2008-05-13

1500 Zulu

KSBP

“Stop the presses,” Flight Examiner, Glenn Barnum announced, “Adele Schneidereit is now a licensed pilot.”

It had been a year since I had started training for my Private Pilot’s License Single Engine Land (PPSEL). At times even I had doubts as to whether or not I could finish. Battling peoples “concerns”, finding a neurologist to sign me off for my medical, mounting financial constraints, time issues, and having to switch flight schools and demonstrate all forty fundamentals of flight to my new instructor were the source of my worries.

On this day, Glenn Barnum, FAA Flight Examiner sat across the table from me armed with a detailed list of prioritized questions for the oral exam: basic rules, VFR weather and equipment minimums, airspace and air traffic controllers, airplane systems, medical awareness for flight, etc… At logical breaking points, Mr. Barnum would elaborate on anecdotes of a rich life as a Flight Examiner, including photos and stories of him administrating this very test to fellow aviatrix, Angelina Jolie. He had tested Angelina at Paso Robles Airport, thirty miles north of where I sat this very moment carefully considering and reciting answers to the questions he posed.

I finished his list on the electrical system of the airplane, missing a question on the alternator.

Glenn was quiet. Then he abruptly packed his papers and book containing his Course of Action in his briefcase, grabbed his travel mug, and stood up.

Did I fail? Or pass? Is he angry? I looked at Glenn. He stood holding his many belongings in silence. I felt awkward. “Did I pass?”

“You passed the oral,” he said matter-of-factly. That’s why we’re going on to the next step.”

We walked through the maintenance shop and out onto the tarmac. Usually the sea breeze kicks up here at San Luis Obispo almost everyday in the afternoon, but today my hair wasn’t even being blown around. We reached the little Cessna which had been my darling for training, and I preflighted it. Carefully I looked at the checklist in between steps because I knew Glenn had been a stickler about checklists. We jumped in and I finished the in-cabin section. I tuned the radio to pick up the weather.

As soon as Glenn heard it he looked at me wide-eyed, “What do you think?”

My heart nose-dived to my stomach: all my preparation; my hard work. I don’t want to wait. “I’d have to check the crosswind component,” I said calmly. I reached behind me and fished out the Pilot’s Operating Handbook. Finding the page with the crosswind graph, I drew a line with my finger from the arc to the column. “The crosswind component is 15. That’s okay.”

“But the wind is variable,” Glenn protested, eyes beaming. He closed his lips, “It’s your decision.”

I had told myself I wouldn’t push the weather being the fair-weather pilot that I am, or at least hope to be.

I reached over and flipped off the avionics, mixture, master, and mags. “We’ll go as soon as you have an opening?”

As soon as everything was turned off, Glenn seemed to have a change of heart, “Wait a minute. Let me get a PIREP (pilot’s report).” He hopped out. I could see him talking to Clint, a flight instructor who had just taxied in from landing. Glenn walked back to the Cessna where I waited, “He said that the winds are all over the place. We’ll go another day…”

2008-05-13

1500 Zulu

KSBY

…Back in the cockpit with Glenn sitting beside me. The course that Glenn had requested to El Monte, CA had been drawn on the chart and fastened on the clipboard between Glenn and me, but I knew he would have me deviate, a requirement for the exam. I didn’t know to where.

The take-off he requested was one that Phillip and I had practiced many times, a soft-field take-off. The difficulty had been psychological. It requires acceleration in ground effect which translates into pushing down the nose of the airplane 2 feet above the runway. When doing a soft-field take-off my mind cautions against crashing into the runway. After all having a healthy respect for the runway is usually a good thing. In this case it becomes a mental tug-o’-war for me. Would the stall horns go off again on take-off? Watching in my peripheral vision for the runway to look lower (take-off), I held my breath and pushed the yoke down. We flew 2 feet off the runway for awhile, flying in ground effect, then I pitched for best-angle-over-an-obstacle, in this plane 74 knots until Glenn announced we had cleared our obstacle.

We departed downwind and flew out on the designated radial, and I checked the time to coordinate the distance with our airspeed.

