The Wannabe Aviatrix Wants to Be Even More

I'm writing this sitting adjacent to a runway at KOSH, which is usually known as Wittman Regional Airport in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. If you've been reading my other posts, you know that people haven't been calling it that this week, but rather have been referring to it as Airventure.

We flew in on Friday morning, according to the rules of a very unique NOTAM which included instructions for watching for lots of other air traffic and not talking to ATC when they talk to you, but rather just rocking the wings of your plane to confirm receipt of instructions. My pilot husband truly impressed me with his consistently expert flying paired with our unique circumstances of flying into the busiest airfield in the world (that week). Although we were more than prepared by the NOTAM to follow aircraft in and maintain separation, as well as to adhere to any accompanying instructions from ATC, it turned out that we were the first ones in from our group approaching KOSH. The number and diversity of aircraft flying in behind us, for whom we had to promptly land halfway down the runway and taxi off more than made up for the lack of traffic ahead of us. My husband executed a beautiful landing on runway 36R (right-hand side runway) and away we went to the camp site.

There is so much I could write about all of the exciting, strange, historical, and just plain cool aviation I have witnessed this weekend - too much. Instead I will relate some highlights:

1) STOL! Our first night here, my husband asked if we could watch a STOL demonstration. I was game - my plan and actions were to be up for whatever exhibits he wanted to see this weekend as this trip is truly his aviation fantasy. The only way I can describe this experience is to compare it to that night that your friends want you to go to that party on the lower east side and you think you are definitely not doing that, as you have already picked out the sweatpants you will be wearing along with the ice cream you will be eating as you catch up on the latest Real Housewives drama. For some reason, they convince you to go and you don't redo your hair or even change out of that pajama top that goes so well with those sweatpants. You figure you'll spend 45 minutes at the party, an hour tops. And then you spend all night talking to the cute guy you met who ends up being your husband. No, I didn't meet someone new at Airventure! I met something new - the Just SuperSTOL aircraft. This is an airplane that specializes in Short Take-Offs and Landings (hence "STOL"). These planes are light and fly low and slow and, as the name indicates, require little runway length for taking off and landing. Watching them take off and land and fly the grass-strip pattern was like being back in muscle car-racing. This is the type of plane I want to fly, this is the way I want to fly, bouncing down on bush tires like slicks on a Camaro. Hard to explain, so settle for a few photos until I can tell you more next time:

2) Camping? Camping on an airfield is not my preference, especially since our mattress pad refused to fully inflate and we are parked equally far (and I mean far) from the makeshift bathrooms and the portapotties. However, one of it's charms is the alarm clock of planes landing and taking off by 6am. I truly mean this, as I am a morning person and a morning that starts with watching the orange orb of the sun compete for space in the sky with dozens of prop planes, sleek jets, and massive military aircraft buzzing for attention is pretty special.

3) The People. From the amazing team at Just Aircraft (SuperSTOL!) to the 99s female pilot who encouraged me to keep up with my flying and told me about her mother who was a WASP to the kind Canadian guys with telephoto lenses at the night airshow who could start a side business of selling professional prints, everyone we met could not have been kinder or more interesting. Like many other huge events, the people that you meet at Airventure are a massive part of the experience and this weekend did not disappoint. We also did our part to dispel the rumor that New Yawkers are rude! 

Standby for the next radio frequency and airport code...

N07 to KORH to CYSN

If you've been reading, you know that I was about to embark on a week-long flying trip to and from Airventure in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. The title refers to the codes for the airports we've utilized up to this point. N07 is Lincoln Park, New Jersey, KORH is Worcester, Massachusetts, and CYSN is St. Catherine's Niagara Falls, Canada. 

