I got my tailwheel endorsement today.
I worked hard. I’m tired. I’m going to have dinner (maybe open that bottle of shiraz) and go to bed.
I am now legal to not only fly myself about in vintage airplanes, but I can take passengers, too. Woo-hoo!
More later.
Yay!
Congratulations! More stories!
I love your airport stories. I should post more often enough to encourage you. What’s next – acrobatics?
Can I have a ride?
Congrats, Broomstick. Now… how about you make like your username and go supersonic with Chuck Yeager?
Good for you.
Way to go Broomstick!
Just remember that there are two kinds of tail-dragger pilots: those that have ground-looped and those that are going to ground-loop. 
Congrats on the endorsement. I’ve loved your stories about your efforts.
CONGA-RATS!!
Now please pick another endorsement to get and keep posting those wonderful stories!
Bravo Zulu, Broomstick, well done!
That may be true, but I’m going to give it my best to remain in the former group as long as possible.
Geez, easy for you to say, you don’t have to pay for any of this, do you?
Thanks for the congrats, everyone. I think I’d like to get a few more solo hours in before I start dispensing rides. I’m writing up the blow-by-blow, so that will be along in a day or so.
Don’t sweat it, I’ve remained in the first group for the last 12 years, and don’t fly taildraggers anymore, so there’s a chance I will never ground loop one.
Anyway, congratulations on finally getting the rating (what do you guys call it? An endorsement? Checkout?) It seemed that the weather was doing its best to hinder you in the latter stages.
It would make a good magazine article if you were to combine all of these posts and edit it down into one story, starting with your search for a good flying school. It’s the sort of thing that’ll go well in an aviation mag, as you probably know.
There was a powered parasail making a distracting nuisance of himself along I-80 as I passed through Minooka. He was flying low over a farmfield next to the freeway. Given that this was rural country in close proximity to a couple airports for recreational flying a powered parasail wasn’t that much of a novelty, but they usually didn’t fly that low and that close to the road. My darker side was half expecting him to wander out in front of traffic… and if you think having bug hit your windshield makes a mess… but he continued his flight without becoming a traffic hazard. Well, folks did slow down a bit as they passed him, he was a visual distraction, but that’s all.
This was actually a good sign - if the weather was tame enough for a powered parasail then it was definitely flyable for the likes of me.
I arrived early again at Morris. No problem. I stretched my legs and started the preflight. It had been a couple weeks since I’d been out to the airport and a thorough pre-flight helps get me back into flying mode. Everything was in order, except some 800 pound gorilla had screwed down the oil dipstick cap so hard I couldn’t get it loose and had to ask for help (One of Broomstick’s Rules for Keeping Flying Affordable - if you think you might break something during inspection, have someone else, like a flight instructor, do the actual manipulations. That way, if it does break, you aren’t the one who did the breaking and you aren’t the one who will have to pay for it.) Got the pre-flight done, which left only one piece of the puzzle.
I had to find J.
Finding J on a pretty Sunday morning can be quite difficult. It’s not just a matter of three buildings and a dozen hangars he could be lurking in - the man does defy gravity on a regular basis. His car was in the parking lot, so he was “here”. By process of elimination I determined that “here” was actually a location several thousand vertical feet upwards.
Yep, as I wandered around I was informed by several people that J had called in and said he’d be about 20 minutes late. As if that was news. So I cooled my heels down by the restaurant, striking up a conversation with a couple of non-flying locals having breakfast. The male party of the couple was asking a lot of questions about the new Sport Pilot rating, which made me wonder if perhaps in the not so distant future he’d jump the fence between tourist and pilot.
A big yellow T6 came in for a landing and as it did so I recognized it from last summer as the looks-like-a-T6-but-isn’t (and I’ll call it a T6 the rest of this story, so remember than really it isn’t). Oh, so that’s why J was late. He saw an opportunity for some warbird time and took it. Well, can’t entirely blame him for that, can I?
A few minutes after the pseudo-T6 parks a car drives by where I’m standing with J in the passenger seat. The window rolls down and J apologizes for tardiness and tells me to go ahead and get ready. I said I’m already ready, so we’ll leave when he gets down to the hangar. I didn’t say I’d been ready for a half an hour - given that I’m usually on time J might be able to figure that out by himself and he seems a little agitated this morning. Couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something a little different about him this morning.