Glenn had been quiet since take-off. It seemed that he likes to let the potential pilots concentrate. About 12 minutes out, he said, “Okay, deviate to Santa Ynez.”

Grabbing the chart, I checked for ground references that I could find on the chart. We flew beside the tip of a wash that showed brown on the chart. I thought Santa Ynez was the indicated runway to the South West of the wash. But my glasses were on the dash not my head. “I can use all resources available to me?”

“Yeah.” He nodded his head.

I was excited to do this. Squinting, I checked the airport indicator on the chart then tuned it into the GPS. What a trick piece of technology, the GPS.

“I was waiting for that,” Glenn smiled.

The machine drew a line to Santa Ynez airport, “IZA”.

“It’s that way.” I pointed to the landing strip to the South West of us.

With the diversion out of the way, it was time for maneuvers. Phillip and I had practiced and practiced 45 degree turns, but now the pressure was on.

Starting from maneuvering speed, 105 knots, I set the indicator bug to the heading I wanted to roll out on and picked a reference outside, in this case a mountain at the same heading. The plane dipped to the right. When the turn coordinator went through 30 degrees, I slid the throttle in to increase another 1500 RPM. Two swipes of the trim is all it took to keep the nose level. With G’s like this who needs an amusement park? Both turns were executed within Pilot’s Test Standards (PTS).

All this wasn’t enough to do to my stomach. Glenn asked me to demonstrate both a power on and a power off stalls. Stalls often give student pilots serious jitters. Power off stalls simulate a stall on final approach and power on stalls simulate a stall on take-off. Not knowing how to correct for these kill unsuspecting pilots. They’re both very important to learn.

Demonstrating the power off, the throttle is pulled back to slow down the airplane and the flaps are extended to put the plane into landing configuration. The plane is steered with the feet to keep at original heading, altitude is maintained as well. The pilot pretends to “stretch” her glide, pulling the yoke back until the stall horn blares and the plane buffets. Pushing down on the yoke, pushing right rudder, and full throttle recovers the craft to straight and level flight, demonstrating a full recovery or go-around rather than crashing into the runway. Power on stalls are demonstrating an unintended stall on take-off, also one of the leading causes of death among pilot’s. This stall is easier. The plane is slowed, then the power is put in again. The nose is pitched to high, again blaring the stall horn. The plane stalls, but recovery is easy. The pilot merely has to push down on the yoke and voilá, recovery!

It was time for unusual attitudes, but this doesn’t describe the pilot’s behavior. An “unusual attitude” means that the plane is tipped to the side or pointed up or down to the point that not correcting it can result in a crash. Not knowing how to recover from unusual attitudes is precisely what killed John F. Kennedy, Jr.

Glenn asked me to wear the “hood”, shut my eyes, and put my head in my lap. The idea was to recover using only the instruments, not looking outside. Once again I felt those G’s grabbing hold of the pit of my stomach. I paid attention to winding up of the engine accelerating, then the plane tipping to one side, then the airplane seemed to slow down which would indicate the plane was pitched upward and the engine sounded if it were dying. Glenn was really good at not letting the pilot know which way he was going to mess up the airplane. I had no idea which way I was going to have to recover.

“Okay. Recover.” Glenn announced. “Don’t look outside.”

The attitude indicator indicated a dive and the turn coordinator indicated a right turn. Reducing power, pulling back on the yoke, then using left rudder and left aileron together brought the C172 back to straight-and-level flight. Adding a little power brought us back to our previous configuration. The ol’ World War 2 song comes to mind, “Straighten Up and Fly Right”, that my Grandmother “Goma” used to sing to me, sometimes still does.

We repeated the process recovering from an upward pitch and the opposite wing dipped. I can understand how someone might become dizzy and disoriented during this test, even feel a little sick.

Glenn told me to turn toward home. Obliging him, I checked our altitude to make sure it was still correct given our new heading and said it all out loud so that Glenn would know that I knew to do so.

This part of the test consisted of the easier fundamentals of flight, turns around a point, etc…

Glenn reached over and pulled the power. “Your engine just died. What do you do?”

