Chapter 1 Life Before Flight

Is there life before flight?

The Dreams

I have always wanted to fly. This dream started when I was pre-teen, during the Korean war. I would read the newspapers and hang on every word and picture of Sabres and MIGs. I built model airplanes. Every dime was spent on kits and glue and model paint. I built plastic models, I built balsa and tissue models, I built models carved from solid blocks of balsa. I took the 3 view drawings from Jane's and built more models (I still have some of them) I made planes that would fly, I hung models from the ceiling of my bedroom. I lived and breathed airplanes.
I dreamed of becoming a pilot and an aeronautical engineer. The Engineering dream became impossible. I was accepted to Georgia Tech, based on grades and aptitude, but the tuition was far beyond anything I and my parents could afford. If I went to college, it was not going to be right out of High School.

So, I joined the Air Force right out of High School. A ray of hope burst almost into full flight when I was told that my AQE scores were high enough for direct admission to the Academy. That hope crashed and burned when I was told that I had a 2 on my physical profile and therefore was not qualified. Imagine my anger when I discovered 20 years later that the condition was surgically correctable.

Life went on. I did 9 years in the USAF, acquired a wife and 2 children. Developed a career as a printed circuit designer and then as a computer programmer. I then started a consulting business and began making lots (for the early 80s) of money. My life then seemed to revolve around camping and fishing.

But the dreams of flying persisted, though. In all my Walter Mitty dreams of sudden wealth, or at least a life of financial security, I always learned to fly and bought an airplane. But life happens when you are making other plans.

My wife and I could no longer get along at all. We split up in 1984 and my business went down the tubes with the marriage. Life now became a matter of survival.

Two years later, I met Sandra. We hit it off very well from the beginning. Where I am quiet and introspective, she is outgoing and open. We were married in March 1987 and on our "honeymoon", a visit to my mother in Dayton, Ohio, we visited the Air Force Museum. She was as interested in airplanes as I was!

The first years were rough, I wasn't making much money, but we had fun anyway. We went to cat shows and Trek cons for fun. I struggled to reestablish an income.


The dream begins to come true

Beginning in late 1994, we began making more money than we could spend. Even after putting aside large chunks to build a retirement. Even after doing extensive maintenance and remodeling on our house. We bought the Redhead a Thunderbird in 95 and fulfilled one of her wildest dreams, having a car paid for before the warranty ran out. We started going to air shows like we went to cat shows. I even "volunteered" several times at the Cavanaugh Flight Museum. For my birthday in 95, the Redhead gave me a ride in their AT6. What a thrill!

I asked the pilots at Cavanaugh about flying and determined that the cost would be in the several thousand dollar neighborhood. We could easily afford it on a pay as you go basis, but I remained reluctant to spend that much money. Either my Scots blood or having been tight too many times. The ongoing cost of flying would amount to (at that time) 60 dollars/hour. I felt that that cost would be high for the enjoyment received, but if I did it, I would have to have a reason to use it.

In 99, Sandra tried to buy me a seat in a B17 ride at the annual airshow at Sulphur Springs as a birthday present. The B17 was scrubbed from the show and she was left with nothing for my birthday. I suggested a start at flying lessons just to see if I could do it.

She jumped on it! I originally had no real idea of completing the license unless: I found it to be as enjoyable as my dreams and I had a reason to finish. I needed a logical extension to that dream.

So now, I had to find a flight school. From the net, I discovered a thing called First Flight. It would pay half of the cost for your first lesson, no strings attached. (Hey, if we can get you in the plane one time, you'll be unable to stop.) I found a list of flight schools in this area and picked one based primarily on it's being an independent, one man operation at a small airport. We made an appointment for the evening of September 17, 1999.

First flights

I arrived at Aero Country Airport at the appointed time with more emotions than I wished to deal with. I met Dave Steffey and found him to be older than I was. A surprise as most instructors are young pilots building time until they can get on with an airline.

He had learned to fly 25 years earlier because he wanted to. He had taken an early retirement from MCI to open Steffey Aviation. His home was an apartment in the hangar and he owned 2 airplanes, the Cherokee 140 he used for a primary trainer and a Cessna 310 that was his "toy".

We talked for what seemed like hours about flying and airplanes before he finally said "Lets go fly." I know now he was trying to put me at as much ease as was possible and discover my motivations for this, to some, rash act.

We went out to the plane and he said, "Get in the left seat, you are going to be the pilot." I did and while he was getting in, I studied the panel. From long years of reading and dreaming, I was not intimidated by the panel and could find and recognize most of the primary instruments.

