07/22/2009 - "Back in the saddle again!"

The cross-country to Rantoul really helped clear my head. Since then, I've been to Joliet and Lansing again, practicing crosswind takeoffs and landings. It is apparent to me now that my bad landing at Midway, as well as my bad takeoff at Joliet were due solely to my failure to properly apply rudder pressure. I've learned in a very concrete way that the rudder is a necessary control surface at all times, but during takeoff and landing it is instrumental in assuring the safe operation of the aircraft.

I shudder to think back to misconceptions I had regarding the rudder versus the brakes. I recall using brake pressure to make turns while I was taxiing the aircraft, which is necessary at slow speeds, but once the plane gets moving the correct way to turn is to apply rudder pressure, which turns the nose wheel and completes the turn. I was also attempting to use brake pressure to hold the centerline after touching down on my landings. Essentially, if I landed left of the centerline, I would apply extra right brake to point the plane back toward the centerline, but the correct way to hold the centerline is to use rudder pressure to steer onto it and then use even brake pressure on both sides to slow the airplane down. These were misconceptions that Tom could not have been aware of, but I'm thankful that I've battled them back. After wrestling with remembering to apply proper rudder pressure for weeks and weeks, I have now arrived at a simple and undeniable conclusion.

I love my rudder pedals.

Climbing out from Midway, and I feel really good. My landings at JOT and IGQ have been very successful, and I'm ready to do more today. But first, Tom has a special treat for me: the falling leaf stall.

Normally, to recover from a power-off stall, the pilot pushes forward then neutralizes the control wheel, steps on the high wing if in a turn, pushes in the throttle to full, pushes the carb heat off, and retracts flaps to 20 degrees until verifying positive rate. But when maintaining a falling leaf stall, the pilot continues to pull back on the control wheel after the plane fully stalls. It is very important to use rudder pressure to keep the wings level, but Tom explained that if done correctly, the plane can safely be kept in a perpetual stall. I followed Tom's directions, and I was amazed at the results.

For safety, Tom asks me to climb up to 3,800 feet to ensure that we will be able to stall the airplane without danger of getting too close to the ground. I begin the preparations for a power-off stall, and when I'm ready, I pull back on the control wheel to enter the stall. The stall horn sounds, and as the plane stalls, I continue to pull back on the control wheel. Amazingly, the nose of the airplane drops down just below the critical angle of attack, and the stall horn stops. But, with the continuous back pressure on the control wheel, the nose immediately starts to pitch up and enter another stall. Of course, the stall horn sounds again, and as the stall takes hold, the nose dips below the critical angle of attack yet again. The end result? Without changing any of the controls, the plane repeatedly stalls, then recovers, bobbing forward and back like a leaf gently drifting in the breeze.

The falling leaf stall is a testament to the inherent stability of this aircraft. Of course, we are descending the entire time while performing a falling leaf stall, but the changes in attitude are so gentle and the wind is so steady that I don't even need to change rudder pressure to keep the wings level. It's hard to describe the feeling... How does one describe what it's like to ride a falling leaf?

As we recovered from the falling leaf stall, Tom asked me to practice slow flight. I kept thinking back to what I've learned about rudder pressure, and slow flight is another occasion where right rudder to counter P-Factor and Spiral Slipstream is very, very important. Carb heat on, throttle back to 1,600, maintaining altitude, steadily deploying flaps to 40 degrees, then pushing in the throttle to 2,100 or 2,200 RPMs to maintain nose-up attitude. Stall horn sounds, and I am applying a significant amount of right rudder pressure to keep the plane from yawing to the left.

"Give me a turn to the east," Tom instructs.

We're currently heading to the north, so to point the plane to the east I turn the control wheel slightly to the right for 10 degrees of bank, and apply even more right rudder pressure to keep the turn steady. Reaching the east heading, I levelled the wings and took out enough right rudder pressure to stabilize the yaw.

"Now a turn back to the north," Tom says.

Turning the control wheel slightly to the left for 10 degrees of bank. I'm still putting in right rudder pressure to counter P-Factor and Spiral Slipstream, but to keep the plane turning to the left, I am putting in significantly less right rudder pressure. As we return to the northbound heading, I level the wings and add the necessary amount of right rudder to stabilize the yaw once again.

"Very good," Tom congratulates me. "Let's head over to Bult and do a few more takeoffs and landings."

