Jeremiah, my CFI, shares the happy moment.
Understandably at first, the tragedy had kept us grounded. But it was definitely time to dust ourselves off and try as best as we can to carry-on. In the USA a middle-aged lady on a budget who needs loads of hours can learn to fly. What could be more American than that? We VFR students had been grounded for nearly two weeks. I was getting apprehensive about how this would impact the progress of all American student pilots. Last week I had written to my congressmen via e-mail a letter entitled, "Please don't Keep us Grounded" Then on top of the restrictions, Monday's lesson had been cancelled because of fog. The AWOS indicated a no-go, but ever optimistic, I went out to the airport anyway, on the hopes that the fog would lift. When it didn't, I sat in the cockpit and practiced "armchair flying" emergency procedures. Although a bit frustrating, this is not a waste of time. Going through the sweep-check helps because the more practice you have, the more you can drill yourself to concentrate on flying under the duress of an emergency. Tuesday morning I had scheduled a makeup lesson. After two weeks with no flying there was some apprehension on my part. I woke up early and checked the still-gloomy weather. In the course of net-surfing, I came across this remarkably apropos saying:
Don't ever let an airplane take you someplace where your brain hasn't arrived at least a couple of minutes earlier --Andy Anderson
The recent Northwest Section meeting of the Ninety-Nines had provided me (as a "Sixty-Six") with additional moral support. For a long time, I had told myself that confidence had to come from within. But it is certainly golden to have peer support and inspiration! Although very new as a member, already I had found a warm and welcome home with the Ninety-Nines. When I was introduced as a student pilot, the group had cheered and clapped as though it were some great achievement. Such encouraging spirit! So many friendly and interested faces! During lunch I shared my woes about having so many hours with a lively seventy-six year-old flight instructor. She brushed them away, saying, "Just keep that sparkle in your eyes and pay good attention to everything. You will do fine!".
Lucky for me that set the tone for my Tuesday lesson, even on such a rainy day. After seven respectable touch-and-go's, suddenly Jeremiah told me to "make this one a full-stop". I looked at the clock and said something about 'time funning when youre having flies', but reluctantly exited the runway. While taxiing back, I suddenly thought of a question that had been on my mind for a long while: All three of the instructors that I had always got out of the plane lightening fast at the end of a flight, sometimes even exiting as I was still shutting down. One of them had been so fast that it was quite a distraction to me. Were they practicing some sort of athletic exit feat that was taught in advanced ratings? We came to a stop near our parking place, but instead of answering my question, Jeremiah had an especially serious look on his face and told me abruptly to "stay right in the plane". My initial reaction was "Oh golly bejeevers, what have I done now?" ~wry grin. It was not until he asked for my medical and log book that it really hit me: I was about to solo! We talked for a moment about restrictions and what I was to do. With great encouragement Jeremiah then told me, "Go out and do everything just as you have been doing today. I will be listening on the unicom if you have any questions". Then with his usual quick steps he was gone, heading towards the main office. As I stowed my log book, the reason for the extra-serious expression hit me poignantly. Here on so young a fellow's face was the extreme and solemn weight of responsibility. Like all top-notch CFI's, he has been uncompromising with regard to standards. I, being middle-aged, was well outside of the bell-curve for hours and progress. Suddenly I wanted to get out and call to him, "I won't let you or myself down!" It was a soft, gentle, rainy Oregon day. As I taxied out to the calm-wind runway, it felt especially quiet --some might say lonely. Being from a family of eleven, though, I know well the difference between precious solitude and loneliness. Relishing the solitude, I felt surprisingly calm and ready. Yes, there was some amount of angst and a definite "edge", but no true fear. Joy was, as I had hoped, the emotion much stronger than fear. But the job at hand --flying my best --left little room for the indulgence of emotions anyway. I was simply too busy. On my first pattern I quickly went too high, but was able to correct the hundred-feet of elevation escapade readily. "Oh, pouf!" I thought , "This is not the time to dwell on errors!" Then it all seemed to come together pretty well. No, my landings were not perfect, but they were all three quite respectable. My middle landing was the best. I really held her off to land with that gentle touch that we all strive for. And no sideways slop, as has been my vexing tendency. One of my biggest hurdles had been rudder control and effectiveness. Finally even that was beginning to feel right, though I still need some polish. And as always, plenty of practice. All too soon came the third landing and my promised full stop. During my solo, a bit of my instructors had still been with me --ever loyal Tim, who shared with me the longest and slowest hours of the trek. Tim had stood by me during the initial training. With my wry humor I have dubbed this "the catatonic phase". A seasoned pilot and exquisite flyer, he had given me control of the plane, courageously allowing me to make every mistake in the book! --Nitty-gritty Jeremiah, who had seen fit to step up the pace at the right time: so devoted and keen a teacher. --And our new instructor Jack, with whom I had only flown once, but whose positivism and support gave me yet more encouragement. As I exited the runway, wild elation began to surface. All alone I giggled like a silly girl. One brief yelp of joy, then immediately saying to myself, "Hey, it ain't over yet!". I busied myself with the post-landing check, cleaning up the plane and announcing that I was clear of one-seven. The solo is a milestone, but of course it is not the summit. In mountain climbing, we often trek and patiently hike through miles of gentle woods and meadows to even reach the vast upper flanks of a peak. The trek isn't always all uphill either. There are muddy valleys with streams to cross. My pre-solo experience had been like that --a long and determined trek. The summit, such as it is, had never quite been fully in sight. So much of the time, I had felt the thickness of the forest and wondered if I would ever get even a crack at such a summit. Now I feel as though I am at least above the timber line. And the view is exquisite! Ahead of me are steeper challenges, with spires and crags of demands made by myself and my CFI. As with climbing a large and rugged mountain, the experience brings both confidence and great humility.