We stopped in Massachusetts to drop off our dogs for a week at their birth kennel, a fantastic sled dog kennel and breeder in Brookfield, Massachusetts. They will spend the week with their biological brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces, and nephews, as well as the father and uncle of one of each. They'll get to run and play and run in harness. They'll receive belly rubs and better food that we give them, since oftentimes the kennel mother makes their food from scratch. At night they'll get to participate in group howls before they bed down, and in the morning they'll get to sniff the cool air and feel the wind ruffle their fur. Sounds pretty amazing, right? Like a sleepaway canine camp adventure, no? One of our dogs would agree with you, and this is evidenced by the clicking back of her ears and the huge smile that quickly spreads across her face once the realization hits that we are heading to the kennel. Our other dog is more like a clingy child who would rather be with her parents, like that kid in the classic 80s film "Sixteen Candles": His parents force him to go to the dance, pushing him into the gym. He bangs on the doors that they are holding shut, screaming, "I wanna be with you guys!" The joke is that he should want to have fun and be with kids his own age, maybe even get into a little trouble. That is what we would love for this dog, but she spent the entire time that we were packing and getting ready to leave the apartment following me around with a worried look, as if to say, "Where are you going? Am I going with you?" She even tapped me with her paw several times, seemingly trying to remind me that she was there. I kept petting her and telling her she was going to camp and would have a great time with the other dogs. I said it would only be a week and would go so fast. I felt just like my mother before I went to sleepaway camp when I was a kid, as I spent the first few summers feeling achingly homesick, crying all night before the day I left, as well as all day visiting day. 

The drop-off was successful, with our homesick dog handling it better than usual. Then it was back to the plane for a 2.5 hour flight to Canada - my first international general aviation excursion! This is what I saw under the wing as we were waiting to taxi:

Those are corporate jets waiting to take their lucky passengers to a meeting, for a golf game, or wherever else they wish to go. We obtained our IFR (instrument flight rules) clearance and held short on the runway. Once given permission, we took off with a planned ascent to 3000 feet. We were soon given instructions to ascend to 6000 feet, which was our altitude for most of the trip. 

As always, it was awe-inspiring to look down and see cars, trucks, houses off of perfectly rounded cul de sacs, rivers, farms, and even part of Lake Ontario. It felt very calm and relaxing. Then some excitement started: We were monitoring "guard" (the aircraft emergency frequency on the radio), something my CFI recommends, as do other pilots, not expecting to hear much of anything. Suddenly we heard a pinging noise, kind of like a pinball machine beeping over and over and over. We thought it might be an emergency locator transmitter (ELT), which is a signal aircraft can send out when they are in distress. My husband made a radio call to ATC to let them know and the kept in touch with us, asking us to keep an eye out for smoke or a plane in distress on the ground. My husband let me make some of the calls as the sound continued for about 10-15 minutes of our flight. Eventually it stopped and we are still not sure what happened, but we of course hope that it was someone testing it or hitting the switch by accident. After the nervous system arousal of hearing a possible ELT on the radio, we soon heard another unusual radio call: Another pilot had spotting a hot air balloon flying at 6500 feet, which is a relatively high altitude for that type of aircraft. My husband and I looked at each other in wonder...and then we saw it ourselves! He let me call it in to ATC, who then asked me for its position. Again, I hope that was a planned flight for that aircraft, but it was unusual to hear about and to even see.

Today we visited Niagara Falls, taking a boat into the falls, a trip that is not recommended without the garish disposable rain ponchos they give out prior to boarding. We were soaked by the mist, a kind of baptism for our trip. 

A storm is currently rolling through, complicating our pan to fly to Chicago this afternoon. He is what it looked like from our hotel room (note the falls in the background):

Stay tuned for the update about our flight to KPWK (a small GA field in Chicago)!