I recited the ABC’s of an engine-out “Aviate. Best field. Communicate. Best glide speed is 68, find a field, and troubleshoot: try to restart the engine.” I threw each switch to restart the engine. “If that fails then tune radio to 121.5 and squawk 7700 (tune transponder to 7700 the emergency squawk). If that fails shut down engine, put jackets in the doors so that they stay open on landing, and don’t shut down master until landing is assured.” Okay. That was only a simulated engine failure, but my heart was pounding. I could feel my pulse in my wrists and the perspiration underneath my headphones. An engine failure is one of the most important procedures that we pilots need to memorize. It’s life or death.

We turned toward home. I tuned for the weather, and called the tower for permission to enter the airspace. It had been a long, taxing day with every minute occupied with maneuvers and testing. I felt weary.

His desired landing was a soft field landing. I always felt that having to learn soft-field landings was unfair because the insurance companies usually prohibit anything besides landing on a paved field. But I guess of all people, I will probably be the one landing in some exotic country on a dirt or grass strip. In all honestly, this touch down was not my best demonstration of this technique, although thank goodness it was within PTS.

We cleared the runway, off on Foxtrot, and taxied back to PCF. After shutdown, Glenn looked at me and spoken in a manner much like his great-grandfather, Ringling Brothers owner P. T. Barnum, announced: “Stop the presses. Adele Schneidereit is now a licensed pilot.”

To spite my best efforts, my eyes refused to stay dry. This was the very instant when all my hard work and dreams and my instructor’s hard work and hopes came to fruition.

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Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

2008-02-19

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP

1700 Zulu

When a pilot speaks of a SODA, she is not referring to a frothy refreshment to be enjoyed over ice on a Summer’s day. She is instead talking about a Statement of Demonstrated Ability or SODA. This is a one-chance test given only to the disabled to determine if that person is a hazard to herself if she is allowed to fly. 

The clincher here, or at least for me were the words ONE CHANCE. If I failed I could never fly. This scared my then instructor and owner of the flight school, Gary Sparks, who had never had a student before who had been deemed by the FAA gods to need one of these SODA thingy-ma-bobs. So Gary assigned me a bright new instructor, Jacob Bennett, a very articulate young man who had the gift of explaining technique without grabbing the controls. With my myriad of instructors before Jacob, I secretly entertained the thought that I’d throw the next instructor who manhandled my controls out of the airplane. Of course I really wouldn’t ever harm anyone, even when they’re touching my yoke, flaps, or throttle, but I’m sure from this you can tell how much I liked it. I was to the point where I didn’t need help anyway. The plane did what I wanted it to do without outside “help”.

Jacob and I practiced, and we practiced, and when we were done with that we practiced some more. By the week before the SODA, which I had scheduled in November ( the US federal government is a slow-moving behemoth no matter how hard the individual FAA workers tried to expedite the process), I was well within PTS standards for all test maneuvers. Jacob and told ourselves that there was no need for worry.

One week before my SODA date something happened to Jacob which had happened to all of my previous instructors: he landed a job. So, one week before one of the most important days of my life, my trusted instructor leaves me for a position as a lone cartographer surveying the land over which he flies. So seems to be the nature of the business. All of my previous instructors have left me for better jobs. Truth be known, I’m very proud of Jacob. He’s a very bright and kind young man deserving of the career as a commercial pilot. 

So I’m back in the cockpit with Gary, coffee-mug in one hand biting the nail on the index finger of the other, all of this only when he wasn’t scrolling through messages on his Blackberry. Just in the nick-of-time, Gary deemed me fit to take my SODA. 

Home in my bed, but unable to sleep, I imagined what Matt Hill, the FISDO, A.K.A. the FAA examiner, would require of me. I thought to myself, “He doesn’t have talons (dinosaur claws), that he puts is trousers on one-leg-at-a-time like the rest of us (a saying my father use to, and still does, tell me whenever I was afraid of someone important or official). After all, I spoke to Mr. Hill on the phone when I scheduled and he seemed quite nice.