I'd love to.

Three takeoffs and landings at Bult, and finally, I am consistently adjusting power settings on time. There's a slight crosswind from the right side of the runway, so I need to turn the control wheel slightly to the right to correct for drift, and apply left rudder pressure to keep the nose of the airplane pointed down the centerline. After the third successful landing, Tom asks me to taxi to the fueling area so that we can top off the plane.

After we finished filling up, I began preparations to head back to Midway. But Tom had a suggestion.

"Hey... do you want to do three more solo takeoffs and landings?"

This is it. My chance to prove to myself that my first batch of solo takeoffs and landings was not a fluke.

"Absolutely!" I smile.

Landing #1: Smooth climbout, reached traffic pattern altitude just a little bit late, but turned base and final on time. Correct amount of rudder pressure to land without any sideload on the gear. Loved it.

Landing #2: Another good climbout, but as I climbed above the level of the rooftops a sudden crosswind banked the wings significantly. Used right control wheel to level the wings, turned crosswind and downwind, and reached traffic pattern altitude on time. Turned base too soon, was a little high on final. Touched down a little bit fast, and left of the centerline. Applying brake pressure to slow down, but the brakes are screeching. "Take it easy on the brakes!" Tom warned. I released the brake pressure, and used rudder pressure to get back to the centerline.

Landing #3: The best of all. Traffic pattern uneventful, came down just above the numbers, the stall horn sounded just before I touched down, and I landed right on the centerline. Slid my feet up to the brakes and gently slowed down, then exited the runway smoothly.

I was thrilled. Finally, my landings have become consistent, and I am retaining complete control over the process. As I taxied back to pick up Tom, I actually sang a little song that I felt appropriate for the occasion:

"Back in the saddle again..."

Hopefully not the strangest thing that a pilot has ever done while alone in the cockpit.

Picked up Tom. "Take me home," he said. Gladly.

My wife and I are taking a trip to San Francisco, so I'm going to be taking a break from flying for a week or so. I really think that this lesson was an excellent place to break.

- Airman Eric

07/20/2009 - "I see the town! We'll be there in a few..."

I've had three lessons since my botched landing at Midway, or as I'll refer to it, my "Midway Mistake." Simply put, I'm making small gains and rebuilding confidence in my landings, but I've reached a plateau. Every time I get something right, something else goes wrong. If I manage to get my airspeed pegged on final and I'm all proud of myself, I suddenly realize that I've turned base too soon and I'm too high. So I concentrate on pegging my altitude just before turning base, but then I wind up turning final too soon, and I'm too high again!

Still fixating on one detail while another detail gets away from me. Need to build up my ability to multitask.

On the bright side, I am finally improving my rudder pressure consistency. On my climbouts, I am consistently applying the correct amount of right rudder pressure, and the turn coordinator ball is centered. This makes my climbouts more stable and more efficient. Of course, I still wrestle with the correct amount of rudder pressure to point the plane's nose down the centerline on final. I am certainly improving, but I'm not quite there yet.

Today, we're taking a break from endless go-arounds to work on a new skill. It's time for my first cross-country!

"Cross-country" doesn't mean that I'm flying across the entire country; it just means that I am departing from one airport and travelling to another one. Before earning my Private Pilot certificate, I will be required to fly a long solo cross-country flight totalling 150 nautical miles, including three takeoffs and landings at a towered field. Today we'll be developing my cross-country skills by taking a trip from Lansing to Rantoul Airport, pictured above.

Every cross-country begins with a flight plan. I'm going to use a VFR sectional to plan my route to Rantoul; it's essentially a map of airport locations and communication freqencies, along with navaids and obvious landmarks that pilots can use to find their way around. First, I use a plotter to draw a line on the sectional between my departure airport and arrival airport, and measure the distance between the two airports to be 75 nautical miles. Correcting my course and ground speed for the forecast winds, I'm going to be holding a heading of 210, and it will take about 45 minutes to reach Rantoul. I'll be climbing to an altitude of 4,500 feet on the way there, and we'll cruise at 3,500 feet on the way back. These altitudes are chosen based on standard VFR cruise altitude rules.

