08/05/2009 - "I'll have the $100 hamburger."

Another lesson where everything turned out right.

First, here we are parked outside the Chicago Business Air Center, the FBO in Lansing (shown at left). We stopped off here to refuel after I practiced all of the maneuvers that I will need to exhibit during the checkride: Turns around a point, S-turns, steep turns, power-off stalls, and power-on stalls.

I started with turns around a point. The wind is light and variable, so I was able to pick the cardinal heading from which to start my turn. I decided to start out facing south. Tom asked me to pick out a point around which to make my two full turns. I chose an intersection between a country highway and a country road. Maneuvering speed, 1000 feet AGL, and I've verified that there aren't any tall powerlines in the area. Time to begin.

Well, I'll admit that I didn't really have a rough time holding the correct bank angle because the wind was hardly a factor. During a windy day, I would require more drastic bank angle changes, but today, I held a steady 10 or 20 degrees of bank, holding my altitude at 1,800, looking out the left window to maintain my ground track. With each quarter turn, I glanced forward, continuing my mental projection of the circle. By the end of the first turn, my ground track had made a perfect circle around the intersection, and I knew that my second turn would be just as good. Lo and behold, my second circle was just as good as the first, and I rolled out of the turn at almost exactly the spot where I started.

"Very nice," Tom says. He's congratulating me more often these days.

Moving on to S-Turns. I found a long north/south road, far away from power lines. As I drew closer to the road, I picked out a farmhouse about 1/2 mile away along the road, and once the farmhouse was directly off my left wing, I banked the wings to the left 30 degrees, and then steadily began to take the bank back out, ensuring equal distance from the farmhouse at all times. As I continued to circumvent the farmhouse and began to come back to the road, I looked to the right to choose my second landmark. Within a few seconds, I chose a large white house. Passing over the road, I banked the wings to the right, and continued to make my S-turn around the white house, keeping perfect distance. And at the conclusion of the turn, as I passed over the road with the white house directly off my right wing, I levelled out, and smiled.

"Very nice, once again," Tom said. "I think your ground reference maneuvers are good. We really don't need to practice those until we're doing final practice for your checkride."

Awesome.

Climbed to 2,800 feet to practice stalls. Reached altitude, trimmed the aircraft for level flight. When I felt ready, I prepared for the power-on stall. Throttle back to 1,600 RPMs, holding level flight as the plane slows to 65 knots. Throttle to full, pulling back to climb at 75 knots. Pulling back, more and more, the stall horn sounds. Just as the stall manifests and I feel the buffet, I push the control wheel in for less then a second, then neutralize it completely. I hold slow flight attitude as my speed picks up, and my right hand quickly double-checks that the throttle is full, carb heat is off, and flaps are up. It's textbook.

"Very good," Tom smiles. "Recover here, and perform a power-off stall."

Throttle back to 1,600 RPMs, pulling back on the control wheel to maintain altitude. Slowing to 65 knots while steadily adding flaps. As flaps are fully extended, I begin pulling back on the control wheel, more and more, until the stall horn sounds. Continuing to pull back until the stall manifests, and as the nose starts to dip down, I push the control wheel forward and neutralize it to maintain slow flight attitude. Then I bring my right hand up to push the throttle to full, push the carb heat to off, and lift the flaps to 20 degrees. Once I verify positive rate on the vertical speed indicator, I retract the flaps back to 10 degrees, maintain altitude, and retract the flaps when I reach 75 knots.

"Very good, again!" Tom says. "Let's finish up your maneuvers with steep turns."

Maintaining 2,900 feet and maneuvering speed of 97 knots. Just before entering the turn to 45 degrees of bank, I add 100 RPMs and pull back slightly on the control wheel to keep from losing altitude. I can feel the extra G-Force pushing me down in my seat; it's only 1.4 G's, which means that the plane and everything in it feels like it weighs 40% more. It's not alot; a 60 degree bank would be 2.0 G's, and I would feel like I weigh twice as much! Still, it's an interesting feeling, like being in a roller coaster that suddenly changes direction. I'm losing a little bit of altitude, so I pull back on the control wheel to compensate. As I complete my first turn, I've lost more than 100 feet. Tom points this out, then instructs me to complete another steep turn in the opposite direction.

Banking the wings to the right, 45 degrees. Pulling back on the control wheel to prevent any change in altitude. Remarkably, I am actually better at holding my altitude in the right-hand steep turn than I am to the left!

"Most students are better at the left-hand steep turn. I've never seen a student who was better at the right-hand steep turn."

Well, it is my intention to become proficient on both right- and left-hand turns, but I'm not there yet. Something else to work on.

"Let's go to Lansing and do some takeoffs and landings," Tom said. "I'll slap the hood on you on the way."

I was a little sloppier holding headings and altitudes today while wearing the hood. I've done quite a bit of reading about mistakes pilots make when they lose visual reference with the ground, and I have an explanation for my difficulty.

When a human being flies an airplane, he is primarily dependent on his sense of sight to determine whether he is climbing, descending, turning, etc. When a pilot is deprived of his sense of sight, either by flying through a cloud, or fog, or at night, he must rely on instruments. Without instruments, a pilot would have to rely on his sense of motion, which is primarily governed by the inner ear canal.

Human senses, especially our senses of touch and motion, have evolved to perceive the world on the ground, and relying on one's sense of motion can be very dangerous in an airplane. If a pilot enters a banked turn, for example, the inner ear will sense the change in orientation and tell the brain that the plane is turning to the left. However, if the pilot keeps that turn constant for 10-20 seconds and is unable to see the ground, the fluids in the inner ear will settle, causing the pilot to believe that the plane is level when in fact it is still turning. You can imagine that if a pilot continues to bank the wings too far, he can cause a terrible accident.

