During the summer, I enjoyed some flights in N21020. Hot, humid, sticky flights. Flights when normal people decide not to go to the airport, and instead head to the pool. I also started to dig through the contents of the plane’s cargo area. I wanted to get the plane organized, and ensure that all necessary items were in the plane in the event someone wanted to take a jaunt to, say, Ocean City (thereby combining both flying and water. . .).

On a bright day in September, off I drove to HEF with my new co-pilot (aka, Glen Charles) to dig through the aircraft’s contents.

First, let’s think through what an aircraft needs to operate. The basics go without saying, and you use the mnemonic device ARROW to remember:

A – Airworthiness certificate
R – Registration
R – Radio license (only need for international travel)
O – Pilots operating handbook (POH)
W – Weight and balance

Got all of that. Now, the extras that you need for the pre-flight inspection and operation: (1) An extra headset, (2) step stool for visual inspection of fuel levels, (3) fuel testing cup to ensure nothing’s gotten into your AvGas. And it doesn’t hurt to have some cleaner for the windshield, as well as a sun shield, some wipes for your hands (after messing with the fuel), sunglasses, and water.

Got all of that. So what is this mess in the back of the plane?

My co-pilot seemed unimpressed. (“What kind of an operation is my mother running??”). You can pretty much see the disgust and boredom all over that 5 month old face.
All items were removed, and here’s what I found.
• Collapsible step stool (you have to climb up to check the fuel in a C-182)
• Tow Bar (Dulles Aviation has these on the ramp, but this one is small/collapsible, and useful for when you fly elsewhere).
• Windshield Washer/scrapers (probably if you need these, you’re certified to fly IFR)
• Water container and salt (I guess this is useful?)
•Rope(always good to have on hand)
• Urinals (self-explanatory)
• Utility knife (see “rope”)
• Jumper cables (you can’t just use what’s in your car, so this is pretty critical tonsure you don’t end up stranded)
• Garbage
• Bungees (to strap done your stuff)
• Oil (especially good to have on hand for long flights).
• Duct tape (see “rope”)
• Tie downs (these operate like the tie-downs on a tent – complete with pegs)
• Hammer (for the tie down pegs)

Check it out ————> Plane contents 9.2011

I need to divide items into three groups: discard, keep in plane, keep at plane tie-down. Most of what’s in the plane needs to stay in the plane. A few items to purchase
• WD40
• Small Shovel

Obviously, you don’t have to keep all of this in the plane at all times. A storage box is always a good idea.

If a metal box with padlock seems a touch too extreme, you could always go for a simpler, sturdy plastic box. Just make sure it’s securely tied down, as it gets gusty out on the ramp. Another item to purchase to keep items in the plane to a minimum.

Next up: The newly organized plane.

You must believe this one key element of aviation: The plane wants to fly. It was built to take off and stay in flight. You can stall the plane, and recover. You can lose your engine, and still get safely to the ground. You can try to take off too soon, and still recover to safely ascend. All because the plane wants to fly. Which is precisely what makes landing such a tricky maneuver to learn.

I take my lessons in the left seat of the plane – typical for “pilot in command” – my left hand is on the yoke to steer while in flight, and my right hand is on the throttle. For in-flight maneuvers, your feet don’t do much, other than periodically apply rudder pressure if you need to correct for some of the torque placed on the aircraft. The yoke moves back and forth, as well as from side to side, which controls the planes attitude. The throttle controls power – pushed all the way, you are at full power and ready to take off. Pulled all the way out, you have no power, and the plane turns into a glider. Generally, at any given pitch/attitude, the amount of power determines whether the plane remains level, climbs, or descends. A well executed maneuver, such as a landing, requires you to coordinate your two hands – one on the yoke, and one on the throttle, to pitch the plane forward, so the nose is slightly turned down, and simultaneously reduce power.

The trick is to do this without crashing.

Here’s how to tell if you’ve established the correct rate of descent for the aircraft: PAPI lights. PAPI (Precision Approach Path Indicator) lights are conveniently placed at the end of the runway, and show up in combinations of red and white. In Goldilocks fashion, you have 1 in 3 chances to get it right. If both are white, you are too high, and need to get into a better glide path to land on the runway. If both are red, you’re descent is too rapid, and you’re going to hit the ground way to fast. If one is red, and one is white, you’re “just right,” for landing.

Source

The second landing with Leon, as I mentioned previously was a prime example of how not to land. It started with a slightly sloppy turn onto base. As we turned base, the attitude of the plane was nose down, and so naturally we began to descend. Except I hadn’t reduced power, so we suddenly found ourselves turning onto final approach (airplane is facing the runway head-on) much lower than we wanted – we were so low that at the rate of descent, we’d never reach the runway. I automatically pushed the throttle in, and pulled the nose up. Obligingly, the plane rose away from the ground.

Now the PAPI lights were white-white – and we were way higher than I had ever been for a landing. We needed to get down – fast – or we’d overshoot the runway. “OK, Leon,” I said, “you’re controls.” “Got it, my controls,” Leon responded. With full flaps, and a quick power reduction combined with dipping the nose down, the plane began to descend. White-red showed up – briefly.

