It was Labor Day weekend when our shipping crate arrived. I tracked the shipment through my trusty computer and called to see when they were planning on bringing it to the house. The very nice and competently challenged individual I spoke to on the phone asked if this was to be delivered to a place of business or a home address. I said it was my home. She then asked if I had a loading dock or forklift to remove the crate from the truck. I informed her that a Wal-Mart truck was blocking the dock at this time and my only forklift was in the shop for repair, so maybe she should just give me directions to pick it up. I thought that might be better for both of us.
I picked up my prized new kit and hurried home to break into the box. I just couldn't wait to see the contents that would consume the next four years of my life. Upon opening the relatively tiny little box for a complete airplane, I stood and gazed down into the abyss of straight aluminum tubes and bags of assorted hardware. My most supportive and loving companion of 10 years was looking over my shoulder, and with her kind and tender sweet voice she muttered. "Your never gonna finish that!"
I stood up straight and tall with my most confident stance, hands mounted on my hips in my best John Wayne imitation, explaining that "This is not a Kenmore dishwasher. This is a kit plane and something that you can't pull out of a box and plug in. You have to work the metal as though an artist works his…". Somewhere in the middle of my speech she slipped out of the basement. While looking around and feeling a little stupid I got back to the task at hand and started pulling the parts out of the box. Before I got through with my inventory I started thinking. "Man she's right. I'm never going to finish this?" This looked like quite a job.
I decided to start on the rudder as the assembly looked as though it contained the least amount of parts. I figured that when I screwed it up, I wouldn't be out too much money for replacement items. I drew the plans out to full size and bought a solid core door to use as a table so I could screw down the wooden jig I had fabricated to bend the bow for the comma shaped rudder. The wooden jig was cut out of half-inch ply and mounted to the door after I built the legs and leveled it at a workable height. I then secured one end of the half-inch aluminum tube to the table against the jig and pulled the tube around the jig forming the shape for the rudder. After bending and drilling the gussets, required to hold everything together, I trimmed, deburred the parts and started shooting in the rivets to complete the rudder assembly. I was surprised by how quickly and easy the rudder went together. I spent most of my time building the jig and drawing out the plans. The actual fabrication was a breeze. My next task would be the elevator. Again I completed the job with ease by bending the tubes around more fabricated jigs. I couldn't wait to start the fuselage.
I woke up to what seemed like a fairly nice day on the 21st of June 1999 with the moon cutting through some of the darkness that blanketed my room. Slowly I pealed myself out bed and headed straight for the computer, a routine that seemed to start about the same time as my flight lessons did. I checked weather on the net every morning hoping that I'd get a chance to fly at some point during the day. All was looking up for a flight after work on this particular day and I'd be calling Doug for another flight lesson. We met at the airport, performed the preflight, and I took off with his directions to Newnan airport. Whenever we were flying to this particular airport he had me flying under the "hood" to simulate instrument flight conditions. This particular apparatus fits over ones head and blocks all outside references while at the same time allowing you to see all the instruments in the cockpit. The object of this little task is to simulate a blind flight condition teaching you to keep the plane in control with just your instruments as a visual aid. It seemed that I had acquired the mandatory amount of hours needed to perform my first solo flight. Doug had me shoot the different types of landings and takeoffs I learned before he decided to get out of the plane and send me to my death alone. I couldn't help but question his judgment on this issue. He had me taxi over to the middle of the runway and then he opened the door. I wondered where he was going.
He said. "I think you're ready to solo so just taxi over and…"
"Whoa…whoa." I said. "We need to talk about this."
He said. "No, you're ready. Now just get out there and do your normal pattern flight with a full stop after each landing, and quit your whimpering."
As the cockpit door slammed tight, I could almost here the hollow sound of a mid evil dungeon door shutting as though it would on some poor unfortunate soul condemning him to a destiny of doom. Slowly I reached forward with my trembling fingers and lightly curled them around the throttle knob. I slowly pushed the little knob forward starting my taxi to an uncertain future, all the while looking back and watching my instructor slowly shrink in the distance. As I neared the end of the taxiway I checked the pattern for traffic and started a slow roll onto the active runway.
