“Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; — John Gillespie Magee Jr., World War II Royal Canadian Air Force fighter pilot and war poet.
“Mistakes to avoid on your pilot’s license check ride,” the magazine headline declared. Made me chuckle. I could liven up that list.
I still read a lot about flying, although I haven’t piloted an aircraft in more than 20 years.
Some things I used to do that I don’t do anymore for whatever reason; I have no strong desire to do again. But fly an airplane? I’d do that again in a heartbeat.
Doing so would entail some FAA required catch up instruction and a check ride. Should that occur, I doubt this new check ride would be as eventful as my first.
Flying was a childhood obsession with me.
Drawing pictures of airplanes in school. Model airplanes suspended from my bedroom ceiling with Mom’s sewing thread.
Following that dream, I budgeted for flying lessons once out of college and gainfully employed.
A few hours a week spent at the old Mount Pleasant Airport with instructor Doyle Amerson, and I was a soloed student pilot.
Friend and Marine pilot veteran, Grady Firmin, readied me for the final phase. The check ride. Flying with Grady offered insightful moments differing from those of a civilian instructor. Always throwing in little extras.
Like the day he asked, “Wanna learn how to slip an airplane?’
“Sure,” I said.
“They don’t teach it anymore, and you won’t need to know it for the check ride. But I’ll show you how. Might come in handy,” he assured me.
Non-pilot note #1.
Coordination of aircraft controls produces desired and expected results.
Cross-controlling (uncoordinated) in a manner for which they were not necessarily designed will yield different, but sometimes useful, results.
Where coordinated application of rudder and aileron produces gentle turns, uncoordinated application produces rapid loss of altitude.
Think, “Falling from dancing skies on silver wings.”
Fast forward to check ride day. Winging my way to Gregg County Airport, I had almost forgotten hanger talk tagging FAA check ride pilot Johnny Walker as the “get him and you’re doomed” guy. “He’s tough,” one soul said.
“Most students fail the first ride with him,” said another. “Made me cry,” admitted one poor guy.
Signed in and paperwork approved, I nervously awaited my turn.
Then I hear, “Aldridge?”
“That’s me.”
“Good morning, Mr.
Aldridge, my name is Johnny Walker. Are you ready to fly?”
“Yes sir,” I affirmed boldly, hoping to hide that sudden sinking sensation sweeping over me. We began the preflight walk-around inspection. Engine check, control surface check, fuel sample check, and more. I was almost done when I ran into the wing. Yep, walked into the trailing edge of the highwing Cessna with my forehead. Forgot to duck.
Fumbling for a paper towel behind the seat to wipe the blood away, I thought, “Great job, clutz, you aren’t even off the ground, and you’ve already failed.”
We did get off, however. And into the tests.
“Fly a heading of one eight zero for thirty seconds and make a climbing turn to 3,500 at two seven zero. Show me a power-off stall. A poweron stall. Slow flight maneuvers. Recovery from unusual attitudes.
(That’s the gut-wrencher where the instructor takes control and throws the plane into some crazy downward spiraling turn thing. Then gives it back to the petrified pilot to recover.)
Exercises completed.
Finally. I was wrung out.
“OK, take us back to the airport,” he said.
Just as I contacted the tower and turned into the downwind leg of the traffic pattern, the legendary check ride pilot had one surprise left.
“You just lost electrical power. Show me a no-flaps landing.”
Non-pilot note #2.
Wings flaps increase lift allowing for slower speeds and easier descents. Although not essential, all basic pilot training is done by teaching the application of flaps for landing.
The solution was not hard, just not practiced much: extend the downwind leg to lose altitude before reaching the runway. That lack of practice became obvious when he said, “You’re still too high. Can you slip it?”
“Sure,” I beamed with pleasure and surprise.
Then executed the technique Grady taught me.
The one I wouldn’t need to know for the check ride. Yes, that one. The airplane pitched nose up like a horse fighting the reins before settling into a descent. Like a fast-falling elevator.
Just before touching down, releasing the airplane from its crosscoordination contortion allowed it to settle gently on the runway. To quote pilot jargon, “right on the numbers.”
“Good job,” Walker said as we taxied to the terminal.
“Congratulations, you passed!”
Once inside and with Mr. Walker’s signature on my license, I thanked him, borrowed a bandaid for my forehead, and flew back to Mount Pleasant having reached my goal as a licensed pilot. Albeit wounded.
I thought about that day last week as I read the article about check ride mistakes to avoid.
I was disappointed.
Running into the wing with your forehead was not on the list.
Maybe I should contact the author. Maybe even they’ve heard of Johnny Walker in Longview.