The reason why I am having difficulty, after I had been so successful yesterday, is because there is more of a wind factor today. Since my first lesson, changes in wind direction can make the plane turn off course or generate bumps. But I have always relied on my sense of vision to right the plane and put it back on course. When I have the hood on, I don't have that luxury. I find that even though I am looking solely at the instruments, my body is feeling the motion of the airplane bopping around, and I am trying to respond to my sense of motion. I need to learn to completely ignore my sense of motion and trust the instruments implicitly.

It's not easy!

Tom has asked me to follow a heading of 010 at an altitude of 2,100, and I've been trying to hold it for a long time. I'm not horrible, but I am definitely not holding the altitude +/- 100 feet as I am required to, so I will obviously need more practice.

"Okay," Tom says, "Take off the hood."

I remove the hood, and plain as day, there's Lansing Regional Airport. Time to land.

"Let's land, then you'll do three takeoffs and landings in the pattern by yourself."

Actually...

"Tom, to be honest with you, I'm feeling a little bit tired. I wouldn't mind a 10 minute break."

"Well," Tom says, "We can park, top off the plane, and get out to stretch our legs. Sure."

"Well, Tom, do you have a lesson after this? Do you want to go up to Shannon's Landing and get a bite to eat?" I ask, earnestly.

Tom thinks about it for a moment. "Yeah, I can do that. I'll just give Bill a call to make sure no one else is using the plane."

"Awesome," I say. "I'll have the $100 hamburger."

"What!?" Tom smiles.

"You haven't heard of that? Getting in the airplane to fly out to an airport with a restaurant on the field. The burger doesn't cost $100, but getting out to the airport sure does!"

"HA!" Tom likes it. "That's funny."

A perfect landing at Lansing, a quick phone call to Bill, and he green-lights our little lunch break. As the plane fuels up, Tom and I take a walk over to Shannon's Landing and have lunch (shown here, to the right).

Except, I didn't order the $100 hamburger. I had the $100 Caesar chicken salad, instead.

Finished lunch, did three more solo takeoffs and landings before picking up Tom and heading back to Midway.

It's all good.

- Airman Eric

08/04/2009 - "Everything you did was perfect!"

Nope, I'm not dealing cards while I'm flying, and that's not a strange new kind of baseball cap. In this picture, I am wearing a hood which will prevent me from looking out the windows, so I will be forced to fly the airplane by instruments alone. Today, we will begin simulated instrument training in N737ME.

Instrument flying allows a pilot to fly in conditions which prevent him from looking out the window to ascertain his position, most commonly because he is flying within a cloud. In case you're wondering, when a pilot flies into a cloud, he loses all visual reference with the ground and sees nothing but white. However, the instruments in the plane still give the pilot his attitude in relation to the ground, his airspeed, his altitude, whether he is climbing or descending, and can guide the pilot directly to a runway even if he can't see it. Of course, I won't be able to master all of that until I finish my Private Pilot Certificate and start working on my Instrument Rating. For now, I only need 3 hours of simulated instrument flying to ensure that if I ever did get myself into a cloud or if I lost my frame of reference with the ground, I would be able to use the instruments well enough to get myself out of trouble.

As a VFR aircraft, we are prevented from flying into clouds because we must be able to see aircraft in the distance at all times. So, in order for me to practice instrument flying, Tom will be my eyes. While I fly the plane by responding to the information given to me from the instruments, Tom will be looking out the window, making sure we don't come near any clouds, other aircraft, or any other obstacles that will put the aircraft in danger.

While Flight Simulator is lousy at teaching a pilot how to do ground reference maneuvers or how to use landmarks to identify one's position because the scenery in the game just isn't realistic enough, as I began my simulated instrument flying today, I could instantly tell that VATSIM and FS9 are excellent tools for teaching flight in reference to the instruments. The cockpit in the computer simulation displays the exact same instruments in the same places as this real-life cockpit, and when I put the hood on today and followed Tom's directions for turns, climbs, and descents, I was quite good at hitting my headings and altitudes.

The primary instrument that I must refer to is the attitude indicator (top row, middle). This instrument verifies whether I am in level flight, climbing, or descending, and it is weighted in the bottom so that it will always tell me where the ground is. Secondary instruments that provide me with additional information are the heading indicator (bottom row, middle) which tells me the compass heading that the airplane is pointed, the altitude indicator (top row, right) which gives the plane's altitude in relation to mean sea level, and the vertical speed indicator (bottom row, right) which quickly tells me whether I am climbing or descending. Additionally, I also refer to the airspeed indicator (top row, left), but not nearly as often as the other instruments.

On a side note... the instrument that is taped over is the turn coordinator... it wasn't working when this photo was taken. The turn coordinator helps verify whether the plane is yawing to the left or right, which would require rudder pressure to correct for the yaw.

On one level, instrument flying is very liberating. I am no longer responsible for looking out the window, watching out for traffic; Tom, my safety pilot, is taking care of that for me. All I have to look at are these six little instruments. In order to receive information from all of the instruments, I must maintain a scan. My eyes jump to each instrument, my brain ascertains the information it is giving to me, my hands and feet react to that information, and my eyes move to the next instrument. The attitude indicator is the most important instrument; my eyes jump to this instrument three times as often as every other instrument. So, in short, my scan of the instruments might go like this:

1. Attitude Indicator
2. Heading Indicator
3. Attitude Indicator
4. Altitude Indicator
5. Attitude Indicator
6. Vertical Speed Indicator

... and then back to the Attitude Indicator again. I also glance over at the Airspeed Indicator and Turn Coordinator from time to time.

