It's a nice little airport they've got there. Small, dinky, and out-of-the-way, but that's how I like my airports. They've got an incredible view, too. The scenery's to die for. Kind of like this picture here, but quite a bit more panoramic (as viewed from higher up).
The flight back was just about the same as the flight out, only in reverse. This time, however, since we were flying west, and I was in the left (and southernmost) seat, I got a better view of the mountains.
That "something else cool" happened, too. I learned about Flight Watch.
Flight Watch is a nationwide flight service, available on the 122.00 frequency, that gives pilots weather reports and advisories whenever they want 'em. Flight Watch can also help you if you're having trouble, or have gotten lost or something. Is that cool or what? It's like an omniscient aviation god, benevolently watching over its bio-mechanical supplicants.
Harold called Flight Watch up on the radio. We contacted the Los Angeles branch; we were less than 100 miles away as the crow flies. Harold gave the responder a "pilot report": an up-to-date, eyewitness weather report, from altitude. He reported our position (over Yucca Valley again), the visibility ("unrestricted," better than 10 miles), the outside air temperature (40 degrees Fahrenheit), and the winds ("smooth ride"; no turbulence whatsoever).
"It's just a nice day up here," Harold concluded.
Harold also concluded, later, that the fellow we talked to at Flight Watch must've been lonely and bored. He didn't want to get off the line with us. He asked us if there was anything else we needed, and reminded us of some turbulence warnings that were slated to take effect later in the day (Zulu time).
He finally thanked us for our report and signed off. Harold and I had been looking at each other and grinning all through the conversation, just from the inherent coolness of it all. Now we sat back and chuckled. The plane drew closer to home.
Hold it! I'm almost done. I've got one more neat thing to discuss and then I'll let you go. If you've hung on this long uninterrupted (bathroom breaks and sandwiches notwithstanding), congratulations. Glance away from the screen for 20 seconds to rest your peepers.
Finished? Okay.
I finally got to fly over my house.
It's true! I live on the way to 29 Palms from Apple Valley (though obviously closer to Apple Valley). On our return trip, we overflew my house, snuggled up in the San Bernardino foothills. I casually mentioned this to Harold, and he said this:
"You want to circle it?"
My mind screamed, "HECK YES!"
My mouth said, "Can we?"
Harold said, "Sure! Let's pull the power back here..."
As we got closer, I asked Harold to note the time (so I could tell Mom the exact hour when I'd flown over, so she'd know it was me). Harold held up his cell phone instead.
"You know, you can call her," he suggested.
"ALRIGHT!" my mind hollered.
"Okay, I'll do that," my mouth said.
Harold took the controls while I fumbled in my flight bag for my own phone. I took off my headset (exposing my ears to the thunderous roar of wind and 150 horses) and dialed Mom.
"Hello?"
"Hey Ma, it's me!"
"Hi!"
"Guess where I am right now."
"Are you over the house?!" (She heard the engine noise and knew I was still in the plane.)
"Yep! We're coming in from the east, we should be overhead in a few minutes."
"Fine! I'll come out."
And there she was, just a tiny pinprick against the grayish-white swath of the gravel driveway, bouncing up and down and waving her arms for all she was worth.
"Rock your wings," Harold said. I did, and the whole plane waved back.
We finished the circle and flew back to Apple Valley Airport.
Mom was thrilled. She'd been waiting every day to hear me fly over, but always my flights had been rescheduled or canceled. Finally we got our chance.
Nice to know somebody on the ground knows you're in the air, and wants to wave at you. Thanks, Ma.
Anyway, that was how we got to 29 Palms (or, as pilots often refer to it, "29 Stumps").
Whoo-ee. That was an ordeal, wasn't it? My life lately seems to consist of nothing but these frustrating-but-somehow-still-fun-cum-enlightening ordeals.
Next, I should be soloing out there, and thus add another 1.8 hours of pilot-in-command time to my logbook. After that, Harold says, we just have to work on night flying (yippee, I can't wait!) and a little instrument work, and then I should be...
...finished.
Wish us luck, lads.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Wednesday solo and Thursday triumph
On Wednesday our cross-country flight was canceled, again on account of the wind.
Sometimes this desert really gets on my nerves.
