The morning started out cool and overcast, and part of me was relieved. I was scheduled to fly my first solo later in the day and while I was excited I was a little bit scared. I know, aviators are supposed to be fearless; Charles Lindbergh flying across the Atlantic, Chuck Yeager breaking the sound barrier. I felt more like Charlie Brown waiting to kick the football Lucy was holding. I was 13 days into my 18th birthday and I was psyching myself up for my first ever solo flight.
At a very young age I had taken to airplanes and flight. I loved the hustle and bustle of airports, the smell of jet fuel, and the roar and crackle of engines at take-off power. When I was 10 years old on a flight back from Manila we had a long layover in Tokyo. Airport security in the late 70’s wasn’t anything like it is today so my dad and I took the opportunity to tour a couple of the 747’s sitting on the gates. So with camera bag in hand we boarded several wide-bodies, aircraft cleaning crews watching us curiously as we walked through the aisles and galleys, and eventually winding our way up the circular staircases to the cockpits. To this day I’m amazed that nobody asked us a single question. In the cockpit of one 747 I sat in the first officers seat, looking at the instruments, listening to the terse, static-filled conversations over the radios. I put my hands on the yoke and dreamed 10 year old dreams of someday flying one of these magnificent machines.
So a decision that I’d made as a 10 year old on the tarmac in Tokyo was being turned into reality in the plains of North Dakota. It was the fall of 1986; Top Gun was the summers hit movie, and Sammy had taken over for Dave in Van Halen. Myself and a few hundred other souls were freshmen pilot wanna-be’s at the Center for Aerospace Sciences at the University of North Dakota. Until I’d set foot on campus the smallest aircraft I’d even been in was a DC-9. My flight plan to destiny would start in the mighty Cessna 152. The 108 horsepower was developed by a 4 cylinder Lycoming power plant, pulled through the air by a twin bladed prop. Fast? No. High performance? Not hardly. A joy to fly? Of course.
As the day wore on, the cool undercast gave way to bright sunshine, and the relentless North Dakota winds settled into a slight northernly breeze. My palms wouldn't stop sweating as I stepped off of the shuttle bus to meet with my instructor at the field. After our preflight briefing it was time to take her around the patch a few times with him sitting in the right seat. My preflight of the aircraft was a bit more thourough than normal. My steed for the day was Sioux 36.
My instructor and I climbed in, and started through the interior preflight procedures, I spent extra time making sure things were correct while he sat stoically in the right seat. "CLEAR!" I yelled out the window moments before I engaged the starter to get the prop turning. Ground control cleared us to taxi to runway 35 right and without much delay we entered took off and entered the takeoff pattern with a few more UND aircraft.
I concentrated on flying the aircraft, and not letting it fly me. Keeping ahead of it, hitting my marks. My radio calls were crisp and clear, my turns and altitudes the best I could manage. My hands were sweating like crazy the entire time.
After 4 touch-and-goes my instructor gets on the radio and informs the tower that our final landing will be a full stop. After we land and taxi off the runway back to the UND ramp he instructs me to kill the engine. As the engine noise dies down, all that's left is the static from the radio to pierce the uneasy silence. He's thinking about it.
"So you ready to do this or what?" he asks.
"I think so," comes my response. He unbuckles his lapbelt, opens the door and hops out. "Good luck. Have fun," he says as he punches me on the shoulder and walks back towards operations.
Suddenly things get serious.
Suddenly the checklist means something. I see details in the instrument panel that I hadn't noticed before. It's all me baby. I had never felt so alive in my life. I go through my checklist, obtain the current ATIS, set my altimeter, reset the directional gyro and call ground control lettting them know my intentions. They direct me back to runway 35 right. At the end of the runway I accomplish my "run-up", set my brakes, push the throttle to 1700 RPM's (take-off is between 2500-2700 RPM's), check my engine instruments and megnetos. Then it's time to go.
"Grand Forks Tower, Sioux thirty six holding short runway three five right for touch and goes."
"Sioux thirty six taxi into position and hold."
"Sioux thirty six," I reply and obey the commands. My heard beats loudly in my headsets as I stare down the runway, on task, as focused as I've ever been.
"Sioux thirty six cleared for takeoff."
I respond and push in the throttle.
Time slows at moments like that. The engine responds and I'm gaining speed down the runway. At 40 knots I pull gently back on the yoke. I feel the nose rise slightly and before I know it I'm airborne. I hold a climb angle of 67 knots until I reach 800 feet above ground level/1600 feet MSL. Just as I've been taught I lower the nose, look for traffic and start my turn for my downwind leg. Then, and only then do I realize/grasp that I'm alone. At 100 knots, 800 feet above the North Dakota prairie, I reach my right hand over and touch the empty seat next to me.
Holy shit - I'm actually flying solo.
But I don't have a whole lot of time to exhault in my reverie. I've got work to do. On my downwind I set up the airplane. Mixture rich, carb heat on, throttle back to 1500 rpm. At my 45 degree mark on downwind I add 10 degrees of flaps, throttle back further to idle and pitch the nose for 80 knots. I start to make my turn for my base leg. On my turn to base I look to my right to catch the field, dropping 10 more degrees of flaps and pitching for 70 knots. And then I take my turn for my final approach.
I make my turn to final, I drop my last 10 degrees of flaps, make my radio call to the tower and get the "cleared for touch-and-go" response. The throttle is back, the static of the radio, my beating heart, and shallow breaths fill my ears. I wipe my hands on my jeans. My airspeed is down to 60 knots, 50 knots; I'm reaching the end of the runway. 30 feet over the theshold I cross the numbers, a burble of turbulance as I descend. Not a sound. Look down the runway, keep the nose up.Wait for the stall warning horn; there it is. Back on the yoke, more elevator. The ground is coming up to meet you. Closer. Closer. There it is.
The wheels kiss the ground with a little burp, and the nose wheel comes down and starts to shimmy. Flaps up, carb heat in , and give her hell 'til you are airborne again. I let out a war woop over my headphones and did it all again, pride coursing through my veins. Two more landings followed (the 3rd one wasn't very pretty), and it was back to the ramp.
As I shutdown the aircraft my instructor came walking out to the airplane with a huge grin on his face. "You did it man," he said to me, "you did it!" We debriefed in his office and for the first time in my life I wrote in my logbook that I had solo'ed.
What an incredible feeling. Plus my hands had stopped sweating.