"Fly heading 160, climb and maintain 3,200," Tom requests, simulating a direction from Air Traffic Control.

"Heading 160, climbing to 3,200." I respond.

Banking the wings right to a heading of 160, while pulling back on the control wheel to climb. When instrument flying, the standard turn is no longer 30 degrees; it is now 17 degrees, as shown on the turn coordinator. At this bank angle, the plane takes 2 minutes to make a full 360 degree circle. This bank angle is standardized for all instrument flying, so that Air Traffic Control can predict the turn radius that aircraft are going to make. And for a first time out, I've got my heading and altitude pegged.

"Wow. I can see that instrument flying is going to be no problem for you," Tom congratulates.

Thank you once again, VATSIM!

It was quite a day. MDW-ARR-JOT-GYY-IGQ-MDW, one landing at each field, with hood work in between. My landings are spot on nowadays. I am steadily able to touch down sooner and sooner, using up less and less runway. This will be incredibly important when I perform my short field landing for my checkride. In a short field landing, I must use up the least amount of runway possible. In order to do this, I am actually pointing the aircraft before the runway threshold rather than on it, because when I pull back to flare, the plane is of course going to continue past the threshold and touch down on the numbers or before. After all of my landings were done and we were headed back to MDW, Tom made one comment that I had never heard him make before.

"Everything you did was perfect!"

Wow.

I still have lots more work to do. Only managed .4 hours of simulated instrument, so I still need 2.6 hours more. But I can truly sense my readiness for cross country solo to be just over the horizon. I still have to do 3 hours of night flying as well.

Now, will somebody please help this guy find the master switch?

- Airman Eric

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

06/30/2009 - "When I say right rudder, I mean right rudder!"

Pictured at left: N739AG. This is a nice plane! Leather and cloth interior, very clean, well-cared-for instrument panel. Tom tells me that this is the plane I will be taking my checkride in. Looking forward to it.


I snapped a quick shot of Tom before starting my preflight. I call this his "instructor headshot". Be sure to appreciate the leather and cloth interior of this plane, because I sure do!




Still battling my bad flight sim habits as I work on takeoffs and landings today. It takes every bit of my concentration to keep from pitching the nose down too far and increasing the airspeed. I constantly remind myself... Let the runway come to me... But as soon as I focus my mind on other parts of the landing, like making my turn on time, the nose starts to dip. Today, I focused on using trim to prevent the nose from dipping too much. But airspeed is not my only problem.

Holding the centerline on final is still difficult for me. I continue to drift to the left of the centerline. Tom is patient with me, and reminds me that I'm drifting, but at this point he must feel like a broken record.

"Use the control wheel to control your drift. Use the rudder to control which way the nose is pointing."

Boy, am I having trouble using the rudder on final.

"Right rudder! Right rudder!" Tom warns as I flare for landing.

I apply some right rudder, but it's never enough. The plane lands slightly crooked, and I feel that side load on the landing gear again.

"When I say right rudder, I mean right rudder!" Tom is emphatic, but he never gets frustrated. Nerves of steel, this guy.

Continuing to work on soft field takeoffs, and it is very unnerving. I am simulating taking off from a grass field. I am required to pull back on the control wheel in the takeoff roll, thereby lifting the nose wheel off the ground as I roll. This is necessary because the nose wheel is susceptible to bogging down when it is rolling on grass if the grass is wet. Hitting a muddy patch on takeoff roll could result in a terrible accident. Then, once the plane finally lifts off, I am required to push the control wheel forward to stay level with the ground about 20 feet off the ground, still within ground effect which helps the plane stay aloft, until I reach the climbout speed of 75 knots, and then I must pull back and climb out as normal.

The scariest part of this maneuver is immediately after liftoff. The ground seems so close, and I'm trying to accelerate over the ground without descending into it. The soft field takeoff is done with 10 degrees of flaps, and the plane really wants to climb. It takes a lot of strength to push the control wheel forward and stay in ground effect. Tom reminds me to apply nose-down trim so that I don't have to push forward so hard on the control wheel, but it makes me nervous. I know what Tom wants me to do, but once in a while I need extra time to wrap my head around his instructions.

When I'm practicing short field takeoffs, I'm trying to use the shortest amount of runway in my takeoff roll. When I enter the runway, I am required to taxi backwards slightly so that my takeoff roll starts as far back as possible. Once I am on the centerline, I apply full brakes and push the throttle to full, then release the brakes to start my roll, which permits me to accelerate more quickly. When I reach 55 knots, I pull back on the control wheel to pitch the nose up and climb out at only 60 knots. This is Vx, or the speed that permits the best angle of climb, and allows me to more effectively clear an obstacle which might be at the end of the runway. Once I am 50 feet above the ground, I pitch the nose forward for the regular climbout speed of 75 knots.

For both soft field and short field takeoffs, the wing's angle of attack is higher than normal. I must apply a healthy amount of right rudder to counteract P-Factor, torque and gyroscopic precession. Again, Tom reminded me a couple times to apply more right rudder. I know what I must do, and now I simply have to do it.

Continuing to learn. Each lesson offers a small victory.

- Airman Eric

06/28/2009 - "... you'll bounce down the runway like a big rubber ball."