Leon pulled the throttle all the way out, cutting power, but the plane was still moving faster than normal. Normally at this point on the runway, the plane has become a glider, and you wait for a slight sinking sensation as you pull the nose up away from the runway. Even at this point, the plane can experience ground effect, and happily jump back up into the air even without power. Ours was not such a normal landing. The sharp high pitch whine of the stall warning signal went off in the cabin and the back rear wheels hit the tarmac hard. The nose quickly came forward, and full brakes brought us back to normal taxi speed.

“Whew. That did not go at all like my previous 5 landings today,” said Leon. Upon returning to our spot, Glen and Nate greeted us with somewhat wary grins. They’d seen our down-up-down landing, and knew it hadn’t gone as planned. Sharon got out without seeming too perturbed. I had never been worried about the landing. I always figured that we’d have enough time to adjust the pitch up, apply power, and escape a crash landing. But that could just be my general belief that the plane wants to fly, even more than I do.

As I thought back to my previous landings, I couldn’t help but trace our landing back to that initial sloppy turn. I’m not well-enough versed in standard maneuvers to know exactly what went awry, but I do know that I’ve had flight instructors emphasize the need for carefully executed turns in the pattern, and consistent climbs and descents at different legs of the flight pattern. The plane was happy to stay off the ground and keep going. Preparing to land smoothly requires preparing the plane attitude at the correct points in the process. Moral of the story: sloppy flying, leads to an unruly landing. Disciplined flying ensures a neatly controlled approach, and “just right” return to earth.

At some point in the last couple months, I realized that I was never going to get back in a plane if I kept waiting for the perfect moment. That is

• The moment I was completely prepared
• The moment I had 1.5 hours to devote to flying
• The moment I had already planned out my goals for lessons
• The moment I would no longer be rusty (go figure)

I also realized I needed to return to something I believed in: the idea that completion is more important than perfection. Somehow, I got my hands on the following rules, and have used them to goad myself to action on several occasions.

“The Cult of Done Manifesto”
1. There are three states of being. Not knowing, action and completion.
2. Accept that everything is a draft. It helps to get it done.
3. There is no editing stage.
4. Pretending you know what you’re doing is almost the same as knowing what you are doing, so just accept that you know what you’re doing even if you don’t and do it.
5. Banish procrastination. If you wait more than a week to get an idea done, abandon it.
6. The point of being done is not to finish but to get other things done.
7. Once you’re done you can throw it away.
8. Laugh at perfection. It’s boring and keeps you from being done.
9. People without dirty hands are wrong. Doing something makes you right.
10. Failure counts as done. So do mistakes.
11. Destruction is a variant of done.
12. If you have an idea and publish it on the internet, that counts as a ghost of done.
13. Done is the engine of more.

I approached February 28th in a state of extreme fatigue – not so much from lack of sleep, which was a factor, but from time spent with too many people in too close proximity. But I had called up a friend to go flying, and I was determined to keep my appointment. Doing something makes you right.

Things didn’t go as planned. First, I had convinced my lovely friends, Sharon and Nate, who were visiting for Atlanta, that they really did want to go up in a plane with me. But with neither of the pair feeling 100% percent, they weren’t convinced that going flying was the best idea (though they gamely agreed to drive out to HEF with me). Second, I forgot that in addition to all the folks in town, and the baby shower on Saturday, we were in the middle of painting the trim in the living room. And when you start painting, you don’t want to stop in the middle. Third, I was late. I hate being late. Fourth, I wasn’t feeling great. I’ll blame it on being 8 months pregnant. Laugh at perfection.

But the point was that if I waited for the stars to align, I’d never get back into the air, so feeling very pregnant and tired, with two queasy friends and the ever-supportive husband in tow, we headed out somewhat belatedly to HEF. Getting back to the airport was like a shot of espresso, combined with meeting your old love on the street. I was instantly alert and smiling. I looked out at the runway, and was just in time to see N21020 take off. Boy did I want to be up there.

As soon as Leon had the plane back to its earlier spot, I inspected it with some care, noting that there was still a slight persistent squeak for the right aileron, but that a number of things since the annual were much improved – some paint work, and the GPS was updated. With no small amount of pride, I took Sharon and Nate on a tour of the plane, and gave a “101” on wing curvature and lift.

We watched planes take off and land for a little while, before I got antsy and wanted to be in on the action. Banish procrastination.

Nate and Glen stayed on the ground, while Leon and I climbed in front and Sharon in back. Boy was I rusty. I didn’t even remember to keep my hand on the throttle. I could feel a bit of overload coming on, as I pulled myself back into reading the instrument panel, making decent turns throughout the pattern, and working with Leon to finish calls to the tower. But already on the second take-off I was beginning to feel some level of comfort. The attitude of the plane was nicely aligned with the horizon as we climbed to about 900 feet, and scanning the instrument panel started to come back.

Landing, well, that’s a story for another post. The plane wants to fly, and will do a lot to stay in the air. We got back to earth, but with the realization that I needed to get back into the cockpit on a regular basis. But then, that was the point of the trip: Done is the engine of more.