I learned today that some of the stuff we’ve been stockpiling to keep our kids “entertained” (read: to get them tired enough to sleep for part of the night) might actually be useful for adults, too.
Like so many parents right now, I’m with my son for the majority of the hours of the day...and the night at this point. Hello, COVID-19 sleep disruption! In order to make the long days of mostly just the two of us more manageable, I have stockpiled numerous learning materials, books, toys, apps, and outdoor toys. I was fortunate enough to acquire a trampoline about an hour before the world turned off in March. I thought it would be a great thing to help my son with his sensory issues and hyperactivity for the few weeks we might be home until this whole virus thing got sorted out. Feel free to laugh at me for just the first time in this post now.
Cut to four months and two days later, my son rarely uses the trampoline except as a place to lounge and spill juice boxes. Tonight I realized that this toy was only ever meant for me.
When I was a young girl, I would spend hours in my room making up dances. Accompanied by 80s pop, classic rock, and Motown music on my cassette deck, I would make use of every corner of my Laura Ashley-wallpapered, pink-carpeted “studio.” I spun around, I shimmied, I jumped, I crawled on the floor like a cat, I pretended I was leaning back against a chainlink fence, and pretty much fantasized that I was Madonna, Janet Jackson, Prince, Laura Brannigan, Donna Summer, and Duran Duran. When I was feeling truly inspired I was all of them at once!
An early ballet school dropout, I feel pretty confident that those dances were probably terrible. I have no idea since I didn’t have a full-length mirror and the point wasn’t to watch myself. If anything, the point was to escape my awkward self and my suburban, middle school reality. I was sweaty and transported and in the flow.
This evening, around 30 years later, I was finally able to recapture that feeling. On my way home from that walk we all take now, “Rock and Roll” by Velvet Underground sprang through my headphones and I was obligated to dance up my driveway. Then I spotted the trampoline in the yard and I was obligated to kick off my sneakers, climb in, and jump and dance like crazy. I kept going for close to an hour, reaching sublime physical and emotional heights. I sang “I Can See Clearly Now” at the top of my lungs (obviously the Jimmy Cliff version). I jumped to songs former students of mine recommended ("Lost in the Light" by Bahamas). I got in my feelings about Sia’s “Elastic Heart.” I made up a jump/dance to Lower Dens’ “Ondine” (download it, you won’t regret it). My sweaty shirt flew up and my quarantine pooch bounced over my elastic pants (yep still wearing those) during Wang Chung's "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" and the Rolling Stones' "Heartbreaker." I used every inch of that trampoline like it was my old room with the thick pink carpet I begged my mom to get me. I was red and sweaty and far from graceful. It didn’t matter because no one could see me.
I have felt invisible lately. Most of my time is spent trying to keep my son regulated and happy and healthy. I’m a food deliverer, playmate, iPad-provider, swim instructor, online-orderer, game-inventor, toy-fixer, amateur occupational therapist and physical therapist, failed potty-trainer and occasional punching bag when he loses control. Like everyone else, I’m also an amateur plumber and carpenter (thank you, YouTube and my late father’s giant toolbox). Sometimes I feel less than invisible - only visible for doing or providing things. I danced and jumped like no one was watching, because these days it feels like they aren’t. And that isn’t always a bad thing.
I try not to give unsolicited advice, but I will just say that if you have a trampoline, get yourself to it and do your own safety dance, so you, too, can dance when everything is out of control (courtesy of Men Without Hats).
Friday, July 17, 2020
Monday, May 4, 2020
Hot for Teacher - Quarantine Edition
It’s day 50 of the COVID-19 pandemic for our household. It’s important for me to begin by saying that we have been incredibly lucky and blessed to be healthy and safe and staying put in our suburban house with a yard and cars we can take for rides. We also have a swingset, a trampoline, and the beginnings of a tent village on our lawn would have rivaled Occupy Wall Street.
This manic Monday morning found me at 5:08am with the remote control in one hand trying to find the correct episode of “Max and Ruby” for my three-and-a-half-year-old son. The keyboard of my laptop was under the other hand, attempting to fix mistakes made in my online college course posting for Blackboard in time for it to be meaningful to my students, who have their online final exam tomorrow. This kind of multi-tasking has resulted in things like apple juice in my coffee cup and coffee creamer in an OXO straw cup (love those things, but we were finally having some luck graduating from them to open cups before this whole thing hit. We had also moved up from Paw Patrol, but have regressed back to that, so I’m the one yelping for help. If you don’t get that joke, congrats! I don’t know how to play Animal Crossing and you probably do.) I don’t want to disappoint my students anymore than I already have by trying to move an in-person advanced college seminar onto Zoom and Blackboard, with the computer angled away from the messy parts of my bedroom and the sweatpants I’m wearing, so I’m feeling the pressure to respond to them even more quickly than usual and to catch any mistakes made online as efficiently as possible, so fewer of them notice.
The Mondays are even Monday-er than usual during quarantine. Perhaps this was the case this morning for happy reasons: We had a glorious weekend enjoying the beautiful weather here in suburban New York State. We were also treated to a social distancing visit from my son’s wonderfully supportive preschool teacher. Even though my son is invited to more Zoom meetings than I am, he has informed me when he is calm that he really only wants to see people in person in the places he’s accustomed to seeing them (i.e., school) and when he is less calm by crying and screaming and pounding the floor with his extremities. So, we’re taking a break. His teacher wants to make sure that they still have time together, so she’s been stopping by for outdoor social distance visits. I was already keenly aware of how special she is, but that she’s taking time out of her own day and whatever ups and downs she may be facing to personally visit and check in, and stay for so long, demonstrates even further what an extraordinary gem of an educator and human she is.
As if visiting weren’t fantastic enough, my son’s teacher made sure to take pictures of us playing outside. She snapped several of my husband, son, and me, and we remarked on all the families engaging in front porch portraits from a distance with local photographers. I have seen many families’ finish products, including close friends, and they look fantastic. Their hair looks beautiful and coiffed, they’re wearing pants that don’t stay up with the help of elastic, they look fit and healthy, and their faces look relaxed and stress-free. I have even had the privilege of having one of the wonderful well-known photographers who is taking these photos snap pics of my own family during normal times.
Yesterday’s social distancing portrait was a little different: My hair was twisted into a wet bun, my stretched out t-shirt did nothing to hide the minimum of 10 extra pounds I’ve gained since staying at home started, and my overgrown eyebrows and red, winded face definitely didn’t look so healthy. But at least I had on my “outside” pajama pants! The bigger win was that despite my misgivings about my physical appearance, the end result was a beautiful, happy picture full of love of the three of us. My son even looked directly at the camera and smiled, undoubtedly because his beloved teacher was smiling back as she snapped the image. Because I’ve pledged to be honest here, I need to say that I sent the photo to a friend with accompanying text that she should look at how fat I’ve become. She immediately responded that I should look at how happy we all looked.
This manic Monday morning found me at 5:08am with the remote control in one hand trying to find the correct episode of “Max and Ruby” for my three-and-a-half-year-old son. The keyboard of my laptop was under the other hand, attempting to fix mistakes made in my online college course posting for Blackboard in time for it to be meaningful to my students, who have their online final exam tomorrow. This kind of multi-tasking has resulted in things like apple juice in my coffee cup and coffee creamer in an OXO straw cup (love those things, but we were finally having some luck graduating from them to open cups before this whole thing hit. We had also moved up from Paw Patrol, but have regressed back to that, so I’m the one yelping for help. If you don’t get that joke, congrats! I don’t know how to play Animal Crossing and you probably do.) I don’t want to disappoint my students anymore than I already have by trying to move an in-person advanced college seminar onto Zoom and Blackboard, with the computer angled away from the messy parts of my bedroom and the sweatpants I’m wearing, so I’m feeling the pressure to respond to them even more quickly than usual and to catch any mistakes made online as efficiently as possible, so fewer of them notice.
The Mondays are even Monday-er than usual during quarantine. Perhaps this was the case this morning for happy reasons: We had a glorious weekend enjoying the beautiful weather here in suburban New York State. We were also treated to a social distancing visit from my son’s wonderfully supportive preschool teacher. Even though my son is invited to more Zoom meetings than I am, he has informed me when he is calm that he really only wants to see people in person in the places he’s accustomed to seeing them (i.e., school) and when he is less calm by crying and screaming and pounding the floor with his extremities. So, we’re taking a break. His teacher wants to make sure that they still have time together, so she’s been stopping by for outdoor social distance visits. I was already keenly aware of how special she is, but that she’s taking time out of her own day and whatever ups and downs she may be facing to personally visit and check in, and stay for so long, demonstrates even further what an extraordinary gem of an educator and human she is.
As if visiting weren’t fantastic enough, my son’s teacher made sure to take pictures of us playing outside. She snapped several of my husband, son, and me, and we remarked on all the families engaging in front porch portraits from a distance with local photographers. I have seen many families’ finish products, including close friends, and they look fantastic. Their hair looks beautiful and coiffed, they’re wearing pants that don’t stay up with the help of elastic, they look fit and healthy, and their faces look relaxed and stress-free. I have even had the privilege of having one of the wonderful well-known photographers who is taking these photos snap pics of my own family during normal times.
Yesterday’s social distancing portrait was a little different: My hair was twisted into a wet bun, my stretched out t-shirt did nothing to hide the minimum of 10 extra pounds I’ve gained since staying at home started, and my overgrown eyebrows and red, winded face definitely didn’t look so healthy. But at least I had on my “outside” pajama pants! The bigger win was that despite my misgivings about my physical appearance, the end result was a beautiful, happy picture full of love of the three of us. My son even looked directly at the camera and smiled, undoubtedly because his beloved teacher was smiling back as she snapped the image. Because I’ve pledged to be honest here, I need to say that I sent the photo to a friend with accompanying text that she should look at how fat I’ve become. She immediately responded that I should look at how happy we all looked.
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Outside the Frame - Quarantine Edition
It’s day 44 of the COVID-19 pandemic for our household. It’s important for me to begin by saying that we have been incredibly lucky and blessed to be healthy and safe and staying put in our suburban house with a yard and cars we can take for rides.
My three and a half year old son and I spend the bulk of each day together. We also spend a good portion of each night together, since he began transitioning from his crib to a bed just before this whole thing started and has not been sleeping well. Thankfully we’re at the point that we’re averaging one 3am wakeup that requires me to go into his room and help him get back to sleep. It’s a good morning if he sleeps past 5:30am. This morning counted as a good morning, even if my alarm clock was him accidentally kicking me square in the nose (this is the third time my nose has been injured during quarantine, so my first stop when things reopen will likely be a plastic surgeon).
In the beginning, as worksheets and videos began to ping my email inbox and my FaceBook feed surged with educational ideas and color-coded schedules, I felt overwhelmed. I felt a lot of pressure to emulate what others were doing – something I thought I had let go around the time that my son was being evaluated for all of his differences and I had to accept that it would be a while – maybe never – before we would be doing what everyone else was doing. That was back when going to a simple birthday party was something to seriously consider and probably forego because he would become overstimulated and try to leave or get upset by a sound or sight and lash out. Thankfully, birthday parties have become something he mostly likes now (except when “Happy Birthday” is sung, although I know adults who don’t like that, either).
But this new challenge, this being at home with no school, no afternoon gym or science classes, and no in-person therapies (no SEIT, no Occupational Therapist, no Physical Therapist, no _T of any kind), was going to be difficult in an entirely new way. So why did I think that I should just jump on the homeschooling bandwagon? I’m happy for others for whom that has worked. But after a few days I realized it wasn’t going to work for us and I significantly lowered the bar for what counted as a good day.
What’s working is a goal of one eight-minute quasi-educational activity every day. What counts as a quasi-educational activity? Anything we do while awake that doesn’t involve an ipad…unless that ipad has a teacher on Zoom or a letter or number activity, then that totally counts!