Oshkosh B'gosh

I have spent the last week or so mentally, physically, academically, organizationally, emotionally, and practically getting ready to fly with my pilot husband to Airventure: http://www.eaa.org/en/airventure. Airventure is what I like to call "Woodstock for Aviators," a week-long festival in which more than 10,000 airplanes gather at what is usually a small airport in Oshkosh, Wisconsin for airshows, workshops, lectures, formal and informal gatherings, and airshows. There is every type of aircraft you can imagine from small Cessna 182s and Diamond DA20s to private jets to even a DC10 that doubles as a hospital. There are old and new warplanes, sleek planes used in airshows, and biplanes that require a leather helmet and goggles (and I think a silk scarf and leather jacket, but that's just my opinion). There are even a number of "experimental aircraft," many of which people have built themselves from kits. In addition to tens of thousands of airplanes lined up in various parts of the field, hundreds of thousands of people show up, and many of them camp out. The most sought-after camping spot is next to one's very own airplane, especially if it is a high-wing, because then you can sit under the wing and benefit from some shade. This is what we will be doing with our Cessna 182, hopefully as of Friday morning. We are leaving the New York area tomorrow and heading to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, followed by Chicago, and ultimately the unique experience of flying into Oshkosh, a one-of-a-kind busy moment which requires intensive study of the NOTAM (Notice To Airmen) and understanding that the air traffic controllers will be talking to you and telling you what to do and you will be rocking your wings and not talking back because there is too much activity on the frequency. The results of this intensive study also require understanding that what ATC may say to you will likely involve landing on a brightly colored dot on the runway rather than getting to take the whole thing because there are so many aircraft arriving. We did this once before two years ago and it was extremely exciting to see all the planes around us, feel our wings rocking, and to land on a neon green dot, which was huge once we were on the ground. As I prepare for this trip, consulting my packing list which includes items like my passport, my logbook, a pillow I don't care much about since it will get dirty from sleeping on the ground, and a fancy dress for a special dinner on Mackinac Island on the way home once the camping portion is over, I am reflecting on how different my life is from two years ago when I first participated in this adventure. Sure I could follow up with the obvious commentary about being married now, or even mention that I am preparing to apply for tenure at my academic institution - both momentous life events. However, my life seems most different because I have been learning to fly. I can say today is that I officially have 39.8 flight-training hours. That missing .2 - 12 minutes - is really irritating me as I pack and think about the activities I'd like to do and the conversations I will be having with the people I meet, many of whom will be supportive that I am a student pilot and will ask the same questions that my friends and family check in about regularly: "How many hours do you have? How much longer do you think it will be? Have you soloed yet?" Unlike getting older, where 40 is something you avoid and screech the brakes toward, 40 here is a milestone. 40 is a nice round flying number, and it's also the minimum number of hours required to obtain your private pilot's license. Weather, plane repairs, my husband needing to take the plane himself, and general life have just gotten in the way the past couple of weeks, or I would likely have 43 or 44 hours, which of course would be even better than 40. But I have 39.8. I've even been wondering is there a way I could go up in one of the warbirds or showplanes that you pay for rides in and convince them to let me fly left-seat and sign off my logbook for me. Regardless of my missing those 12 minutes, I am excited and nervous to go to Airventure for the first time as a student pilot, as a part of a very special community. I am even more excited to represent the small percentage of women who are pilots, working on becoming pilots, or simply fantasizing about it and not sure how to begin. I may even tell people about The Wannabe Aviatrix!

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's...Sam?

I went flying today for the second time after taking a nine-month hiatus. After spending last summer working intensively on my private pilot's license, I had to take a break. Life got in the way, as it often does for student pilots. I had to go back to work full-time after a professor's summer off. Then I had to join in the planning of a destination wedding in Miami (I know, poor lil ol' me) and be one its stars (I was the bride). Then I had to write thank you notes for wedding presents and pay bills and return emails and just generally adjust to returning to real life.

Now that I have done all of that, it is time to get back to the business of learning to fly. A few days ago I returned to the left seat and the cockpit of a Cessna 172. Although last year I had reached the point of being able to preflight without my checklist (which I would consult after my airplane walkaround and confirm that I had indeed checked everything), on this day I needed to scrutinize it closely. Once my CFI (Certified Flight Instructor) and I had confirmed together that we could take the plane up, we got in, did another checklist, turned the key in the ignition, got the prop spinning, and began taxiing. Even calling on the radio had become unfamiliar to me so I rehearsed what I would say before pressing the button and taking up airtime.

Eventually I taxied to the runway and took off. Leaving the ground of my own volition felt amazing (as did keeping the nose of the plane at the correct angle while I did it). It was a shorter flight, sort of a review for me after my long absence from learning. Under the direction of my CFI, I did some lefthand, righthand, and 360 degree turns. I tried some different altitudes. I followed the Hudson River a bit. And before I knew it, it was time to turn back to the airport.

Today was lesson #2 in my journey back to being a conscientious student pilot. The checklist went a little faster and easier, the takeoff was even more exciting (especially because the commercial jet that needed our runway arrived and took off right before me, taking some of the pressure off), and we did some more maneuvers.

