Get back on the horse...err...airplane

I've been getting tired of being kicked around by N872SP the last few flights. I had been flying a lovely bird dubbed N2099D (two zero niner niner delta) and fell in love with flying it. From the first time I climbed in, it fit like a glove and flew perfectly, right in sync, like an extension of me.

But when I saddled up 872SP, I developed an itch I couldn't scratch.

Inside and outside, everything appeared the same, airframe, radios, avionics, all that good stuff. But right after she kissed the tarmac goodbye, something didn't feel right. During the initial climb-out, I looked at the tachometer to see how fast the engine was running, and there was my first clue. The tach was unusual to me, a few more tick marks and a longer green stripe, indicating cruise. I thought, "well, it's a different plane, so there's a different tach, no big deal." But as I continued to fly her for the next hour, I couldn't seem to get her flying straight, or the same altitude, turns were very difficult to coordinate and she was a bitch to land. It was a fight I didn't feel I could win. Like trying to pin an octopus in a wrestling match.

After touchdown and taxiing back to park I was exhausted. Suddenly, I remembered that this tin can had 20 more horsepower. I exclaimed this revelation to my instructor who casually responded, "yep." Well, maybe it's just that I forgot how to fly. I was just rusty. Yeah, that's it.

I didn't fly at all for two weeks and then had to take my progress check in the boxkite that had been giving me so much trouble. I won't repeat what happened there, you can read about it in the earlier post. Needless to say, I wasn't happy.

Anyways, back to Saturday's flight. I was on standby because Andy's schedule was full for the week. But, as luck would have it, at 12:08 p.m., Andy called me and said his 2:00 was open if I wanted to go. Absolutely. I wanted back in the air. I wanted to prove to myself I could actually fly a plane and not be some underconfident schmuck. Today was a new day, I was a new pilot.

I got to the airport and Andy went through the pre-flight for the day's maneuvers. It was mostly a review flight, no sweat. But which plane are we flying? "Two Sierra Papa," he said. Excellent! She is mine today. I was going to take that white dove by her sweet little neck and break it. Not really, but I was going show her who was boss!

I taxied out of the run-up area with a fervor, eager to jump into the air. Andy didn't say anything, but I had to reel myself in and slow my taxi on the way to the runway. I couldn't get there quick enough.

We took off into straight 15-20 knot headwinds and she hopped off the tarmac like a feather. Already cleared for the right turnout, I headed to the practice area. Andy only needed to tell me what to do, and I put the whip on her. She was going to do things my way, the way I wanted it, whether she liked it or not. Left turns, right turns, circles around a point, S-turns, constant speed climbs and descents, she did my will without flinching. My confidence driving the plane where I told her to go. At the end, I took her over Sundance at 2300 AGL then descended back down to land at Wiley Post, plowing her straight into the runway for a perfect landing.

Finally, the young buck was broken. It's quite possible that this beast and I are going to be good friends after all. We just had to reach a mutual understanding.

Ahh, pilot training. Gotta love it!