So I go off to open the hangar and get the airplane out (yeah! There’s actually a towbar in there this morning!). After I close the hangar door J walks up talking on his cellphone. The half of the conversation I can overhear concerns asking somebody else if they can give Mr. T6 a ride home and there’s mention of mechanics and what not.
“Sounds like you’ve had an eventful morning so far.” I said after J hangs up.
“Yes, I have.” he says, apoligizes again for being late, and asks me a couple questions he had already asked me. Which I answer again, muttering a bit about how the answers haven’t changed since 10 minutes ago. J goes “oh, right” and sort of fidgits in place.
“So… what happened?”
“We had a mechanical problem.”
“Really? What sort of problem?”
“The engine stopped.”
That made me pause for a second. Nothing like a dramatic moment. Uh, yeah, I think that qualifies as a mechanical problem. “Did it stop before or after you finished flying?”
“Yes.”
What he meant, of course, was that it stopped while they were flying, at which point they decided that maybe it was time to put the airplane away, except there was that business about getting down to the ground in one piece. Except I knew they hadn’t glided in.
Seems the engine had quit about 2,000 feet off the ground on the outskirts of Chicago, over all those nice suburban houses that didn’t leave much room to land a Citabria or Piper Cub, much less a T6. They got the engine going again, much to everyone’s relief. Of course, not knowing the reason it stopped in the first place neither pilot aboard was eager to push their luck - it could stop again. So they nursed it back to Morris. Part of the delay was picking a course where, if it quit at low altitude again, they’d have some place to at least potentially land it safely and wouldn’t be likely to kill anyone on the ground if they couldn’t.
Until a qualified mechanic thoroughly checked everything out the T6 was remaining at Morris. On the ground at Morris, to be more specific. J had asked another pilot to fly Mr. T6 to the airport he had left his car at, at which point Mr. T6 would drive himself home.
Well, that certainly explained J’s somewhat agitated state this morning. I promised him as uneventful a ride as possible to compensate for the earlier unscheduled excitement, and that I would endeavor to avoid any sort of mechanical problem and keep the engine running smoothly. I also told him that I’d forgive him for being late, as that seemed a very good excuse. Not that lateness was entirely unusual. And he muttered something somewhat apologetic about that. I said that before I’d flown with him I’d been warned about his late tendencies, but I’d also been told he was worth the wait.
“Yes I am.” he said.
“And I was also told you had absolutely no modesty whatsoever. Not a humble bone in your body.”
“That is also true.” he said, and I could tell from his voice that he had a big grin on his face when he said it, almost a laugh.
He really does need to work on acquiring some humility.
The start up and taxi were all routine-routine-routine. Which is what they were supposed to be now. Everything fine during the run-up. Gee, this was almost boring which was just fine, really, for everyone sitting in this here flying machine.
As we went out to the runway J said he wanted five good, consistent landings on pavement from me. He’d sit in the back and pretend not to be there, saying nothing. I expressed doubt as to whether that was possible. He actually managed not to reply to that smartass remark.
It was a beautiful spring day, which meant, of course, it was busy. Aside from the occassional limping warbird looking for a safe harbor, there were lots of other flying things zipping about: experimentals, ultraights, homebuilts, a twin and two helicopters aside from the usual glut of small Cessnas and Pipers. I had to wait for two other folks to get off the ground ahead of me. I took advantage of the delay to doublecheck a few things and make sure all was right with the airplane. I took a look at the sky and announced my intention to take off. Right as I did so someone else turned towards the runway from above and we had a brief radio exchange to make sure we saw each other and wouldn’t conflict. After that I pulled out on the runway and took off.
That, of course, involved the usual lining up on the centerline, deep breath, full throttle, and subsequent rudder work to keep us going in a straight line. Sure, I was out here for the landings, but screwing up a takeoff wasn’t something I wanted to do. With flying you’ve got to pay attention all the time. Our speed went up, the tail went up, the rest of the airplane went up, and we were flying.