I’m here to be honest about what this looks like. If you need an antidote to all those curated FaceBook highlights of preschoolers baking neat loaves of banana bread, making sidewalk chalk “thank you” signs that double as letter-tracing work, or basically anything anyone is doing from the Busy Toddler website, you’ve come to the right place.
Earlier this week, I convinced my son to engage in a rare sustained pretend play session. This was sparked by my giving him an electronic cash register with a scanner. We set up the aisles with toy food that has been laying untouched around our house for months. We grabbed a toy shopping cart that he inexplicably had only used to load down with random items and cover with a blanket (creating his own heavywork?). We took turns being the shopper and the cashier. When he was the cashier, he helped me find items I needed and even asked if I would like “big broccoli” or “small broccoli”? I definitely wanted small, or none, but he insisted I take the big one. Maybe he knew of a sale that day? He scanned and bagged my items, loaded them into my shopping cart, and even carted them all the way home to my play kitchen. We both laughed when we realized the supermarket cashier had left his post and had somehow ended up in my kitchen, as if that would be so funny if it happened in real life and not creepy at all. Then we switched roles and he shopped and I checked out and bagged his items.
But for every half-hour supermarket play session there are 33 refusals to make seed balls out of recycled paper for Earth Day and a baker’s dozen refusals to make cupcakes, ice them ourselves and top them off with ample rainbow sprinkles. Who doesn’t want to make cupcakes?? I mean, I shouldn’t want to since my sweatpants are fitting like a second skin... For every supermarket play session, there are also failed introductions of new Play Doh sets where I extrude, mold, and model shapes, and he takes the remaining Play Doh, smushes it all together into a ball, smears it like a new finish all over the table, then wants me to extricate it back to separate colors, and lays on the floor having a tantrum when I can’t.
I think we need an Instagram post about which stand is best for your child to be on your iPad all day while you make your seventh cup of coffee. I think we need an Instagram post about how to make a homemade pooch patch for your leggings so you can let them out and keep eating. How about an Instagram post about how okay it is if you want to put your maternity leggings back on during this time? Or one suggesting the best flavor ice cream to let your child have for breakfast?
Daily I also try to have my picture-perfect moments. A recent high for me: My son building LEGO with me and actually completing something. A recent low for me: Just as the last little brick is going in, a little Godzilla stomping all over it before the first pretend scene even began. If that’s not a good metaphor for these days, I have others...and they’re not metaphors, they’re things that have actually happened. Like the joy of seeing my son rediscover puzzles and start putting the pieces together on his own, only to misplace one piece, scream “It’s ruined!” as he chucked the whole thing to the side of the room followed by his body onto the floor. No biggie, not like I haven’t done this in my attempts to cook dinner.
My three and a half year old son and I spend the bulk of each day together. We also spend a good portion of each night together, since he began transitioning from his crib to a bed just before this whole thing started and has not been sleeping well. Thankfully we’re at the point that we’re averaging one 3am wakeup that requires me to go into his room and help him get back to sleep. It’s a good morning if he sleeps past 5:30am. This morning counted as a good morning, even if my alarm clock was him accidentally kicking me square in the nose (this is the third time my nose has been injured during quarantine, so my first stop when things reopen will likely be a plastic surgeon).
In the beginning, as worksheets and videos began to ping my email inbox and my FaceBook feed surged with educational ideas and color-coded schedules, I felt overwhelmed. I felt a lot of pressure to emulate what others were doing – something I thought I had let go around the time that my son was being evaluated for all of his differences and I had to accept that it would be a while – maybe never – before we would be doing what everyone else was doing. That was back when going to a simple birthday party was something to seriously consider and probably forego because he would become overstimulated and try to leave or get upset by a sound or sight and lash out. Thankfully, birthday parties have become something he mostly likes now (except when “Happy Birthday” is sung, although I know adults who don’t like that, either).
But this new challenge, this being at home with no school, no afternoon gym or science classes, and no in-person therapies (no SEIT, no Occupational Therapist, no Physical Therapist, no _T of any kind), was going to be difficult in an entirely new way. So why did I think that I should just jump on the homeschooling bandwagon? I’m happy for others for whom that has worked. But after a few days I realized it wasn’t going to work for us and I significantly lowered the bar for what counted as a good day.
What’s working is a goal of one eight-minute quasi-educational activity every day. What counts as a quasi-educational activity? Anything we do while awake that doesn’t involve an ipad…unless that ipad has a teacher on Zoom or a letter or number activity, then that totally counts!
I’m here to be honest about what this looks like. If you need an antidote to all those curated FaceBook highlights of preschoolers baking neat loaves of banana bread, making sidewalk chalk “thank you” signs that double as letter-tracing work, or basically anything anyone is doing from the Busy Toddler website, you’ve come to the right place.
Earlier this week, I convinced my son to engage in a rare sustained pretend play session. This was sparked by my giving him an electronic cash register with a scanner. We set up the aisles with toy food that has been laying untouched around our house for months. We grabbed a toy shopping cart that he inexplicably had only used to load down with random items and cover with a blanket (creating his own heavywork?). We took turns being the shopper and the cashier. When he was the cashier, he helped me find items I needed and even asked if I would like “big broccoli” or “small broccoli”? I definitely wanted small, or none, but he insisted I take the big one. Maybe he knew of a sale that day? He scanned and bagged my items, loaded them into my shopping cart, and even carted them all the way home to my play kitchen. We both laughed when we realized the supermarket cashier had left his post and had somehow ended up in my kitchen, as if that would be so funny if it happened in real life and not creepy at all. Then we switched roles and he shopped and I checked out and bagged his items.
But for every half-hour supermarket play session there are 33 refusals to make seed balls out of recycled paper for Earth Day and a baker’s dozen refusals to make cupcakes, ice them ourselves and top them off with ample rainbow sprinkles. Who doesn’t want to make cupcakes?? I mean, I shouldn’t want to since my sweatpants are fitting like a second skin... For every supermarket play session, there are also failed introductions of new Play Doh sets where I extrude, mold, and model shapes, and he takes the remaining Play Doh, smushes it all together into a ball, smears it like a new finish all over the table, then wants me to extricate it back to separate colors, and lays on the floor having a tantrum when I can’t.
I think we need an Instagram post about which stand is best for your child to be on your iPad all day while you make your seventh cup of coffee. I think we need an Instagram post about how to make a homemade pooch patch for your leggings so you can let them out and keep eating. How about an Instagram post about how okay it is if you want to put your maternity leggings back on during this time? Or one suggesting the best flavor ice cream to let your child have for breakfast?
Daily I also try to have my picture-perfect moments. A recent high for me: My son building LEGO with me and actually completing something. A recent low for me: Just as the last little brick is going in, a little Godzilla stomping all over it before the first pretend scene even began. If that’s not a good metaphor for these days, I have others...and they’re not metaphors, they’re things that have actually happened. Like the joy of seeing my son rediscover puzzles and start putting the pieces together on his own, only to misplace one piece, scream “It’s ruined!” as he chucked the whole thing to the side of the room followed by his body onto the floor. No biggie, not like I haven’t done this in my attempts to cook dinner.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
No Joy
In aviation, when air traffic control (ATC) alerts you that there is traffic (other aircraft in the vicinity of your flight), your radio response should include whether you have spotted that traffic, whether it is in your way or not, whether you need to move to avoid it, or whether you do not see it. For the last option, you can tell the controller, "We do not have the traffic in sight," or something similarly wordy, but another option for conveying that you do not see the other aircraft is to say, "No joy," which is an old expression indicating that you do not have your target in sight.
I would argue that the expression "No joy" could also be used during flight training, when trying to capture a new certification or endorsement and not quite getting it, or better yet trying to capture the happiness and excitement about flying in the first place. I'm bringing all of this up because, although I turned in consistently good tailwheel landings today, I was not able to capture that feeling of joy from flying that I usually get when I do it. When I popped up in the air in the Super Cub today, the thrill was gone and it felt more like work, like an unattainable goal, like a Sisyphean task, except instead of pushing a boulder up a hill and having it repeatedly roll back down, I bounced those bush tires down on the grass strip just to take off and bounce them down again. Maybe I'm being punished for thinking this was something I could be great at?
Things that could have contributed to my continued but ultimately futile search for my target, joy:
- Hassles encountered upon getting my car out of the parking garage and driving it from the city out to rural New Jersey: Before I even had the opportunity to enter the fray that is the traffic heading towards the Lincoln Tunnel on 9th Avenue, one of the parking attendants yelled at me for politely asking for my car. For once I yelled back (kind of; he was meaner).
- Gusty winds making me work harder for good flying: The winds scared me a bit as my wings got bumped up and down, but that just made the consistently good landings that much more rewarding. But it wasn't fun. I wasn't enjoying anticipating when to put in more aileron for crosswind correction on takeoff, when to crab, or anticipating shear as I came in past a cluster of tall trees. Okay, I did start to enjoy the crosswind correction on takeoff, especially when the Cub leaned on the right tire.
- Negativity from other pilots: Someone I have seen hanging around the airport but not actually flying was intent on criticizing my home airport, Lincoln Park (N07). I myself have written on this blog about feeling intimidated by the tiny strip, but have always been focused on feeling confident to land there (which I finally do), and I don't think negativity or scare tactics help. This pilot continually brought up crashes there, even warning me not to stand too close to the woods near our airplane hangar because I might get hit by a crashing plane. The only upside to this conversation was that for once I said exactly what I would have wished to have said later when ruminating about it, simply responding: "You're intense about Lincoln Park, aren't you? I think we should all be proud of our home airports and we should all try to fly safely."
- Wishing I had the sign-off in my logbook already. I know, I know: "You can't hurry Cub, noooo you'll just have to wait..." [sung to the tune of "You Can't Hurry Love"]
I sure hope the thrill isn't gone away for good for me and the Super Cub, and that in the coming weeks instead of saying, "No joy" about the elusive thrill I can say "Tally ho!" (meaning I have my target in sight).
I would argue that the expression "No joy" could also be used during flight training, when trying to capture a new certification or endorsement and not quite getting it, or better yet trying to capture the happiness and excitement about flying in the first place. I'm bringing all of this up because, although I turned in consistently good tailwheel landings today, I was not able to capture that feeling of joy from flying that I usually get when I do it. When I popped up in the air in the Super Cub today, the thrill was gone and it felt more like work, like an unattainable goal, like a Sisyphean task, except instead of pushing a boulder up a hill and having it repeatedly roll back down, I bounced those bush tires down on the grass strip just to take off and bounce them down again. Maybe I'm being punished for thinking this was something I could be great at?
Things that could have contributed to my continued but ultimately futile search for my target, joy:
- Hassles encountered upon getting my car out of the parking garage and driving it from the city out to rural New Jersey: Before I even had the opportunity to enter the fray that is the traffic heading towards the Lincoln Tunnel on 9th Avenue, one of the parking attendants yelled at me for politely asking for my car. For once I yelled back (kind of; he was meaner).
- Gusty winds making me work harder for good flying: The winds scared me a bit as my wings got bumped up and down, but that just made the consistently good landings that much more rewarding. But it wasn't fun. I wasn't enjoying anticipating when to put in more aileron for crosswind correction on takeoff, when to crab, or anticipating shear as I came in past a cluster of tall trees. Okay, I did start to enjoy the crosswind correction on takeoff, especially when the Cub leaned on the right tire.
