Back in the Saddle

Erik Minty, Staff Flyer

I'd like to clear up a possible misconception: I do not, in fact, get the chance to do much flying any more. Sure, I used to, back when I was serving as an instructor for the Air Cadets and got to fly for free, but it's been two years since I decided that I no longer had the time to do that kind of thing (do I hear notes of sympathy?) Actually, I had to think about that _ two years! Wow.

Well, the last episode of Flight Line had me sitting in a hangar, drooling all over a bright yellow Waco biplane (a picture of which I have thoughtfully included this time!) while waiting for a little Citabria (a picture of which I have also thoughtfully included) in which I was to go flying with my long-time friend, Tim, now a full-fledged flight instructor. The Citabria did arrive, but Tim had to go and take my girlfriend up first (he must have a soft spot ...) so I hung around and discussed the state of my various licences and certifications with the previous pilot of the Citabria. If you've ever tried sifting through any document craftily assembled by any government military, or other heavily bureaucratic agency, you'll understand why it took me that entire hour to figure out for how long my licence would remain valid if I updated my medical certification.

But at last it came _ a nifty little red bundle of joy, with a thumbs-up Tim and a widely grinning Christine (this was her first flight in a small aircraft). Oh yes, and with that, MY TURN!!! Before you could say "cleared for takeoff," I was in that Citabria.

The first thing I noticed was the control stick that sits between the knees, rather than the more standard "wheel" that looks more like a steering wheel in a car. This is what they use in gliders, which is what I'm most accustomed to, so it was a pleasant surprise. I also noticed that with that tailwheel dragging all over the ground, I couldn't see anything in front of me. This situation is remedied by zig-zagging, which I knew about but had never tried, until then. I found the steering a little slow to respond, but I kept it on the pavement and Tim didn't even have to yell at me!

The runup was a major jolt from the past. As Tim was carefully explaining everything to me, I heard a distinct "clatter-clatter-clunk!" as something in that rusty old head of mine fell suddenly into place. It was old times again, and I knew exactly what I was doing. Throttle back slightly, switch each magneto off in turn (did you know that aircraft engines use dual ignition?) and watch for the expected RPM drop. Both mags back up, check the mixture control. A few more checks, a call to the tower, and we're rolling before you can say "how do you do."

I was surprised at how little speed it took to lift that tailwheel. To tell you the truth, it felt more than a little weird, the nose pitching down in order to lift off. One thing I quickly discovered about the Citabria, is that it's got a nifty rate of climb pushing 1000 feet per minute (okay, it's not a 747 or an Airbus, but it's not too shabby for just 150 horses under the hood!)

"Should I level off at 4300?" I asked as we neared the mark.

"No, keep going up to 8000 or so. We want to be able to have some fun." Good point. When you can lose 1000 feet of altitude doing a three-rotation spin, the equation altitude = fun definitely applies.

We started out simply enough. My attempt at a medium stall proved only one thing to me: I was really out of practice. I tried an incipient spin which was pretty ugly, and modesty set in really quickly. (Although to be totally fair, I didn't put us on our backsides, and nothing untoward happened. We'll call it a draw.)

Then I think Tim had had enough of watching me thoroughly embarrass my rusted over flying skills _ which were, at one time, not too bad! _ and took over for a couple of really nice-looking multi-rotation spins and spirals. I think he enjoyed having a kick at the can, so to speak _ as an instructor, one spends more time watching people fly badly than one does actually flying. Funnily enough, there were times when I could have sworn this was really a glider and not some noisy beast with a strange spinny thing in front _ it handled almost exactly like a glider. Once I realized this, I felt more at home, the controls were more friendly, and flying became less work and more fun. (For some reason, flying Cessnas always stressed me out.)

"Hey, Tim, how about showing me a wing-over?" Tim isn't an aerobics instructor (yet!), so strictly speaking, aerobatics were out. But what's a little wingover between friends? Only one thing: he wasn't quite sure how to do it, at which I was amazed. So now it was my turn to play instructor and show Tim how to do a wing-over in an aircraft that I've never laid hands on before. And ohhhh, was that a nice feeling! Of course, once I had shown him, he pulled off a couple of really nice ones that instantly put me to shame, but that's beside the point. For a brief moment, I was running the show, and it felt good.

So time wound down as it always seems to, and we had to bring our toy back home. Perhaps it was fitting that we landed on the grass, like I (the glider pilot) am used to. Of course, a taildragger like a Citabria is great for landing on grass, so why not? Besides, it's softer on the landing gear.

And taxiing back to the hangar, my head was racing, and it just didn't seem like it was over until the engine was silenced and my feet were upon solid ground once again. Being the somewhat introspective person I am (had you noticed?), I asked myself what had just happened here. It was, to me, much more than simply a fun ride in a taildragger. It was a merging of past and present, a reconciliation of old passions resurfaced and new experiences. And, most importantly of all I believe, it brought me much closer to a very good friend.

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