Remarkably, J really didn’t say a word the whole trip around the traffic pattern. I did sense him shifting around back there as he looked for traffic. I know my head was on a swivel trying to look five ways at once. As I turned crosswind someone else was taking off behind me. No sooner than I had finished my turn onto the downwind leg than a Cessna cut in front of me. He wasn’t cutting it too close - there was clearance between us as he descended to the same altitude as the rest of the airport traffic and merged into the line - but it was a little disconcerting anyway. There was another on the downwind ahead of the Cessna, a plane turning to base leg, and yet another on final and touching down. Not only was the radio chatter at Morris fast and furious, but it was the same at the other airports we shared the frequency with. No dawdling on the mike today - everyone was keeping it business-like with a rapid-fire delivery. The frequency was so busy, in fact, that you really couldn’t count on hearing a formal call for every leg of an airplane’s traffic pattern. If you can’t get a word in edgewise just keep to the standard pattern. If everyone stays lined up most likely you’ll see the traffic you can’t hear and everyone stays safe.
Just as well the Cessna went ahead of us - he was faster anyway. Heard one other guy caution someone else about being on short final but reassuring the guy ahead of him that he’d keep a safe distance back. I was telling myself to stay calm, cool, and collected, be patient, concentrate on your own landing. I leveled out. Midfield I reduced speed. I had to extend my downwind leg because of the folks ahead of me, so kept it a little higher than normal as I went out a little further. I brought it around onto final, airspeed 60, 500 foot per minute descent, engine just above idle, and just slid down an invisible line from where I was to where I wanted to be. Told myself to be patient and let gravity do the work. Took a glance around, just to be sure there was no wierdness coming at me from the sides. Oh, this was a nice approach (so don’t screw it up), over the numbers, power all the way back, just let it settle gently down to the ground. As the wheels bumped down I hauled back on the stick to keep the tail on the ground and provide better steering. I briefly debated attempting to make the first turn off the runway and thought better of it. I nudged the throttle to keep scooting down the pavement a bit, then back to idle again and some brakes to bring us smoothly into the turn.
“I’m impressed.” I said. “You really didn’t say a single thing the whole lap around.”
There was a minute more of silence, just to make the point, then “That was a nice landing.”
My turn for a small, cocky smile “One down, four to go.”
There was a brief wait as we got in line to take off again. Second time around was just as crowded, and just as busy if not more so. I was about halfway down the final approach when someone in a Piper Warrior called a turn to final. Oh, crap. I could feel an itch all along my back and I stopped myself from turning around and looking behind me. It wouldn’t do any good because there’s no way to see behind you in the Citabria and that close to the ground I really needed to stay focused on where we were going. I really don’t like worrying about whether or not I’m being overtaken from behind (a Warrior can land at the same slow speed as a Citabria, but frequently doesn’t because the higher speed gives more control and the excess speed on landing is not such a problem with that plane). The other pilot also stated he’d keep adequate space between us. OK, just stay centered and be as predictable as possible so you don’t startle anyone.
In the end it was just as good a landing as the first one. Well, OK, not quite as good - we maybe bounced a whole inch in the air at touchdown before getting the wheels firmly on the ground.
Afterwards, talking to my Other Half about how crowded it was, he said “It sounds like you were playing Tetris with airplanes.” Um… yeah, you know, it was actually a little too much exactly like that…
As I pulled off the runway to go back into line J asked me how I felt about soloing the Citabria this morning. I told him that after those two landings I was feeling a lot more confident about things than before I took off. But I also said that while I didn’t feel I needed him back there for flying purposes (and I really didn’t) given how busy the airport was it sure was handy having a second pair of eyes to look out for airplanes.
“Fair enough.” he said, and for a minute or two I thought he’d just stay back there, but he pleaded a need to pee (which I doubted) and said to let him off up by the runway/taxiway intersection. Give him three more good landings and come back it and we’d talk.
Tempting as it was to just keep going, leaving him trapped back there, there were (of course) two more airplanes ahead of me so I pretty much had to stop, at which point my co-pilot deserted me. He got out and told me the belts and everything in the back were secured so don’t worry about them. He gave me a reassuring thump on the shoulder, told me I’d be just fine and sauntered off.
Um… OK…
Fly the plane.
Sure. OK. Pull up another notch in line. Check carb heat off. Trim… oh, gosh, should I change that? When J got up and left he took about 1/10 of the total mass of this pile of stuff with him. And he took it out of the back half of the airplane. Huh. Well, he didn’t change the CG that much, the plane will take off sooner, rise quicker…
Move up another spot in line. That’s OK, guy ahead of me, take your time.
Leave the trim where it is. I might be slightly nose-heavy on take-off but I’ve got arm muscles. I’ve flown this thing solo before, it’s not that different. Let’s see, anything else in here to adjust? Nope, think I got it all.