So instead Harold had me solo to Barstow and back. Golly, it was a beautiful, calm day, and I got to fly over the horrendously gorgeous Granite Mountains. I did a few touch-and-gos at Barstow-Daggett Airport, practiced my short field and soft field landings, flew back (stopping over the barrens to try some steep turns), and then came home and landed.
The next day was Thanksgiving, a real mother of a blowout. Man, it was good to have turkey and sweet potato soufflé and green bean casserole with Ma and Pa after five years of Thanksgivings away from home.
I didn't fly Monday or Tuesday this week due to...that embarrassing thing that happened to me which I can't tell you about. But I managed to schedule a lesson for Thursday, December 3.
And on that Thursday, the winds were finally calm enough for us to fly to 29 Palms.
Was it ever a grand flight. 'Twas odd to finally be able to see over the San Bernardino Mountains behind my house without actually driving up Highway 18 to Big Bear Lake. They were all dusted with snow, too, and mottled with blue shadows in the low-lying winter sun.
That was our southward view. To the north there lay the whole expanse of the Mojave Desert, with its stark mountains, rocky hills, dry lakes, and vast wastes of Joshua trees and tumbleweeds.
It was a religious sight.
After 20 minutes in the air, heading eastbound, we spotted an enormous gout of dust rising from the flats a few miles ahead. The 29 Palms area is well known for the rather large Marine base nearby; Harold peered at the dust and reckoned it was probably a tank platoon out practicing.
If one more awesome thing happens on this flight, my subconscious mind whispered to itself, I'm gonna fire off and explode.
The nearly 100 miles between Apple Valley and 29 Palms disappeared almost too quickly. We almost didn't find the airport. Even with the purple line on the GPS pointing right at it, the thing was darn hard to see. We were practically set up to land on a dirt strip before we spotted the actual, paved airport at one o'clock, off our nose.
After that it was a piece of cake. We made a slight deviation to the south to avoid flying into the restricted airspace above the Marine base. Neither of us felt like being intercepted by jet fighters. We got back on track, flew over the town of Yucca Valley (it was so weird to see it from the air having been there so many times by car), set up for landing, did a touch-and-go, and were off again.
It's a nice little airport they've got there. Small, dinky, and out-of-the-way, but that's how I like my airports. They've got an incredible view, too. The scenery's to die for. Kind of like this picture here, but quite a bit more panoramic (as viewed from higher up).
The flight back was just about the same as the flight out, only in reverse. This time, however, since we were flying west, and I was in the left (and southernmost) seat, I got a better view of the mountains.
That "something else cool" happened, too. I learned about Flight Watch.
Flight Watch is a nationwide flight service, available on the 122.00 frequency, that gives pilots weather reports and advisories whenever they want 'em. Flight Watch can also help you if you're having trouble, or have gotten lost or something. Is that cool or what? It's like an omniscient aviation god, benevolently watching over its bio-mechanical supplicants.
Harold called Flight Watch up on the radio. We contacted the Los Angeles branch; we were less than 100 miles away as the crow flies. Harold gave the responder a "pilot report": an up-to-date, eyewitness weather report, from altitude. He reported our position (over Yucca Valley again), the visibility ("unrestricted," better than 10 miles), the outside air temperature (40 degrees Fahrenheit), and the winds ("smooth ride"; no turbulence whatsoever).
"It's just a nice day up here," Harold concluded.
Harold also concluded, later, that the fellow we talked to at Flight Watch must've been lonely and bored. He didn't want to get off the line with us. He asked us if there was anything else we needed, and reminded us of some turbulence warnings that were slated to take effect later in the day (Zulu time).
He finally thanked us for our report and signed off. Harold and I had been looking at each other and grinning all through the conversation, just from the inherent coolness of it all. Now we sat back and chuckled. The plane drew closer to home.
Hold it! I'm almost done. I've got one more neat thing to discuss and then I'll let you go. If you've hung on this long uninterrupted (bathroom breaks and sandwiches notwithstanding), congratulations. Glance away from the screen for 20 seconds to rest your peepers.
Finished? Okay.
I finally got to fly over my house.
It's true! I live on the way to 29 Palms from Apple Valley (though obviously closer to Apple Valley). On our return trip, we overflew my house, snuggled up in the San Bernardino foothills. I casually mentioned this to Harold, and he said this:
"You want to circle it?"
My mind screamed, "HECK YES!"
My mouth said, "Can we?"
Harold said, "Sure! Let's pull the power back here..."
