they send out the search and rescue teams. I knew the FSS wouldn't be reachable over radio on the ground, but -- thank heavens -- my Pilot's Guide had the phone number to call. I called them up as my plane sat idle at the runup area, and got my flight plan closed. Another disaster averted.

I performed my run-up, then took the runway, forgetting that at uncontrolled airports you should make a 360-degree turn in place before taking the runway, to ensure no one else is taking it either.

I departed straight-out, climbed just south of Oakdale proper to my cruising altitude of 4,500 feet. When clear of Oakdale I contacted NorCal and requested a flight following for flight back. It dawned on me that I also forgot to tell the controllers that I was on my first solo cross-country flight (something Stephen had told me to do), but I wasn't doing so bad thus far, so I let it slide.

I enjoyed the leisurely trip back to Oakland. I passed north of Livermore Airport, and saw a bustle of small aircraft circling the field for takeoff and landing. I passed south of Byron Field, and NorCal told me to proceed to Lake Chabot where they would hand me off to Oakland.

Well, shoot. I had no idea where Lake Chabot was (you can't see it very well from the east), and the GPS wasn't helping, so I made a best-guess. As I crossed over Danville, I descended to 2,500 feet to stay clear of the class-B, but I still couldn't see the lake. Finally, I noticed it at least 5 miles north of me.

"NorCal, Skyhawk 739UL made a valiant effort to fly over Lake Chabot..."
"739UL, go to Oakland Tower, 118.3."

I switched to Tower, and they instructed me to make a long final for 27R. I used the GPS to skirt the edge of Hayward's airspace, then lined up for final about 6 miles out. I was told to inform them when 3 miles out, but before I called in, I heard Stephen's unmistakable drawl over the radio. He was in 12R, teaching another student to land, requesting takeoff clearance from 27R.

I saw 12R in the distance, a tiny airplane taking off from my runway. I called in my 3-mile final, got my landing clearance, and sat amused that Stephen probably knew it was me.

After a silky landing, Tower told me to switch to Ground. Just before I would have switched, though, I heard Stephen come on the radio unexpectedly.

"Good job, Tim."
"Thanks, Stephen," I replied over the air.

I popped over to Ground and taxied to Kaiser. Just before buying fuel, however, I realized there was probably no need, since I fueled at Oakdale, so I simply put everything back away and continued to the Old T's.

Stephen arrived not long after I did, and I told him, "1.5 hours down, 1.5 to go."

"You'll cover that in your Big One," he said. The Big One is the hardest task a student pilot must complete before his checkride, a long and challenging cross-country solo to multiple airports many many miles away. That will be an interesting flight. I should bring an iPod.

Tomorrow I have a night flying lesson with Stephen, after which I will be able to conduct solo night flights, should I desire. On Friday I am leaving for Germany for a week, and I have another solo scheduled shortly thereafter. I am thinking of canceling my other cross-country solos, however -- it's so much damn trouble to conduct one, and Stephen's right: After my Big One I'll have my required solo cross-country hours anyway, so no need to create extra trouble.

In the meantime, my two or three faithful readers, ich werd' euch bald sehen!

Cost so far: $6,195.64
Time so far: 102 days
Hours so far: 33.4

Projected certification date: August 23, 2007
Projected total cost: $9,300