The airplane ahead of me took off. I scanned the skies for traffic. No one crowding in to land. Lucky me.
I announced my intentions to the world and started to pull out onto the runway.
A very concerned voice on the radio said “Short final at Morris”
Oh.
I slammed on the brakes. I leaned forward and looked to my left. Gosh darn that’s an airplane on VERY short final. Oops. From the angle he was coming in he had probably overshot the runway a bit, and I probably hadn’t angled my airplane on the taxiway quite enough to eliminate the blind spot over the left wing and… well, THAT’s why you have to pay attention to everything all the time. I hit the mike just long enough to reassure him I’d seen him and wasn’t moving til he was down and out of the way.
OK, there he went down the runway and onto the turn-off. I checked the traffic pattern and final approach again. Very thoroughly. I pulled out onto the runway. Big, deep breath. Full throttle. Rudder-rudder-rudder. Up comes the tail, almost frisky. Balancing on two wheels, keep in on the center, and – up we - no, up I go into the big blue sky.
Turns out the trim is set just fine and I hit best climb speed right off the starting block. Which is good. And startling. Because I’m rising more than twice as fast as when I had a passenger. With less mass on board every little gust and eddy of wind tossed me around that much more. It was not an unmanagable difference, but it was a difference. I couldn’t help but wish there was an effective way to simulate how different the flight characteristics of small airplanes are when flown solo versus fully loaded. That’s always the big flaw in the flight instructors’ instructions to “just pretend I’m not here.” I may not hear you, J, and maybe you can resist your usual tendency to fidget and shift your weight, but the airplane knows you’re there and behaves accordingly.
Tempting though it is to keep the speed up, since that allows the airplane to penentrate the air and reduces the bouncing somewhat, I have to slow down to come down and I have to come down to land. This is not a time to be timid about power reduction, either, since with just little old me aboard this airplane will be even more reluctant than usual to slow down and stop. Midfield I pulled back the power and added carb heat, adjusted speed to 80. Kept an eye out for traffic. Turned left on the base leg and reduced power again, speed to 70. Be calm, be patient… Turned onto final, reduced power, speed to 60, watched the altitude and sink rate. Look at the runway, the touchdown area and also further down the pavement. Don’t fixate on anything. Glance at the sides. Particuarly, check out the taxiway - you’ve got two airplanes waiting there, keep an eye out because sometimes someone will start to pull out in front of you. Over the trees, over the numbers… I was a hair high and a hair fast. The airplane felt different, just enough different to throw me off a bit. I had to conciously pull back on the throttle with my left hand, which very much wanted to go the other way, as something is told me this approach wasn’t ideal. I wasn’t sure what was tipping me off - it appeared fine as far as airspeed, altitude, rate of descent, and heading was concerned. I couldn’t discount the possibility that it was just nerves. As the wheels came down to kiss the pavement I got another gust of wind. The wheels squeaked from side-loading as the tail tried to weathervane. Things were feeling very precarious, I was low, slow, and full control movements weren’t as effective as I’d have like due to that. I stopped repressing my impulses, my left hand shoved forward pushing both the throttle and carb heat levers, the engine roared to full power, and I went back up.
Naw, I couldn’t count that as a landing.
Of course, the nagging demon of self-doubt reared its ugly little head and started with the “What if you can’t get down, huh? Huh?” but I beat it into submission quickly. I am a good pilot, there is nothing wrong with prudence. I have at least two hours of fuel on board and no penalty for going around and around.
If anything, the climb up went even faster this time. I got one or two minor buffets. I forced myself to relax, to make sure I wasn’t hunched over the stick but leaning back with my back and shoulders touching the seat behind me. RELAX! I’m having fun, right? Nevermind it being rush hour up here, with people ahead of me in the traffic pattern and people taking off behind me.
Up and around - make sure those turns are coordinated. Remember, in this airplane a climbing left turn at full power requires right rudder, not left, to counteract torque and p-factor. Due to the pace of radio traffic I couldn’t call my turn to downwind until after I was already on that leg. Nevermind the two guys ahead of me, I can’t possible catch up with either of them in this airplane. I must be getting the hang of the Citabria because I was able to spend most of my mental energy on avoiding other aircraft rather than worrying aout how to make the airplane go from point A to point B.