The next step of the flight plan is to pick checkpoints; several groups of specific landmarks that I will use to verify my progress on the route. Tom explained that I must pick easily identifiable landmarks that are next to each other, such as a highway that crosses a road and some railroad tracks along next to a smokestack. Assuming that I am on course, it should be pretty easy to verify when I am overflying this specific checkpoint, at which point I will note the time and guesstimate whether or not I am keeping up with my schedule.

Departing from Lansing, climbing above traffic pattern altitude, turning left to my heading of 210. I've never flown above 3,300 feet or so, and as I climbed past 4,000, the quality of air was remarkable. Cool, sweet smelling, and just slightly misty. At 4,500 feet, we're cruising at an altitude where air pollution can scarcely reach. I was very surprised by how quickly we reached our first checkpoint: an interchange between I-57 and a major east/west road, along with two nearby horse racing tracks and a sizeable radio tower. I marked the time in my cross-country log, and noted that we are have arrived at this checkpoint 3 minutes late when compared to what I predicted. It turns out that I failed to include the time it would take to climb to our cruise altitude; obviously the plane flies a little slower over the ground when a good amount of the thrust is being used to climb.

About 30 minutes into our flight, we were very close to my next checkpoint. Tom, as always, is checking on my thought process and making sure that I'm paying attention to my flight plan.

"So, what is your next checkpoint?" Tom asks.

"The town of Momence, with I-57 bending around it," I respond.

Squinting into the distance. I can see I-57, and I'm looking for the town. Suddenly...

"I see it!" I say. "Do you?"

"I think I do," Tom said, pointing into the distance at a far-away huddled group of buildings and vegetation. "I see the town of Momence. How long until we get there?"

Tom has a good sense of humor, and he loves wordplay. So I threw this one at him:

"We'll be there in a few Momence."

Big laughs. ;)

Within 10 more minutes, I reached my next checkpoint: the town of Paxton. At this point, I'm pretty much following I-57 to Rantoul. It was very easy to pick out the town because I-57 curved around it, but I had a tough time finding Paxton Regional Airport. Just when I was ready to give up scanning for the airport, I suddenly spotted it! Tucked in between several farmer's fields I could see the thin strip of asphalt that is Runway 18/36. Blink and you'll miss it!

My checkpoint over Paxton also represented the start of my descent into Rantoul. Carb heat on, throttle back to 2,100 RPMs, descending to 2,200 feet, which is traffic pattern altitude at Rantoul plus 500 feet. And looking ahead into the distance, at last, we saw the field! Tuned in the AWOS, and the automated weather service is reporting light winds from the west. Tom reminded me to overfly the field and try to get a look at the windsock to verify the wind. Yup, the sock is showing wind from the west, and the sock is barely inflated, indicated light winds. We'll be landing on Runway 27.

Called on the CTAF, reported entering 45 degrees to the left downwind for Runway 27. Didn't hear any traffic at the airport, but remained vigilant for other aircraft. I was a little late turning my downwind for Runway 27, and was cutting my pattern a little close. Once again, I'm wrestling with the traffic pattern and landing. Decided to swing out a little further to ensure that I wouldn't be too high on final, as has been my custom.

Abeam the threshold; 10 degrees of flaps, 80 knots. I've got the airspeed pegged. Turn to base looks good, and I glance out of the left window to see the runway coming closer. I looked straight down at the ground to gauge my speed, then back up to the runway to plan my turn onto the extended centerline. In the past, I've repeatedly made this turn too early, and I didn't want to make that mistake again.

I resisted my initial impulse to turn to final, and continued on base for 2 more seconds. Began the turn, and as the runway appeared, I could see that I was going to roll out perfectly.

"Nice turn to final!" congratulated Tom.

I was determined to avoid my next common error: pulling the throttle to idle too late. I pull the throttle back now, pitch for 65 knots, and within a few seconds the plane's nose is steadily pointing further and further down the runway. Full flaps. Aiming for the numbers.

"This looks good," coaxed Tom. "We're going to land just fine."

Passed over the numbers at about 20 feet. Began the roundout, and the flare for landing. Sinking... gently... not much rudder correction needed, just a little bit of right rudder to point the nose down the centerline. Plenty of runway left. Stall horn sounds, but I'm about five feet above the ground, so I keep the nose-up attitude steady... sinking further... and...

Touchdown! One of my best landings ever!

I am so thankful to Tom for suggesting that we do the cross country today instead of mercilessly doing those landings without much improvement. The change of pace was a perfect way to get my mind out of its rut and get me back on course. And for the first time in more than a week, I landed, and without any of the heebie-jeebies!

