“How was that?”
“Beautiful.”
“So… whadduhya think?”
“I’d almost rather you have a bad landing.”
“You want me to make a bad landing?”
“Yes - because then I’d know the next few would be excellent.”
Laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you by being so good, but I’m not botching a landing just to make you happy.”
“Don’t expect you to - how do you feel about going it alone?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, J… but get out of my airplane.” Said with a smile, of course.
“OK. Drop me off over there” and J pointed towards a picnic table by a hangar. Of course, his arm wasn’t long enough for him to sit in the back of the Citabria, point somewhere, and have me see it from up front, it was the fuel dipstick in his hand I was seeing.
I ambled the airplane over to the side of the grass runway and held the brakes while J got out. He then spent a couple minutes making sure anything loose was secured, included the now-empty safety harness and the back seat. J yelled “Give me three good landings” over the engine noise and walked over to the table.
You only get one Very First Solo, but flying any particular aircraft alone for the first time is a milestone.
Even on the ground I could tell the Citabria was lighter, the back end being a little more bouncy which definitely reminded me to hold the stick back for better steering. There were other, subtle difference that told me the back seat was empty without needing to look. When J turns to look out a window or shifts his weight back there I can feel it through the frame of the airplane, and while he’s not a fidget he is alive and he does move occassionally. None of that this time. I could also hear the control cables sliding much better when I worked the controls. I wasn’t sure if that was because I have fewer distractions when alone, or if a body in the back seat is actually significant sound proofing.
I swung the airplane around - locked right brake, upped the throttle until the tail started to swing left, then cut power and used left rudder to halt the turn - lined it up on center, took a deep breath, and doublechecked to make sure everything was set for take-off. Reminded myself that the machine was about 200 lbs lighter and would therefore accelerate faster, take off faster, and climb faster. Checked for other traffic. Checked again - because there’s only one pair of eyes in here now. Oh, look - it’s a trike, one of those hang-glider type wings with a seat and engine underneath. Very pretty. And very much on final. What’s in the air has right of way over what’s on the ground, so I sat tight while he landed. Huh… you know, those things frequently travel in groups around here - is there another one? I did a 360 at the end of the runway, just to be sure, and sure enough, on a high final there was another one. Well, glad I looked - if I hadn’t either either he’d have had to make a go-around, or maybe I would have had someone else’s landing gear come through the roof of my airplane. That would have been a Bad Thing.
While I was waiting I kept an eye out for a third trike (didn’t find one) and checked everything again. Carb heat off, engine instruments in the green. No more trikes, so I arranged the airplane on the end of the runway, lining it up on center. Took a deep breath and pushed the throttle forward.
My, it did scoot down the runway - I was dancing on the rudders and up on the mains quicker than usual, then up and off the ground. I was expecting it, but it was still a little startling because I had become used to a somewhat slower chain of events. The rate of climb was doubled with just me in the plane, so the ride up to pattern altitude was a lot quicker, too. I waggled the wings at J as I flew by his post and saw he was looking up at the airplane. Other than the faster rate of climb, though, it flew the same. Routine-routine-routine. Routine is good in aviation, everything normal, everything under control.
Halfway along the downwind leg I put the carb heat on and glanced at the runway. Distance to runway: good. Direction of travel: good. Abeam the touchdown point I looked down and reduced power until the engine sounded about where I wanted it to be, then glanced over at the tachometer to confirm the rpm setting was where it should be. OK. Check path ahead of the airplane - no one in the way, good… Two trikes off to my right, but not a factor for the landing. They’ll land after me.
Hey, I’m not losing altitude.
Oh, right - couple hundred pounds lighter. I knocked another couple hundred rpm off the engine setting. Well, OK, going down now, but not like I want to… Oh, heck with it, power back to idle. That’s better. Gravity has now resumed normal operation.
Left turn to base, left turn to final - I am still too high! Can’t pull back the power, it’s already at minimum… so time to spoil the lift. Full right rudder, left stick, and with the wing less efficient in that configuration there is less lift generated and thus less holding me up so the rate of descent increases. I hold the controls in the slip until the airplane is where I want it to be, then return the rudders and stick to more neutral positions for the rest of the landing.
Over the fence, here comes the ground, right on schedule. Work the feet, keep it lined up. Pull back, pull back, just a small squeeze on the stick. B-b-bump - I’m down, feet pumping to keep the airplane centered. Whoo-hoo!
