Close Call on the Runway

It was a perfect day for flying yesterday. A little bumpy, but relatively perfect. I went out to the practice area and began reviewing for my test, and then took a little detour over my friend's place in the country to wave hello. I left myself enough time to come in for a few circuits before making my full stop as I was determined to get this landing thing figured out.

I radioed the tower as to my position and my intended runway. Keeping contact with the radio and doing the proper calls, I crossed midfield, joined downwind, then eventually called in on Final to make my landed on runway 06. I was focusing on my glidepoint (the numbers) and working hard to make sure I did everything right. Then I glanced down the runway to make sure I was coming in on a good angle. And yes, my angle was correct. The problem was, another plane was taking off on runway 24, where I was planning on landing.

I put in my full power and veered to the left, seeing that the other plane had rotated and was taking off to their left. We met about 100 FT off the runway, although the other plane was hightailing it as far from the airport as he could. Fortunately, I guess, I did happen to notice his call sign and a little bit of the plane, but it didn't make sense to me. I knew that plane. It was the plane I used to fly at my old flight school, so I questioned the numbers, it didn't really make sense that a plane used for flight training would screw up like that, unless the instructor was an idiot or there was only a student in the plane.

As it was, I radioed the tower and told them I was overshooting due to the other plane taking off on the opposite runway. They did not sound very happy. The other plane had not radioed or given any information as to its intentions, and there was another plane waiting on the apron to load passengers. How exactly did this other plane, this 172 we shall say, think it could just come in and out of the airport without any calls or reports.

After a discussion with someone on the ground when the plane took off, and some thinking on my own, I was pretty sure the plane that just about collided with me was the plane from my old flight school (a school that hates me, also, because I chose to buy my own plane and hire an instructor and fly everyday instead of driving 133 KM to fly once a week, then for complaining when they sent out a sexist comment about women pilots) and I figured the head instructor would like to know that his plane was endangering the lives of other pilots trying to go about their business the proper way. My suspicions were further confirmed when the secretary stated that yes, indeed that plane was in "my neck of the woods" earlier that morning, but when I told her why I wanted to know, she passed me off to the head instructor who wouldn't say more than yes or no to me.

Honestly, I wasn't calling him to give him trouble, I was informing him of the incident, so he could deal with it. All I can say is I'm very happy not to be learning from a school that allows their pilots to come in and out of airports without the slightest thought to the rules of the airways around them. I mean, yes, I'm a student and not up on everything myself, but even I know to take a look around and call in for clearance before taking off at an airport. And then after the way that instructor treated me on the phone, I wished I'd just gone ahead and reported his plane to the tower and the authorities instead of giving him the chance to deal with it "in house". Maybe I still will, we'll see what happens on Monday...

Goodbye to the Fargo? So Soon?

So, not surprisingly, my partner wants to sell the Fargo. He hates it. Or her. I haven't decided if she's got a gender or not, oh, look at that, I gave her one. Either way, he hates her and wants to get rid of her. He refuses to finish his training on her, or, he refuses to finish his training altogether. Now that he's got his licence I think he's a little reluctant to hop back into a plane and take instruction from someone younger than him (that's putting it nicely, I think). So, he is going to buy himself a Maule (a much cooler, faster, more powerful taildragger) and needs to sell the Fargo to do so. Leaving me wondering exactly what I'm going to do.

It's not that I love the Fargo myself, but she's a good enough little plane. Yes, she's small, and you feel rather lame taxiing onto the tarmac in such a dinky little plane, but she's still a plane. She lifts off and flies through the air, and she was rather affordable. I'm not sure if I can afford another plane at the moment. And do I even want to?

I would love a bush plane. Something that I can fly out to my sister-in-law's house and land in the field nearby. Something that can climb at twice the speed of the Fargo. Something that can land in an airport but also land in a remote airstrip by a lake that only a few pilots can get to. But to do that, I need to be able to fly a taildragger, and after my experience with the Falcon, I know I'm very far from that. Not that it isn't possible, just not at the moment.

So, do I keep the Fargo? It can't really get me anywhere. Of if it can, very, very slowly. But, if I ever wanted to get my instructing and open a flight school here, it would be rather handy to have. But I'd have to be able to fly to the school for training, something I don't think would be very fun in the Fargo. On the other hand, it's a training plane and I'm not yet done my training, so I should probably keep it until that point where I'm done. But then I have to buy out my partner. And, I have to say, the Fargo isn't exactly the healthiest of planes. So I'm scared I'm going to buy him out and then have to overhaul the engine. An engine that is rather gutless in the first place. I have to admit, I wish you could buy a "chip" for your plane as you can for your truck, to improve it's power and performance. If I could just get some more horsepower out of the Fargo, I'd be pretty happy, but then, she'd have to be able to carry enough fuel to compensate for the hp.

Who would have thought buying a plane would be so complicated!

Putting the Fargo to Shame

"Nose wheel pilots squat to pee." That's what my friend's father says. He's never said it to me, especially since I squat to pee no matter the plane I fly (sorry, a little potty humor there), but my friend has repeated the quote several times to me. Especially when he discusses the maule he will buy in comparison to the 150. I usually smile and shake my head, because I have no experience flying a taildragger, but I'm sure it is much more complicated and I am excited for my chance to get one. And then his father took me in his plane.

I can't even describe the difference between that airplane (an experimental Falcon with a Lycoming 0-320, low wing, tail dragger) and the 150. Yes, I've always known the Fargo was slow and gutless, but my goodness did I not realize what 50 hp can do. That is a fast, wicked-cool machine. His approach speed is 90mph, he's at circuit height and at 120mph while still over the runway, and not even the speed, but you can feel the power of the engine, the speed of the plane, and it is just super cool.