Taxied off to the side, took a moment to do checklists and think about my route home. Rest of the ride uneventful. Saw a little bit of light precipitation on the way back from Rantoul, and Tom decided to divert to Midway just in case the precipitation should increase. I saw Bult, then Lansing, and I was able to find my way back to the airport. And with a smooth landing on 4L at Midway, the lesson drew to a close.

Cross-country is a ton of fun. Obviously, the purpose of earning one's private pilot license is so that one can actually go somewhere... Today, I finished my first trip over 50 miles, and I got to smell the sweet air at 4,500 feet.

The landing at Rantoul felt very good; I'm finally getting a feel for the entry into the traffic pattern.

The journey continues.

- Airman Eric

07/16/2009 - "Without a doubt, your confidence was shattered..."

It's been rough these days.

My mind is still racing with fresh memories of that bad landing at Midway. Tom and I went to Joliet (pictured here; not my photo, unfortunately) to practice takeoffs and landings. As I rolled out to final and saw Runway 30 approaching, my heart crept into my throat and I was overcome by anxiety.

What if I forget to apply rudder pressure again? What if I roll off the side? What if... what if... what if... ???

Runway is getting closer, and I'm too high.

"I'm going around," I declared.

"Go around," Tom responded.

Throttle to full, flaps to 20 degrees, pitching the nose slightly upward for positive rate. Positive rate confirmed; flaps to 10 degrees. Climbing out to traffic pattern altitude, retracting flaps, turning crosswind to come around again.

"I'm not saying that there was anything wrong, but I'm wondering, why did you go around?" asked Tom.

"I was too high," I replied.

"Yeah, you were, but don't forget, you can put the airplane into a slip to lose altitude without losing airspeed," Tom reminded me.

I nodded. Tom had previously told me that by applying rudder pressure I can yaw the nose of the aircraft to the side, thereby increasing drag and helping me lose altitude on final. As I turned downwind for Runway 30, Tom reviewed the procedure.

"Delay your descent to the runway for just a few seconds, so you'll be high on final. Apply full rudder pressure away from the direction of the crosswind and use the control wheel to hold the centerline. You'll be able to lose the extra altitude, and then use the rudder to line up on the centerline just before you flare."

Turning final now. The runway is coming up, and by following Tom's directions, I'm definitely high.

"Good. Put the plane into a slip. The crosswind is coming from the left side of the runway, so add right rudder and move the control wheel to the left."

I followed directions, but I only managed to bank the plane to the left. Now we were definitely left of the centerline, and still too high to make the landing.

"I'm going around," I responded, nervously.

"You can still make this!" Tom said encouragingly. "My plane!"

I relinquished control, pulled my feet from the pedals, and let go of the control wheel. Tom levelled the wings, then banked slightly to the right to get the plane back to the centerline. Tom pushed that right rudder pedal down, and I was shocked by how far he could make the pedal go.

"Wow," I exclaimed.

To my amazement, the nose of the plane pointed about 45 degrees to the right of the centerline, and the extra drag helped us sink. Within seconds, the plane was only 10 feet above the centerline, and I watched as Tom took out the right rudder pressure until the plane pointed straight down the runway. Tom pulled back on the control wheel to flare, and we touched down within the first third of the runway.

I wasn't pushing down the rudder pedal nearly as far as it could go. No wonder I couldn't put the plane into the slip. I'm still battling my mental disconnect from the rudder pedals, and I'm still failing to use enough rudder pressure on a regular basis. Tom and I talked about this, and we came to the obvious conclusion: The rudders are a necessary control surface, and if I fail to use them, I'm going to jeopardize my safety.

Taxied back to Runway 30, and Tom asked me to do a soft field takeoff. Flaps to 10 degrees, pulled the control wheel all the way back as I entered the runway. Throttle to full, keeping the nose wheel off the ground with the back pressure on the control wheel as the plane accelerates. And then...

Just before the plane reached liftoff speed, the nose of the aircraft swung to the left. Now the plane is pointing off the left side of the runway, and the runway edge approached quickly. Runway light poles stuck out of the ground like threatening daggers. Flashbacks of my landing at Midway clouded my brain.

"Eric... Eric! My plane! My plane!"