But here's the thing: Although it sounds so cool that I am learning to fly (really, I totally get that), and it is cool, it's also very challenging. I have more days than not that I think I will forever be the equivalent of a student driver with that big plastic triangle on my car that says so and someone sitting next to me helping out with every turn (which my CFI patiently does). One of my biggest challenges is that I get motion sickness - kind of a cruel joke, right? A wannabe pilot who can't keep her lunch down but wants to fly through the skies in a tiny airplane and be buffeted around now and then with no incident. I have tried everything: deep breathing, clenching my stomach, trying to relax my body, positioning the cool air vents on my face, taking Bonine (which apparently makes you drowsy, so I would not recommend...although I was so nervous about not throwing up that I did not get drowsy, so in that way I guess it worked), Sea Bands, ginger gum, and even actually vomiting in the airplane (while in the middle of attempting to fly it). Any new suggestions?

The Wannabe Aviatrix - Inaugural Post

Welcome to my blog, including but not limited to my quest to become a private pilot, my adventures with my husband and our two sled dogs, my attempts at fitness and healthy eating, my uphill battle with organizing our apartment, and sage advice from the Little General (my mother).

Over the summer a few years ago, I had the opportunity to spend a little too long sitting in the open air on the roof of the White Plains airport, watching planes take off and land at this tiny time capsule which had been left behind by the wave of security that our post-9/11 world has provided. Watching the aircraft repeatedly ascend on that breezy, early July morning wearing my Ray-Ban aviators, I was able to escape from my somewhat troubling recent past and my uncertain future, and simply live in the moment. The feeling continued a bit through the weekend as we rose up in our own plane and touched down in the south, in another world. It was nice to get away for a little while, although my mind continued to race at its usual speed. A couple of days later, flying back to the little White Plains airport, our plane stayed low for about the last forty minutes or so and I mused about how nice that was, that now someone was watching me on my journey. Little did I know that several years later I would be learning to fly one of those little planes I was watching taking off and landing at that very airport. But that is a story for a few posts from now.

That same summer I was feeling sorry for myself because I was going through a divorce and living with my mother in Westchester. During this time, I bounced from home to home in the New York area while waiting to close on a tiny but perfect studio I had purchased. I stayed at my mother's house, at her boyfriend's apartment, and on numerous couches of friends and family. I stayed in a gorgeous modern upper west side apartment with a wall of glass windows, the softest sheets I ever had the privilege in which to slip my body, and walls without art or even a family photo. I stayed repeatedly on a pull-out couch in a good friend's welcoming apartment, made even more welcoming by her providing me candy, full-access to her high resolution flat screen TV and all the cable I could handle, and of course a sympathetic ear. I stayed in the height of summer on a comfy couch in Queens with a much-needed remote-controlled air conditioner and a wise, young married couple who gave me hope again. I was asked more times than I cared to count if I would also need a wash cloth with my bath towel, and this taught me that I am definitely not a person who ever needs a wash cloth (and in fact there are no washcloths to be found in the apartment my husband and I currently share - yes, I got remarried!). And eventually I made it home to my little apartment, which was only the beginning of my adventures.

 Once I was settled back in the city and socializing did not require a Meto North ticket and schedule, I really got into online dating. More than one friend hazarded a guess that I went on an average of two dates per week. I always unwaveringly demured that they were wrong and it just seemed that way...but were are not wrong. There was an unending pool of men in the internet ether who, based on my profile, wanted to comment on my sexy black dress photo, wanted me to take them on a tour of MoMA related to my expressed love of art and an accompanying insider-y list of artists to prove it, and who asked if I was going to analyze them because I am a psychologist (a child psychologist who does research - thanks for weeding yourselves out, boys!). I received plenty of unsolicited correspondence that lowered my morale, including an email from a fat, balding 34-year-old lawyer who offered, "You're a bit old for my taste but I'll give you a shot." Including reconnecting with a man I had dated who was a bit old for me and didn't want anymore children: "You're very cute, despite not being a size 2." Including an email on Christmas day from a never-married 47-year-old man, claiming to have read my entire profile (which state clearly that I am Jewish): "so, did you go to midnight mass?" I also received a clearly-worded, coherent, sweet email from a man who I ended up meeting for a drink and then dinner and then another dinner and then a flight in a four-seater plane and then another date and another and now we are on a permanent date because he became my husband.