I announced in my best effort, a shaky. "Newnan traffic, Cessna 1,2,3,4 Echo departing one four and staying in the pattern for takeoff and landings, Newnan." To eliminate confusion, proper aviation radio etiquette requires that one should announce the airport name once before you state your intentions, and again afterward so that anyone operating in your vicinity will be aware of your location.
I pushed the throttle to the stop and directed Three Four Echo down the centerline, waiting for a rotate speed of 60 mph. Keeping one eye on the runway and the other scanning instruments, I watched as the airspeed instrument slowly started to translate the sampled impact air from the aircrafts pitot tube to identifiable information located on the gauge. My outside scanning eye was diverted to movement up ahead as a flock of birds started taking to flight. It was soon apparent that they were interested in a heading that brought them right across my intended path. As I contemplated pulling off the power and aborting my takeoff I noticed that the flock leader was getting a little concerned about puréeing his cohorts through a Hamilton Standard style Cuisinart. With perfect formation and precision, the flight leader lead his flock from peril with a few quick circles followed by a climbing left turn that brought the tight group over the top of the airplane. I leaned slightly forward in my seat watching in envy as God's perfect little aviators disappeared from my view. With the airspeed indicator now registering the desired speed, I pulled back on the yoke and had the Cessna climbing on a runway heading committing me to my first solo flight. I made my first climbing turn into the crosswind concentrating on maintaining my airspeed and a positive climb to pattern altitude. After entering my downwind leg I had a moment to look over at the empty seat beside me. I couldn't believe I had forgotten that Doug wasn't there. Concentrating on the flight and my training demanded so much of my attention that I completely ignored the fact that I was up there all alone in a little tin can with just a few hours of training under my belt. All of a sudden I was beginning to feel some anxiety about being up there by myself. I started to wonder if I was really up for the landing but before I could start dwelling on the situation, it was time to start reading my checklist and that snapped me back into pilot mode. With rpm set to 1700 and flaps at twenty degrees, I started my base leg looking for a final approach on runway one four. I announced my intention to land with a full stop and turned to final holding the airplane on a steady glide slope to the runway. I broke over the threshold holding 70 mph and pulled the power to land. Three Four Echo started to bleed off speed as I tried to hold her just above the runway until she couldn't fly anymore. The mains settled smoothly on the ground sounding off a satisfying chirp of the wheels and a shudder of the airframe as the plane made contact with the runway. Yeah! Two more like that and I would be unleashed to terrorize the friendly skies all by myself. Whew! What a feeling!
After finishing the rudder and elevator up to the covering stage I decided to start building my fuselage. I bought another solid core door and attached it end to end with the other one I had built the rudder on. I built some saw horsed to set the door on where I could work at a comfortable height. Next, I once again started drawing out the plans to full size on some paper that I rolled out across the table. The plans show to start framing the left side of the fuselage starting at the front and working back. I identified and cataloged all the straight tubes and square gussets that were neatly bundled and labeled with small adhesive backed tags. The first order was to bend the forward lower stringers and fasten them to the table with conduit clamps. From there, all the other parts were laid out, drilled, trimmed, de-burred and finally permanently attached with pop-rivets. I then flipped the completed left fuselage side over and screwed down blocks on each side of every tube within the structure. This was so that I could cut new tubes and gussets and place them between the blocks creating a mirror image of the left side that would soon become the right side of the airplane. From there it was just a repeat of the left side build. After I had both left and right fuselage sides completely framed I stood the two straight up and clamped them on the table. I then squared the fuselage sides and started fabricating and installing the tubes and bracing that form and strengthen the fuselage. It wasn't long before I had a basic fuselage framed and bolted to the table with me sitting in the middle, on a one gallon can of latex house paint, making airplane noises while dreaming of my future flight. Everybody does this and if they say they didn't, they're lying. I swear.