- Negativity from other pilots: Someone I have seen hanging around the airport but not actually flying was intent on criticizing my home airport, Lincoln Park (N07). I myself have written on this blog about feeling intimidated by the tiny strip, but have always been focused on feeling confident to land there (which I finally do), and I don't think negativity or scare tactics help. This pilot continually brought up crashes there, even warning me not to stand too close to the woods near our airplane hangar because I might get hit by a crashing plane. The only upside to this conversation was that for once I said exactly what I would have wished to have said later when ruminating about it, simply responding: "You're intense about Lincoln Park, aren't you? I think we should all be proud of our home airports and we should all try to fly safely."
- Wishing I had the sign-off in my logbook already. I know, I know: "You can't hurry Cub, noooo you'll just have to wait..." [sung to the tune of "You Can't Hurry Love"]
I sure hope the thrill isn't gone away for good for me and the Super Cub, and that in the coming weeks instead of saying, "No joy" about the elusive thrill I can say "Tally ho!" (meaning I have my target in sight).
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Current Events
As I was thinking about what to write about flying earlier today, I remarked to Mr. Aviatrix that there wasn't much to say because today's flight was uneventful. What I realized almost as soon as I said that is that that is a good thing. I also think I am feeling that way because flying is becoming more of a regular thing for me, and I am feeling less and less like a 'wannabe' and more and more like a plain old aviatrix. And yet it was eventful because it was a beautiful day of once again seeing things I would only get to see from our small aircraft flying over the snow-dusted hills and ridges and thawing rivers and lakes of the states of New Jersey and New York.
Even the fact that we can talk on the radio to other aircraft in the pattern with us at untowered airports still leaves me with a sense of wonder. For example, today we were in the pattern at Sullivan County Airport (KMSV) in Bethel, New York with a Piper Comanche ahead of us. Nothing eventful happened, and yet I still think it is very cool that as we were calling out our positions to each other, we could watch our aircraft carrying out our plans; when he said he was turning left base, watching his single-enging, low-wing plane square off to the left from our vantage still amazed me, even though I've seen my share of aircraft in the pattern.
After we turned in some landings at KMSV, we headed back to Lincoln Park (N07). It was a nice little 'currency' flight, making sure we got up for about an hour and a half and got some flying in. I even dialed in a nice landing at N07 with a little welcome guidance from Mr. Aviatrix. I am extremely grateful for another non-eventful and yet very eventful flight.
Even the fact that we can talk on the radio to other aircraft in the pattern with us at untowered airports still leaves me with a sense of wonder. For example, today we were in the pattern at Sullivan County Airport (KMSV) in Bethel, New York with a Piper Comanche ahead of us. Nothing eventful happened, and yet I still think it is very cool that as we were calling out our positions to each other, we could watch our aircraft carrying out our plans; when he said he was turning left base, watching his single-enging, low-wing plane square off to the left from our vantage still amazed me, even though I've seen my share of aircraft in the pattern.
After we turned in some landings at KMSV, we headed back to Lincoln Park (N07). It was a nice little 'currency' flight, making sure we got up for about an hour and a half and got some flying in. I even dialed in a nice landing at N07 with a little welcome guidance from Mr. Aviatrix. I am extremely grateful for another non-eventful and yet very eventful flight.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Sunshine State Survey
I'm feeling a little less like a "wannabe" and a slightly more like a regular "aviatrix" as I write this. Mr. Aviatrix, our dog whose head is shaped like an airplane with giant delta wing ears, and our C182 have all been in Florida for a couple of weeks for some immersive flying. My goals have been to increase my comfort with our plane and with being PIC, to prepare for the instrument rating written exam, and to build PIC cross-country hours for the instrument rating (the FAA requires 50). Mr. Aviatrix also did some training: He obtained his multi-engine seaplane rating in a Grumman Widgeon! He is now in possession of every possible airplane rating.
We based our plane and ourselves in Vero Beach (KVRB). I flew a lot of hours with a terrific CFI and IFR guru. Although I thought my KLAL training had me flying all over Florida, this time I really took a survey of the Sunshine State. The IFR guru and I took a couple of trips down memory lane and visited Lakeland (KLAL), where I completed my private pilot training. We flew to Space Coast Regional, which itself provides long runways (5,000 and 7000 ft) but is also so-named due to its proximity to the NASA Shuttle Landing Facility, which has a 15,000 foot runway that can be viewed from your plane and approached low, but definitely not landed upon. I practiced some landings at small, untowered fields like Pahokee (KPHK), La Belle (X14), and Sebastian (X26). We even visited a fly-in community, Spruce Creek (7FL6), which is where Mr. Aviatrix did his Grumman Widgeon-ing.
Today we flew to Venice Beach (KVNC) to meet friends of ours for lunch. I was PIC and Mr. Aviatrix handled the radios and also helped me out with flight planning. Our dog was PAX. Flying us all there and back, I finally felt like a real pilot, rather than some imposter who is living (and flying) in fear that the FAA is going to send me a letter saying that signing off on my check ride was a mistake and could I please return that little seafoam green card with Orville and Wilbur on the back?
We based our plane and ourselves in Vero Beach (KVRB). I flew a lot of hours with a terrific CFI and IFR guru. Although I thought my KLAL training had me flying all over Florida, this time I really took a survey of the Sunshine State. The IFR guru and I took a couple of trips down memory lane and visited Lakeland (KLAL), where I completed my private pilot training. We flew to Space Coast Regional, which itself provides long runways (5,000 and 7000 ft) but is also so-named due to its proximity to the NASA Shuttle Landing Facility, which has a 15,000 foot runway that can be viewed from your plane and approached low, but definitely not landed upon. I practiced some landings at small, untowered fields like Pahokee (KPHK), La Belle (X14), and Sebastian (X26). We even visited a fly-in community, Spruce Creek (7FL6), which is where Mr. Aviatrix did his Grumman Widgeon-ing.
Today we flew to Venice Beach (KVNC) to meet friends of ours for lunch. I was PIC and Mr. Aviatrix handled the radios and also helped me out with flight planning. Our dog was PAX. Flying us all there and back, I finally felt like a real pilot, rather than some imposter who is living (and flying) in fear that the FAA is going to send me a letter saying that signing off on my check ride was a mistake and could I please return that little seafoam green card with Orville and Wilbur on the back?
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Flying Meditation
“When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.” — Leonardo da Vinci
Leonardo da Vinci was probably not talking about flying an airplane when he said or wrote these words but they applied to whatever his version of the freedom of flight might have been and for most of us who fly aircraft, the words likely ring true.
I returned to flying our Cessna Skylane today after a 4+ month hiatus during which I was cheating on it with an aforementioned (in other posts) Super Cub. Admittedly, I was not looking forward to flying the Skylane, despite its greater speed and G1000 glass cockpit. One reason I was not so enthusiastic is that winter has finally arrived in the northeast and temperatures the past couple of days have been in the 20s. I did not relish pre-flighting in the frigid hangar, feeling my fingertips go numb as I fumbled with my checklist and my fuel sump. I was not looking forward to getting into so much plane after flying a more stripped down aircraft that felt like I had strapped on my own pair of wings every time I flew it.
And yet, this apprehension about flying the Skylane was the very reason that I needed to fly it, kind of like feeling like you are too stressed to meditate or don't have time is the very time that you need to do it most. I needed to get back in the sky in this plane and remind myself that I knew how to fly it...and that is pretty much what I started doing.
For those following routes of flight on this blog, we began at N07 of course and headed to MGJ for a few landings. I quickly learned that all of my tailwheel landings would do me no favors, as I had to readjust my sight picture, my use of airspeed, flaps, and trim, and my flare. Thankfully it didn't take too long. Then in a bit of symmetry, we flew the Skylane to 12N where I've been doing my tailwheel endorsement. I managed to do some nice landings on a runway that is similarly short and narrow compared to N07, waved to my wonderful tailwheel instructor, and headed back to N07, where I was finally able to dial in some nice landings after feeling so challenged last year. I think I might be a real pilot after all!
I had a wonderful time and was reminded again of how time flies when I am PIC (and how it's a bit slower when someone else is in the left seat). Not only does time fly, it stops - I forget everything on the ground that is bothering me and automatically place my focus on the plane. I don't even have to try not to think about stressors, rather they just magically recede and evaporate. And now I am back on the ground, looking out the window at the blue, cloudless sky and thinking about when I will be up there again (which will be tomorrow).
Leonardo da Vinci was probably not talking about flying an airplane when he said or wrote these words but they applied to whatever his version of the freedom of flight might have been and for most of us who fly aircraft, the words likely ring true.
I returned to flying our Cessna Skylane today after a 4+ month hiatus during which I was cheating on it with an aforementioned (in other posts) Super Cub. Admittedly, I was not looking forward to flying the Skylane, despite its greater speed and G1000 glass cockpit. One reason I was not so enthusiastic is that winter has finally arrived in the northeast and temperatures the past couple of days have been in the 20s. I did not relish pre-flighting in the frigid hangar, feeling my fingertips go numb as I fumbled with my checklist and my fuel sump. I was not looking forward to getting into so much plane after flying a more stripped down aircraft that felt like I had strapped on my own pair of wings every time I flew it.
And yet, this apprehension about flying the Skylane was the very reason that I needed to fly it, kind of like feeling like you are too stressed to meditate or don't have time is the very time that you need to do it most. I needed to get back in the sky in this plane and remind myself that I knew how to fly it...and that is pretty much what I started doing.
For those following routes of flight on this blog, we began at N07 of course and headed to MGJ for a few landings. I quickly learned that all of my tailwheel landings would do me no favors, as I had to readjust my sight picture, my use of airspeed, flaps, and trim, and my flare. Thankfully it didn't take too long. Then in a bit of symmetry, we flew the Skylane to 12N where I've been doing my tailwheel endorsement. I managed to do some nice landings on a runway that is similarly short and narrow compared to N07, waved to my wonderful tailwheel instructor, and headed back to N07, where I was finally able to dial in some nice landings after feeling so challenged last year. I think I might be a real pilot after all!
I had a wonderful time and was reminded again of how time flies when I am PIC (and how it's a bit slower when someone else is in the left seat). Not only does time fly, it stops - I forget everything on the ground that is bothering me and automatically place my focus on the plane. I don't even have to try not to think about stressors, rather they just magically recede and evaporate. And now I am back on the ground, looking out the window at the blue, cloudless sky and thinking about when I will be up there again (which will be tomorrow).
Sunday, November 8, 2015
If at first you don't succeed, fly, fly again
If yesterday felt like a lesson in what not to do when learning to fly tailwheel aircraft, today felt like how to fix all of those errors and get it right. I woke up this morning determined to get to the airport, get back in the groove and flow of tailwheel flying, and most of all to have fun. 1.9 training hours and 17 grass strip landings later I can say that not only did I accomplish that list of goals but also that I did it while dealing with a crosswind.
Crosswinds and gusts have intimidated me since I began flying in 2012, and my intimidation hasn't diminished simply because I passed my checkride and have my ticket. And yet I had much more flying around today than I did yesterday when the winds were calm. We certainly worked on crosswind landings, but also crosswind takeoffs, nudging the plane to lean on the left or right tire during takeoff depending on wind direction - something that you can and should do in a tri-gear plane like our Skylane but that felt more extreme to me in the Super Cub. I was nervous to do that but with the big bush tires on the Super Cub it was so much fun!
Today's fixes for yesterday's problems included:
1) Remembering to sit up straight in my seat rather than crouching down as I descended, a habit I had formed as if I had to bodily land the same way as the plane.
2) Envisioning the glide path of my plane properly when on downwind in order to turn base at the right time, remembering that it is less about a squared-off pattern and more about setting myself up at the right angle and height to land well, and being reminded that this will change depending on airports, terrain, wind, and aircraft.
3) Being mindful of the terrain below me. For example, on a windy day like today, my instructor's suggestion to extend my crosswind to avoid turning and flying downwind over a ridge was extremely helpful in terms of avoiding getting bumped around. And he did the right thing by letting me make the mistake of flying downwind over the ridge myself and experiencing those jolts before suggesting an easy way to avoid it on the next pattern.