I love hanging out at the airport because there are always interesting aircraft that pop up from time to time. Today, as I was preflighting N172NT, two A-10 Thunderbird Warthogs landed on 4R and parked near the Signature FBO. I think they're getting ready for the Chicago Air Show in a couple weeks. Snapped a quick, discrete photo for posterity.

There is an old aviation adage: "Takeoffs are optional. Landings are mandatory." Today's lesson completely focused on learning how to fly the traffic pattern and land correctly, with accuracy and precision.

We did about a dozen takeoffs and landings at Lansing (IGQ). I'm starting to get a feel for the traffic pattern, but I still have trouble gauging my altitude as I turn base and final. I continue to instinctively push the nose down too much, increasing my airspeed to 80 or even 85 knots. Today, Tom told me at least half a dozen times to keep my airspeed at 70 knots when descending in the pattern.

Here's the issue: I'm definitely battling something subconscious, and I'm pretty sure it's a bad flight simulator habit. For two years I have been making approaches to runways in Flight Simulator with about 50% power, by maintaining level flight until the VASI shows that I am on the glideslope, and then descending at 500 feet per minute until reaching the runway threshold. The end result of approaching the runway like this is that the nose points downward at the runway very early in the approach, and the approach begins very far back.

Tom needs me to approach the runway by overflying the field and entering the traffic pattern from 45 degrees off the downwind leg. He tells me to maintain traffic pattern altitude at 80 knots, 2,000 RPMs, until abeam the touchdown point. From this point, I must descend at 70 knots, turn base, turn final, and then pull back to 65 knots once I have the field made. The end result of approaching the runway the way Tom tells me to is that the nose does not point at the runway threshold until I am on final. It also permits me to always be within gliding distance of the runway. If I suddenly lost the engine, I would still be able to reach the runway.

During almost every approach I made today, I pitched the nose down too much in an effort to keep it pointed at the runway. What I am actually doing is increasing my airspeed, generating more lift, and actually making it more difficult to descend!

"What airspeed do you want?" Tom asks.

I look down at the airspeed indicator. Yep; 80 knots again.

"70 knots." I respond.

I turn base, pulling the nose up, keeping an eye on the airspeed indicator to ensure 70 knots.

The runway is coming up. Time to turn to final. I begin the turn.

"You're turning too early. You want a 30-degree standard turn, and you want to come out of the turn on the extended runway centerline."

I level out early, closing the distance between my ground track and the extended centerline. Then, deja vu.

"What airspeed do you want, Eric?"

I look down at the airspeed indicator. 80 knots again! I'm pitching the nose down too much, too soon!

"70 knots," I respond. And then I look forward at the runway. It's coming up fast. A few seconds have gone by, and I still haven't corrected my airspeed.

"Get to 70 knots, Eric. You're too fast."

I pull the nose back, the airplane begins to slow down, but now the nose of the airplane is pointing way far down the runway. Am I really going to sink to meet the runway in time!?

"Use the control wheel to stay on the centerline. It should look like it's hitting you right in the nose. Pull the throttle to idle and hold 65 knots."

I follow instructions. Still there is so much going on. I'm concentrating on holding the airspeed, and I'm doing that pretty well, but now the centerline is getting away from me. The nose of the airplane is pointing slightly to the left of the runway centerline. But on the bright side, suddenly the descent seems to change. I'm holding 65 knots with the nose pitched downward at the runway, and at last I seem to be descending properly.

Over the runway threshold now. Pulling back slowly to flare for landing, but the nose is still pointing to the left of the centerline.

"Right rudder! Right rudder!" Tom exclaims.

Again, my feet freeze. If I did manage to put in some right rudder, it definitely wasn't enough. We touched down left of the centerline with the airplane pointing slightly to the left. When the wheels touched, I felt my body lurch to the right. Not hard, but it definitely was a sloppy landing. To make matters worse, once I touched down, the plane continued to roll slightly away from the centerline.

"Get back to the centerline. Right rudder," Tom advised.

I slowly made my way back to the centerline, and exited the runway.

"You can't let your airspeed increase, Eric. If you try to land too fast, you'll use up more runway, and you'll have trouble bleeding off airspeed in the flare. You might even float above the runway and lose sight of it, which would be very dangerous. Or, if you do manage to touch down but you're too fast, the ground effect will generate extra lift, and you'll bounce down the runway like a big rubber ball."

I explained to Tom that I know I need to keep my airspeed undercontrol, but I'm battling a subconscious need to point the aircraft at the runway too soon.

"The plane actually descends better at slower airspeed. If you keep your speed at 70 knots in the pattern, you will lose more altitude than if you point the nose down. Let the runway come to you. And you need to use rudder to line the airplane up with the centerline. When something is wrong, don't accept it. Fix it!"

As for failing to put in rudder in the flare, I need to work on that. I'm battling some sort of psychological fear of the rudders. And it's not just on final; I've forgotten to use right rudder to correct for P-Factor in climbing situations as well as slow flight, and I have forgotten to use the rudder in standard turns. I can do serious damage to the airplane if I fail to get in touch with the rudders, and use them effectively.

After a dozen landings today, I still have issues to work out. And I'll work through them, step by step.

Until then...

- Airman Eric

06/25/2009 - "Lookin' out for Goofballs and Yahoos..."

I love the calm after the storm.

For the moment, the atmosphere has shed all of its fury. Calm wind, low humidity, sunshine, and only a few puffy stratus clouds at 6,000+ feet. Today we're going to continue work with slow flight, power-on and power-off stalls, and a whole lotta takeoffs and landings at Bult Field.