Unlike the Midway debaucle, this time I did manage to let go of the controls and pull my feet away from the pedals, giving Tom total control. Tom pulled back on the control wheel, lifted the wheels off the ground, and put in a healthy amount of right rudder pressure to yaw the plane away from the runway edge and climb out properly. Within seconds, we were climbing out over the extended centerline. And I knew what had happened.

After the horrible landing at Midway, and the botched slip today, I did it again. I failed to apply rudder pressure, and just as the plane was ready to lift off, P-Factor took ahold of the plane and yawed the aircraft to the left, almost off the runway.

I am completely disgusted with myself.

"I can't believe it," I snarled. "I did it again."

"Were you putting pressure on the right rudder pedal at all?" Tom asked.

"No, I don't think I was."

"Don't do that!" Tom warned. "It's not safe."

I know. How could I forget? And yet I did forget.

As we reached traffic pattern altitude on the downwind for Runway 30, Tom asked me if I wanted the airplane. I reluctantly took control, but as I turned final, I felt nervous and just plain frightened. I felt completely detached from the airplane, and I questioned my ability to land the plane at all. The voice in the back of my head was loud and clear.

"You know what, Tom? I'm just not feeling good right now, and I want to take some time to think about what's happening. I'm ready to be done for the day."

Tom didn't question, or coax, or influence. He simply nodded.

"Let's go back to Midway, then."

I turned to the east, climbed to 1,900 feet.

"I'm suddently terrified to land. And I've already soloed!" I sighed. "What is happening to me?!"

"You're really over-thinking this, Eric. You did solo. And nothing has changed since then. There is no reason why you can't land this plane today."

I nodded, but kept silent. Mind still racing.

"Let's go back. You're going to work through this," Tom said. I appreciate his support.

Contacted Midway, overflew the field for a left traffic entry to Runway 4L. Followed Tom's prompts, step by step, and landed the plane myself. Sloppy, and slightly to the left of the centerline, but the landing was safe. Taxied to parking, shut the plane down, and headed back to the office.

While Tom rang me up, I talked to Bill, the owner of the flight school (pictured at right). I haven't introduced Bill before this point, but I've enjoyed talking to him from the beginning. Bill has a way of making everything sound attainable.

"Without a doubt, your confidence was shattered," Bill said. "The thing to realize is that it's all in your head."

Bill had me stand at one end of the room, and literally hold out my arms as if they were wings, signifying the airplane as it heads for the runway. He demonstrated why the crosswind at Midway pushed me off the centerline, and why I need to use rudder pressure to keep the airplane pointed straight down the runway. He lightly pushed on my left shoulder as I walked across the room, to simulate the crosswind pushing on the plane from the side. I "banked" my arms slightly to the left, countering the "crosswind", and allowing me to land on the centerline of the "runway". I could see why, in a crosswind situation, the plane will actually touch down the wheel on the side the wind is coming from slightly before the wheel on the far side.

I understand the fundamentals behind the control wheel and rudder corrections I need to make when I am on final. It's time to apply the fundamentals and regain my lost landing mojo.

I'll be back in the cockpit ASAP.

- Airman Eric

07/13/2009 - "My plane! My plane!"

It all started out so well.

I had a nasty, nasty landing at Midway today. I did not take the picture at left, but I've posted it here because this picture pretty much sums up what the Runway 4L looked like as I touched down on it today.

From what I can recall, when I was on final, about 200 feet from the touchdown point, I suddenly had a panic attack. It wasn't caused by anything specific, and there was nothing wrong with the approach I was making. Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I was suddenly afraid that something was wrong with my approach. I can sum it up with the thought, "Something is wrong, and I don't know what it is."

Tom couldn't have known what was happening. For a brief moment, I slid my feet up onto the brakes, which in hindsight is just ridiculous because while the plane is airborne the brakes, of course, do nothing! It was almost as if I reverted to driving skills, and I was trying to slam on the brakes. Within a second, the rational side of my brain took over, and I slid my feet back down to the rudder pedals, where they should be. By this point, I was less than 100 feet above the runway, and over the numbers.

"Right rudder..." Tom warned, noting that I was approaching the runway with the nose pointing to the left of the centerline.

I pushed the right rudder pedal in, and the aircraft pointed down the centerline. Everything looked great.

But that sense of panic still echoed in the back of my mind. And at the worst possible moment, I took that right rudder out, and the nose of the aircraft pointed left of the centerline again.