As we got closer, I asked Harold to note the time (so I could tell Mom the exact hour when I'd flown over, so she'd know it was me). Harold held up his cell phone instead.
"You know, you can call her," he suggested.
"ALRIGHT!" my mind hollered.
"Okay, I'll do that," my mouth said.
Harold took the controls while I fumbled in my flight bag for my own phone. I took off my headset (exposing my ears to the thunderous roar of wind and 150 horses) and dialed Mom.
"Hello?"
"Hey Ma, it's me!"
"Hi!"
"Guess where I am right now."
"Are you over the house?!" (She heard the engine noise and knew I was still in the plane.)
"Yep! We're coming in from the east, we should be overhead in a few minutes."
"Fine! I'll come out."
And there she was, just a tiny pinprick against the grayish-white swath of the gravel driveway, bouncing up and down and waving her arms for all she was worth.
"Rock your wings," Harold said. I did, and the whole plane waved back.
We finished the circle and flew back to Apple Valley Airport.
Mom was thrilled. She'd been waiting every day to hear me fly over, but always my flights had been rescheduled or canceled. Finally we got our chance.
Nice to know somebody on the ground knows you're in the air, and wants to wave at you. Thanks, Ma.
Anyway, that was how we got to 29 Palms (or, as pilots often refer to it, "29 Stumps").
Whoo-ee. That was an ordeal, wasn't it? My life lately seems to consist of nothing but these frustrating-but-somehow-still-fun-cum-enlightening ordeals.
Next, I should be soloing out there, and thus add another 1.8 hours of pilot-in-command time to my logbook. After that, Harold says, we just have to work on night flying (yippee, I can't wait!) and a little instrument work, and then I should be...
...finished.
Wish us luck, lads.
It's a nice little airport they've got there. Small, dinky, and out-of-the-way, but that's how I like my airports. They've got an incredible view, too. The scenery's to die for. Kind of like this picture here, but quite a bit more panoramic (as viewed from higher up).
The flight back was just about the same as the flight out, only in reverse. This time, however, since we were flying west, and I was in the left (and southernmost) seat, I got a better view of the mountains.
That "something else cool" happened, too. I learned about Flight Watch.
Flight Watch is a nationwide flight service, available on the 122.00 frequency, that gives pilots weather reports and advisories whenever they want 'em. Flight Watch can also help you if you're having trouble, or have gotten lost or something. Is that cool or what? It's like an omniscient aviation god, benevolently watching over its bio-mechanical supplicants.
Harold called Flight Watch up on the radio. We contacted the Los Angeles branch; we were less than 100 miles away as the crow flies. Harold gave the responder a "pilot report": an up-to-date, eyewitness weather report, from altitude. He reported our position (over Yucca Valley again), the visibility ("unrestricted," better than 10 miles), the outside air temperature (40 degrees Fahrenheit), and the winds ("smooth ride"; no turbulence whatsoever).
"It's just a nice day up here," Harold concluded.
Harold also concluded, later, that the fellow we talked to at Flight Watch must've been lonely and bored. He didn't want to get off the line with us. He asked us if there was anything else we needed, and reminded us of some turbulence warnings that were slated to take effect later in the day (Zulu time).
He finally thanked us for our report and signed off. Harold and I had been looking at each other and grinning all through the conversation, just from the inherent coolness of it all. Now we sat back and chuckled. The plane drew closer to home.
Hold it! I'm almost done. I've got one more neat thing to discuss and then I'll let you go. If you've hung on this long uninterrupted (bathroom breaks and sandwiches notwithstanding), congratulations. Glance away from the screen for 20 seconds to rest your peepers.
Finished? Okay.
I finally got to fly over my house.
It's true! I live on the way to 29 Palms from Apple Valley (though obviously closer to Apple Valley). On our return trip, we overflew my house, snuggled up in the San Bernardino foothills. I casually mentioned this to Harold, and he said this:
"You want to circle it?"
My mind screamed, "HECK YES!"
My mouth said, "Can we?"
Harold said, "Sure! Let's pull the power back here..."
As we got closer, I asked Harold to note the time (so I could tell Mom the exact hour when I'd flown over, so she'd know it was me). Harold held up his cell phone instead.
"You know, you can call her," he suggested.
"ALRIGHT!" my mind hollered.
"Okay, I'll do that," my mouth said.