The next morning the I was once again face-to-face with the realization that we were filming a documentary in part of me getting my pilot’s license. Simo Nylander, our director, was causing quite a stir wielding his rolling Panasonic around the flight school pointing at people like Mr. Hill. Turns out that government officials are not fond of movie cameras at formal meetings such as a SODA, especially when it’s a surprise.

I was so nervous, not of the camera – I’m used to this, but of the FISDO, the one-chance-test-giving-government official who had my life as a pilot in his hands. I was so nervous that when I went to introduce Gary to the camera, I forgot his name. “It’s okay,” I told myself, “as long as I remember the steps and purposes of all the necessary maneuvers. I went over the steps for power-off stalls in my head, “pitch for 55, flaps, when in the white arc…”

Before I knew it Mr. Hill was seatbelted into the chair next to me and we were rotating for take-off on runway 29. Winds were calm. As Jacob advised, I told Mr. Hill my intentions of flight before I turned or reached altitude, etc… This seemed to work well. Over Avila Bay, Mr. Hill had me S-turn to clear the area, as anticipated, go into slow flight and do a power-off stall. I did as he asked and I must have been within PTS because he seemed satisfied, all except for scolding me about having a chart, even at your home airport. I couldn’t figure this one out especially because my chart was sticking out of my flight bag right next to my medical on which the cursed words were typed, “VALID FOR FIGHT TEST ONLY”. Matt Hill seemed very happy, chattering on about how he was a fight instructor and how wonderful it is to fly for a living. He seemed happy, but I was hoping that this wasn’t giving me a false sense of security. Then he said with an emphasis on remorse, “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t fly.” What did that mean? Gulp. Maybe he’s not so happy with my flight.

I offered to do power-on stalls for him, but he replied it wasn’t necessary and asked me to start back.

This is where I made my big mistake. I picked up ATIS and radioed over Oceano to request a return to the airport. The controller told me to make a left base entry to the airport. He had never done this before. I always entered on the 45 after coming in over hwy 1. I was so used to this I started back over the Pacific Coast Highway as usual. Matt knew what had happened and gently reminded me what the ATC had required. What? Not come in on the 45? Time for a course alteration. But where to enter? Checking the GPS for the airport, I dipped the wing on the right and headed South taking a stab at which mountain to fly over to enter left base. 

“Watch it. I don’t want to run into the hills. How high is the terrain?”

“I don’t know I’ve never been this way before.” The green fuzz atop the mountain looked diminutive. It must have been 1000 feet below. 

Matt told me to make two touch-and-goes before coming in for a full stop.

He looked at me for a long while before saying anything. “You passed.” 

Feeling total relief, I fought back the all my tears to indulge in a truly grateful smile. Thank you Mr. Hill.

Safe travels,

Student Aviator Adele Schneidereit.

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Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

2007-09-10

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP

1800 Zulu Time

We were holding short Runway 29 when my instructor FAA official, Gary Sparks, looks at me and asks, “Can you take off using your left hand?”

I contemplated the yoke. A state-of-the-art side yoke, it was cushy and big and most people had a much easier time with it, but there’s no way I could rap my small hand around it. “No.”

Gary looked disappointed, but he was used to my right-handed take-offs. Full throttle, I slid my right foot from the brake to the rudder and stomped on it. Lift of was smooth and we were headed straight out over Morro Bay.

We cruised over nuclear power plant, Diablo Canyon, meaning Devils Canyon, centered over the two concrete domes. This was the closest that most people got to the place.

Gary said that he had done some kind f work down there and that they had automatic weapons pointed at us to shoot down troublemakers.

I wanted no trouble nor did I relish going home glowing so I throttled up and got out of there. We wanted closed-traffic so we headed out into the pink glow of the fire that had been burning toward Paso Robles. Usually over the grade I can see sprawling vineyards and blue swimming pools. Today nothing. Nothing but pink plumes.

We headed back to SLO, but they weren’t allowing touch-and-goes because of construction in the runway.

Oh no. Here we go. I’m rusty because I haven’t been in the cockpit for two weeks because I’d been traveling via the airlines visiting potential sponsors, and now my first landing will be flying over and avoiding the heavy equipment at the base of 29.

