The first solo is a milestone in a student pilot’s training. It is the first time you will fly alone and, for me, the first time I felt like I had accomplished something in my flight “training.”
The plan on the morning of 9/11/99 was to eat breakfast at the Skytel Restaurant, located conveniently on Fort Lauderdale Executive airport. You know that saying about the best laid plans?
Unlocking the Cherokee and a quick glance at the instrument panel revealed that the Master Switch was left on and (drum roll please) the battery was dead. Now, leaving the Master Switch on is a No-No… not something I remember doing post-flight.
OBSERVER: Refuses to believe she left the Master Switch on. Most likely the one responsible.
Now on this particular Cherokee, there are only two ways to start the engine. The primary way is the conventional way – with a charged battery. The only alternative is a jump start much like you would jump start your car. Sounds simple enough, right? Okay, call The Man of the House, who has the car.
ME: I need my jumper cables. Are they in the car?
HIM: No, I think they’re in the garage.
Shall I digress into a discussion about WHY PEOPLE HAVE JUMPER CABLES IN THE FIRST PLACE?. No. I will refrain.
OBSERVER: Piss Poor Planning. If she drives without jumper cables, what will happen when she flies…
I am undaunted. I am going to fly that airplane today – solo or no solo. So, let’s call the FBO and get some cables out here. Good plan. The only problem is that the FBO doesn’t have regular jumper cables. Well, let’s be truthful. They had cables, but they walked away.
Plan C: Let’s call BIA, one of the companies THE MAN flies for.
OBSERVER: Good. Determined. Thinking on her feet.
Okay. BIA has cables and… looky here… I can start the beast! YAY! Okay… engine on… looks like that battery was dead as the current load is a few amps above normal. No problem. We have ignition! Let’s just sit here for a few minutes and watch that gauge. And here comes THE MAN. Wonderful! I might actually get to fly today.
ME: Did you eat?
THE MAN:: Um hmm.
ME: Oh. Okay. I’m starving.OBSERVER: More of the three P’s.
Now, THE MAN is in the right seat and we are going to fly the Traffic Pattern for one primary reason: Can I land the aircraft consistently? This has been a problem. Some days I can put it down relatively gently, other days, well, it appears to be a crapshoot.
OBSERVER: The probability of landing the aircraft (gently) by chance and chance alone decreases with each approach.
THE MAN: doesn’t listen to this Observer on my shoulder. I think it is his age that prevents him from hearing. But I won’t go there.
In we come for landing number two and it is passable. Amazing. THE MAN says to taxi over to BIA. Now I know that he is going to get out of this airplane and I am going to fly it around myself. I stop thinking about that.
OBSERVER: Her ability to deny potentially stressful situations is incredible.
THE MAN: Where’s your logbook?
ME: Um, it’s in the back somewhere.
THE MAN scrounges around in the backseat for my logbook, thumbs through it and starts scribbling.
THE MAN: Okaaay, I want you to taxi out, do two touch and go’s and one full stop landing.
ME: Okay.
THE MAN: Oh, and when you are ready to depart, tell the Controller that you are a Student Pilot and that this is your first solo.
ME: Alright.
Now I want to say this: The words, “Student Pilot. First Solo” are like magic dust… instantly turning the quick-paced alien-like garble that emanates from a Controller’s mouth into slow, deliberate, comprehensible speech.
Here I am, ready to take-off and my Controller is right there:
CONTROLLER: Cherokee 7-9-1-3-Whiskey. Clear-for-Take-off. Make-Left-Traffic.
ME: Make-Left-Traffic. 1-3-Whiskey
Magic Dust!
And off I go, onto the runway. Throttle pushed all the way in and THE MAN’s Voice in my head:
“Some people don’t push the throttle all the way in… they’re distracted…”
I make sure the throttle is in.
60 m.p.h., looking down the runway, I am waiting for that floating feeling when the airplane just feels like it wants to fly.. .and up I go. Climbing to 400 feet, I hear THE MAN again:
400 feet, drop the nose and look around…
I drop the nose and scan for traffic…all clear…
I hear THE MAN:
Make the turn…and stay at a 90 degrees to the runway…
Still climbing, I look at my altimeter… 700 feet… okay… and time to turn into the downwind leg…
THE MAN in my head says:
Drop the nose, take a look around…
At 1000 feet,
Pull the power back, stay at one thousand feet…
And then, MY CONTROLLER:
7-9-1-3-Whiskey, I’ll-call-your-base.
VAL: You’ll call our… my… base… 1-3-Whiskey