You walk on the wing to climb in through the hatched ceiling. Then you pull on your military-style shoulder harnesses (which, I was informed, increases your chances of surviving a botched/bad/crash landing by 70%, unless you're in that plane whose approach speeds are high enough to make the survival rate pretty much moot). He put in the "stick" for me so I could feel the controls, and I rested my feet on the rudder pedals. At first, being a homebuilt, I thought, perhaps a little low on luxury but it was definitely cool. Then he began his taxi and the plane seemed to bump and clunk over ever seam and crack in the runway, and I thought, ooh, this is a little rough. But then he took off.

I cannot describe the difference. The Fargo putts along the runway and eventually makes it to 50mph to rotate, and still only climbs at about 70mph. The Falcon was streaming down the runway at 120mph well before the Fargo rotated (I know this because my friend had gone up in the Fargo just moments before). And not only that, but taking off in the Fargo is a simple case of putting it to full power and keeping it down the centerline until rotation. I lost track of the steps to take to get that Falcon airborne, but either way, it was definitely more complicated.

My friend's father let me take the controls once in the air. Well, he basically said, here, try it. So there I was, with my 45 hours flight hours (in a fargo no less) trying to keep this Falcon in the circuit, with a stick and a tailwheel, and speeds the Fargo is incapable of reaching unless in a steep descent. And then I learned what flying was all about. Until this point, technically, I was flying an airplane. But not really. I was driving a gocart around the kind of track where no drivers licence is required. Flying a circuit in the Falcon was like driving nascar at Talladega. In the first case, you're only required to steer as nothing can really go wrong, there's not much skill involved. In the latter, there's only skill. You are actually required to fly, to really keep that plane in the air and on track. You use your feet, and actually have to hold on to the controls and use them with, I thought, a significant level of strength. There's no putting your fingers on the controls and leisurely looking about on a Sunday afternoon, unless you've flown that thing for many, many hours. That is what flying's about, and that's the kind that I want to do. Although, I have no idea how I'm ever going to get to that point, but at least now I know what I'm working towards.

Broke Again, Mechanically and Monetarily

A short while ago, while taking off for a circuit, I looked on my dash and saw my generator light was on. I turned to my instructor and asked, "Is that light supposed to be on?". He scrutinized it for a moment, then replied, "No, it's not." What followed was the typical procedure for determining the draw from the generator (and no, this is probably not the official title for it, remember, I'm a beginner and can't quite remember all the lingo): checking the circuit breakers, turning off and then turning back on anything using electricity, etc. Nothing worked, so, once again, my stop and go became a full stop, thwarted once again by my plane. Under direction from my instructor, I was grounded again until given the ok from an AME.

I called the AME, who came across as a lovely man, helpful and quite good at getting back to me. He informed me that the generator was wrecked and we'd have to find a new one. He said he'd do that for me. I tried a little myself, and I'll tell you, tracking down a generator that's basically been out of production for the past twenty years is no easy task. I managed to do it, but so did my AME, and as I was anxious to get back out practicing, I left it up to him. Even told him to fly it in instead of using ground shipping as that would put me out a good couple of weeks. He was happy to do it.

A week or so later I got the call that I could go flying again. I was excited and immediately cleared my schedule to go. And hopefully this time, after I fueled up, it would start again, as the old generator could only handle one start up. I was crossing my fingers that this one would actually recharge the battery and I would no longer have to push the fargo away from the pumps, feeling like a complete chump.

And it started. It flew. I fueled up and it started again. The only thing better than flying is flying an airplane that actually runs properly and starts when it's supposed to. It finally felt like the Fargo was going to be that airplane.

Then, the other day, I was refueling after a flight, and an Central Mountain Air flight was coming in right behind me. I'd heard often enough that they get rather irritated when they are held up at the pumps, so I quickly jumped into the Fargo to taxi away. Except, the damn thing wouldn't start. I tried to prime it, added throttle, and it didn't want to do anything. Now I was stuck by myself at the pumps, trying to find a way to get this thing out of the way without looking like a complete idiot.

I started my long trek back to the hangar, stopping a few times for a break as my legs were turning to complete rubber. Along the way, I noticed the AME who'd fixed the problem in the first place putting his 180 onto floats. They didn't seem to notice me struggling my way back to the hangar. At least, not until the Fargo was safely stowed in the hangar, and then he happened to see me and came to "chat". And by chat, I mean, ask for a cheque. He did wonder why I was putting the Fargo's battery back on the charger, but didn't push it too far, and I was much too tired and fed up to bother with any discussions about the Fargo's failings at the moment. So, I told him I'd go get my chequebook and meet him at his 180. As it was, he'd checked out the Fargo a few times earlier without any invoice so I had a bottle of scotch to give him also in token of appreciation and thought I'd run and grab it for him, be the nice person I was and give him his little gift before I got mine.

And what a gift it was. He greedily snatched up the scotch and then dug in his truck for my invoice. I nearly fell over when he gave it to me. It was almost three times as much as it should have been. I was charged shop rate for his phone calls to find a generator when I had one lined up. Then I was charged a full days shop rate for putting the generator in, even though they'd finished by lunch time. And the generator I wanted to buy was half the price as the one he managed to find for me, even though they were the exact same thing. I was floored. And not only that, the Fargo was still sitting, broke down once again, in the hangar. Apparently, when you're an AME and you know your client is eager to fly, you can make them pay anything you want as they really have no other option, what with the regulations stating the owner is unable to perform any repairs themselves (unless it was on owner maintenance, I know, but that is a whole other story). I even had to double check the amount, as I couldn't quite believe he had the nerve to charge that much. I've heard of mechanics screwing you over, but for some reason I thought that those who worked on airplanes were of a different kind. I mean, aren't we all in this together? Apparently not. I had a mind to ask for my scotch back, I sure could have used it.