We're taking N172NT today. Preflight uneventful. Construction continues on the field, and the closures are significant. When I called up the ATIS today, I made a list of the taxiway and runway closures due to construction: "Runway 31R/13L closed. Runway 31L/13R closed. Taxiway F closed between Y and P. Taxiway K closed between 31C and Y. Taxiway F2 closed. Taxiway F3 closed." We still need to taxi all the way around the tower apron just to be able to get to taxiway K and make our way over to runway 4L.

Good takeoff, climbout and right turn to 180. Becoming better at pegging my altitude and trimming for level flight, although I still occasionally have trouble holding the altitude. Every time I think I'm trimmed for level flight, I start to pay attention to something else in the aircraft, and within seconds, I've lost almost 100 feet. Tom has said that I play with the trim wheel too much, and I seem to be using it to fly the airplane. I am constantly wrestling with this. Tom tells me that the best way to hold level flight is to point the plane to the attitude for level flight, then trim off the control wheel pressure, and let go. I just can't seem to find the trim wheel setting that works; at least not on a consistent basis. And little cross winds that bank the wings make me afraid to let go of the wheel altogether. I guess that for now, my ability to hold level flight still feels like it takes too much effort.

Continued practicing slow flight and power-on/power-off stalls. I'm getting better at holding my heading during slow flight, although I have difficulty keeping my attitude steady. I am also improving my stall recoveries, although I instinctively try to recover before the stalls fully develop. I suppose it's good that my reflexes work to prevent the stalls, but since the examiner is going to want me to recover from full stalls, I have to let the stall develop, and then recover as soon as it happens. Still a work in progress.

Before long, Bult Field is in sight. Today, we begin landing practice. First, Tom instructed me to fly over the field at 2,300 feet and look at each end of the runway for the windsocks. I transmitted on the CTAF, 123.00: "Bult Traffic, Cessna 172NT, four miles to the south, we're going to overfly the field at 2,300, Bult."

Looked down at the threshold of 27, and I could see the windsock indicating winds directly from the west.

"Okay," Tom directed, "we're going to fly out to the southwest for a little bit, until we can turn to enter the downwind leg at a 45 degree angle. That's where other pilots are expecting planes to enter the pattern."

We turned to the southwest and I began to descend, scanning the sky for traffic. The CTAF crackles to life every now and then, but they are destined for other nearby fields who also use 123.0 to declare intentions. No one is inbound for Bult; at least, no one has called in.

"We've descended far enough. Turn right 180 degrees and head back to the runway."

Began the turn; still having trouble holding desired altitude. I dipped below 1,800, then added some throttle and climbed back up to 1,800 again. Held what I thought was a good attitude for 1,800 feet, and then I looked down and saw that I was sinking again! A little bit of nose-up trim, and pulled back on the control wheel slightly. The runway is looming ahead quickly.

"Turn to the right, parallel to the runway," Tom commands. "Throttle back to 2,000 RPMs."

I make the turn, pull the throttle back. I look to the left and try to stay parallel to the runway. Suddenly, Tom says, "Don't descend in the pattern."

I look down, and I've descended to 1,700 feet again. I forgot to adjust the trim when I pulled the throttle back to 2,000. The plane continues to take me by surprise.

Passing abeam the runway threshold, Tom says, "Pull the throttle back to 1,600. Add 10 degrees of flaps. Trim for 70 knots."

Trying to follow directions, but I keep pitching the nose down too far, descending too fast, and pushing the airspeed too high.

"Turn left 90 degrees for base. Pull back. You want 70 knots."

Everything is happening so fast. I pull back, and concentrate on keeping the airspeed. Then I look up, and see the runway coming up. I start to think about when to turn.

"Don't add any more flaps. We're too low. 70 knots!"

I look down at the airspeed indicator, and see that I am getting up to 80 knots again. I know that I have to control the airspeed with the pitch of the airplane, and that I am pushing the nose down too far. But I'm overwhelmed. How far should I pull back? What if I pull back too far?

"Extend the runway centerline towards us. You want to line up right on the center. Turn left now."

I bank the wings, too shallow, and overshoot the runway centerline.

"You're too far to the right of the runway. Bank the wings. Turn the control wheel to the left. We're too low. Push in the throttle a little. Pull back."

So much to do!

Within seconds, I'm to the left of the centerline. Tom tells me to bank the wings to the right.

"The centerline of the runway should look like it's hitting you in the nose. The centerline should be straight up and down."

Trying to hold it. Turning the control wheel all over the place.

"Pull out the throttle."

I hesitate. It's not like I don't trust Tom... I'm just overwhelmed by the whole experience. And some part my brain says, "Don't do that! You'll crash."

"Pull out the throttle. All the way," Tom commands.

I pull the throttle out to idle. The nose pitches downward, and the runway is getting close.

"Full flaps," Tom orders.

Flaps all the way down. The nose pitches down even more, and the runway is coming up at us very quickly. Tom's right hand hovers over his control wheel, ready to take control at any moment.

"This is good," Tom comments. "Hold this attitude."

But, I thought, the runway is coming up so fast!

Within 20 feet of the runway now, and we're pitched down straight at it. I feel like we're going to crash into it. I instinctively pull back on the control wheel; too much, and too soon.

"Don't pull back!" chides Tom. "Let the plane..."

No time to talk. We balloon in the air, 15 feet over the runway. Too high and too slow!

"I'm going to help you with this," Tom says. I know what that means, I smile.

