First Solo Flight
It is 1960. I have dropped out of college. I’m
waiting for my draft notice. I’m
relaxing. The engineering company lets
me work full time. I’m waiting for my
draft notice.
This engineering company was
Robinson Technical Products. I worked
full time. Otherwise I read books on
flying and learning to fly. Whenever I
was off work, like on weekends, I drove over to
When I started to fly, in the
Spring of 1960, I had no concept that I would ever have a pilot's license. I took lessons just out of fascination. Fascination dominated over by fears and
airsickness. I had no friends who
flew. I had no one to talk with about
it. I would come home, euphoric about
the day's flight. I would try to talk
to my parents about it. They would
immediately change the subject. They
did not want to hear about it. They did
not want me doing it. I just sat alone,
reliving every second, of each flight lesson, over and over in my head. I devoured every book and magazine on flying
I could find at the public library. It
was my escape from reality (from my perceived academic failure, from my
sister's muscular dystrophy, and from my dread of going into the military).
Have you ever read any of
Richard Bach's books? His feelings
about flying, are my feelings.
The lessons were in an
Aeronca Champ. It was made of metal
tubing covered with fabric painted cream with green trim. It had been rebuilt with a 90 hp engine
(originally 65 hp). Still it cruised at
only 85 mph. The cost was $10/hour for
the airplane and $2/hr for the instructor.
It had a steerable wheel at the tail.
The seating was tandem. The
brakes were little rods that stuck out of the floorboard to be operated by your
heels. There was no radio in that
airplane. There was no audio
system. My instructor, Bill, sitting
behind me, just yelled at me over the noise of the engine and airstream.
We worked at landings for about
5 lessons. I couldn't seem to get
it. All the control inputs I had
learned to fly in the air on the first 5 lessons were useless the moment the
airplane touched the ground. In contact
with the ground a whole new set of control inputs were needed. It was like patting your head with one hand
while rubbing your tummy with the other hand.
I felt that I was "pounding my head against a brick
wall". Nothing I did, was correct.
Then came that fateful
day. We flew around the pattern. It looked good to me, but the airplane was
not lined up with the runway. We would
touch down on the pavement but then immediately head off the runway to the
right into the dirt and weeds. I would
jam in the throttle, and try to get the thing going straight, parallel to the
runway, with the rudder petals. Up
would come the tailwheel off the ground.
Then it was a balancing act, dancing along on those two front tires, me
punching in one rudder petal and then the other, trying to keep the ship moving
in a straight line. With enough speed,
I would ease the stick back and be airborne once again, safe once more in my
friend the sky. 3 times we went around,
and the same thing happened, with me running the ship off the runway into the
dirt. Well anyway, each time I did
recover, and get the ship back into the air, where life was normal.
3 more trips round the
traffic pattern and I actually landed and rolled out on the runway! On the third landing, Bill yelled,
"Pull over, I'm going to get out!"
What? He's going to get
out?! Yes! Yes! He is going to get
out! I was beginning to think he would
never let me solo this craft. With 11.3
hours of flight training in my logbook, I was given total command of that
airplane.
Bill's instructions were to
fly around the traffic pattern, making 2 touch-and-goes, and 1 full stop
landing. "Don't forget to pick me
up after the final landing." He
said I should expect the airplane to perform a lot better without his weight
aboard, and indeed that airplane leaped from the ground and climbed rapidly to
our pattern altitude of 1600 feet.
Those 3 solo landings were
excellent! I went to where Bill was
standing. He shook my hand,
congratulating me. Then he said I could
take the airplane up, but to be back in 45 minutes, before it got dark. He didn't have to ask me twice. I was off, climbing up and up and up. In our training I had never been above 5000
feet. What was it like to go
higher? I played with different climb
speeds. I opened the side window and
stuck my hand out so I could feel the air going by. At around 9000 feet over
As I drove home that
afternoon, I was on top of the world.
Me, Walter Mitty, had done this thing I had dreamed about since 5 years
old. Nobody at home seemed
interested. To me, at that point, it
was the greatest accomplishment of my life!
It was a major turning point in my life, and my self-esteem.