4) Not giving up when I didn't like something that was happening on short final approach or as I was over the runway, and realizing that I could make small corrections to revise and improve my landings that were in the moment, intuitive, and effective.
When I woke up this morning I really did not want to go flying because I was feeling so discouraged about yesterday's flying but then I remembered something that I learned from my CFI in Lakeland that seems pretty simple to say and think but can be difficult to put into practice when you feel like you're failing: If at first you don't succeed, fly, fly again!
Crosswinds and gusts have intimidated me since I began flying in 2012, and my intimidation hasn't diminished simply because I passed my checkride and have my ticket. And yet I had much more flying around today than I did yesterday when the winds were calm. We certainly worked on crosswind landings, but also crosswind takeoffs, nudging the plane to lean on the left or right tire during takeoff depending on wind direction - something that you can and should do in a tri-gear plane like our Skylane but that felt more extreme to me in the Super Cub. I was nervous to do that but with the big bush tires on the Super Cub it was so much fun!
Today's fixes for yesterday's problems included:
1) Remembering to sit up straight in my seat rather than crouching down as I descended, a habit I had formed as if I had to bodily land the same way as the plane.
2) Envisioning the glide path of my plane properly when on downwind in order to turn base at the right time, remembering that it is less about a squared-off pattern and more about setting myself up at the right angle and height to land well, and being reminded that this will change depending on airports, terrain, wind, and aircraft.
3) Being mindful of the terrain below me. For example, on a windy day like today, my instructor's suggestion to extend my crosswind to avoid turning and flying downwind over a ridge was extremely helpful in terms of avoiding getting bumped around. And he did the right thing by letting me make the mistake of flying downwind over the ridge myself and experiencing those jolts before suggesting an easy way to avoid it on the next pattern.
4) Not giving up when I didn't like something that was happening on short final approach or as I was over the runway, and realizing that I could make small corrections to revise and improve my landings that were in the moment, intuitive, and effective.
When I woke up this morning I really did not want to go flying because I was feeling so discouraged about yesterday's flying but then I remembered something that I learned from my CFI in Lakeland that seems pretty simple to say and think but can be difficult to put into practice when you feel like you're failing: If at first you don't succeed, fly, fly again!
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Stalling the Aviatrix
In aviation, one way to think of a stall is as an event caused by a lack of air flowing over the wings of an airplane, which leads to a deficit in the amount of lift needed to keep the airplane flying. Today I felt like I stalled - like a number of things got to me while I was flying, resulting in a lack of airflow and thus a lack of lift. Please note that this was not at all the case in my actual flying, but more in the way the act of flying and learning felt. All of this is to say that I feel disappointed in my tailwheel flying today.
I logged two hours and sixteen landings in the Super Cub today between Andover Aeroflex Airport's and Trinca Airport's grass strips in the service of my ongoing quest for my tailwheel endorsement. By the end of the time, the landings were fine, but just that and not good, great, excellent, or perfect (not terrible, poor, or dangerous thankfully but not what I wanted, either). So they were fine but could use some work to attain a solid assessment of "good".
Weather, work, family obligations, illness, and lack of funds are the kinds of things that get in the way of heading to the airport to go flying. But what about the things that hinder flying once you've pre-flighted and are taxiing to the runway to take off? The things that get into your brain and won't get out no matter how vigorously you try to shake them out? What about the things that come up during the flight that might throw you off? I'm thinking of examples like:
- not getting enough sleep the night before and deciding to fly anyway
- engaging in the typical 24/7 work lifestyle that so many people have adopted out of necessity so that there are always emails pinging and files to work on over the weekend
- having a conflict with a friend, spouse, partner, co-worker, or family member that nags at you
- worry about something, ranging from waiting to hear about medical test results to wondering if your dog is okay at home without you to hoping you get that home loan to hoping you don't hit too much traffic on the way home to just about anything people typically worry about
- differences in pattern etiquette (e.g., "We're using runway 1." vs. "Well, we're using runway 19!") [For the non-aviators/aviatrices reading this, runways can usually be utilized in either direction so the runway number depends on which direction you're taking off and landing. These directions always differ by 180 degrees as they are based on a magnetic compass, just as North refers to 0 degrees and South refers to 180 degrees on a compass. Thus, pilots need to agree on which runway they are taking because they cannot arrange to meet in the middle to admire each other's aircraft.]
- the wind picking up
- lack of confidence
- needing to use the bathroom (Just as your car does not have a toilet, neither does my small plane which seats the same number of people, if not sometimes fewer.)
I have some hypotheses about what happened with my flying today and it's two or three of the above, all of which resulted in distractions and a negative mindset leading my proverbial Aviatrix wings to stall. I'm going up again tomorrow and I'm going to try to bring a better attitude about whatever comes my way. Mr. Aviatrix picked me up in our Skylane, so here is a photo of us flying away from Andover (in the upper quarter of the image):
I logged two hours and sixteen landings in the Super Cub today between Andover Aeroflex Airport's and Trinca Airport's grass strips in the service of my ongoing quest for my tailwheel endorsement. By the end of the time, the landings were fine, but just that and not good, great, excellent, or perfect (not terrible, poor, or dangerous thankfully but not what I wanted, either). So they were fine but could use some work to attain a solid assessment of "good".
Weather, work, family obligations, illness, and lack of funds are the kinds of things that get in the way of heading to the airport to go flying. But what about the things that hinder flying once you've pre-flighted and are taxiing to the runway to take off? The things that get into your brain and won't get out no matter how vigorously you try to shake them out? What about the things that come up during the flight that might throw you off? I'm thinking of examples like:
- not getting enough sleep the night before and deciding to fly anyway
- engaging in the typical 24/7 work lifestyle that so many people have adopted out of necessity so that there are always emails pinging and files to work on over the weekend
- having a conflict with a friend, spouse, partner, co-worker, or family member that nags at you
- worry about something, ranging from waiting to hear about medical test results to wondering if your dog is okay at home without you to hoping you get that home loan to hoping you don't hit too much traffic on the way home to just about anything people typically worry about
- differences in pattern etiquette (e.g., "We're using runway 1." vs. "Well, we're using runway 19!") [For the non-aviators/aviatrices reading this, runways can usually be utilized in either direction so the runway number depends on which direction you're taking off and landing. These directions always differ by 180 degrees as they are based on a magnetic compass, just as North refers to 0 degrees and South refers to 180 degrees on a compass. Thus, pilots need to agree on which runway they are taking because they cannot arrange to meet in the middle to admire each other's aircraft.]
- the wind picking up
- lack of confidence
- needing to use the bathroom (Just as your car does not have a toilet, neither does my small plane which seats the same number of people, if not sometimes fewer.)
I have some hypotheses about what happened with my flying today and it's two or three of the above, all of which resulted in distractions and a negative mindset leading my proverbial Aviatrix wings to stall. I'm going up again tomorrow and I'm going to try to bring a better attitude about whatever comes my way. Mr. Aviatrix picked me up in our Skylane, so here is a photo of us flying away from Andover (in the upper quarter of the image):
Saturday, October 24, 2015
We're going back...to the tailwheel!
Today marked my return to working on my tailwheel endorsement. My last three scheduled dates for training were all canceled because of poor weather (IFR, storms, and lastly wind). I hadn't flown it (or any other aircraft) since the third week in September. Today was admittedly a bit gusty, but we went for it anyway.
An important aviation principle is remaining current, meaning that pilots must fly within a certain time frame and complete certain requirements in order to legally fly. These requirements are put in place to ensure safe flying. Most of the pilots I admire and listen to recommend flying as much as possible and much more often than legal currency requires in order to retain a feeling of comfort and confidence; this comfort and confidence includes getting to know your airplane, practicing for emergencies, and just plain practice flying in general (takeoffs, landings, navigation, radios - just to itemize a few skills). Life can get in the way of this, including things like work, family obligations, weather, illness, and even distance from the airport. Mr. Aviatrix is very good about maintaining currency, and will make sure to fly with a CFI sometimes even if he is legally current but feels like it's been a few weeks and it would be better to go up with a teaching expert to wake up his skills. And you read that right - a few weeks. Practicing your flying skills to keep them sharp can be hard enough to accomplish in a plane you fly in all the time, but it's also important when learning to fly an unfamiliar aircraft. I'm glad I was able to refresh my currency in the Super Cub today. Even the act of climbing up into it today was a challenge, similar to the first time I did it - something that had become a bit easier by my last lesson but that I was rusty on after an approximately four-week break.
It was my first time flying while wearing layers (thermal shirt, sweatshirt, leather jacket) this season. The mental and physical work of learning the stick and rudder skills to successfully track the Super Cub on the ground and to land it smoothly with as few bounces as possible (and hopefully none when I go back out) made it so that the layers - and the cabin heat - made it a bit hot in the plane. Despite that, once I peeled off a layer or two and remembered my sight picture and the way the Cub flew, things really took off.
I was able to do twelve landings today, with ten of them at the little grass strip near the flight school called Trinca (13N) and two at Andover Aeroflex itself (12N), which has a paved runway as well as its own little grass strip. Some of them were even good, although not as many as I would have liked. I'll just say that when I did my first few landings today after an unexpected break in tailwheel training, I bounced so much that I made sure to tighten my seatbelt, reminiscent of that famous Bette Davis line from the film All About Eve: "Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night!" Hitting the grass felt like Disney's Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. But at least I worked my rudders to track straight once I rolled onto the ground.
In addition to returning to tailwheel training ASAP in order to regain the skills I had learned in September, I was so grateful for the break from reality that an hour or two off the planet affords. I can never recommend this enough. Whatever is bothering you or stressing you out will disappear, even if only temporarily. When I fly I literally cannot think about anything else but flying, which is as it should be.
An important aviation principle is remaining current, meaning that pilots must fly within a certain time frame and complete certain requirements in order to legally fly. These requirements are put in place to ensure safe flying. Most of the pilots I admire and listen to recommend flying as much as possible and much more often than legal currency requires in order to retain a feeling of comfort and confidence; this comfort and confidence includes getting to know your airplane, practicing for emergencies, and just plain practice flying in general (takeoffs, landings, navigation, radios - just to itemize a few skills). Life can get in the way of this, including things like work, family obligations, weather, illness, and even distance from the airport. Mr. Aviatrix is very good about maintaining currency, and will make sure to fly with a CFI sometimes even if he is legally current but feels like it's been a few weeks and it would be better to go up with a teaching expert to wake up his skills. And you read that right - a few weeks. Practicing your flying skills to keep them sharp can be hard enough to accomplish in a plane you fly in all the time, but it's also important when learning to fly an unfamiliar aircraft. I'm glad I was able to refresh my currency in the Super Cub today. Even the act of climbing up into it today was a challenge, similar to the first time I did it - something that had become a bit easier by my last lesson but that I was rusty on after an approximately four-week break.
It was my first time flying while wearing layers (thermal shirt, sweatshirt, leather jacket) this season. The mental and physical work of learning the stick and rudder skills to successfully track the Super Cub on the ground and to land it smoothly with as few bounces as possible (and hopefully none when I go back out) made it so that the layers - and the cabin heat - made it a bit hot in the plane. Despite that, once I peeled off a layer or two and remembered my sight picture and the way the Cub flew, things really took off.
I was able to do twelve landings today, with ten of them at the little grass strip near the flight school called Trinca (13N) and two at Andover Aeroflex itself (12N), which has a paved runway as well as its own little grass strip. Some of them were even good, although not as many as I would have liked. I'll just say that when I did my first few landings today after an unexpected break in tailwheel training, I bounced so much that I made sure to tighten my seatbelt, reminiscent of that famous Bette Davis line from the film All About Eve: "Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night!" Hitting the grass felt like Disney's Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. But at least I worked my rudders to track straight once I rolled onto the ground.