Quick decision - full stop or keep going? Hmm - full stop means waiting for the ultralights to clear the runway. OK - go around.
Carb heat off, full throttle, and almost instantly the tail is up and the Citabria charging across the grass like an overeager puppy - including the desire for the tail to wag but hey, I’ve got that under control, too. Then it’s up and away, back into the air.
Now, when I’m practicing my take offs and landings alone I normally do make full stops with a taxi back to the starting line because it gives me a few minutes to analyse what I just did, and it also paces me so I don’t overload or wear myself out. So it’s a little unusual for me to touch and go without prompting. On the other hand, there was no reason not to go back up immediately, either. The only downside was that I have to reflect on my actions and fly at the same time.
Going up just as fast the second time, I turned left for the crosswind leg and looked back towards the runway. Two trikes on approach to land.
Hmm… that landing wasn’t bad, if I say so myself. Two more like that and everybody will be happy. This time, though, be more aggressive pulling back on the power. The airplane is lighter so it floats more. Is the engine making more noise than usual? No - it’s just that you’re alone up here, with fewer distractions and no human voices so you’re noticing the background noises more. Might as well worry about the creak and slide of the control cables and every little vibration, every flex of the wing and the airframe. Look outside, pay attention to the beautiful clear morning and the blue sky, the half-harvested farm fields rolling like a patchwork out to the horizon. See, all is right with the world, nothing to worry about
Halfway downwind, carb heat on. Look down at the field. Yep, one trike on the ground, looks like he’s still rolling. The other is just touching down. Assuming both keep flying, I’ll have company in the pattern but I’m faster so I won’t have to worry about getting run over or running over them on this circuit. Keep an open mind, though - if they decide to park on the runway I may need to go around.
Reduce power, pitch for desired airspeed, then check both rpm’s and the rate of descent. Looking good… Be patient, fly a nice, normal pattern. Everything is routine…routine…routine… You Are In Control. Left turn to base leg, over the road I’ve been using a marker for the turn for weeks now. Raise the left wing and look at the runway. Seems clear, but one of the downsides of a high wing aircraft is that the wing blocks a significant chunk of your view while in a turn. Leveling off to fly straight on base leg restores your view of where you intend to go - until the next turn. Look early and look often.
Left turn to final approach. Level the wings, look forward in a sweep from near the airplane out to the end of the runway. Still a fraction high, but not to worry - better a little high than too low. Nobody on the grass. Good. Nudge in a small slip, then nudge it out to put the airplane exactly where I want it. Airspeed: good. Check power to idle. Over the fence, over the grass, easing down, pull back… pull back…
B-b-bump
Keep the stick back, work the rudders, look ahead. Oh - look, a trike just ambled onto the far end of the runway. Now what?
I have only a second or two - if that much - to make one of two decisions. 1) I have enough speed I can go to full throttle and be off the ground quickly, or 2) I can stop. Seems straightforward, but there’s another aircraft on the runway and I don’t know for sure what he’s going to do. Nor does he have a radio - I can’t ask him (or, to be fair, her - hard to tell pilot gender as we move into fall and winter and everyone is wearing more clothes). Thing is, a trike doesn’t move as fast horizontally, but they need very little space to get off the ground and they are certainly capable of climbing just as fast as the Citabria. He shouldn’t be taking off contrary to traffic flow, but the winds are light enough he could do so and stranger things have happened. If we both make bad decisions here things could get ugly fifty feet above the middle of the runway.
I opt to keep the power off and apply brakes. Probably not necessary, but no reason not to be cautious. I’m not in a hurry, there’s no place I have to be in the next five minutes. When the airplane slowed down to a reasonable taxi speed I swung into a right turn and the edge of the runway, then ambled back to the take-off point.
When I turned to line up on the runway centerline again I note there are two trikes (they’re traveling in pairs today, I guess) lined up behind me, one after the other. Well and good. Everybody out of everyone else’s way? Yes. Good. Let’s keep it that way.
Full speed ahead! The Citabria pulled away from the starting line, gathering speed. Up went the tail, then a microbounce just above the grass as I go over a rough spot. Pull back, and up it goes. Amazing how the magic works every time, isn’t it? Just keep it routine and let your good habits work for you.
