Tuesday
“Nobody will miss you in that shirt,” Tony said as I entered the Arizona Soaring flight center.
I told him about the previous day's conversation with tow pilot Daniel, who always wears Hawaiian shirts for his check rides. And every other day, for that matter.
“I wore my Hawaiian shirt yesterday,” Tony said.
It seemed my final test was off to an auspicious start.
The weather was as forecast: barely a whiff of wind, and straight down the runway from the east. It had been a very good decision to postpone on Saturday.
I would do two check rides -- assuming I didn't bust on the first one. On flight #1 I'd demonstrate most of the flying skills required by the Practical Test Standard. It would end with a "spot" or "simulated off-field" landing, which requires touching down and coming to a stop between two specified points along the runway.
Flight #2 would be much simpler, with the bulk of elements having already been demonstrated. This quick flight would end with a "precision" landing, what Tony calls the “friends and family” (who would presumably be standing on the ramp, taking pictures and ready to applaud) landing.
Both flights went well, and I stopped the second roll-out, as required, just short of the wind sock.
While I was still in the cockpit, awaiting Hunter to come over and counterweight the ship so I could egress without the tail slamming down, Tony presented me with a math problem.
"But you said pilots don't do math!" I objected.
That's an inside joke.
He asked me how many rated pilots were standing next to the glider.
The answer was: one more than before takeoff.
“Nobody will miss you in that shirt,” Tony said as I entered the Arizona Soaring flight center.
I told him about the previous day's conversation with tow pilot Daniel, who always wears Hawaiian shirts for his check rides. And every other day, for that matter.
“I wore my Hawaiian shirt yesterday,” Tony said.
It seemed my final test was off to an auspicious start.
The weather was as forecast: barely a whiff of wind, and straight down the runway from the east. It had been a very good decision to postpone on Saturday.
I would do two check rides -- assuming I didn't bust on the first one. On flight #1 I'd demonstrate most of the flying skills required by the Practical Test Standard. It would end with a "spot" or "simulated off-field" landing, which requires touching down and coming to a stop between two specified points along the runway.
Flight #2 would be much simpler, with the bulk of elements having already been demonstrated. This quick flight would end with a "precision" landing, what Tony calls the “friends and family” (who would presumably be standing on the ramp, taking pictures and ready to applaud) landing.
Both flights went well, and I stopped the second roll-out, as required, just short of the wind sock.
While I was still in the cockpit, awaiting Hunter to come over and counterweight the ship so I could egress without the tail slamming down, Tony presented me with a math problem.
"But you said pilots don't do math!" I objected.
That's an inside joke.
He asked me how many rated pilots were standing next to the glider.
The answer was: one more than before takeoff.
In our debrief, which involved a lot of mutual reminiscences about the Apollo program and astronauts Tony has worked with – and how many of those pioneering heroes have sadly passed on – he gave me a lot of very helpful suggestions for improving my flying.
But he’d also given me a couple compliments.
He said my steep turn to the right was nearly “commercial quality”. It wasn't unusual, he said, for turns in one direction to be better than those made in the other.
In summary, and more than once, he told me, “Really nice job.”
*
Back at home, with mom, I popped the cork on another bottle of champagne.
But he’d also given me a couple compliments.
He said my steep turn to the right was nearly “commercial quality”. It wasn't unusual, he said, for turns in one direction to be better than those made in the other.
In summary, and more than once, he told me, “Really nice job.”
*
Back at home, with mom, I popped the cork on another bottle of champagne.
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