And I froze.

I didn't turn the control wheel. I didn't move the pedals. I didn't even flare for landing. And the runway edged closer.

"Right rudder!" Tom yelled, but I couldn't move my feet. I watched as the airplane touched down on all three wheels at once, and bounced. A pretty significant sideload acted on us, and our bodies were jerked to the right.

"My plane! My plane!" Tom was adamant. And I was in shock.

I heard Tom's words, and I knew what they meant. But I retained a death grip on the control wheel and I don't think I moved my feet either. The plane settled, roughly, and began rolling toward the left edge of the runway. The runway lights, mounted on pipes that stick 8 inches out of the ground, approached quickly. If we went off the left side of the runway, we would certainly strike one of those lights.

"Let go of the control wheel! My plane!" Tom shouted. This time, I snapped out of my funk, and finally let the wheel go. My mind was spinning as Tom took control of the aircraft, applied right rudder, and turned the airplane back toward the centerline.

I was speechless, and my mind was racing. What the hell was that?

Tom wanted to know the same thing.

"What was that about, Eric? You didn't even flare!" Tom demanded to know.

"I have no idea. I froze." I answered, dejected.

"Do you want to taxi?" Tom asked.

I nodded, and placed my hand on the throttle to taxi back to the tower apron. But in my mind, this experience was far from over.

"I can't believe it. I stopped flying the plane. I panicked, and let the plane fly itself to the runway."

"You looked good until the very end," Tom said, trying to comfort me. "I could see that you were pointing to the left of the centerline, but you put in rudder pressure to correct for it. And then..."

"I took the rudder back out at the last second." I admitted.

I'm going to need some time to think about this. Tom pointed out that while the landing was rough, no harm was done. But all I can think about is that I've already soloed, and I am horrified at myself for letting the plane land so haphazardly. Why didn't I go around?

The lesson I carried away is simple; if a landing looks bad, go around. I have no explanation for where the panic attack came from. But I know that if I ever feel that way again, I won't hesitate to go around.

Moving forward from this bad landing with the goal of many good ones. Staying positive.

- Airman Eric

07/09/2009 - "Now we shall call you Captain Solo."

Soloed for the first time today! Three takeoffs and landings in Cessna 172NT at KIGQ (Lansing), runway 9.

After Tom and I worked on emergency procedures and no-flap landings, he asked me to taxi to the parking area. When I arrived there, Tom got out of the plane, told me to do three takeoffs and landings to a full stop, all by myself. He carried his VHF radio with him so he could talk to me and coach me from the ground if need be.

Taxied to the threshold behind another Cessna Skyhawk. He departed, remaining in the pattern. As soon as he rolled, I taxied into position on the runway, calling the CTAF to announce my departure. Tom cautioned me on the radio, "Don't go yet! Wait a little bit!" I watched as the plane before me turned crosswind, and then I rolled.

Smooth takeoff and climb into the pattern, watched the Skyhawk turn downwind. 500 AGL; turned crosswind. Looked off my left wing to watch the Cessna continue on downwind. Kept climbing to traffic pattern altitude, turned downwind as the Cessna turned base. Pulled the carb heat out, pulled the throttle back to 2,000 RPMs, 80 knots, kept an eye on the runway to my left. My distance from the runway is good. Crossed abeam the threshold, pulled back to 1,600 RPMs, 10 degrees of flaps, 70 knots. Waited until the Cessna in the pattern went by on final. Turned base, 20 degrees of flaps, keeping one eye on the Cessna and one eye on my altitude. Turned final as the Cessna touched down on the runway, watched as he rolled about 1000 feet and exited left. Now it's all up to me.

Height above the runway is good; I pull the throttle to idle and pitch down for the runway at 70 knots. Descent still looks good. Full flaps, 65 knots, and I start dropping down to the runway. Suddenly, I seem to be aiming past the numbers. I've got plenty of runway, so I hold my speed and pass about 30 feet above the numbers. Continued down to the surface, flared just above the ground, slowed down. Applied a little right rudder pressure to keep the plane aimed down the centerline. Nose pitched higher and higher, and it seemed to take forever. Then, finally, I heard the squeak of the tires as I touched down. A little bit to the left of the centerline, and touched down about 300 feet past where I would have liked, but I was down smoothly. Landing #1 complete.