We still don’t have my adaptation for the high-performance airplane I’ve been flying so Gary has to help me with the throttle and I control everything else (In a typical trainer, I don’t need help because my left hand wraps around the steering wheel type throttle well so I control it with my left hand). 

Whoops. I overshot my turn onto final, but corrected well. We were on a good glide slope to avoid the huge John Deer at the base of the runway. We touched down perfectly.

It would have been all my landing if I had had that adaptation. I eagerly wait.

Meantime. I’m studying to pass my written. Woohoo.

Safe travels,

Student Aviator Adele Schneidereit

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Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

2007-06-14

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP

Monterey Municipal Airport-KMRY

1800 Zulu Time

Today, Jeff and I have been married for 20 years, and I’m out flying. To be exact I’m with Mark, another youngster and my son’s flight instructor, practicing landings. Jeff will understand.

After four touch-and-goes, we are clear the active, off on Echo, and taxiing to parking at PCF.

Then, I say goodbye to Mark, climb in another single-engine, Cherokee 9 Delta Alfa, and Jeff flies us into KMRY, otherwise known as Monterey Airport. We catch a cab into Carmel, Clint Eastwood Country, eat at Casanova Restaurant, and walk around art galleries. We have a lovely day.

Safe travels,

Student Aviator Adele Schneidereit
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Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

2007-06-11

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP

1800 Zulu Time

I’ve decided to try an experienced instructor this time, an older man, who for his own sake shall remain nameless.

I climb into the tiny Cessna 152 and so did he. He shut the door of the tiny craft. After I taxi out and take off - the cockpit fills with the odor of alcohol. Either this instructor had been tying-one-on very early in the morning or the smell was left over from the night before.

Either way, I am afraid. I guess it was time for my first solo, figuratively speaking. I need someone else - someone who can give me competent instruction.

Safe travels,

Student Aviator Adele Schneidereit

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Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

Pilot’s Log

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP

2007-05-29

1800 Zulu Time

My first instructor, Howard Morse, announces to me today that he is leaving me, and all of his other students, to become a jet pilot, or as the say in the sky-biz an Air Transport Pilot (ATP). This had been Howard’s quest all along, as is most young instructors.

Later, I learn that Howard had put himself through Cal Poly, my alma mater, while supporting his mother, paid for all of flight training by working two jobs, and covered for instructors who wanted days off and vacations. So in short, Howard paid for all of his flight training with impressive and intensive work habits. No wonder the poor kid seemed exhausted most of the time.

Howard and I had had our ups and downs, literally as well as figuratively, but he was an excellent pilot, and I’ll miss him.

Safe travels,
Student Aviator Adele Schneidereit
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Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

Pilot’s Log

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP

2007-05-28

2100 Zulu Time

I’m anxious to improve my landings. To spite wearing a golf glove, my left hand is permanently blistered and the arm is sore from all the touch-and-goes I’ve done, twelve just yesterday and I’m back at it today. I’ve been keeping young Howard busy. We’ve been in the air every other day this month maneuvering in slow flight and practicing landings.

Howard’s been up and working since 4:00 am local time flying passengers in a Citation jet to LA and back. For this Howard gets his much needed jet hours paid for by his passengers, and his passengers get quick transportation. But, his lack of sleep makes Howard kind-o’-punchy, to say the least.

His rules are, as usual, no right hand on the yoke. This means I have to flare the Cessna single-handed. Without fail, I flare not enough or, at times, I overcompensate and flare too much and, wee, go floating down runway 29. Only on occasion, do I flare just right.

After seven touch-and-goes struggling with the flare, Howard suggests a “low approach”. We’re “clear for the option” and I fly two feet of the ground over the runway.

He instructs me to fly the entire length of the runway when he announces, “I have the airplane.”

Howard yanks back on the yoke crying, “yeehaw” as the 152 climbs straight up in the air sounding stall horn. 

The air traffic controller radios, “Instructor flying Cessna 52Mike.” 

Howard presses the mike button, “Yes.” 