In addition to returning to tailwheel training ASAP in order to regain the skills I had learned in September, I was so grateful for the break from reality that an hour or two off the planet affords. I can never recommend this enough. Whatever is bothering you or stressing you out will disappear, even if only temporarily. When I fly I literally cannot think about anything else but flying, which is as it should be.
Friday, September 18, 2015
Super Steam Gauge Super Cub
The last time I posted here was a week ago to report on my introduction to tailwheel flying after I had logged one hour of it in a Super Cub. This post is being logged after almost a full, second day of working on the tailwheel endorsement during which I logged more excellent learning and discussion on the ground along with two full hours and eighteen landings in that very same Super Cub. I can confirm that, of my 138 total flying hours, this is still the most fun I've had flying an airplane, even when things got tough...which they are bound to do just starting this out and learning to tap the rudders to keep the plane straight during takeoff and landing rolls as well as learning three-point landings where you put the plane into an attitude of trying to land the tailwheel first. In fact, today was even more fun than the last time because some of the skills are beginning to gain traction. My clumsy climb into and out of the tandem cockpit raised up on bush tires is even starting to look slightly less clumsy, although I imagine I still need many more climbs before I can look like I know what I'm doing.
Going from flying a glass cockpit G1000 C172 and C182 for most of my hours to the steam gauge Super Cub with a completely different sight picture and even way of sitting near my CFI (he sits behind me instead of to my right) has been truly refreshing and I can already notice ways that it is improving my flying:
1) I look outside more because the computer bells and whistles of the two G1000 screens are not pulling my eyes inside and down. Today this was especially tempting as we flew with the cockpit door open. There is nothing like feeling the wind against your skin as you fly an airplane and actually feel like you know what you're doing. I felt so free...and pretty cool.
2) I keep in mind that the plane is ahead of the instruments and that the G1000 is fibbing a bit because it can't possibly be as accurate about altitude and airspeed as it's saying. In a steam gauge plane, the needles are giving me the information and they are just about right but I don't focus on the minutiae of their numbers. For example, for the takeoff in the Cub, I push the throttle forward, let the stick go, feel the tailwheel come up on the roll, feel the stick move forward with a little tension, and then I know it's time to pull the stick back and take off.
3) I can't see over the nose during takeoffs and landings - the two activities that comprise the bulk of the tailwheel endorsement training. Instead, I must look at the periphery of my sight picture, at 10 and 2, at the runway, at the parked planes, at the lights on the side, and at the grass. In other words, I must take everything in and not zero in on the runway, something that I tend to do in the Cessna trike gear aircraft (and apparently I'm not alone). I would say I can't wait to see how this improves my flying the next time I fly the 182, but I'm much more excited to fly the Super Cub again. I almost don't care if I never get to fly the 182 again!
There are so many more things I'm excited about and have learned about tailwheel flying. Of my 18 takeoffs and landings today, only one was on a paved runway, so one more thing I've learned is that I would really love to find a way to have a home with a grass strip in the backyard.
Going from flying a glass cockpit G1000 C172 and C182 for most of my hours to the steam gauge Super Cub with a completely different sight picture and even way of sitting near my CFI (he sits behind me instead of to my right) has been truly refreshing and I can already notice ways that it is improving my flying:
1) I look outside more because the computer bells and whistles of the two G1000 screens are not pulling my eyes inside and down. Today this was especially tempting as we flew with the cockpit door open. There is nothing like feeling the wind against your skin as you fly an airplane and actually feel like you know what you're doing. I felt so free...and pretty cool.
2) I keep in mind that the plane is ahead of the instruments and that the G1000 is fibbing a bit because it can't possibly be as accurate about altitude and airspeed as it's saying. In a steam gauge plane, the needles are giving me the information and they are just about right but I don't focus on the minutiae of their numbers. For example, for the takeoff in the Cub, I push the throttle forward, let the stick go, feel the tailwheel come up on the roll, feel the stick move forward with a little tension, and then I know it's time to pull the stick back and take off.
3) I can't see over the nose during takeoffs and landings - the two activities that comprise the bulk of the tailwheel endorsement training. Instead, I must look at the periphery of my sight picture, at 10 and 2, at the runway, at the parked planes, at the lights on the side, and at the grass. In other words, I must take everything in and not zero in on the runway, something that I tend to do in the Cessna trike gear aircraft (and apparently I'm not alone). I would say I can't wait to see how this improves my flying the next time I fly the 182, but I'm much more excited to fly the Super Cub again. I almost don't care if I never get to fly the 182 again!
There are so many more things I'm excited about and have learned about tailwheel flying. Of my 18 takeoffs and landings today, only one was on a paved runway, so one more thing I've learned is that I would really love to find a way to have a home with a grass strip in the backyard.
Saturday, September 12, 2015
The Funnest Flying Post Ever
Superlatives are appropriate for descriptions of aviation and I definitely use them. I've applied them to the "biggest" plane I've ever seen up close (a C5 at Airventure), the "best" flying moment I've ever had (up to this point, still the moment I passed my PPL checkride), the "bumpiest flight" (a windy flight to Gabreski Airport in a Cirrus with Mr. Aviatrix at the controls and doing a great job), the "most inspiring flight" (my first ever in a small plane with Mr. Aviatrix at the controls taking me on a date to lunch at Orange County Airport), the "scariest" flight (first solo cross-country), the "most restorative" flight (my first-ever ride in an open cockpit aircraft and in a Stearman provided by one of the wonderful, supportive owners of Tailwheels Etc. towards the end of my PPL training when I just thought I wasn't going to be able to finish and had the ample sweat and tears that day to back that feeling up), and the "coolest" aviation experience (watching the STOL competitors recreate the Valdez competition at Airventure) [see photos]:
Today I can add "funnest" to my list of aviation superlatives (the grammar police aren't sure if it's a real word, but I'm risking it). As of today, my funnest flight was in the front seat of a PA-18-160, aka Piper Super Cub, a classic tailwheel aircraft. If you heard someone in rural New Jersey whooping and yipping around 9:45 this morning, it was me taking off in the one at Andover Aeroflex as the tailwheel came off the ground and I gently pulled the stick back to climb into the air. I wasn't whooping so much when I had to climb into the thing, with its 29" bush tires and my 62" height, but I made it in and it felt like where I was meant to be. We worked on S-turns and fast-taxis on the ground, working to control that slippery, slithering tailwheel on the ground. As anyone who does tailwheel flying can attest, touching the wheels to the runway in the landing is just the beginning; once you're down you need to control the airplane to taxi it straight.
I brought a confidence to today's flying that I just haven't had in our C182, maybe because the plane is lighter and more in tune with the sky or maybe because this is the kind of flying I have wanted to do ever since my "coolest" experience at Airventure watching those pilots do their STOL flying. As the fantastic CFI and tailwheel expert (and something of a regional celebrity) with whom I trained today said, it's "like you're wearing it," which I think of as putting on your own wings and truly flying through the sky. Communing with the sky and nature and focusing on this purest of aircraft provided the feeling of "flow," a term coined and studied by psychologist and professor Dr. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (I am a psychology associate prof myself, so must throw these references in from time to time). This is the sensation I seek and often get when I fly, the feeling that time and stress both pause as I focus on doing an engaging activity that requires my focus and concentration and that I love. It even gave me a research idea or two once I was back on the ground and out of the plane...
Today I can add "funnest" to my list of aviation superlatives (the grammar police aren't sure if it's a real word, but I'm risking it). As of today, my funnest flight was in the front seat of a PA-18-160, aka Piper Super Cub, a classic tailwheel aircraft. If you heard someone in rural New Jersey whooping and yipping around 9:45 this morning, it was me taking off in the one at Andover Aeroflex as the tailwheel came off the ground and I gently pulled the stick back to climb into the air. I wasn't whooping so much when I had to climb into the thing, with its 29" bush tires and my 62" height, but I made it in and it felt like where I was meant to be. We worked on S-turns and fast-taxis on the ground, working to control that slippery, slithering tailwheel on the ground. As anyone who does tailwheel flying can attest, touching the wheels to the runway in the landing is just the beginning; once you're down you need to control the airplane to taxi it straight.
I brought a confidence to today's flying that I just haven't had in our C182, maybe because the plane is lighter and more in tune with the sky or maybe because this is the kind of flying I have wanted to do ever since my "coolest" experience at Airventure watching those pilots do their STOL flying. As the fantastic CFI and tailwheel expert (and something of a regional celebrity) with whom I trained today said, it's "like you're wearing it," which I think of as putting on your own wings and truly flying through the sky. Communing with the sky and nature and focusing on this purest of aircraft provided the feeling of "flow," a term coined and studied by psychologist and professor Dr. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (I am a psychology associate prof myself, so must throw these references in from time to time). This is the sensation I seek and often get when I fly, the feeling that time and stress both pause as I focus on doing an engaging activity that requires my focus and concentration and that I love. It even gave me a research idea or two once I was back on the ground and out of the plane...
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Flying High Upon the Wings of Love
Yesterday I resumed some IFR training, including attempting my first instrument approach with my CFI talking me through it. I can definitely understand why IFR student pilots are so exhausted after training sessions - scanning those instruments, orienting oneself, listening to the radio, and executing a landing after 'breaking out' (of the clouds) requires a lot of mental energy. After my training session we returned to N07 for a quick lunch and a call for a flight briefer for an afternoon trip.
Once our lunch was finished, I had my briefing, and our car was all tucked away in the hangar, I climbed into the left seat of our C182 for my afternoon mission: fly Mr. Aviatrix and our dog to KFOK, also known as Francis S. Gabreski Airport in Westhampton Beach, New York. This was only my third time flying Mr. Aviatrix anywhere and I had never flown with our dog in the backseat, so I was a bit nervous.
It was an approximately 80 mile, 40 minute flight that included some time over the Long Island Sound. We divided up the responsibilities before we left: Mr. Aviatrix would handle the radios as well as the fuel-air mixture. I would fly the airplane. We would both look for traffic. I am happy to report that the flight went very well and I even had some moments of relaxing, enjoying the view, and chatting with Mr. Aviatrix as we were flying. He was an exemplary SIC and was so helpful and supportive, sweetly repeating over and over, "You're doing great! You're doing great!" The only time I didn't believe he felt that way was on my landing when he tried to "help" with the flaps; I was annoyed in the moment but I understand his impulse to want to make sure it was the perfect landing, as well as to rely on his own habits and ways of doing things. As in many other situations in life for most people, I'm sure sometimes it was difficult to relinquish control. This was our best flight together with me as PIC yet. In some ways, this was the flight that made me feel like a real pilot, more than when I passed my checkride, because it was just a regular trip from one place to another, flying real passengers, simply for the purpose of getting somewhere...getting somewhere in the most fun way possible of course!
Once our lunch was finished, I had my briefing, and our car was all tucked away in the hangar, I climbed into the left seat of our C182 for my afternoon mission: fly Mr. Aviatrix and our dog to KFOK, also known as Francis S. Gabreski Airport in Westhampton Beach, New York. This was only my third time flying Mr. Aviatrix anywhere and I had never flown with our dog in the backseat, so I was a bit nervous.