Tom pushes forward slightly, bringing the runway even closer. He pulls back the control wheel to flare, but I am slow to follow him.

"Right rudder. Right rudder!" Tom commands. My right foot freezes in place. I felt panicked, and I couldn't move. I confess; I didn't push down on that foot pedal.

The wheels touch down with the nose of the plane pointing to the left of the centerline. Instantly, my body lurches to the right as a side load is placed on the landing gear. The nose gear comes down, and Tom pushes down the right rudder to help us get back on the centerline.

"Apply brakes," Tom says. I do so, and the plane begins to slow down as the centerline comes back to us. I see a taxiway approaching, but we are too fast to make it.

"Go to the next taxiway. Slow down."

Finally, we slow down enough to turn left at the next taxiway. I breathe a sigh of relief. Tom breathes a sigh of frustration... Well, maybe not frustration. I guess it was the sigh of a man who has a lot of work to do.

"Use the control wheel to line up with the runway centerline, and use the rudder to point the plane straight down the runway. You landed with the nose pointed to the left, which put a side load on the landing gear. You also need to descend at a steady airspeed of 70 knots. You were up to 80 knots a couple times, which brought us down too low. Don't chase the airplane. Make it do what you want it to do."

We rolled completely clear of the runway, and I turned to the left.

"After landing checklist," requested Tom. "Carb heat in, flaps up. Report on the radio that you are clear of the runway."

Followed directions. Transmitted on the CTAF, "Bult Traffic, Cessna 172NT clear of runway 27, Bult."

"Remember, too," warned Tom, "Fly the airplane first, talk on the radio second. You should only talk on the radio during straight flight. Don't talk on the radio in the turns."

We taxied to the threshold of runway 27. Tom asked me to stop before turning to face the runway completely.

"You want to stop at a 45 degree angle to the runway hold short line. This way, you can see any goofballs that are coming in for final without calling on the radio first."

I laughed. "What kind of a yahoo is going to approach the airport without calling?"

"It happens all the time!" chucked Tom. "Calling on the radio isn't required. It's a courtesy. And you're going to see that not all pilots are as courteous as they should be."

"Just like driving on the highway," I responded.

"Yup. There are bad pilots just like there are bad drivers."

We get ready to go around again. Performed Lights, Camera, Action. This is simply a quick flow check to catch any irregularities before taking off again:

"Lights" - Make sure that the beacon is on and that any necessary lights are working.
"Camera" - Make sure the transponder is on, and squawking the correct code.
"Action" - Beginning with the trim wheel, I make sure that all of the instruments and other settings are correct for takeoff. Takeoff trim; fuel mixture from both tanks; flaps up; mixture rich; throttle to 1,000; carb heat in; circuit breakers on, amp gauge centered; oil pressure in the green; fuel sufficient; suction gauge in the green; heading indicator correct; altimeter set; ADF set to wind direction.

Performed all of the checks. Everything looks good.

"Now, scan the approach area to make sure that no one is coming," Tom reminds me.

I scan the skies above. "Lookin' out for Goofballs and Yahoos," I reply.

Tom laughs. Sometimes I'm funny.

Performed 8 more takeoffs and landings at Bult. Just when I started to control my altitude better, I started having problems with the airspeed. It seemed that I turned to final too soon every single time. Tom was constantly reminding me to pull back on the control wheel because I was descending to the runway too quickly. I repeatedly rolled out left of the centerline, and had to bank to the right to chase it. And although I started becoming more comfortable with flaring, I repeatedly failed to apply enough right rudder pressure to aim the plane parallel with the runway.

"Okay, it's almost time to head back. Let's taxi to the fuel area. You need to learn how to fill up the tanks so you'll be prepared for your cross country flights."

We taxied to the ramp, and pulled up alongside a large AVGAS 100LL tank. The tank accepted credit cards and cash. Tom used his company credit, and I bought a much needed Pepsi from a vending machine on the field.

Before filling up, Tom showed me how to ground the airplane using a cable that connects to the tank and dissipates any static electricity that might cause a spark during fillup. And with the exception of the enormous length of the hose, the gas nozzle was very similar to any nozzle I have ever used to fill up the gas tank in my car. Tom brought out a ladder, and I climbed up to get at the fuel tanks in the top of each wing. I asked Tom to take a quick picture of me as I prepared to fill up the left tank (shown above). My first fill-up; another personal aviation milestone.

Took off from Bult, headed in to Midway; the rest of the lesson was uneventful. I overflew the field for runway 4L, stayed too high for too long in the pattern, and had some trouble pitching down for the runway on final. Touched down about 500 feet further back than Tom wanted me to, and still put it down to the left of the centerline with some minor side load on the landing gear. This whole landing thing is going to take some getting used to.

Next lesson, we're going to continue with many, many landings. Practice makes perfect.

- Airman Eric

06/24/2009 - "That was scary..."

Checked the Terminal Area Forecast, and the weather looks good today. Nothing on radar, steady winds, smooth air. It's quite warm and humid today, and sweat is dripping off the end of my nose as I conduct pre-flight for good ol' 737ME. We don't have any air conditioning in this plane! There are vents which let in a good amount of air when the plane is in motion, and we can unlatch the windows to let in some air when we are taxiing on the ground, but for the moment, we are sitting in an oven with wings!

We're going to continue practicing slow flight, as well as power-off and power-on stalls. For the rest of the lesson, we will concentrate on landings and takeoffs at Bult Field.