Third time around was a charm. I made another good landing then guided the airplane over to the edge of the runway near where J was still sitting on the picnic table, still watching. He saw me coming, of course, and got up and came over. I leaned over and opened the door for him “Hey, mister, want a ride in my airplane?”
He smiled at that and said. “Good work - let’s go back to Morris.” as he undid all the seat belt securing he’d done just a little while before, then climbed into the back seat. Yep, the familar vibrations of someone shifting around in the rear seat were back. I waited to hear the click of the safety harness latch, then confirmed that he was, indeed, strapped in and ready to go before taking my feet off the brakes and starting to roll again.
On take off I was a bit puzzled at why I was having to exert pressure on the stick, usually I have the trim set so it climbs almost hands-off for minimal effort on my part. Then I realized I had the trim set where it had been for just me. Oh, silly! Were you planning to make J walk back to Morris? Getting just a little cocky there, aren’t we? J’s a nice guy, not a bad passenger at all, you can put up with him a little bit longer, surely…
It was fairly quiet on the way back. We talked briefly about the landings I’d been doing and about needing to demonstrate my abilities on pavement. I mentioned how I could get used to a 1200 foot per minute climb, oh yes. Then we flew along in silence – well, not silence, there’s this big old noisy engine in front and the sound of air going past the fuselage and the occassional creak from the airplane… We flew along without talking for a bit, then J said I was to do the radio calls.
Oh, OK - no problem. Remember what airport I’m at, and what airplane I’m in (this can be more difficult than it sounds - the Citabria was the third airplane I’d been in during the week, and I’d been to at least as many airports. Add in the distraction of having to fly an airplane at the same time and you won’t be surprised at all when folks fumble at times). Where am I, where am I going, what do I want to do…?
“Morris traffic, Citabria 8503, 5 miles northwest of the field inbound for landing on 36 at Morris”
“Nice”
“Thank you. I spent two years at Palwaukee - I better have good radio skills.”
I did fly out of Palwaukee for two years - not my best aviation experience, but not because of the air traffic control situation. Palwaukee has over 300,000 “operations” - that is, takeoffs and landings - per year. In truth, there are days and hours when no one is flying due to weather, so when folks are flying it’s pretty darn busy. I tried to keep to the slower times of day when I was there, but “slow” was a relative term. Learning to use the radio was a necessity there, not to mention proper technique and keeping it clean and quick.
I did the remainder of the calls while flying the pattern. Routine, again. We landed and J suggested I take a 15 minute break. I was nearly giddy at the time, and wrapped up in what I was doing, so it did not sink in at the time that he also mentioned something about another student. I suspect someone else got their lesson time moved on my account, but I’m not sure. Not that I hadn’t been on the other end of that sort of thing from time to time, and most days I’m willing to give because sooner or later I’ll get. In any case, I wasn’t consulted in that decision.
I got out, walked around, stretched my legs, went to the Little Pilot’s Room - all the things I usually do when offered a break between flights. I found J again, talking with some of the fly-in-for-breakfast crowd. He asked me if I still felt like doing some solo landings on pavement. He did point out that the airport traffic was picking up. I thought about it - one reason I’m no longer at a place like Palwaukee is because I’m not that fond of heavy traffic - and said I thought I could handle it.
So J said OK, go for it.
So I did.
Well, first J made sure loose stuff was stowed and showed me how he liked to cinch up the seatbelts on the back seat to keep everything secure. He also told me that he had had a word with the guys who were about to leave - there were quite a few of them - and told them this would be my first time alone in a taildragger on pavement, so don’t crowd the student too much and give me a chance to take off and land.
I got in, got settled, and for the first time really did everything from the get go all by myself. Down the checklist I went - check fuel on, master, prime, full mix, carb heat, throttle… and start. No problem. Check to make sure my way was clear, then taxi out to the run up area. Routine, routine, routine. Everything was still OK for that check, so then it was out to the runway.
To wait.
Because it was crowded up in the air and I counted at least four inbound with lots of chatter on the radio. The plane ahead of me took off, then more landed. I re-checked everthing. Announced over the radio that I was ready for take-off “when you gentlemen give me an opportunity”. (Noooo… I wasn’t impatient!). Then another airplane landed. And another. And another…
Finally, there was a break in traffic. I announced my imminent departure, scooted out onto the runway, and went to full throttle. As the wheels lifted off a voice over the radio said “I knew you’d get your chance, Citabria.”
Sure… you just have to be patient.