Memories
I was drifting through some interesting blogs just the other day. these blogs were recommended to me because of one of my interests is flying. I came across several by new pilots and pilots in training and the memories I have of my first 100 hours came rushing in on me. I decided that I would share some of these with every one of you who visit my blog. (both of you).
My first flight. Lowry AFB Aero club. January 1964. Cold clear skies that are pretty common in Colorado. The day was about 15 or 16 degrees. I was shivering pretty heavy during the walk around. The instructor was explaining everything he was doing but I was shaking so much I don't think I understood what in the hell he was saying. I thought he was speaking to me in a foreign language. Looking back I believe that I was shaking out of nervousness, not the cold.
Well, we climbed aboard that old beat up C-150 and cranked it over and the adventure began. The air was smooth as glass. My eyes were glued to the instrument panel and the instructor kept talking in that foreign language.
After a few long minutes I tore my eyes away from those instruments and looked out the windshield at the foothills of the Rockies with a blanket of January snow and BAM! I was hooked on flying forever. suddenly the instructor started speaking English. I warmed up and stopped shaking. Then I had the controls. My instructor said just make a few easy turns, which I did. Left, right, left, right. I was having a ball. (I would worry about those pesky pedal on the floor later)
Then it was over. We landed on runway 08. Taxied back to the Aero Club. I walked out of there with a brand new flight log with .6 hours of flight time. And a new passion. Flying.
My first flight. Lowry AFB Aero club. January 1964. Cold clear skies that are pretty common in Colorado. The day was about 15 or 16 degrees. I was shivering pretty heavy during the walk around. The instructor was explaining everything he was doing but I was shaking so much I don't think I understood what in the hell he was saying. I thought he was speaking to me in a foreign language. Looking back I believe that I was shaking out of nervousness, not the cold.
Well, we climbed aboard that old beat up C-150 and cranked it over and the adventure began. The air was smooth as glass. My eyes were glued to the instrument panel and the instructor kept talking in that foreign language.
After a few long minutes I tore my eyes away from those instruments and looked out the windshield at the foothills of the Rockies with a blanket of January snow and BAM! I was hooked on flying forever. suddenly the instructor started speaking English. I warmed up and stopped shaking. Then I had the controls. My instructor said just make a few easy turns, which I did. Left, right, left, right. I was having a ball. (I would worry about those pesky pedal on the floor later)
Then it was over. We landed on runway 08. Taxied back to the Aero Club. I walked out of there with a brand new flight log with .6 hours of flight time. And a new passion. Flying.
posted by Rob | 11:28 AM
6 Comments:
Rob. I loved that article.
My dad solo'd his first time in 1935, he was 9. By 15, he was teaching fliers older than him in the Army Air Corps during the war, since he was too young to fight. He taught flying for years, and even had to drive to Mexico to haul a student on his first cross country of out a Mexican prison, when the kid thought he could fly there and not get caught.
When I brought home my future husband, he was tickled to death that he, too, was a pilot. He loved PA-28's. We dated for 3 years, in a plane, while he got hours.
Now, my son wants to fly. He's 13.
It's a wonderful tradition.
Here's a fun thought. I was 14 years old when you made your first flight. LOL
I don't think my dad would have let me date you. :-)
How come you never told me this story? Or maybe you did and I wasn't listening because YOUR children were distracting me.
The flight stories you've told me started with when you were running the mail. Wow. After all these years, we have new stuff to talk about! Yay!
xoxo
Kelli, Thanks for stopping by. I wish I knew your father. Oh, the stories. I wonder if he knew Pancho Barnes. PA-28's. Solid, save and a blast to drive...my commercial training was in PA-28's.
Barb, You didn't ignore me. I don't think I even mentioned the early training before now.
Rob- he did know Pancho. He only told me "some" stories though, cause it was during he self-described wild time - before God got a hold and he turned into a missionary.
Funny- John's dad was an AF Dr. and was stationed at the same base that Pancho served. He wasn't a flier, but well, a drinker :)
Small world!
So, you flew mail? Wow. Dad did crop dusting in El Centro CA after the war. John wanted to fly in the AF but found out he was red/green color blind after they got his 4 year commitment- ugh! At the time, he changed to corporate but couldn't get insured (for the same reason) so he stuck with personal pleasure flying.
I have some of Dad's old flight manuals from the Air Corps. If I can find them, I'll pack one up and send it to you. I think you would enjoy it.
Compared to today it proves that it took a more seat-of-the-pants kind of guy to be a pilot "in the day".
Kelli, I flew mail and airfreight, but not the way most people think of it. It was in the comfort of a Piper Aztec and later a Beech BE-18
You are definitely braver than I am, Dad! I get freaked out when a commercial flight hits a little bit of turbulence! (I'm sure this news doesn't surprise you). If I ever flew with you, though, I probably wouldn't be scared. Unless it's like that flight you told me about when you and your copilot got so lightheaded you almost crashed - that would scare me a little.
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