"Like Pushing a Rope Uphill" - The Taildragger Training Continues
I
t's said that landing a taildragger counters the laws of physics, "like pushing a rope uphill." That's how my instructor describes it. I think I'm in love with this particular taildragger. It chugs along like a truck, and it's slow, but it's forgiving and it usually does what I tell it to. I like the way the center of gravity swivels under your seat. The old 170 has a lot of character, and there's a certain cachet to hearing the tower refer to you as "The Taildragger" when you're taxiing or in the pattern. Plus, it's more accessible - only three or four other people seem to fly it. I'd hate to see it languishing in its parking spot for too long! Here are a few more thoughts on the matter:
You know you've got it bad when, in the course of doing 15 landings, you lose track of both time and the number of landings you've done (glad somebody was keeping count!). And later, while you're attending a concert of your favorite group in the whole wide world, all you can hear is the drone of that airplane engine.
It really does make a difference in how you fly. After two hours of landing the taildragger, I took my favorite old 172 for a few turns around the airport. In comparison, the plane practically landed itself. I'm also more aware of what the plane is doing.
Where the ground loop lurks: I have always assumed that the evil ground loop lies in wait during takeoff or landing roll, just waiting for me to let my guard down. However, it really waits for its opportunity during taxi, usually on the trip back from the runway to the ramp. I was once caught by surprise by jet blast as we taxied by the transient parking area--plenty of business jets hanging out their business ends toward the taxiway. The most fearsome moment, though, happened during a windy day just as we were taxiing out of the parking slot. The wind caught the tail, and the plane slowly and ponderously weathervaned to the right. As I stood on the brakes and swore, the whirling prop looked like it was heading straight for my instructor's parked car.
Three-points vs. wheelies: I know the jury's still out on the usefulness of wheel landings, but I find it ironic that in my first few lessons I couldn't do them. Now, I can't do anything else. Like I'm afraid to drop too much airspeed on final and I have an aversion to the nose-up attitude I need to do three point landings anymore. I guess I need to write a hundred times, "I am not flying a trike gear. I am not flying a trike gear...."
Hitting the plateau: Just when I thought I had this whole taildragger thing figured out, my last lesson, in mid-March, was the worst lesson I've had in a very long time. In retrospect, my mind was not in the game at all, and that's a bad time to be flying anything. I'd just gone through a terrible job interview and all I could think about was running out of money. The airport was really busy, and tower denied us use of the pattern--first time I've ever had that happen. So we got clearance to Reid-Hillview--a much shorter, narrower runway. I proceeded to dribble that poor airplane all the way down the runway for about four passes, fuming with each climb into upwind. My landing at San Jose wasn't as bad as the others since I was back in familiar territory (oh great--this means that when I get the endorsement, I can only land at San Jose), but on the taxi back, I fixated on the 172 in front of us and passed our parking spot. These are all dumb little mistakes, but I feel like I have regressed to my first few hours of even flying an airplane, where I have to learn the bare basics all over again. But there'll be other flights.