I must have stainless steel skills, because after not flying for two months, I was as great as I had ever been.
We took off on runway 22 with a Zlin hot on my six. I rolled up over the intersection, and cleared the imaginary obstacle by a mile. Adjusting to climb power, I pulled out the mixture with a mighty force. This was necessary, because I had to overcome the pressure of the instructor's left hand. I can't believe these instructors! Just because they're technically pilot in command, they think they can just play with the knobs and doo-dads, and grab the controls whenever they want. Not with this ace- hey, I'M in the driver's seat here buddy! I let him win this one, and the engine roared back to life consuming precious fuel.
With tower not liking my right turn out, something about conflict, or traffic or something, I pressed on, northwards to the picturesque Goulais Bay for upper air work review. (As if I needed it, harrumph!)
We were ten miles out of the zone when Mr. So-and-so-instructor decided to play DJ.
“Sault tower, FCSB is clear the zone 15 miles north.”
“Nice to finally hear from you, have a good flight. Sault tower, over and out, 10-4.” (or whatever those Rapunzel wannabes say- they're ALWAYS yapping about something or other)
Upper air work ensued- first, the steep turn. 45 hard banked degrees, one way, then the other- no problem for the Soo living legend they refer to as “that old, balding Maverick, ha ha, what a shiznit head”. I'm a little older, we didn't have that term in our day, so I think shiznit means “cool”- that's right, I'm hip to the lingo.
I kept the altitude between 5500 and 5900, just for safety and the angle of bank was easily between 30 and 55, which averaged out to a precise 45 degrees. I had to practically scrape the instructor's jaw off the floor when I leveled out. He was so impressed, that he sat there stunned, shaking his head, once again in amazement at my ice-cold proficiency.
Then he asked, “Do you think those turns were good enough for the Commercial Flight Test?”
“Yeah,” I replied coolly, “Oooooh, yeah.”
He shook, in amazement again, regained his composure, and said, “OK, Mav, let's see you spin this thing then.”
PARTY TIME!
Slamming and jamming full power, full left aileron, and full left rudder, I whipped him over the top, to his screams of enjoyment. I know, how he felt- the same as me- but I'm more of the strong, portly-cuddly, silent type.
My glasses nearly flew off my head, then I thought, “Hmm. They say the spin is a stable flight condition, let's test the theory.” So I decided to start with the aerobatic maneuver known as “stirring the pot”. This pitched the plane violently one way and another. Stable condition, MY ASS! It could have been Mr. So-and-so's unusual inputs overriding mine, but now we were wing level and hurtling almost straight down. Time for the air brakes. I yanked full flap to slow the descent, then I heard the most unusual shriek in my DC's. “AAAAHH!! WHAT THE F%$!%*&CK ARE YOU DOING! THEY SAID DON'T FLY WITH THIS MANIAC! I'M AN IDIOT, HE'S AN IDIOT!!”
Yep, just tower beaking off again.
We recovered, and I looked sideways and the guy, shaking with delight after a great flight. “C'mon teach, I mean 'Sir', let's go back to base, I'll buy ya a diet Sprite.”
Needless to say, the landing was a perfect three bouncer, right on the two thousand, twenty five hundred, and three thousand foot markers. Yep, six more take offs and landings for the log book. Who's current now, BABY!
The debrief went as planned.
“Well, ISTP...I think you know how that flight went...” I zoned out, and honestly, I didn't hear him much after that. When it was done, I just said, “Bullshit! You can be mine!” and strode out of the hangar into the sunset, dreaming once again of my bright future at Air Canada starting, at this point, in a mere two years.
-istp
Upper Air Work Extravaganza!
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DiscoDashSeven
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Regruntled
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