My turn on final again. Another controlled slide down to the ground, and this time it felts much better. I was also talking to myself in the cockpit: “I am a GOOD pilot. I can DO THIS. This will be a MAGNIFICENT landing.” Of course I was talking to myself, I no longer had a cheering section in the back of the airplane so I had to do it all myself.
Same routine - set up the airspeed and rate of descent, the power setting, keep the eyes outside the cockpit. Watch the runway, make sure no one is going to cut me off on final in the air, watch the runway, the far end of the runway, the taxiway on the ground - yep, three airplanes lined up this time, look at the runway, where’s that helicopter I just heard on the radio? There it is. Look at the runway, the numbers, the far end, now flare and hold it off… hold it off… hold it off… (move the feet!)
All three wheels touched down simultaneously. Whoo-hoo!
I coasted to the turn-off and got back onto the taxiway. Time for the next obstacle. A landing helicoptor was moving very slowly in the final approach area and announced he’d land on a taxiway intersection. Hey, wait a minute —! Then he said that he had the taxiway traffic in sight and would avoid the airplane. OK, that’s better. I didn’t really relax until we had safely passed each other, though. Helicopters and airplanes can share airspace (and groundspace), obviously, but we don’t always have the same ways of doing things. Most chopper pilots I know also have some fixed wing experience and they’ll usually work around the airplanes, but sometimes what the rotorcraft are doing doesn’t always make sense to us fixed-wing folks. All in all, though, folks had been pretty good about using the radios and communicating today.
I got back to the starting line-up. This time there’s only one airplane ahead of me, a twin engine. I started pulling onto the taxiway behind it, then it occured to me, as my airplane started to trembling in the prop wash, that maybe that wasn’t such a good idea and I didn’t want to get too close to something with significantly more powerful engines. He wasn’t doing a run-up, just idling, but it was enough. I had the thought that maybe, if I was at idle, I could take my feet off the brakes and let the propwash push me back to where it was rattling me around so much. Nope - the instant I lifted my feet my airplane nudged forwad. Oh, well - no harm being done.
The twin took off. There was another airplane on final, so I waited for him to land. Then it was my turn. I took off and on the way up the air was a bit bumpy, stirred up the passage of prior airplanes I suppose. I made the first left turn of the pattern, reminding myself to keep the ball centered so my turn was smooth and coordinated. I actually got to pattern height before I reached the downwind leg. I had a minute or two to either rest or look throughly for other traffic. I opted for looking for traffic, of which there was an abundance, along with a flock of geese passing through just under my altitude which had me just a touch concerned. Birds usually descend when startled or alarmed but not always. The flock headed off to the west with no incident, thank goodness, and I continued on my way.
Midway along the downwind I started setting up for approach number three and full stop landing number two. That consisted mainly of checking the gap between me and the runway, reducing speed, and putting on the carb heat. Strictly speaking, I could have waited a bit longer for the carb heat, but I find that by doing it early I’m less likely to forget to do it later, when things get busier. I called the turn to base leg, reduced power again, trimmed up for a slightly slower speed, kept an eye on my descent, distance to landing point. Wasn’t quite aggressive enough on the power reduction, so when I turned to final I pulled the throttle all the back for a greater rate of descent. Just sailed right to the numbers, putting in just a nudge of power to make sure I’d make it to my chosen spot. Then, over the pavement, I pulled back on the throttle again and just let it settle down to the pavement. I pulled the stick back, keeping the tail firmly planted, and put-putted to the turn off.
Well, that was two solid landings. And I was starting to feel it a little. A bunch of landings in quick succession is mentally tiring. You aren’t using a calculator, but you are doing a lot of mental calculations involving distance, speed, and time. On a day like this one you have all the traffic to watch for on top of everything else. In addition to more work, it’s more stress.
I really don’t understand folks who bang out one touch and go after another in such circumstances. Me, even if J hadn’t asked for full stop landings, I’d be doing them. The whole purpose of landing practice is to improve after all, and if you slam from landing right into take-off again you have no time to think and reflect on what you just did and how to make it better. Not to mention that a full stop landing followed by a back-taxi and a brief wait lets you throughly check out the cockpit again, make sure everything is properly set for take-off without hurrying and yes, it gives you a brief respite.
OK, last time around. I find that after 5 or 6 landings in rapid succession I stop improving and start deteriorating. Of course I’d go around again if that seemed most prudent, but one more would really be enough and I’d be ready for a break at least.