It was an approximately 80 mile, 40 minute flight that included some time over the Long Island Sound. We divided up the responsibilities before we left: Mr. Aviatrix would handle the radios as well as the fuel-air mixture. I would fly the airplane. We would both look for traffic. I am happy to report that the flight went very well and I even had some moments of relaxing, enjoying the view, and chatting with Mr. Aviatrix as we were flying. He was an exemplary SIC and was so helpful and supportive, sweetly repeating over and over, "You're doing great! You're doing great!" The only time I didn't believe he felt that way was on my landing when he tried to "help" with the flaps; I was annoyed in the moment but I understand his impulse to want to make sure it was the perfect landing, as well as to rely on his own habits and ways of doing things. As in many other situations in life for most people, I'm sure sometimes it was difficult to relinquish control. This was our best flight together with me as PIC yet. In some ways, this was the flight that made me feel like a real pilot, more than when I passed my checkride, because it was just a regular trip from one place to another, flying real passengers, simply for the purpose of getting somewhere...getting somewhere in the most fun way possible of course!
Monday, August 24, 2015
Returning from My Aviation Vacation
I flew as PIC today after a hiatus of a little over five weeks. It has not felt good at all not to fly: I've worried about the atrophy of my aviation muscles and felt like I wasn't really a pilot. But Mr. Aviatrix has been taking the plane a lot for work, so I can't really complain. Although he's been flying it so much that I've joked that we need a second aircraft (some of my suggestions have included a Husky, an old 172, a Super Cub, and even a trike - I love all kinds of aircraft). We also did some fun flying around Canada, all of it with some IMC (instrument meteorological conditions, meaning clouds, meaning instrument flying as there is nothing to look at outside the airplane), so I could not do that flying. I certainly got to practice my radios, as I at least could help with that part of the workload. For any pilots that read this, you'll be relieved to know that I still sound like myself and am not talking in that "radio voice" we sometimes hear on the frequencies - you know the one that resembles 70s radio disc jockeys introducing the latest summer hits.
Today I went with my CFI to Sullivan County Airport (KMSV) to make sure I still had my landings and to build some cross-country time for my instrument training. While it would have been perfectly legal for me to fly there myself, I think it is always beneficial to fly with a CFI if you've taken some time off from flying, and as a new pilot myself I think it is essential, especially as I complete my transition to a high performance C182 from the classic trainer C172. The runway there is so long that we were able to do stop-and-go's, something I haven't done since my primary training at KLAL. Then we returned to N07 where I logged a couple of (very thankfully) uneventful landings.
Lastly, I hit 130 hours today!
Today I went with my CFI to Sullivan County Airport (KMSV) to make sure I still had my landings and to build some cross-country time for my instrument training. While it would have been perfectly legal for me to fly there myself, I think it is always beneficial to fly with a CFI if you've taken some time off from flying, and as a new pilot myself I think it is essential, especially as I complete my transition to a high performance C182 from the classic trainer C172. The runway there is so long that we were able to do stop-and-go's, something I haven't done since my primary training at KLAL. Then we returned to N07 where I logged a couple of (very thankfully) uneventful landings.
Lastly, I hit 130 hours today!
Thursday, July 16, 2015
I'm learning to fly around the clouds...
I went flying this morning, as anyone reading this would have guessed, as this blog has a pretty simple formula: I fly and then I write about it. This week was the official beginning of my IFR training (that's training to obtain my rating to fly under Instrument Flight Rules, or in lay-terms flying the plane using only instruments in order to be able to fly in the clouds when you can't see outside and also to become a safer, more precise, generally more skilled pilot). Preparation for the IFR rating includes ground school and flight practice in order to take a written exam followed by an oral exam and a practical exam, structurally similar to preparation for the private pilot rating. I often tell people that learning to fly, including all the maneuvers for the practical exam and all the different types of takeoffs and landings (especially landings!) was the hardest thing I ever tried to accomplish in the realm of education. I am starting to think that becoming an instrument-rated pilot is going to be even more challenging.
This morning I spent about 45 minutes wearing glasses that block out the outside of the plane and only allow the pilot to see the instruments inside (aka, "foggles"), taking directions from my CFI about ascents, descents, turning ascents, turning descents, and anything else that is in lesson 1 of the syllabus of IFR flying. I hadn't worn the foggles since finishing up my primary training in April and even then I accrued that time in small here-and-there increments, so it was a strange sensation. I can already see how this will make me a more attentive pilot, as I noticed myself fixating on one instrument at the detriment of others (e.g., making sure my wings were level but straying from my heading or holding my heading but losing altitude), and in order to earn my IFR rating I need to be able to attend to all of them equally. I do believe I will improve my scan of the instruments as time goes on, but this morning's initial attempts left me feeling green - in my experience as well as around the gills as I did get a bit queasy.
We finished off our flying with some patternwork at teeny tiny N07. My landings there are definitely improving, although I still fantasize about gliding the C182 onto the wide, long KLAL runway 9.
Today's flying reminded me of one of the reasons I fell in love with it in the first place, which is that when I am in the air, especially when I am PIC, I am so focused on flying that I cannot think about anything else. And I am someone who can spend a lot of time and energy thinking and analyzing and worrying. I worry about things that are happening in my life at the moment, I worry about things that could happen, I worry about things that have happened and wonder if I could have done them differently. I worry about looking and sounding stupid to friends, family and colleagues. I worry about big things and small things and just-right-sized things. And sometimes I forget what I'm supposed to be worrying about and that worries me, too. I am so grateful to have such a sublime activity which offers so many ways to escape - my worries, the planet, the current hot city, whatever it is at the moment that needs to be changed. Flying truly does change my perspective, not just in terms of altitude or heading or how to do it but also related to what is truly important. Another more poetic way to think about it care of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers:
"Some say life will beat you down
Break your heart
Steal your crown
So I started out
For God knows where
I guess I'll know
When I get there
I'm learning to fly
Around the clouds
What goes up
Must come down"
I think what I do up there definitely helps when I do come back down to Earth and back to real life.
This morning I spent about 45 minutes wearing glasses that block out the outside of the plane and only allow the pilot to see the instruments inside (aka, "foggles"), taking directions from my CFI about ascents, descents, turning ascents, turning descents, and anything else that is in lesson 1 of the syllabus of IFR flying. I hadn't worn the foggles since finishing up my primary training in April and even then I accrued that time in small here-and-there increments, so it was a strange sensation. I can already see how this will make me a more attentive pilot, as I noticed myself fixating on one instrument at the detriment of others (e.g., making sure my wings were level but straying from my heading or holding my heading but losing altitude), and in order to earn my IFR rating I need to be able to attend to all of them equally. I do believe I will improve my scan of the instruments as time goes on, but this morning's initial attempts left me feeling green - in my experience as well as around the gills as I did get a bit queasy.
We finished off our flying with some patternwork at teeny tiny N07. My landings there are definitely improving, although I still fantasize about gliding the C182 onto the wide, long KLAL runway 9.
Today's flying reminded me of one of the reasons I fell in love with it in the first place, which is that when I am in the air, especially when I am PIC, I am so focused on flying that I cannot think about anything else. And I am someone who can spend a lot of time and energy thinking and analyzing and worrying. I worry about things that are happening in my life at the moment, I worry about things that could happen, I worry about things that have happened and wonder if I could have done them differently. I worry about looking and sounding stupid to friends, family and colleagues. I worry about big things and small things and just-right-sized things. And sometimes I forget what I'm supposed to be worrying about and that worries me, too. I am so grateful to have such a sublime activity which offers so many ways to escape - my worries, the planet, the current hot city, whatever it is at the moment that needs to be changed. Flying truly does change my perspective, not just in terms of altitude or heading or how to do it but also related to what is truly important. Another more poetic way to think about it care of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers:
"Some say life will beat you down
Break your heart
Steal your crown
So I started out
For God knows where
I guess I'll know
When I get there
I'm learning to fly
Around the clouds
What goes up
Must come down"
I think what I do up there definitely helps when I do come back down to Earth and back to real life.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Someone let the air out of my tire...and it wasn't me!
Yesterday and today I flew for the first times in six and a half weeks, a hiatus which has been primarily due to weather (and of course real life getting in the way occasionally, too). When I don't fly for two or three weeks, I feel strange and not as current as I'd like, so more than double that was quite uncomfortable psychologically for me. I went up with a CFI yesterday and was able to log two solid hours of flying, practicing landings at ever shorter and skinnier runways, all in an effort to conquer the (short, skinny) beast that is N07. (See below; photo credit Mr. Aviatrix on an IFR flight to Toronto.)
It looks tiny from 6000 feet but also from 1200 feet (pattern altitude) as it is 2,942 feet long (with a displaced threshold at one end) and 40 feet wide.
Yesterday we flew from N07 to N87, which is 4,275 feet long and 80 feet wide. I did a few landings there and then it was off to KSMQ, which is 2,739 feet long and 65 feet wide. I did a couple of landings there and then it was back to N07, admittedly a bit longer than KSMQ but 25 feet narrower. Along the way, my CFI taught me about some instrument basics on the G1000, putting in waypoints and looking inside the plane a bit. We also discussed how I was doing with my transition to the Cessna 182 from the classic Cessna 172; I finally felt like I was starting to feel comfortable in the 182, staying ahead of the plane, adjusting the manifold and propeller when necessary, understanding the use of cowl flaps, and all the rest that comes with flying this high-performance plane. Both the 172 that I trained in and the 182 that I fly with Mr. Aviatrix have an M in the tail number and I like to think of these as standing for "Mama" instead of "Mike," and I'm starting to really feel that bond with the 182 Mama. I was excited when we got to N07 and it was an okay landing, not terrible but certainly with room for improvement. We brought the plane back to the hangar and Mr. Aviatrix and I went for lunch.
This morning I made my way back to New Jersey for some early morning N07 patternwork. Things went pretty well, with my CFI staying silent next to me in the cockpit, bringing back fond memories of the days leading up to my first solo in the 172, knowing that I knew what I was doing. The wind picked up and the landings got a little wonkier, but nothing terrible. Also, and this is very important to note, as you'll see momentarily if you keep reading: Never, at any time, did I land on the nosewheel. I repeat, there were no simultaneous three-wheel landings, there was no banging down the nosewheel, and the nosewheel never touched down before the mains.
We finished up and began our taxi back to the hangar. As I rounded the corner to our row, the plane stopped rolling. My CFI suggested more power, and I tried that. He offered to give it a try, but the plane didn't move. As our airport is in an idyllic area of New Jersey, he thought maybe we had rolled over something or were in a rut, but even with all his strength on the pedals and pushing the power in, the plane wouldn't budge. Having an "Aha!" moment, my CFI exclaimed, "Oh I bet you have a flat tire!" (See below; photo credit The Aviatrix; flat as a pancake.)
Apparently this kind of flat tire is a common Cessna nosewheel occurrence, as a result of a pinched tube. I still felt like an idiot and like I had done something wrong. I made the mandatory, "I'm okay but..." to Mr. Aviatrix and the plane was towed to maintenance. In some ways, this flat tire has been a metaphor for the past week or so, so I'm hoping that with it fixed and 182 Mama rolling and taking off again I will be, too.
It looks tiny from 6000 feet but also from 1200 feet (pattern altitude) as it is 2,942 feet long (with a displaced threshold at one end) and 40 feet wide.
Yesterday we flew from N07 to N87, which is 4,275 feet long and 80 feet wide. I did a few landings there and then it was off to KSMQ, which is 2,739 feet long and 65 feet wide. I did a couple of landings there and then it was back to N07, admittedly a bit longer than KSMQ but 25 feet narrower. Along the way, my CFI taught me about some instrument basics on the G1000, putting in waypoints and looking inside the plane a bit. We also discussed how I was doing with my transition to the Cessna 182 from the classic Cessna 172; I finally felt like I was starting to feel comfortable in the 182, staying ahead of the plane, adjusting the manifold and propeller when necessary, understanding the use of cowl flaps, and all the rest that comes with flying this high-performance plane. Both the 172 that I trained in and the 182 that I fly with Mr. Aviatrix have an M in the tail number and I like to think of these as standing for "Mama" instead of "Mike," and I'm starting to really feel that bond with the 182 Mama. I was excited when we got to N07 and it was an okay landing, not terrible but certainly with room for improvement. We brought the plane back to the hangar and Mr. Aviatrix and I went for lunch.