“You scared me. Don’t do that again.”

“Okay.” Howard was exhausted and needed sleep.

We are in for a full stop.

Until Next Time,

Student Pilot Adele Schneidereit
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Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

2007-05-11

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP to Visalia Municipal Airport - KVIS

1800 Zulu Time

Simo had turned green that day, but never missed a shot. 

Howard phoned me not once, but twice, because the girls in the PCF office told him I was scheduled to fly to Visalia with another instructor.  Howard offered to go with me if the other instructor didn’t show up.  I thanked him, but felt sure the other instructor would come.  Howard carried my flight bag and computer to the plane.

I walked back in the office two times to complain about the plane. It looked old, an ‘80’s model and slightly dilapidated (I didn’t want to fly a duct-taped airplane on my first cross-country), and the controls were too different than the plane I was used to.  After finishing the twenty-minute preflight, Howard walked out with a new set of keys and told me I had been assigned a newer Cessna.  I thanked him, but checked my watch.  I now had an hour to fly 89 nautical miles, hail a cab, and check in at the doctor’s office.

Checking tanks, they were nearly empty.  I phoned for fuel, but time kept ticking. I jammed through the preflight, still striving to be thorough.  Fred arrived, shook hands with Howard, then busied himself wiring up a GPS contraption to the right yoke.  Howard walked back to PCF.

Fred, a mature professor-type, a Cal Poly instructor by day, or at least on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with over 6,000 air-hours, offered to fly with me.  Never having met before, we arranged by phone to have him fly with me after he discovered my mission by reading my blogs. 

Holding short of runway 29, I realized my left hand hurt under my glove.  I had rope burns on my palm from the fitness trainer having me do tug-of-war.  After the tower controller, Ellen, gave us permission to take off, I tried to tell Fred my hand was blistered beneath my glove, but he thought I was just nervous and told me to relax.  We had to go, the tower waited.  Ignoring the pain, I rolled-out to 55, pulled back and we were airborne.

I set the heading-bug to Visalia, but we were forty minutes late.  My hand hurt, but I tuned it out. In order to meet Federal Aviation Administration’s (FAA) requirements, I had to have a neurologist examine me and write a letter stating that I’m able to fly.  Who that didn’t know me would do that?  The FAA gave me only 30 days for my medical.  It’s hard to find a neurologist on such short notice, and harder to convince him that you can fly, especially if you have Cerebral Palsy affecting your left arm and leg.

We landed forty minutes late:  the taxi that I arranged to meet us already left.  I phoned again and it arrived ten minutes later.

The receptionist had doubts if the doctor could still see me.  She phoned to see.  The doctor said he’d still see me.  They gave me a chart and sat me in an overly air-conditioned room.  The nurse came in and checked my blood pressure.  It was high for me, though in the normal range.  I set up my computer and slid in the DVD.

The huge door shut behind the nurse.  I waited.  I heard fumbling on the outside of the door:  someone took my chart.   The doctor walked in, chart in hand.

My palms sweated.  He’d know I was nervous when he examined my hands. This time, I was armed with the DVD that Simo took of me two days ago.  Would he care?  I played it for the doctor who I’d never met before.  On the film, I looked calm and collected, controlling the yoke with my left hand, and moving the throttle, trim, and flaps with my right.  It looked like a flight training video.

The doctor asked me if I wanted to fly with someone else to help me.  I replied no, and, deep in thought, he left the room.  He came back in and began to evaluate the strength in my arms and legs by pulling against my limbs.  He took a pin from the drawer and poked me with it to see if I have feeling in my left side.  Ouch. Yes, I do.  He had me roll up my pant legs and walk.  Finally, he tested my reflexes.

Sitting at his computer, he asked me questions that predated my birth.  Leaving the room a final time, he later reemerged after what felt like forever with a report. 

My nerves felt shot.  I took the report that he slowly handed me.  I scanned the pages:  it was four pages long.   “A 43 year old female who was seen for FAA flight physical for license application…born with cerebral palsy…”  I continued to look for a recommendation.  “Social history: married, two children…vital signs…”  I know all that.