The traffic had, for some reason, abated somewhat. Which was all the more reason for caution - never become complacent. I made sure I had a good view of final approach as well as the rest of the traffic pattern. All clear.
I pulled out, lined it up on center, then went to full power. Up and around again - this time a bit smoother, the air less bumpy, less stirred up. Only one other airplane in the pattern, far down the way, on base. It’s the same as before. Midfield it’s carb heat and slow down to 80. 70 on base. 60 on final, with the power just above idle and another glide to ground. It occurs to me that every approach today has been excellent, no need to slip because I’m too high or power up because I’m low, no over or undershooting - shhhh! Don’t jinx it, don’t think about it, just fly the plane. I’m in the groove. I think and the airplane responds, I don’t have to concentrate to get it to go where I want it to, it just does because my hands and my feet and my head are all working together like they should.
Wheels on the ground, another three-point landing and roll-out. No time to relax, yet - I carefully pull off the runway and only then do I let myself smile just a bit. Those were good landings and I don’t need anyone to tell me so. All I have to do it taxi to a parking spot and shut down without incident.
It’s true of any airplane that you’re not done flying until everything is off. It’s even more so with a tailwheel, which will bite you if you stop paying attention on the ground. I took my time going along the taxiway and across the ramp, a task made easier by a lack of other airplanes using those areas when I went through them. I noted that the parking area near the restaurant was somewhat full and took a spot on the end near the fuel storage tanks. I dug the shutdown checklist out - I’d gotten religious about using it after a couple of embarrassing times years ago when I found myself staring at a prop that kept wanting to go around and around and not stop. And forgetting to shut off the mags. And dumb stuff like that.
I got it shut down, filled out the paperwork (we have paperwork to remind us we’re not quite in heaven yet…) and left my stuff behind. I could see J and one of the Mr. B’s standing by the trailer doing one of those throw-an-ocassional-word-in with weight shifting and foot shuffling kind of conversations. Mr B stole a little of J’s thunder by belting out “Congratulations” as I came up to them, and J told me to get my logbook because he needed to sign the back of it.
I nodded and smiled and went back to dig my stuff out of the airplane and put it away, then got my logbook. J found a space in the back of the book for endorsements and such very carefully fills it out, this being an Official Statement. Yes, I’m good to fly the Citabria on my own, bring my husband along, take up a friend… Meanwhile, he’s also giving me the “license to learn” lecture, where he says that yes, you’ve grabbed the brass ring but you’re still a wet behind the ears kid with a lot to learn so BE CAREFUL, OK? Don’t get cocky. Don’t try flying on your own when the winds are above a certain level or if more than a couple weeks go by without flying - he and C would be happy (and much reassured) to go around a lap or two with me if I was at all uncertain about anything until I got some more experience. Or if I just wanted to push my personal envelope.
J then told the desk girl not to charge me for his time… as I hadn’t really needed him anyway today. And made sure it was official in the flight school documents that I could rent the Citabria solo and no longer needed to have an instructor with me, and that it was OK if I took someone else along pilot or no.
Funny how it was almost anti-climatic. But then, in my experience, that is often the way it is. They don’t sign you off and let you go on your own in anything in aviation until you’re more than ready and you’ve been walking the walking for a bit. It’s not enough to do something once, they want to make sure you can do it consistently, every time. It’s an awful lot of time and effort for what amounts to an inkstain on flattened wood pulp. Not nearly so ceremonial as the first solo ritual, either. Even so, it felt good and I got a lot of congratulations from folks.
Then J and Mr. B ran off for some time in the Citabria before J’s next customer. I went off to have some lunch at the restaurant. I sat outside and watched other people fly. I could tell Mr. B was used to a heavier airplane that came down faster on a landing - he was having to slip pretty hard to get the Citabria to the pavement. I do believe most of his tailwheel time is in the Stearman, lucky dog. Or maybe not so lucky - if I recall, he owns a piece of that biplane and that’s not a cheap airplane. It’s also still in the shop for maintenance and repair, which might have been why he was flying the Citabria. Anyhow, not my problem.
It had been an excellent day.
Well done, Broomstick!
Reminds me of a conversation I listened to recently.
A: “I have to stand in the back row? I’m not really sure that I’m a back row kind of person”
B(who usually stands in the back row):" I’m not sure, but I think there was an insult in there someplace"
(Person A denied the any insult being intended-- and I doubt she had intended one, but it was still kind of funny–to most of the rest of the group as well.)