This morning I made my way back to New Jersey for some early morning N07 patternwork. Things went pretty well, with my CFI staying silent next to me in the cockpit, bringing back fond memories of the days leading up to my first solo in the 172, knowing that I knew what I was doing. The wind picked up and the landings got a little wonkier, but nothing terrible. Also, and this is very important to note, as you'll see momentarily if you keep reading: Never, at any time, did I land on the nosewheel. I repeat, there were no simultaneous three-wheel landings, there was no banging down the nosewheel, and the nosewheel never touched down before the mains.
We finished up and began our taxi back to the hangar. As I rounded the corner to our row, the plane stopped rolling. My CFI suggested more power, and I tried that. He offered to give it a try, but the plane didn't move. As our airport is in an idyllic area of New Jersey, he thought maybe we had rolled over something or were in a rut, but even with all his strength on the pedals and pushing the power in, the plane wouldn't budge. Having an "Aha!" moment, my CFI exclaimed, "Oh I bet you have a flat tire!" (See below; photo credit The Aviatrix; flat as a pancake.)
Apparently this kind of flat tire is a common Cessna nosewheel occurrence, as a result of a pinched tube. I still felt like an idiot and like I had done something wrong. I made the mandatory, "I'm okay but..." to Mr. Aviatrix and the plane was towed to maintenance. In some ways, this flat tire has been a metaphor for the past week or so, so I'm hoping that with it fixed and 182 Mama rolling and taking off again I will be, too.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
To Go or Not To Go
This is a post for my flying blog about not flying. Like many people, Mr. Aviatrix and I planned to go away for the long Memorial Day weekend. Although the time to drive to our home airport, preflight, fly, and drive from our destination airport to where we are staying would take longer than simply driving from door-to-door, like most general aviation pilots, we wanted to fly.
As we were flight-planning this morning, I had my doubts about flying instead of driving when I saw that the winds would pick up midday. My doubts increased when I called for a briefer and was notified of airmets for moderate turbulence and gusting winds at our landing airport. I'm confident in my aviation abilities but also keenly aware that I've had my ticket for less than two months. In addition, I hurt my back a couple of days ago and was concerned that getting bumped around would make it worse.
I know I don't need to make excuses for deciding not to fly. I know a lot of what can go wrong has to do with pilot error and pilot bad judgment. I know that it's good to subscribe to the advice that it's better to be on the ground wishing you were in the air than in the air wishing you were on the ground. I know Mr. Aviatrix knows this, too, even though he really wanted to fly today. I guess I just want to feel better about my minimums and limits.
Mr. Aviatrix has a private pilot certificate, an instrument rating, a commercial rating, a seaplane rating, Tailwheel and high performance endorsements, and close to 1000 flying hours. He's also about ready to take a glider checkride (he had one previously scheduled while I was down in Florida, but it was too windy that day). Therefore, Mr. Aviatrix's minimums, limits, and comfort levels are vastly different from mine. Readers of this are scratching their heads as to why he didn't just fly us out himself. The simple answer is that I don't like flying in small planes when it gets too windy or bumpy, as PIC, SIC, or pax, especially if a car could just as or more easily get us there. We are working on our Crew Resource Management, on the ground as we review ForeFlight on side-by-side ipads and interpret things slightly differently, as well as in the air, to have more clearly defined roles and true respect for the decisions of the PIC, whoever he or she is and however much experience he or she has. Mr. Aviatrix let me be PIC for the entire decision-making process, subscribing to some other useful aviation advice: Happy wife, happy life.
One small perk to driving instead of flying: We saw a B-17 Flying Fortress overhead, likely as part of Memorial Day observances this weekend and a reminder that we can do so much, including fly our little airplane, because of those who served our country. As Eleanor Roosevelt said in 1948, "Whatever else Memorial Day may be, it is a day for thought, for remembering those who have loved their country and loved its people. What they loved was the life that they lived and perhaps we can remember them best in promoting and preserving life and the standards which they held and craved for all future citizens."
As we were flight-planning this morning, I had my doubts about flying instead of driving when I saw that the winds would pick up midday. My doubts increased when I called for a briefer and was notified of airmets for moderate turbulence and gusting winds at our landing airport. I'm confident in my aviation abilities but also keenly aware that I've had my ticket for less than two months. In addition, I hurt my back a couple of days ago and was concerned that getting bumped around would make it worse.
I know I don't need to make excuses for deciding not to fly. I know a lot of what can go wrong has to do with pilot error and pilot bad judgment. I know that it's good to subscribe to the advice that it's better to be on the ground wishing you were in the air than in the air wishing you were on the ground. I know Mr. Aviatrix knows this, too, even though he really wanted to fly today. I guess I just want to feel better about my minimums and limits.
Mr. Aviatrix has a private pilot certificate, an instrument rating, a commercial rating, a seaplane rating, Tailwheel and high performance endorsements, and close to 1000 flying hours. He's also about ready to take a glider checkride (he had one previously scheduled while I was down in Florida, but it was too windy that day). Therefore, Mr. Aviatrix's minimums, limits, and comfort levels are vastly different from mine. Readers of this are scratching their heads as to why he didn't just fly us out himself. The simple answer is that I don't like flying in small planes when it gets too windy or bumpy, as PIC, SIC, or pax, especially if a car could just as or more easily get us there. We are working on our Crew Resource Management, on the ground as we review ForeFlight on side-by-side ipads and interpret things slightly differently, as well as in the air, to have more clearly defined roles and true respect for the decisions of the PIC, whoever he or she is and however much experience he or she has. Mr. Aviatrix let me be PIC for the entire decision-making process, subscribing to some other useful aviation advice: Happy wife, happy life.
One small perk to driving instead of flying: We saw a B-17 Flying Fortress overhead, likely as part of Memorial Day observances this weekend and a reminder that we can do so much, including fly our little airplane, because of those who served our country. As Eleanor Roosevelt said in 1948, "Whatever else Memorial Day may be, it is a day for thought, for remembering those who have loved their country and loved its people. What they loved was the life that they lived and perhaps we can remember them best in promoting and preserving life and the standards which they held and craved for all future citizens."
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Course Correction in the Real World
It has been almost a month since I obtained my private pilot certificate. Adjusting to life after training has been just that - an adjustment. Although I would head down to Lakeland, Florida for intensive bursts of training on sanctioned breaks from my real job as a professor and the actual time merely amounted to 1-2 weeks here and there, when I was there I was completely immersed in a world that was all about flying. The day I after I got my ticket, my husband, our dog, and I were supposed to fly our plane home (our dog would have been the flight crew, as she's adept as handling snacks). However, weather and illness grounded my co-pilot and canine flight attendant and I hopped on a commercial airliner since I needed to teach an 8:30 class the next morning. Having our dream of a triumphant - and cross-country timebuilding for instrument-training - flight home dashed was extremely disappointing. Leaving all my luggage and grabbing my backpack with my logbook and some other essentials for my little family to schlep back when they could made me sad for them and lonely for me. Plus, what a letdown! No one at Tampa International Airport knew or cared that I'd just become a pilot. No one knew all I had just been through. No one would talk about it with me. This was despite my attempts to try by mentioning it to strangers on line at the gate that I'd been in Lakeland to finish working on my pilot's license. When I travel commercially with my husband, he always charms our way into the cockpit, usually by explaining that we are pilots and that I am a student pilot; we have never been denied entry and the pilots are always exceedingly nice and supportive. They offer photos and once even insisted that I sit in the left seat and take a picture. But my husband wasn't there and I wasn't a student anymore and I just felt silly so I took my seat and hoped that I at least gave off an aviation-related glow.
Thus began what I think of as re-entry to the non-aviation world.
Re-entry back to real life has also meant less flying, since the weekends are the only available times at the moment, at least until this summer. The weekend after I returned to New York, my husband and I took our first flight together ever with me in the left seat. I want you to stop reading this for a moment and imagine what it has been like for you to drive a car with a spouse or a significant other...okay, now that you're back, you likely called to mind someone pressing their foot down hard on an imaginary brake on the right side of the car or grabbing the handle or armrest in a turn or exclaiming something to the effect of, "What are you doing?! You're going to get us killed!" Now imagine if you had to fly a plane with this person. This is why I think we did pretty well considering it was the first time we had ever flown a plane with me as pilot in command (PIC). My husband was being a well-meaning pseudo-CFI, and that was the right inclination considering that he has about 900 hours more flying experience than I do. I would compare it to having to go running with someone when you have done marathons and the other person occasionally power-walks, another experience he and I have shared (he's the marathoner). He also handed over our Cessna 182 without reservation, which in my family is like giving someone the keys to your pristine '69 Camaro SS without any preliminaries or caveats other than simply saying, "Just have fun, go as fast as you want, wherever you want." He wanted me to be more efficient with my checklist (I am slow at the moment, gaining in my confidence, and I'm a bit of an OCD-checker by nature), he wanted me to be more precise about my heading based on the glass cockpit CDI (I was only off by a few degrees at times - but trying to look out the window). Honestly, he just wanted me to be the best pilot I could be but we are looking for a good course on crew resource management. Suggestions welcome!
The following two weekends we attempted to fly, but the winds would not allow it. This was in contrast to my intense time in Lakeland when, if I couldn't fly in the morning or even the whole day, the very next day I was up and away. Now I have to wait an entire week until another Saturday or Sunday rolls around. Yesterday we tried for a third time and it was the charm: It was gorgeous. I was able to log 1.9 hours of PIC cross-country time from our little airport in New Jersey to another little airport in New York and back. And I was even to put together some furniture in our hangar. I can't wait to go flying again and I still can't believe I'm a real pilot in the real world.
Thus began what I think of as re-entry to the non-aviation world.
Re-entry back to real life has also meant less flying, since the weekends are the only available times at the moment, at least until this summer. The weekend after I returned to New York, my husband and I took our first flight together ever with me in the left seat. I want you to stop reading this for a moment and imagine what it has been like for you to drive a car with a spouse or a significant other...okay, now that you're back, you likely called to mind someone pressing their foot down hard on an imaginary brake on the right side of the car or grabbing the handle or armrest in a turn or exclaiming something to the effect of, "What are you doing?! You're going to get us killed!" Now imagine if you had to fly a plane with this person. This is why I think we did pretty well considering it was the first time we had ever flown a plane with me as pilot in command (PIC). My husband was being a well-meaning pseudo-CFI, and that was the right inclination considering that he has about 900 hours more flying experience than I do. I would compare it to having to go running with someone when you have done marathons and the other person occasionally power-walks, another experience he and I have shared (he's the marathoner). He also handed over our Cessna 182 without reservation, which in my family is like giving someone the keys to your pristine '69 Camaro SS without any preliminaries or caveats other than simply saying, "Just have fun, go as fast as you want, wherever you want." He wanted me to be more efficient with my checklist (I am slow at the moment, gaining in my confidence, and I'm a bit of an OCD-checker by nature), he wanted me to be more precise about my heading based on the glass cockpit CDI (I was only off by a few degrees at times - but trying to look out the window). Honestly, he just wanted me to be the best pilot I could be but we are looking for a good course on crew resource management. Suggestions welcome!
The following two weekends we attempted to fly, but the winds would not allow it. This was in contrast to my intense time in Lakeland when, if I couldn't fly in the morning or even the whole day, the very next day I was up and away. Now I have to wait an entire week until another Saturday or Sunday rolls around. Yesterday we tried for a third time and it was the charm: It was gorgeous. I was able to log 1.9 hours of PIC cross-country time from our little airport in New Jersey to another little airport in New York and back. And I was even to put together some furniture in our hangar. I can't wait to go flying again and I still can't believe I'm a real pilot in the real world.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
The Aviatrix
It has been a while since I have written for this blog. I left our trip to Airventure continuing to feel inspired to learn to fly. However, work, life, weather, and those pesky landings that one must get right before soloing thwarted my best efforts in this endeavor through the end of 2014. I was feeling extremely discouraged, thinking I would never become a pilot – a feeling with which I was becoming all too familiar.