He walked me through getting the engine started and started us taxiing out. Talk about unfamiliar! The first thing that becomes apparent is that you "drive" with your feet. On the ground, you can turn the yoke all you want to and the plane will keep going in the direction it was going. I knew then that this was going to take some getting used to, but Dave assured me that it was common for new students to have that problem. In fact, if you watch seasoned pilots, they will sometimes turn the yoke subconsciously while taxiing.

When we got to the end of the runway, he handed me the checklist and walked me through the pre takeoff checks. He had to point out a few of the items, but not many. I already knew most of the terminology and could find the instruments and controls.

We moved onto the runway with him doing most of the steering while I was still turning the yoke. He then said "Let's fly. Advance the throttle slowly to full, hold it in and give it a little right rudder to keep it straight.". I did and we started off. His feet were on his rudder pedals and hand on his yoke, but I did most of it. He told me when to start coming back on the yoke and we were flying!

Dave made the two turns out of the pattern and then said those words every student loves to hear, "It's your airplane." He instructed me on the movements to make and we went through the fundamentals of flying the plane, turns, climbs, descents. All too soon the time was up and we headed back to the field. He took over and described to me each step as he entered the pattern and landed the plane.

Back in the hangar, we talked more about what we had just done and what I could expect if I wished to continue. If I wanted to exercise the First Flight option to it's fullest, I could get the same half price first flight from each of the schools in the area. It would be a reasonably cheap way to "shop around".

I quickly decided that his "school" met my needs. I would clearly have the same instructor through the entire process. And more important (a fact made very clear later) he was an instructor because he wanted to be, not because he needed the hours to get in the front seat of a 747.

So I now had a pilot's logbook with 0.8 hours in it. But as Dave said, "There was a time when Chuck Yeager only had 1 hour in his log book."

On the second flight, the Redhead went with me to the airport so she could take some pictures. We went to the "practice area" for some practice and then returned for my introduction to landings. On the second approach to 35, just at touchdown I spotted another airplane on short final to 17! For those of you not familiar with runway numbering, we were landing to the north, runway heading 350, and the other plane was landing to the south, runway heading 170, on the same runway. Dave immediately took the controls, aborted the landing and broke to the right. He gave me back the yoke when the flaps were up and we had positive climb (just as the Bonanza passed below us ). He got on the radio and gave the Bonanza driver a tongue lashing. I started into the crosswind for another approach and Dave told me to return to the practice area, He didn't want to land until he had his anger under control. As we departed, we could see the Bonanza turning onto the taxiway.

Dave's next concern was that Sandra had witnessed the incident and that it would scare her. She did witness it but her reaction was anger that the Bonanza pilot could be so careless and inconsiderate. After considering that Dave, as an instructor, would not have allowed an improper approach, the conclusions were that our use of 35 was correct and we were announcing our position and intentions properly. The Bonanza should not have made an approach to 17 and apparently was not using or even monitoring his radio.

The only other similar incident to date I have been involved in included a Debonair (Straight tailed Bonanza). At a fly-in recently, the war stories turned to these types of incidents and the consensus was that Bonanza pilots are like BMW drivers, they think they own the sky. Virtually every incident related involved a Bonanza.
October 20 was a memorable flight. The schedule was late afternoon. It qualified as night as we headed back to Aero Country. Street and house lights were coming on, but there was still enough light to see the details on the ground. A man in his back yard cooking on the grill, I could see the glow of the charcoal in the cooker. As we passed over the cloverleaf where 289 intersects 380, I could see the cars moving along, pushing that puddle of light along the pavement in front of them. Heart stopping beautiful. This is why I was learning to fly!

On Oct 28, we entered class B airspace with a flight to Addison Airport (ADS). Touch and go's are not allowed, you have to land, taxi back to the runup area and wait your turn to take off again. We sat there for 20 minutes while every airplane (it seemed) in north Texas landed. Dave asked if I could appreciate learning at a small low-traffic field instead of spending most of my time waiting to take off. I could and did.

The lessons continued. I was introduced to the whole litany of flight: Steep turns, S-Turns, Touch and gos, night flight. The study materials arrived. I flew when I could and read and studied the books. And learned that Sandra had as much enthusiasm for flight as I did. She had no desire to be the pilot, but the idea of flight, low and slow, as a means of travel excited her. It became a common dinnertable conversation topic.

I enjoyed it all except that landing was more difficult than I had imagined. Airplanes want to fly. A landing requires keeping it flying in a regime bordering on the areas where it stops flying. If it stops flying before the wheels are on the ground, you are going to record that one on the Richter scale. The idea, then is to make altitude disappear just before it quits flying. This requires an exact perception of altitude to the tune of "exactly how high am I?". This judgement needs to be accurate to fractions of feet. Learning this perception would dog me for months to come.