My grown-up kids and son-in-law surprise me with an hour introductory flight for my 60th Birthday. I am blindfolded and willingly carried to the local airport.
Outwardly I am afraid of heights and I love aircraft of all kinds, but inwardly-secretly, I want to fly. I want to escape the earth and soar in the sky.
The plane: vintage 1980s single-engine, two-seater Piper Tomahawk; cockpit sit up above and on top of the wing like the bubble canopy on a pursuit plane.
After a mandatory pre-flight check, the propeller winds up to a start and gives vibrant life to the little aircraft. A "run-up" of the engine to see if the little Avco Lycoming engine is hitting on all four cylinders.
Wait for a student pilot practicing landings and the tower clears us to take off.
The instructor Beth pulls onto the main runway and tells me to to go full-throttle in 3 seconds while she works the flaps and has the wheel (yoke).
We're airborne in no time and climbing. Wind turbulence concerns me. Beth says to expect it at lower altitudes and it will soon smooth out and to imagine it as if driving over railroad tracks. I'm reassured and comforted (a little).
The little world where I've lived these 37 years looks a lot grander from up here; not at all like from a limited flat prospective I have of it.
I immediately see out from each side and ahead the larger landmarks of the interstate, the scar of our quarry, the lake, and town below.
We level off at 3000 feet altitude according to the altimeter and she sets the throttle to a speed of 95 + knots. I can't convert or converse in the language of seafarers and air pilots, but found out it was about 110 mph. This is a normal cruising speed well above that which is needed to maintain flight and prevent falling out of the sky.
The instrument panel before me is overwhelming (gauges, dials, knobs, meters, switches, numbers). I try to remember where each one is located on the board, afraid I lost their location at times during the flight. I work with the main ones: altimeter, airspeed indicator, artificial horizon, turn and bank indicator, and heading indicator.
Beth lets me climb another 500 ft. I use the throttle and climb the airplane by keeping the yoke back to where I can see only sky (no haze horizon) in the windscreen, but not too steep/speed as to stall and spin us toward earth. *I learn later that the Piper is prone to spin out.
I level off again by easing forward the yoke and from now on in the flight it is a challenge to "fly" the plane level by keeping the cowling level pitch with the horizon ahead--accomplished by gently easing the yoke forward/back. I love it!
Planes bank to turn and my first one was at first unnerving, if only 30-degrees on the angle to the left. The plane wants to naturally descend on the turn and its more evident when the turn is to my side. Beth had me turn to the right and issued instructions for headings (direction) in degrees of the compass: "Turn around to a heading of 2700" or "Make a 360-degree come around." You rely on your instruments. I fly over my neighborhood as a bonus, west to U.S. 183, then south some more before it appears to be clouding up, turn east toward the farmlands of our county, back north a bit, and finally westward toward home. I'm amazed and feel a new-found freedom in flight.
The instructor throttles back and gentle turns to line up with the landing strip looming ahead.
Gliding down to the ground again, I can feel gravity grabbing at the aluminum aircraft...what goes up must come down is the basics of physics.
Small bursts of speed, the flat plane of the wings riding on wind and flaps float us to the pavement; even though the "stall" alarm buzzes briefly, all is true to landing safe and sure.
The tiny two-seater Piper Tomahawk feathered down every so effortlessly and landed lightly on the long runway.
The outboard fixed wheels first touch friction and roll, then bring the front nose wheel down to meet and make a solid three.
I try my hand at taxiing straight and ground turns using the rudder pedals and brakes, hands in lap since the yoke is only a steering wheel in appearance. I take it straight up the parallel pavement to the parking "lot" on the side of the flying school's hanger. The Piper comes to a stop.
