If you’ve ever wondered what it must feel like to helplessly watch $40,000 blow around in the wind, I’m sure Kevin can tell you. After a couple of trips around the traffic pattern he taxied back to his hanger, hopped out and said, “This is all you.” Turns out he was ready for me to take his pretty Piper Warrior out by myself. So I did, and pulled off my first ever solo flight.
What does “flying solo” mean? It meant that I was the only person in the airplane. Just me; no Kevin. It meant I had to put everything that Kevin has taught me into practice without him there to help me out. Sure he was on the ground with a hand-held radio in case I got myself really tangled up, but he wasn’t in the position to do anything other than talk me through whatever difficult situation could have popped up. All he could really do is watch, hope his $40,000 machine landed in the same condition as it was when it took off and seriously consider binge drinking.
Thankfully I didn’t need any help. I took off, flew the pattern and landed a grand total of three times without causing any damage to person or property (except maybe Kevin’s nerves). Strangely, I think the three solo take offs and landings I performed were actually better than any I had ever done with Kevin there beside me. I can’t explain why, especially considering I was without my lucky pilot sunglasses and was relying on my spare pair.
What’s So Cool About Flying Solo?
Everything. Flying by myself is the reason I started taking lessons in the first place. And, as Kevin said, “You’ve joined the ranks of only a select few.” At least I think that’s what he said, I couldn’t make out the exact wording because he was hugging his plane pretty hard.
But seriously, flying solo is roughly the equivalent of winning the Super Bowl, dating a supermodel, touring with the Rolling Stones and winning the Nobel Peace Prize all at the same time. It’s like scoring a perfect 1600 on the SAT’s and then painting the Mona Lisa. It’s like finding out the girl who dumped you several years ago now weighs 600 pounds and makes a regular habit of appearing on the Jerry Springer Show… I think you get the idea.
What’s It Like To Fly Solo?
Surprisingly, it was pretty mellow. Even with some nasty winds that started churning up, I never felt panicked, rushed or scared. And the landings – which I was the most iffy about – were much simpler than I expected.
But what I didn’t expect was how freakin’ fast the Warrior accelerates and climbs when my former-collegiate-rugby-player-turned-flight-instructor isn’t in the right seat. Add a significant head wind and the airplane was nearly at crosswind altitude before I passed the end of the runway. I had expected increased performance, but this was crazy. It was like getting behind the wheel of a minivan and finding out it’s got a Ferrari engine.
The Death of Superman.
I’ve got a favorite tee-shirt, and wear it more than any other. It’s blue and has the Superman logo printed on the front. It’s so comfortable that I’ll often dig it out of the dirty clothes basket and wear it without washing it (and I wonder why I have a hard time finding dates…).
Not going to happen anymore. After we pushed the plane back into the hanger, Kevin cut off my shirt tail and wrote a nice congratulatory note on it. Turns out it’s a tradition for first solos – the instructor cuts off the student’s shirt tail and writes something memorable. I was aware of this tradition, but didn’t think about it when I got dressed this morning.
Still, I can’t think of a better way to retire my favorite shirt. Especially a Superman shirt. All clothes eventually wear out and find their way to the garbage, but this one will live on forever, immortalized in a frame I bought on the way home. I’ll mount it up next to the piece of plastic dashboard that I broke the other day.
It does make me wonder where this tradition came from? And why shirts? Why not pants? Or hair? Or even old tax forms? If anybody knows I’d love to hear. I’d look it up myself, but I’m done doing anything solo for the rest of the day.