Preflight, departure clearance, engine run-up uneventful. They've closed off taxiway F, so we need to taxi all the way to the other side of the tower apron before we can call ground for our taxi clearance. Luckily, Midway is departing from the 4's today, the thresholds of which are just off the tower apron, making for a short, smooth taxi to runway 4L.

Smooth climbout, a right turn to 180, flew clear of MDW's airspace, and began maneuvers.

First up: slow flight. While it is still tricky to hold my heading and altitude while flying at 40 knots with flaps fully extended, I must say that I am improving. I'm getting the hang of changing my heading by using varying amounts of rudder pressure and very little bank. Still, the nose-up attitude required for slow flight is somewhat unnerving. I'm going to need to continue practicing slow flight, although I am having an easier time applying the proper amount of rudder pressure when I pull my seat far enough forward before starting the engine.

Recovered from slow flight, and looked to the north to see a steadily thickening gray haze which seemed to begin at the lakefront and continue westbound for a few miles. At first, this haze didn't seem to be different than any other hazy conditions when we have seen before, but Tom commented that the haze seemed to be thickening. It seemed to be a very localized haze, which caused Tom to wonder if some sort of storm activity was developing. And yet, I remembered that there was nothing on the forecast. Surely, if a thunderstorm were brewing, we would have some warning!

Moved on to power-off stalls. I pulled out the carb heat, pulled the throttle back to 1,600 RPMs, steadily extended flaps to full, pulled the throttle to idle, then pulled back to simulate clearing an obstacle near the runway. Continued pulling back to cause a stall, and as soon as the stall began, pushed forward slightly on the control wheel to resume normal flight, pushed the throttle to full, pushed in the carb heat, retracted flaps to 20 degrees, held slow flight attitude until the airspeed began to increase, and retracted the flaps completely once the airspeed rose above 65 knots.

Two things I need to improve here. First, I was taking too long to set up for the stall. I need to remember that I am not conducting a full landing, so I don't need to take more than a couple seconds between each flap setting as I am getting ready for the stall. Today, Tom reminded me a couple times that I shouldn't lose so much altitude when I am setting up for a power-off stall. Second, I need to be much gentler with my control wheel movements, both before and after the stall. On my first stall today, I pushed forward too much on the control wheel and pushed the airplane almost straight down! On another maneuver, I tried to pull back too soon after the recovery, and created a secondary stall. The secret to stall recoveries is to limit myself to gentle control movements. Control surfaces are very effective, and I cannot underestimate the effects that my control motions have on the aircraft.

Turned toward Bult Field (C56). It's a quiet airstrip about 25 miles to the south of Midway, with just one runway: 9/27. We transmitted on the Common Terminal Advisory Frequency, 123.000, that we intended to overfly the field at 2,300 feet. I snapped a quick photograph as we approached from the west (shown here to the right). There is no automated weather information at this tiny field, but at the foot of each end of the runway, there is a windsock. As the wind blows across the surface, it turns the windsock, and pilots can look at it from the air to determine the wind direction, which aids us in our runway selection. We could tell that the wind was coming from the west today, which means we are going to be using runway 27 because we want to land facing into the wind.

Descended to traffic pattern altitude, which at this airport is 1,800 feet. Called entering downwind on the CTAF, pulled out the carb heat, and pulled the throttle back to 2,000 RPMs; trimmed for 80 knots. Tom coached me through each leg of the traffic pattern. When we were abeam the runway threshold, I pulled the throttle back to 1,600 and extended 10 degrees of flaps. Turned base, but lost too much altitude in the turn. Tom reminded me that I must pull back on the control wheel slightly when I am turning because some of the lift is spent to turn the airplane. As I turned final, I turned too early, and now because I lost so much altitude on my base leg I was also too low. Tom told me to apply a little bit of throttle to hold my altitude, and I overshot the runway centerline two times before lining up on it. At last, I was close enough to the runway to ensure that I would make it, so with Tom's blessing, I pulled the throttle to idle and extended 20 degrees of flaps. Flared too early, pitched the nose downward, then pulled back to flare, but landed all three wheels at the same time. Failed to use rudder to straighten out the plane, and put a bit of a side load on the landing gear as well. Tom wasn't happy.

"Don't lose so much altitude in the pattern. Avoid pitching down so much in the turns. Let the airplane get closer to the runway before flaring. You want the nose pointed into the air as you touch down so that all of the load goes to the main landing gear, and you have to use some right rudder to straighten the airplane out on the centerline or the side load can cause a blow out. Otherwise, good landing."

In addition to the gift of understatement, Tom possesses the gift of back-handed compliments. Ha.

We taxied off of the runway, and I called on the CTAF to tell any other pilots in the area that I was clear of runway 27. Performed the after-landing checklist, or as I'll call it, I cleaned up the airplane. No, this doesn't mean that I picked up trash in the cockpit, although it is a good idea to do that before leaving the aircraft. "Cleaning up the airplane" simply means that I pushed the carb heat in and retracted the flaps so that the airplane will be ready for takeoff. I taxied back toward runway 27, getting ready to go again.

And then, Tom and I both saw it. The grey haze we saw earlier had now grown to a dark, ominous sheet of black mist. From our vantage point, the localized cloud was 6 or 7 miles away, and it was difficult to tell if it was producing rain or not.

"Wow! Where in the world did that come from!?" Tom gasped.

"Do you think that's a rain storm?" I wondered.

"We'll get a better look at it from the air, but I can tell you right now that it doesn't look good."

Called on the CTAF to announce our intentions to take off from runway 27, punched the throttle to full, and climbed out at 75 knots.