Towards the end of the year, my husband suggested trying an accelerated training program. We started researching them and were referred to Tailwheels Etc., a school at Lakeland Linder Regional Airport (LAL), aka the Sun ‘n Fun airport. After much careful consideration and studying for the written exam, I found myself and two huge suitcases boarding a plane for Tampa on January 9th. Little did I know that this was the beginning of a life-changing journey, a long journey comprised of multiple smaller journeys in which I myself would fly a plane for many hours and finally fly myself to the completion of my private pilot’s license.
Yes, you read that right: I am officially a private pilot. I passed my checkride on Saturday April 4th 2015. I am no longer The Wannabe Aviatrix, but now simply an Aviatrix.
The highlights and most salient moments:
1) My superb CFI, a young man in his 20s whose chronological age belied his instructing wisdom: He laid out the concepts of learning to fly on the ground and in the air in a clear, precise, patient manner. He was also a great motivator: When setbacks came, he faced my challenges with me and helped me to turn things around. He went above and beyond to make sure I learned as much as possible but also made sure I was having fun, taking every opportunity to remind me of the wonders of flight. And he had to do this for three separate timeblocks with me, in January, February, and March/April, because I ended up having to leave Lakeland and return a few times. During our January time together, he confidently sent me on my first solo. During our long weekend training in February, he helped me polish up my skills and build more required time. Finally, during our week together at the end of March into April, he helped me get to the finish line of my checkride. Blood, sweat, and tears went into this accomplishment (mostly tears and sweat), and he handled all the crying and sweating with the utmost professionalism, something that men twice his age don’t always do. The two of us were often teased around the school because I could not say enough about how fabulous he was; while most of the instructors seemed to be training young guys with more agile minds and bodies and less of a tendency to be embarrassingly effusive about their instructors, he was paired with this comparatively older lady. I think he got the better deal, but I’m sure I was not his usual student.
2) The school itself: Walking into Tailwheels Etc. on January 9th, I was terrified. I had no idea what to expect. I felt like I was joining the army (which I later learned was an apt metaphor, as the grueling training was akin to boot camp). As I walked through the door, before I could introduce myself, two people at the front desk already greeted me by name. They invited me to sit down and chatted with me as I filled out my paperwork. This initial lovely combination of professionalism and warmth epitomized the spirit of this school and what I experienced for my entire time there. In addition to working primarily and intensively with my aforementioned CFI, I had the opportunity to do stage checks and some ground school with some of Tailwheels’ other fantastic CFIs, as well as to do my high performance endorsement with one of the school’s owners who is also a mechanic and an excellent CFI. Essentially, there was always someone ready to fly, teach, listen, and support.
3) My first solo: I waited and worried and trained and waited and worried and trained and faltered and waited and worried and trained and succeeded for almost three years of cumulative flight school until finally taking off for my my first solo flight around the LAL traffic pattern on the morning of January 19th. It was just like everyone said it would be: nerve-wracking, exhilarating, scary, freeing and just pretty unbelievable. As I taxied from the Tailwheels ramp to runway 5 for takeoff, I exclaimed aloud to myself, “I’m in a plane alone!” I counted aloud each of my three (very nice) landings and had tears in my eyes taxiing back to take photos in front of the plane. It was truly one of the best days of my life.
4) My last solo cross-country before my checkride: The day before my last solo cross-country before my checkride, I thought I had completed the required solo cross-country time. However, I was 0.2 hours short of the 5 hour solo cross-country requirement. I was devastated, as I wanted to move on to the final stages of my training. As other pilots know, in order to acquire those 0.2 hours, I could not simply fly for 12 minutes, but rather had to do an entirely additional cross-country (a trip of a minimum of 50 miles to another airport and a landing there). The flight itself wasn’t the highlight, but finally finishing that time requirement sure was!
5) The Stearman: Not much needs to be said about this storied biplane, so I will just provide the facts: Tailwheels has a gorgeous one. I was offered a ride in it on a day when I was feeling particularly dejected, frustrated, and anxious and absolutely sick of flying. I went kicking and screaming. I had the time of my life on that flight and can’t wait to go up again.
6) The people: I am back on the island of Manhattan as I write this, previously my favorite place on the globe, and I am missing many of the individuals I had the privilege of meeting in Lakeland. So many of the people I met at the school, including owners, CFIs, the office manager, support staff, and fellow students continually had time for me and encouraged me unwaveringly, even in the face of my tears and insistence that I would never get my PPL. I learned so much, including but not limited to different ways to think about flying, that time away from my CFI every once in a while could be a good thing, how not to take myself too seriously, that we fly because it’s fun, and overall that I could in fact become a pilot.
7) The moment the checkride was officially over: I inferred that I had passed when the examiner and I taxiied off the runway after landing back at the airport where the ride started without his having mentioned needing to discontinue the exam, but he wasn't saying anything. Once he finally confirmed that I had passed, I burst into tears of joy, relief, and disbelief. I even asked, "Are you sure?" It was surreal, as was receiving my Temporary Airman's Certificate - my official private pilot's license. Realizing that all of my very hard work had paid off and that I had finally achieved my goal was an indescribable feeling - "euphoria," "ecstasy," and "rapture" just do not do it justice.
8) My biggest cheerleader: Last, but certainly not least, my husband imbued this experience with his constant support and unwavering belief that I could accomplish my dream of obtaining my PPL, a dream that he first inspired that fateful day almost three years ago that he turned to me in a plane he was flying and asked if I might want to learn to fly one myself. As many times as I told him I would never be a pilot, he told me I could and I would and he would not let me give up. He was there the entire time in spirit and he made a special effort to be there in body the week I finished and I will never have the words to thank him for helping me to stop being the Wannabe and become simply the Aviatrix.
Towards the end of the year, my husband suggested trying an accelerated training program. We started researching them and were referred to Tailwheels Etc., a school at Lakeland Linder Regional Airport (LAL), aka the Sun ‘n Fun airport. After much careful consideration and studying for the written exam, I found myself and two huge suitcases boarding a plane for Tampa on January 9th. Little did I know that this was the beginning of a life-changing journey, a long journey comprised of multiple smaller journeys in which I myself would fly a plane for many hours and finally fly myself to the completion of my private pilot’s license.
Yes, you read that right: I am officially a private pilot. I passed my checkride on Saturday April 4th 2015. I am no longer The Wannabe Aviatrix, but now simply an Aviatrix.
The highlights and most salient moments:
1) My superb CFI, a young man in his 20s whose chronological age belied his instructing wisdom: He laid out the concepts of learning to fly on the ground and in the air in a clear, precise, patient manner. He was also a great motivator: When setbacks came, he faced my challenges with me and helped me to turn things around. He went above and beyond to make sure I learned as much as possible but also made sure I was having fun, taking every opportunity to remind me of the wonders of flight. And he had to do this for three separate timeblocks with me, in January, February, and March/April, because I ended up having to leave Lakeland and return a few times. During our January time together, he confidently sent me on my first solo. During our long weekend training in February, he helped me polish up my skills and build more required time. Finally, during our week together at the end of March into April, he helped me get to the finish line of my checkride. Blood, sweat, and tears went into this accomplishment (mostly tears and sweat), and he handled all the crying and sweating with the utmost professionalism, something that men twice his age don’t always do. The two of us were often teased around the school because I could not say enough about how fabulous he was; while most of the instructors seemed to be training young guys with more agile minds and bodies and less of a tendency to be embarrassingly effusive about their instructors, he was paired with this comparatively older lady. I think he got the better deal, but I’m sure I was not his usual student.
2) The school itself: Walking into Tailwheels Etc. on January 9th, I was terrified. I had no idea what to expect. I felt like I was joining the army (which I later learned was an apt metaphor, as the grueling training was akin to boot camp). As I walked through the door, before I could introduce myself, two people at the front desk already greeted me by name. They invited me to sit down and chatted with me as I filled out my paperwork. This initial lovely combination of professionalism and warmth epitomized the spirit of this school and what I experienced for my entire time there. In addition to working primarily and intensively with my aforementioned CFI, I had the opportunity to do stage checks and some ground school with some of Tailwheels’ other fantastic CFIs, as well as to do my high performance endorsement with one of the school’s owners who is also a mechanic and an excellent CFI. Essentially, there was always someone ready to fly, teach, listen, and support.
3) My first solo: I waited and worried and trained and waited and worried and trained and faltered and waited and worried and trained and succeeded for almost three years of cumulative flight school until finally taking off for my my first solo flight around the LAL traffic pattern on the morning of January 19th. It was just like everyone said it would be: nerve-wracking, exhilarating, scary, freeing and just pretty unbelievable. As I taxied from the Tailwheels ramp to runway 5 for takeoff, I exclaimed aloud to myself, “I’m in a plane alone!” I counted aloud each of my three (very nice) landings and had tears in my eyes taxiing back to take photos in front of the plane. It was truly one of the best days of my life.
4) My last solo cross-country before my checkride: The day before my last solo cross-country before my checkride, I thought I had completed the required solo cross-country time. However, I was 0.2 hours short of the 5 hour solo cross-country requirement. I was devastated, as I wanted to move on to the final stages of my training. As other pilots know, in order to acquire those 0.2 hours, I could not simply fly for 12 minutes, but rather had to do an entirely additional cross-country (a trip of a minimum of 50 miles to another airport and a landing there). The flight itself wasn’t the highlight, but finally finishing that time requirement sure was!
5) The Stearman: Not much needs to be said about this storied biplane, so I will just provide the facts: Tailwheels has a gorgeous one. I was offered a ride in it on a day when I was feeling particularly dejected, frustrated, and anxious and absolutely sick of flying. I went kicking and screaming. I had the time of my life on that flight and can’t wait to go up again.
6) The people: I am back on the island of Manhattan as I write this, previously my favorite place on the globe, and I am missing many of the individuals I had the privilege of meeting in Lakeland. So many of the people I met at the school, including owners, CFIs, the office manager, support staff, and fellow students continually had time for me and encouraged me unwaveringly, even in the face of my tears and insistence that I would never get my PPL. I learned so much, including but not limited to different ways to think about flying, that time away from my CFI every once in a while could be a good thing, how not to take myself too seriously, that we fly because it’s fun, and overall that I could in fact become a pilot.
7) The moment the checkride was officially over: I inferred that I had passed when the examiner and I taxiied off the runway after landing back at the airport where the ride started without his having mentioned needing to discontinue the exam, but he wasn't saying anything. Once he finally confirmed that I had passed, I burst into tears of joy, relief, and disbelief. I even asked, "Are you sure?" It was surreal, as was receiving my Temporary Airman's Certificate - my official private pilot's license. Realizing that all of my very hard work had paid off and that I had finally achieved my goal was an indescribable feeling - "euphoria," "ecstasy," and "rapture" just do not do it justice.
8) My biggest cheerleader: Last, but certainly not least, my husband imbued this experience with his constant support and unwavering belief that I could accomplish my dream of obtaining my PPL, a dream that he first inspired that fateful day almost three years ago that he turned to me in a plane he was flying and asked if I might want to learn to fly one myself. As many times as I told him I would never be a pilot, he told me I could and I would and he would not let me give up. He was there the entire time in spirit and he made a special effort to be there in body the week I finished and I will never have the words to thank him for helping me to stop being the Wannabe and become simply the Aviatrix.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
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.
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...
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