Radio Trouble in the Circuit

So, it's been a while. The Fargo has been out of commission long enough to make me sort of forget about flying for a while. Then my instructor called me and forced me to go. Which was good, because I sort of forgot how much I loved to fly! The problem was, as usual, the Fargo didn't really feel like cooperating.

It was okay at first. My instructor and I went up, reviewed upper air work, did a few circuits to make sure I could still remember what it was I was supposed to do. Which, yes, I remembered what I was supposed to do, I just couldn't really do it. At least, not to what I felt were super pilot standards, standards which I would like to exceed one day. Either way, my instructor felt I should go up on my own the next time. Which I did. For a total of twenty minutes before my radio quit working and I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do.

I had called in the tower and told them my plan. A few circuits then go out and play in the practice area for a bit, then back for a few more circuits. But I felt like going out to play right away, so I just started heading out from the airport and figured I'd call when I was high enough and far enough away to call in "clear of the circuit". Just then, another plane called in that they wanted to land. The tower said it was fine, except for me. I was supposed to be flying around there but he didn't know exactly where I was so called for my position. That's when my radio quit working. Instead of being able to tell him I was clear and out of the way, all he got was high pitched squealing. The tower operator guessed it was me, but obviously couldn't make sense of the high pitched squeal. Now I was in a predicament. Do I keep flying out of the way, where they didn't expect me to be in the least, or return to my last known position?

So, I turned around, hoping this was the right decision. Don't forget, this was probably my third time flying by myself and the first time attempting to leave the vicinity of the airport. But now, I couldn't see the jet that was landing. Apparently, he called in saying he saw me, a tiny little dot putting along at about 2000 Feet above the ground, but I still had no idea where he was and what he was doing. For that matter, I really had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. I was attempting to remember my procedures for radio failure, but that exam was back in January. . . three months and way too much information had passed in the time since I had learned what to do. I was just going to have to wing it and hope I didn't get in the way of that other plane and make a complete ass of myself (you need to remember, I'm flying a Fargo - the 150 makes me look like a complete dope to begin with, I don't need anything else making it worse, such as cutting off a jet coming in to pick up a patient in the ambulance to air lift them out).

The other plane called in to say he was coming in on final, which meant he would be landing soon. I still could not see him so I kept on my merry way to land as well. About three seconds later he comes flying directly in front of me to land on the runway. I watch him go in - sleak, smooth and fast, while I pop along in my damn Fargo with its crappy radio and severe lack of horsepower and therefore speed. Then, I do remember something from my studying. A little thing called Wake Turbulence: large vortices of wind that follow behind large planes. Vortices that could cause little lame planes like me to tumble and fall, perhaps even lose a wing. Now, there are procedures on how to avoid such wake turbulence, but I'd be damned if they came to me right then and there. Just something about waiting a few minutes. Well, when you're floating along a few hundred feet from the runway, with no radio and now a super jet pilot and whoever else in his plane watching you (not to mention the paramedics and their patient) you don't want to make the wrong move. In all honestly you don't want to make any move. You just want to sit there, a little speck in the air, hovering above the airport until everyone else leaves. Unfortunately, physics and general aviation laws, do not allow you to do that.

So, I tried again. Woo hoo! My radio worked. I must have pushed the button right this time because when I called into the tower, they heard me. All I needed to do then was find a way to avoid the wind vortices and I was home free. Well, free to make another pathetic attempt at landing, but at least I could tell the tower where I was.

Since, don't tell my instructor this, I didn't think I could accurately aim the Fargo on the runway in the specific place that would avoid the wake from the much larger plane before me, I overshot the runway. I had no idea how high to go or exactly what the procedure was, I just went up and out of sight. Then I waited much, much longer than the required 5 minutes for the vortices to pass, and then attempted to come back down, after apologizing to the tower operator for the trouble with the radio in the first place. Then, once I was down (after another bouncing, wincing, squealing landing) and apologized to the Fargo for the strain on its landing gear, I quickly taxied away from the runway, making sure to avoid the larger planes and more experienced pilots who, not only know what they're doing, but actually have radios that work all of the time. Once again, another point for the Fargo for making my learning experience that much more eventful.

Introducing the Fargo

It has been a full two months now since I've been able to consider myself among the lucky few who own an airplane. However, where most people are excited and eager to brag about their new airplane, I have my doubts that this can even be classifed as one. It's about as much an airplane as a pink toy keyboard is a piano. For the sake of a reference point, it is a 1964 Cessna 150 with a Continental O-200 motor that does not like to run smoothly. As a matter of fact, it doesn't particularly like to run at all, and at the moment, is currently sitting torn apart in a hangar waiting for parts. Parts that are impossible to find due to the fact that they've been obsolete or out of production for a good twenty years, give or take a few. To make matters worse, I can't even claim ownership on the entire thing, for I only own half of it, and not even the good half, only the passenger half. (In my defense, I am a complete beginner to aviation and have yet to take my flight test so, as a student pilot, cannot be the pilot in command unless it's under the supervision of an instructor and therefore am automatically demoted to co-pilot/passenger when flying with another pilot).

So, with that little bit of an introduction to me and my plane, I'm going to let you in on what I've learned so far, in the short time since I've joined the ranks of plane-owners.


The most important rule of plane ownership: do not buy a piece of shit.


If it feels like your father's 1968 superbeatle that you crashed several times while learning to drive, it probably runs about the same. . . sporadically.


If, when going through your checklist, you 'hope' that the seatbelts and doors are secure because it took several slamming attempts to make it stay shut, you might not want to buy it because at some point when you're several thousand feet above ground level, the doors will come open and those seatbelts just might not save you.


If you don't want to buy a car from a mechanic because of the long standing joke that mechanic's cars are always broke down, do not turn around and buy your plane from an AME because, unfortunately for you, that joke is not so funny when you're attempting to call in for your clearance and your radio doesn't work due to crappy wiring or your touch 'n go has become a full stop due to the burning smell that has filtered into your cabin.

And finally, if the person with whom you are buying the plane is embarrassed of your slow and dorky 150 so that he nicknamed it "The Fargo", and you liken it to a Pontiac Firefly with wings, you should probably get back on Barnstormers and find someone dumb enough to trade their much-cooler taildragger for your lame-ass Cessna (and those people exist, he was one of them which is how I ended up with the Fargo in the first place). Something that won't get stuck at the end of the runway and hold up the waiting traffic or need to be pushed back from the pumps after fueling because it does not have the ability to start more than once in a day.


And there you have it; my advice on purchasing a plane. Keep in mind this is not exclusive and there's probably things I've forgotten, not to mention I am a newbie and perhaps these are some things all pilots deal with when they buy a plane. Maybe this is simply working out the kinks. I doubt it. But for now, I'm going to go watch real pilots fly real planes on youtube since mine has been grounded.