Airplane Stories: Taming the Taildragger - Lesson 1 The Great Cross Country and Cayman Caravan (COMING SOON!) |
 In October of 1998, I passed my checkride and received my Private Pilot certification. If you had told me four or more years ago that I would be doing this, I would have laughed at you.
Although I was an Air Force brat, and was certainly familiar enough with aircraft, airplanes and flight held no special fascination for me. I considered commercial flight a necessary evil, and after a nightmarish Northwest flight between Tokyo and Minneapolis, I put emphasis on the "evil" part. I thought piloting an airplane would be like one of those Warner Brothers cartoons where Bugs Bunny tries to land a plummeting bomber, looks up, and sees nothing but acres of incomprehensible gauges and switches. Definitely not something I would ever be interested in. Well, never say never. Right before I moved to Japan for nearly nine years, I was quoted as saying, "Japan's a nice place to visit, but I don't think I would ever live there." Six months after I moved back to the United States, I was in California, struggling with a new and completely unfamiliar job. A coworker, who had just gotten his certification, invited me to spend a lunch hour with him, flying around the valley. I don't know what I was thinking when I said, "Okay." Again I questioned my sanity when we approached the tiny red Cessna 152--this thin-skinned, flimsy thing had none of the reassuring bulk of an airliner, with its layers of plastic insulation. I gawked as my friend preflighted the plane, and then we climbed in and were on our way. Looking down from 3,500 feet, Silicon Valley looked like a giant circuit board; its inhabitants crawling like bugs across its surface. The dot-coms and deadlines and all the accompanying angst shrank away below.
After a quick demonstration, my friend let me take the controls. I chased the needles, trying to keep the little plane on course until it was time to turn around for home. We landed, and I went back to the office dazzled, unable to erase from my mind the image of the runway right in front of us, through the front windshield. I went on two more flights with this friend, and then he introduced me to an instructor, who gave me all the information about expenses and requirements. At about $5,000, flying didn't seem much more expensive than an advanced college course. I scheduled lesson one, and here I am. Ironically, I did my first solo and passed my checkride in the very same aircraft I had ridden in for my first flight. I look back at photographs, and I think it's time that plane and I had a little reunion.
I'm currently looking for my next challenge. My instructor wants me to try for my instrument rating, but for now, I'm settling for learning to land a taildragger. One thing at a time. Aviation Links
Questions? Comments? Contact me at wendy@chronicsite.com
Page (c) Wendy Dinsmore 1998, 2001 |
Flying scares me sometimes, but it also makes me deliriously happy. I look down from the sky and shout, "This is so cool!" I spend afternoons flying the pattern, cheering when I grease a landing on the runway centerline. There have been times that I talk myself out of flying--can't afford it, out of practice, no confidence, etc. Then I just go and fly, and all is good with the world again. Flying has taught me a lot about myself, about my strengths and weaknesses, my abilities and my spirituality (I can tell you about countless Sunday mornings before lessons spent in the airport ladies room, talking to God). On a day that I fly, I smile a lot more.