"Turn to the north," Tom directed, his eyes fixated on the dark grey clouds.

I banked to the north, and stared at the storm cell in the distance.

"Wow!" exclaimed Tom. "That's rain, alright. And a lot of it."

I instantly realized that this was definitely a strong storm, and that it had popped up out of nowhere. I have seen hundreds of storms in my lifetime, but only from the ground. When you're watching a rainstorm from the air, it's like watching a dark grey sheet which dangles from the clouds and shrouds the ground in an opaque mist. We were flying in warm, humid air with the sunshine beating down on our heads, but the distant wall of rain dragged over the ground like a heavy curtain, and it was clear that this wall of rain was so dense that no amount of sunshine could penetrate it. I asked Tom to take the airplane for a moment so that I could snap a couple shots, but I assure you that my photos just don't do the storm justice. The veil of darkness was almost black, and I watched it envelop trees and buildings as it crept closer. 5 miles away. 4 miles away. I finished taking my photos, and asked Tom to control the plane again. Then, just as Tom responded "You have the airplane", the plot thickened.

I saw a white bolt of lightning zip from the cloud tops all the way to the ground.

"I see lightning!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah," agreed Tom. "And it's headed this way. We need to go back. Continue north, and get the ATIS information."

The ATIS at Midway wasn't that bad. Wind out of the northeast, only 7 knots, and landing on the 4's. Good, I thought. The storm hasn't reached Midway yet.

But when I contacted Midway Tower, the controller's voice was very stressed. We called in our intention to land, and he acknowledged us amid frantic reports of wind shear and microbursts at the thresholds of several runways. Wind shear means that the wind is radically changing direction very close to the runway, which can spell disaster for aircraft on final or takeoff. And microbursts are winds that press downward right next to the runways, which can cause landing or departing aircraft to suddenly sink. Both of these phenomena are very dangerous, especially when you're flying a little Cessna like we are.

The storm was now three miles off our right wing. Sudden density changes in the atmosphere would cause the plane to lose altitude unexpectedly. I would sink 100 feet, then push in the throttle a little and try to climb back up to 1,900, but the density would change again and I would sink. On a couple occasions, the wings banked unexpectedly to the left, and I applied control wheel pressure to keep the wings level. I began to feel nervous, and I asked Tom to take the airplane.

"I have the airplane," Tom dutifully responded.

I pulled the shoulder strap of my seatbelt tightly, made sure my feet were clear of the rudder pedals, and concentrated on snapping pictures of the storm.



Tower gave us multiple traffic advisories. Here's a picture of an executive business jet that passed in front of us on approach to 4R. Tower suddenly gave us a frantic instruction.

"Cessna 737ME, fly heading 310. Traffic at your 9 o'clock, 2 miles, a 737 inbound for 4R."

Tom turned slightly to the left to head 310, and I looked out our left window. To my surprise, I saw a very LARGE Southwest 737 headed straight for us, our altitude, and I was amazed as it loomed larger and larger in the window. I tried to snap several shots of this incredible sight, but we were very quickly out of his way, and none of my shots came out. There was never a danger of conflict, but this experience served as a reminder that there are some big planes out there!


Once the Southwest jet was behind us, Tom asked Tower if we could turn to final. Tower cleared us to land on 4L. There was some rocky air on the way down; crosswinds picking up; Tom put us into a slip to get down to the runway. The landing was a little rough, and as we exited the runway, I looked up to see the thunderstorm bearing down on us.

"That was scary..." Tom confessed.

We heard several pilots asking the ground controller about the weather, and the controller continued to report wind shear and microbursts in the vicinity of the airport. The ground controller was asking pilots if they were ready to taxi, and I heard two Southwest pilots saying, "No. We're going to stay right here and wait until this blows over."

Pilots flying 737's don't want to take off in this weather, and we're landing in it. ;)

Taxied into the parking spot, and when I shut down the engine and popped open the door, I was hit with a blast of cool, damp air. The temperature has dropped 25 degrees in 15 minutes! Tom and I rushed to tie down our little Cessna as the storm started to roll over the field.

I looked to the north edge of the field. I knew that the rain was going to start falling within seconds, but I couldn't resist snapping this shot. I took this picture from the tower apron, looking north. Only ten seconds before this picture was taken, I could clearly see the large Southwest hangers on the far edge of the field. As you can see, the storm has completely obscured everything.

"Uh, Eric?" Tom admonished, "Hurry it up... I don't want to get drenched!"

I smiled, and jogged alongside Tom as we hurried to the FBO, and made it inside just as the rain really started to pour down on us.

I've spoken to several pilots about this pop-up thunderstorm today, and all of them agreed that there hasn't been a sudden thunderstorm like this in Chicago for at least 10 years. The radar forecast during my pre-flight was completely clear, and here is how it looked just 90 minutes later! The consensus is that cool air from off the lake merged with warm, dense air over the city, and developed into a storm cell. Every pilot was caught off guard. A friend of mine flying out of Los Angeles to Chicago was delayed for several hours while ATC tried to figure out how long the storm was going to stay. And as I drove home, the rain flooded my windshield so badly that I couldn't see the car directly ahead of me. Wind whipped several small rocks off the rooftops next to 63rd street and pelted my truck, cracking my windshield in two places, and leaving a nasty scratch on the driver's side door.

Quite the adventure. I was glad that Tom took the aircraft over, and we made it back just in time. I learned a very valuable lesson today; as pilots, we must respect the weather!

It's about time to start practicing landings, and lots of them. But that will have to wait until next time!

- Airman Eric