Here we go: “intact higher cortical functions.”  I’m glad someone thinks so. I’ve been getting looks as if to say I’m crazy for wanting to learn how to fly.  “Perfect use of right limbs and fairly good use of her left.”  Yes.  He wrote, “good use of her left upper and lower extremity.”   That’s true.  It’s all true.  Wait, let’s see.  He wrote, “more than adequate to the fulfill requirements to fly an airplane.”  Will he? Here it is, “Therefore, I support her application to obtain a pilot’s license.” Hallelujah. Once again, I wanted to cry.  Once again, I didn’t.  I shook his hand vigorously and thanked him.

Fred waited in the plane.  I flew back at 6,500 feet to avoid the turbulence:  I had avoided hard-hits in the doctor’s office as well.   Thank goodness for open-minded, self-assured people like the doctor.  Where would the world be without them?

Safe travels,
Student Aviator Adele Schneidereit
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Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

Pilot’s Log

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP

2007-05-09

1800 Zulu Time

It’s been about a week since we confronted Howard on-camera about his telling the doctor that I lost my grip on the airplane’s controls.  He seemed as shaken as I had felt; having to come face-to-face with what I sensed was his bias and fear about my flying, and to do it in front of the all-seeing lens.  What Howard said, “that he was worried about my losing my grip on the controls” was merely worry, there was no basis in fact.

And to prove it, two days ago, Simo Nylander, our director for “Hemispheres,” climbed in back of the little 172, wired our headsets for sound, and pointed the camera at us.

Of course,  Simo has flying anxiety and, to top it off, Howard put me “under the hood,” meaning that he put a hat on my head which kept me from seeing anything but the controls.  I maneuvered well, but the coast was not clear. Traffic darted around us in what sounded like every direction.  Another Cessna crossed in front of us, a near miss so close Howard could read the call letters, “Cessna 773”, company traffic.  Howard acquiesced to my begging, and we left Shandon for a less populated airspace. 

As we flew back home, Howard had me do three unrecovered stalls, dropping our plane hundreds of feet out of the sky.  Although fine with me, the maneuver left Simo’s stomach somewhere around 1,000 feet as we soared back up to cruise altitude about 3,500 feet.

Safe travels,
Student Aviator Adele Schneidereit
*******************************************
Help raise awareness to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. Visit “Inspire the World Foundation” Online Today

Pilot’s Log

San Luis Obispo Municipal Airport-KSBP

2007-05-8

1600 Zulu Time

It was a beautiful flight. 

For the first time, I pressed the mic button and called ground control.   Holding short of runway 29, I contacted San Luis Tower requesting a left crosswind departure.  My speech defect seemed not to concern the controllers in the least.  Both ground and tower understood the standard cryptic language of aviation without hesitation:  call numbers, locations, requests, and commands - no delays, no repeats. 

Taxiing down the runway, the Cessna lifted off into clear skies.  The takeoff felt good, no lift in my stomach, no sway in my seat.  The translation for a non-pilot:  just enough back-pressure on the yoke and just enough rudder, my smoothest departure yet. 

Howard looked pleased.  Banking left I followed the road to Avila Beach without tilting or yawing in any unwanted direction.  All this seemed very easy in calm weather.  After a few minutes of clear sailing, Howard developed a non-stop grin as infectious as the Poison Oak.  I caught it for the rest of the day.

Life in the cockpit had grown very turbulent last week.   The wild west wind had tossed and tipped our 172 about rendering straight-and-level flight unattainable especially for a novice airman like myself.  This stressed our student-teacher relationship as well as our nerves.

Now I soared over the Guadalupe Fields practicing for the first time ground reference maneuvers.  With ease I flew squares around the fields, simulating landing, circles around a barns, and my favorite maneuver S turns – feel those g’s.  Yeehaw.
We landed on Oceano’s short field.  When we took off again, it was time to land at home on McChesney Field.  I could have flown all day into night:  I hated having to land.

 At least I felt Howard will keep me as a student, and I have a good shot at soloing soon.

Safe travels,

Student Aviator Adele Schneidereit
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