Carb heat in, flaps up. My Cessna buddy in the pattern has decided to taxi to parking, leaving me the the opportunity to use the runway all by myself. Taxied back to the runway threshold and got ready for pattern #2.

A little bit of a crosswind developing as I taxi into position. Applied a little bit of right aileron to ensure that I will stay on the centerline after liftoff. Good takeoff roll and climbout at 75 knots. My crosswind turn and downwind turn were terrific; reached pattern altitude at exactly the right time. Carb heat out, throttle to 2,000 RPMs. A little bit of crab into the wind to fly parallel to the runway. Crossed abeam the threshold, 1,600 RPMs, 10 degrees of flaps. Kept an eye out for the 45 degrees to final, turned base, 20 degrees of flaps. Trying to hold 70 knots, pulled back too much too long, and suddenly looked down to see 60 knots. Pitched the nose forward, increased the speed to 70 knots again. Turned final too soon, which I seem to do quite often. Rounded out of the turn slowly to increase my turn radius and line back up on the centerline. Finally found the centerline, pulled the throttle to idle, and began to pitch down for the runway. Speed is increasing too much, and the descent angle isn't steep enough. Pull back for 65 knots, and it helps me sink, but I pass over the numbers higher than I did the first time. Leveled off just above the runway, and started to pull back for flare. Suddenly, I floated in the ground effect. Airspeed too slow; flaring too high. Pitched the nose forward to stabilize the airspeed, but now I'm to the left of the centerline. The approach angle in relation to the centerline isn't bad; just sloppy. Flared again, this time I had slowed down enough, and touched down. Not quite turned parallel to the runway, and the plane rocked a little as I landed with the nose pointed about 5 degrees to the left. Slowed, taxied off to the left. Landing #2 was messy; I need to do better.

Taxiing back to the runway for my last go around, and performed the after-landing checklist. Carb heat in, flaps retract. And I suddenly realized why my landing was strange. I had forgotten to put down my last 20 degrees of flaps on final, and I was flaring as if I had all 40 degrees of flaps extended. No wonder why it took me so long to slow down, and why I ballooned as I pulled back. If I hadn't flared so hard and allowed the airspeed to bleed off naturally, the landing would have been perfect. Well, I've got one more chance to get this right!

Climbed into the pattern for my third time. As I turned crosswind, I heard a King Air pilot call up; he's 12 miles out for runway 9. I reported my position on left crosswind for Runway 9, and he called back, "We'll be looking for you, King Air ###XX." Climbed to pattern altitude, RPMs to 2,000, held altitude at 80 knots. Called left downwind on the CTAF, and the King Air told me he was 8 miles out. Passed abeam the runway threshold, throttle to 1,600, flaps 10 degrees, looking for that King Air in the distance, but I couldn't see him. Reported turning base; King Air called 6 mile final for Runway 9. Flaps 20, 70 knots; holding my heading and airspeed very well this time. Vowed that I would NOT mess up this turn to final. The extended runway centerline is coming up, and my sight picture for the runway looks good. Turned final, called it in, and thankfully the King Air called back, "Lansing Traffic, King Air ###XX 4 mile final for Runway 9, we have you in sight and we'll be well behind you."

Good. Now all I have to do is land.

Pulled the throttle to idle, watched the nose pitch down, and I instantly knew that my altitude was good. Full flaps. Pitched down, aiming right at the numbers. Keeping it on the centerline. A little bit of control wheel to the right to compensate for that crosswind from the south. Levelled out just above the ground, coming out of the crab, but a little too much left rudder and now I'm to the left of the centerline again. Right rudder to straighten out the airplane, and a gentle flare. Wheels touched down, parallel to the runway, but left of the centerline. Applied brakes, slowed down, exited to the left, and reported clear. The King Air pilot responded, "Lansing traffic, thanks for that, King Air ###XX short final Runway 9, Lansing."

Turned left on the taxiway and looked up to see the very large King Air on final. I have no idea why in the world I was unable to see such a huge plane!

As the King Air rolled by, I reached the parking area, and met up with Tom. He congratuled me on my first solo, pointed out that my first landing was good but that I flared too far down the runway. He told me that my second landing was just plain scary, and that he wished I had gone around. And, as I expected, he complimented me for flaring sooner on my third landing, but complained that I was off the centerline. To my surprise, Tom told me that I should be flaring even sooner! I need to use very foot of runway that I can. I shouldn't be aiming for the numbers on final; I should be aiming at the grass before the threshold and I should be flaring over the numbers!

