After it seemed like it would never happen, I’ve finally soloed.
I got up ridiculously early this morning after not sleeping terribly well and checked the weather. 2.5 miles visibility, but I knew it would clear up soon. Winds were 060 at 4 knots. Sure enough after showering and driving to the airport it was better than 5 miles visibility. It seemed like the entire Airman fleet of airplanes was leaving all at once, at 8am.
D. endorsed my certificate and logbook, and after I preflighted the plane, we both took off for closed pattern work just like any other day. I knew that he was going to be getting out of the plane and I was going to take off and land three times without him in the plane, but I didn’t really think about it much.
The first thing on my mind was the fact that the wind was more or less easterly, by now at 9 knots. Of late, this is a very rare occurrence indeed, and I’ve only flown the pattern for runway 030 a couple of times before. I’m used to flying right-hand patterns, but 030 is left-handed. It’s not that big a deal as left-hand traffic is actually a bit easier since you’re on that side of the plane. Still, everything in the world (or at least, in Oklahoma) is set up on a north-south-east-west grid so it’s much easier to fly the pattern for runway 17 or 35, since you can just roll out on a heading parallel with all the roads.
This turned out not to be much of a big deal, and I soon forgot about it after the first turn. I botched the first landing pretty badly, applying wind correction for wind in my mind more than wind over the runway. The second one was a touch better, though not by much. My approaches all seemed to be fast, and I couldn’t seem to get in tune with everything. After a few more, with D. mostly scolding rather than helping, they got a bit better. Finally, D. said, “Okay, make this one a full stop.”
I briefly worried that maybe my landings were so bad I wasn’t going to solo after all, but he said that they were all safe enough, and emphasized that I know how to go around. After landing, he had me taxi over the to the control tower and drop him off. As he got out of the plane, It started to hit me. Me, alone, and the responsibility for a whole plane. I worked very hard not to think about all the things I could do wrong, and just concentrated on my checklists. I did another run-up (rather superfluous, but apparently part of your first solo), and called tower to request taxi for a closed pattern departure. After I got to the hold short line, I stopped, ran through my before takeoff checklist, called tower, flipped on my landing lights and transponder. “Niner four alpha victor, cleared for takeoff, runway two one. Report midfield each touch and go.” “Cleared for takeoff, niner four alpha victor,” I said. I added some throttle, pointed the plane down the runway (which looks way too short from the north end because of the-way it curves. I noticed a nose wheel skid mark from someone who had apparently taxied onto the runway with a bit much speed. Rather than dawdle, I took assurance in having completed the checklist, and applied full throttle before I could get really scared. In what seemed like no time at all, I was rotating, climbing, and trying to maintain runway centerline. After awhile I turned left, called tower after a few moments. “Westheimer Tower, Cessna four alpha victor is midfield, touch and go.” “Cessna four alpha victor, you’re number two following a Cherokee turning final, cleared touch and go runway two one.” My brain almost tried to get upset, but barely managed to get out an “ack!” before I replied. “looking for that traffic, four alpha victor.” I was suddenly worried I wouldn’t be able to see the traffic, it was hazy, and I was going to look very silly. I then realized it really wasn’t a big deal, we’re in a pattern, and he’s turning final, I’m midfield…” At this point, I realized I was passing the threshold, so I reduced power, pulled the carb heat, added 10 degrees of flaps and tried to maintain altitude for a few seconds while the airspeed bled off. At the same time, I spotted the traffic (it’s pretty easy to see turning traffic) and called back, “Traffic in sight, niner four alpha victor.” Next thing I knew, it was time to turn base. I did so and noticed that my airspeed had, somehow, managed to hit 80 knots. I pulled out the rest of the power, held the nose a little higher and got it slowed down to 70. I turned final, dropped another 10 degrees of flaps, and briefly thought about the view of a runway.
It’s an interesting thing, that trapezoidal wedge of runway, smack in the center of your field of view. Landing is a weird thing. You stare at this wedge of ground, and fly AT IT. It keeps getting bigger, and you have to fight the temptation to stop flying at it. As it got a bit bigger, I realized that I was still a little fast and wanted to sink a little faster, so I put out the last 10 degrees of flaps. The airspeed indicated read just under 65 the last time I looked at it, when I finally decided it was time to stop flying at ground quite so fast, and fly just over it. It’s a tough transition to make smoothly, and the plane wobbled a bit from side to side as I finally got it planted on the ground. It wasn’t a horrible landing, but it wasn’t good. I also wasn’t dead yet. Flaps up, carb heat cold, back to the centerline and full power. In a matter of seconds I was airborne, doing it all over again. The next .3 hours went awfully quickly. My last landing was probably the best I’ve ever made. It’s starting to get better. I just need a lot more practice.
After I parked the plane, D. congratulated me and shook my hand. When I filled out my logbook, I got to list .4 hours under the column reading PIC. My first PIC time, ever. It better be the first of many.