I arrived at the airport at 0 dark thirty to prepare 34 Echo for my first full flight, by myself. The sun was peaking over the horizon filtering a soft morning light through a dense, misty ground fog that covered the entire area of the airport. I slowly walked to where the little Cessna was parked gazing into the white hazy mist as she seamed to magically materialize from the blanket of moisture that surrounded us. I placed my flight bag on the ground a fished out the key that was hanging down inside. As I unlocked the airplane I couldn't help but wonder why these planes ever had a lock on the door. I believe you could gain access with a cheep can opener in mere seconds. But then I remembered that even a sardine can comes with a key. Why not a Cessna? The little Cessna was covered in dew and as I opened the door collective molecules of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen were obediently following the laws of gravity and rushing to the lower edge of the door. From there they seemed to clutch the lower rim struggling to hang on to the boundary of their world, soon to lose grip and fall silently to the ground. I reached into the cockpit and withdrew the preflight checklist, lowered the flaps and moved to the left front area of the airplane. The checklist contains a visual reference to items that should be inspected before flight, and this particular one starts at the forward left side of the plane. I lightly rubbed my finger over a small hole identified as a static port. Cool morning moisture lightly collected along my fingertip as I cleared the area looking for obstructions. I then ran my hand along the entire leading edge of the wing creating a torrential downpour as I felt for damage or distortions. Moving to the rear portion of the wing I physically moved the ailerons checking for freedom of movement and visually inspected for irregularities. Next the tires, brakes and tail surfaces were examined for damage, the prop checked for nicks and cracks, the engine checked for proper fluid levels and the cowling for security and obstructions. After my lengthy and thorough preflight I crawled into and laid back in my 1977 Dodge B-200 Scooby-Doo style Van with its high fashion orange shag carpet and waited for the fog to dissipate into the heat of the day.
It was near 0900 when I reached for the "T" handle starter mounted on the upper middle area of the instrument panel of Three Four Echo. It's a simple type starter where a "T" handle is connected to a cable that is hooked to a mechanical linkage that, when pulled, pushes a switch that energizes the starter. I pulled the handle and the prop swung around slowly couple of turns before the engine roared to life turning the propeller blades into an invisible blur of spinning metal. I completed my engine start checklist and taxied to the run up area after the engine temperatures were operating the green. I cautiously checked off the other items on the checklist before maneuvering the plane for takeoff. After I positioned Three Four Echo at the end of runway two-seven I took two or three deep breaths, adjusted my safety belt, secured my charts and other items in the cockpit and hoped I didn't screw up. Because it's more of a challenge to land at South Fulton Airport I decided to takeoff and fly to the Newnan airport to practice my takeoffs and landings. I advanced the throttle to the stop and waited for the airplane to accelerate to takeoff speed. At an indicated sixty mph I pulled back and started a climb into the moist morning air. It was just about then that I noticed that the fog had not completely cleared but I wasn't too concerned as I could still see to land at the airport I just left. I set my heading to 202 degrees and started my seventeen-mile journey to Newnan. I figured that at 100 mph I would be looking at a ten-minute flight to my planned destination but after about fifteen minutes I decided that I had missed it somewhere in the fog. Yep. I wouldn't have had it any other way. I got lost on my first full solo flight. Looking down into the soup below I could make out a few landmarks but I wasn't able to find them on the sectional chart spread out across my lap. I had about three hours of fuel to figure it out so I wasn't too disturbed about it. I knew which heading I was holding when I left which meant that if I did a 180 degree turn I was bound to run into I-85 which would lead me home. When in doubt, I could always fall back on the best form of navigation I knew, IFR or I Follow Roads. It wasn't long before the fog started to dissipate and I had a clear view of the ground below. It didn't matter much as I still didn't know where I was, but it was kind of fun trying to figure it out. I picked out a spot on the sectional that would be close to where I should have been taking into account my speed, time and direction of flight. I then turned in a direction that would take me to I-85 so I could follow the big arrow pointing toward home. After a short flight I found the freeway and determined that I had intercepted it south of Newnan. I turned to the north and within a few minutes I had the Newnan airport growing in the windshield of Three Four Echo. I was no longer lost.