Today was a good day. 0.2 hours of PIC time in the logbook. My landings today were far from perfect; but I have time to work on my technique. The most important message I carried away today was a simple fact: I can do this by myself!

On a side note... I mentioned on my Facebook page that I soloed for the first time, and my buddy Jim responded with an awesome Star Wars reference, "Then we shall call you Captain Solo!"

Thanks, Jim. I'll make sure that my mechanic keeps the hyperdrive in good repair!

- Airman Eric

07/06/2009 - "I'm not saying anything!"

On departure today, we were assigned Runway 4R. Normally, we've been given 4L for departure, but today I'm going to be departing from the same runway that the big jets use.

I taxied behind this Southwest 737, and it was pretty neat to be close behind such a large plane. Snapped a quick photo to commemorate the event.

Tom is very quiet. I took off, turned right to a heading of 180, and climbed to cruise without a word from Tom.

Tom told me to head south until we passed Bult Field. We began work on simulated emergencies; in other words, we practiced procedures that I will use in the event of an engine failure. Tom taught me "A, B, C", which means "Airspeed, Best Field, Checklist."

* Airspeed - As soon as the engine fails, I must immediately reach a best glide speed of 65 knots. The plane is going to slow down quickly, and before I can worry about restarting the engine, I have to set the plane up to cover the most ground distance while losing the least amount of altitude.

* Best Field - After trimming for 65 knots, I must search for a closeby open field that will permit an emergency landing. I am searching for a wide open space without power lines or any other obstructions. And it is helpful to do the emergency landing into the wind if at all possible. Once I have chosen a suitable field, I must begin circling that field with the intention of setting up to land on it.

* Checklist - The Emergency Checklist first concentrates on restarting the engine, and if the engine is not able to be restarted, the checklist requires me to turn off the fuel supply and prepare for the emergency landing. This includes tightening the seatbelts as securely as possible, and once landing is assured, unlatching the door so that if the plane is damaged in the emergency landing and the door frame bends, I will still be able to get out.

It's a little unnerving to practice emergencies, because Tom will suddenly pull the throttle to idle and I need to react. The most important thing that I learned about emergencies is that I have more time to set up for the emergency landing than I thought I would. If my engine fails at 3,000 feet, I'll probably have five minutes of airtime to pick an emergency landing field, troubleshoot the problem, and even call in the emergency to the emergency frequency, 121.5.

Tom told me to head to Bult. I turned to the north, and had trouble getting my bearings for a few minutes. Tom was once again very quiet. At last, I saw the field, and asked Tom if I should overfly the field at 2,300 feet to view the windsock. Once again, Tom didn't answer me.

"Eric, you need to start performing these transitions on your own. I'm planning on soloing you soon. I'm not saying anything!"

I smiled. Tom's right. If I rely on him to tell me what to do, I will never be able to do it on my own. I'm going to stop asking questions about things that I already know the answer to, and I'm going to concentrate on doing them.

Moving on to soft field takeoffs and landings. Still very unnerving. I have to constantly remind myself to trim the airplane for the soft field takeoff to relieve the control pressure that results from 10 degrees of flaps. And I must also constantly remind myself to apply right rudder on takeoff roll and climbout. Getting better at the soft field takeoff, but still having difficulty with the soft field landing. The approach is the same as a regular landing, but in the flare I must push in the throttle to about 1,400 RPMs to permit the nose gear to softly touch down in the grass. Again, the goal for a soft field landing is to protect the nose wheel and prevent it from bogging down in mud or in a puddle. I haven't developed the muscle memory for the soft field landing; it will come with time.

At last, I'm improving on holding airspeed in the traffic pattern, and I'm getting used to letting the runway come to me. Still rolling out to final too soon, and I repeatedly track left of the centerline. I was pretty lucky with the wind today, and the nose of the plane stayed pretty well lined up with the runway direction. I'm experimenting with the rudder, and I think I'm improving. Although today I did have one approach where I was too far to the left of the centerline and I had to go around.

In the end, I performed several landings by myself. None of them were perfect, and I still keep touching down to the left of the centerline. But I am improving.

- Airman Eric