First Solo

First Solos

January 1st, 1998: SJC
I brought in the New Year by flying my first solo.
Conditions were marginal VFR; calm and very foggy with almost no air traffic--unusual for a busy Class C airport. After four full-stop landings and taxi-backs straight up the runway, I dropped my instructor off at the ramp and headed back to the runway. It happened fast, before I had a chance to second-guess it, and before I knew it, I was facing the empty runway alone.
Everything in its place? After one last check, I shoved in the throttle. The little red and white 152 launched a lot more eagerly than it had with my instructor aboard, and a silly little quote from an old cartoon came to mind: "She's climbing like a homesick angel." In what seemed like no time, I turned crosswind and downwind, and felt like I was hanging a thousand feet up. The next thought that came to mind was, "How am I going to get this thing down?" On final, I saw that runway coming too fast, too far below, and white lights on the VASI. I wasn't descending fast enough. Drat. Shoving the throttle back in, I went around, and it really hit me then: Am I ever getting back down there?
Well, getting down is inevitable, and I managed to come down with a nice, smooth landing that made up for the go-around. I did my requisite landings and then I got lost on the taxiway on my way back. Ground sent me to the ramp via a taxiway I'd never used before--and that was under construction, and I doggedly followed the yellow line on two or three detours. Bet that was good for a laugh.
The instructor was standing in my parking place as I pulled the plane up. Then I shut off the radios, cut the engine and let out a deeeeeeeeep breath and slumped back in the seat. My instructor burst out laughing when he saw that. Later he showed me that his hands were shaking as badly as mine--kicking a fledgling pilot out of the nest is just as nerve-wracking for the teacher as for the student.
Got my photo taken and posted on the flying club bulletin board to commemorate the occasion. Then I felt like I'd been beaten with a stick. I went home, took a hot bath and toasted the solo with a bottle of special wine I'd been saving. It's funny--it really didn't sink in until Friday morning, not while I was doing it and not even right after. Then I woke up and mentally went through everything I did on that flight. Later, my photo turned up in one of the local aviation newspapers as the first solo of the new year.
So this means I'm legally able to fly alone in approved conditions, as specified in my logbook. I probably won't do this, though, until I have had at least another lesson. Next we get to do performance takeoffs and landings, then cross-country trips. Should be fun. And now I really need to start studying for my written test.

June 26, 1998: LSN
My first non-pattern solo could be considered fairly uneventful, save for one thing: I learned that you should always use the facilities before your flight. Or pick a faster airplane than a Cessna 152. By the time I'd reached cruising altitude, the urge had struck, and by the time I entered the destination's downwind leg, the bladder was getting insistent. I made an abrupt short-field landing, hot-rodded it to the single-wide trailer that serves as the airport office, and ran in to use the bathroom. Ironic that the name of the airport is Los Banos.

September 7, 1998: FAT, LSN
And then there's the long-distance cross-country solo, from San Jose to Fresno in my least favorite 152. I think that every airplane has its collection of quirks that could be interpreted as a personality, and though it had the most power in our fleet of four 152's, this particular plane didn't suit me much. As I listened, all nerves on alert, for any unusual engine noise, it grumbled and twitched, and seemed to be leaning to the left the entire trip. Using the IFR (I Follow Road) method, getting there was easy enough, but the challenge lay in actually finding the airport in the summer haze. Finally, tired of guessing, I called tower for vectors and zeroed right in on it. Finding airports from the air is harder than you think, especially for a newly fledged student pilot.
As the plane descended on that hot summer day, I could feel the temperature rising with each hundred feet closer I got to the ground. Fortunately, I'd taken a cue from my instructor and brought a two-liter bottle of frozen water. As the heat rose, the ice melted, providing relief from triple-digit temperatures. It was 103 degrees F in Fresno when I landed. I remember taxiing by a guy working on a twin engine airplane in full sun over hot asphalt--had he lost his mind?
As the plane was being refueled, I took refuge in the air-conditioned FBO. An older pilot stood at the counter, looking authoritative with the captain's bars on his shoulders. He asked me where I was from, and when I told him, he said, "Student cross country, huh?" When I asked how he knew, he said, "Who else would fly to Fresno?" Ah, good point.
The most remarkable thing about the trip home was taking off after a National Guard jet and being told to "expedite climb to accommodate the twin behind you." Expedite? In a winged lawn mower that's already at full throttle, in 104 degrees? You guys in the tower are funny. Of all the times I wished for a rearview mirror.... That and flying over choked highway traffic caused by a car that had caught fire. It was one of those times to be really happy I was flying. I made my requisite stop at the secondary airport, (Los Banos again, though this time I didn't have to pee), and headed home. On final approach to San Jose, I was cleared right behind a terrified student on his first solo. My instructor watched both of us land and taxi back to the ramp.
I hadn't lost my shirttail on my first solo. However, I had changed instructors since then, and both of us students lost our shirts this day. Instead of the usual picture of a runway, mine bore a self caricature, complete with thought balloon. It hung on the club wall until the terminal building was torn down.

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