Harold took the controls while I fumbled in my flight bag for my own phone. I took off my headset (exposing my ears to the thunderous roar of wind and 150 horses) and dialed Mom.
"Hello?"
"Hey Ma, it's me!"
"Hi!"
"Guess where I am right now."
"Are you over the house?!" (She heard the engine noise and knew I was still in the plane.)
"Yep! We're coming in from the east, we should be overhead in a few minutes."
"Fine! I'll come out."
And there she was, just a tiny pinprick against the grayish-white swath of the gravel driveway, bouncing up and down and waving her arms for all she was worth.
"Rock your wings," Harold said. I did, and the whole plane waved back.
We finished the circle and flew back to Apple Valley Airport.
Mom was thrilled. She'd been waiting every day to hear me fly over, but always my flights had been rescheduled or canceled. Finally we got our chance.
Nice to know somebody on the ground knows you're in the air, and wants to wave at you. Thanks, Ma.
Anyway, that was how we got to 29 Palms (or, as pilots often refer to it, "29 Stumps").
Whoo-ee. That was an ordeal, wasn't it? My life lately seems to consist of nothing but these frustrating-but-somehow-still-fun-cum-enlightening ordeals.
Next, I should be soloing out there, and thus add another 1.8 hours of pilot-in-command time to my logbook. After that, Harold says, we just have to work on night flying (yippee, I can't wait!) and a little instrument work, and then I should be...
...finished.
Wish us luck, lads.
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6 comments:
Start to finish, a wonderful story. Totally enjoyed that.
Soooo, pretty soon I guess you can cross number 21 off your master list, huh?
Darling the way your mom ran out of the house. (And I loved your Thanksgiving description, awww.)
Thanks a lot! I was worried, you see. I always feel like I'm coming off as boring when I write about this stuff. Appreciate the affirmation.
Whoa, there. To do #21, I need to get my COMMERCIAL pilot's license, which is TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY HOURS. And before I can do that, I need a few Gs. Need to finish barkeep school and start charming the cougars into better tips...
Yeah, it was a nice Thanksgiving celebration. And you should've seen Ma waving from down there. Really twanged the old heartstrings.
I'm pining for the good old days of blogging when I had the time to read over your posts several times and comment on each of them in great detail and with a sense of leisure.
I loved this whole story and am very happy for you in your aviational progress. The grammar-check is telling me "aviational" is not a word, but I don't care.
You should fly over my house. We'll all stand on the roof and throw sandwiches.
By the way, I love the sidebar. Very nice.
Thanks for everything! Yeah, I'm pleased with how I'm movin' along...night flying soon...YIPPEE!
Yes. I love sandwiches. Especially trying to catch them in mid-air.
Good, I'm glad your brainchild is to your liking. I'll probably add to it and update as I progress through the many facets of flying (seaplanes, instrument flying, etc.).
And don't worry about commenting on every little thing. I love it that you do, and appreciate that you take the time, but I also know that your time is not all your own these days. Board directorships and whatnot. Power to you!
I said, when you had not blogged for three days; he's flying. He's okay. He's just flying. And I was right!
But then, my evil, paranoid twin said, no... he's... sick... with the FLU. Swine FLU!
Poor thing's fever is so high that he's too weak to come to the keyboard.
My twin said a lot of other bad stuff but I don't want to worry you. :)
(Honestly though, when Polly doesn't write or Chloe doesn't write, I start going: what's WRONG?! Oh no. Because I know their schedule somewhat- and I'm even learning yours. For instance, I know Polly gets up really early because her comments are left at the butt crack of dawn. Polly, did you hear that?)
Well, yes, I was flying. But I might be coming down with something. The place where my left nostril meets my throat has been a bit tender for the past few days...
Tell that twin of yours to drink some Jack Daniels and THEN speculate on my whereabouts.
Ah, I was just thinking today about my blogging schedule. It worries me. If by 'schedule' you mean 'Postman is on Blogger ALL THE EFFING TIME,' you've got me pegged. I'm on here several times a day. As for writing schedules...yeah, I guess it's pretty predictable. I figured your delay was due to the glamping, though. If there's another big gap I'll say to myself, "Hmmmm...leadership conference, high-rolling function shindig, and/or glamping. That must be it.
"Or Jack Daniels."
Polly? You going to let her talk about you like that? On MY blog??
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