4 posts tagged “airplane”

Also available here.

When we last saw our intrepid reporter--me--he had just pulled back on the yoke of the Cessna 172 and taken to the sky. I am on an introductory flight lesson; we have already covered the plane in theory, now we're putting it through its paces.

I am flying with Regal Air, a flight school out of Paine Field in Everett. My instructor is Matthew Jolley. A long-time lover of flying, Jolley maintains a steady roster of students and often compliments his teaching with charter flying. He is calm and easy-going, the perfect combination for instilling confidence in his students, or in this case, me.

In the email detailing my flight lesson, I'm told that I may receive a call to reschedule if the weather is at all questionable. As a student pilot, I am not allowed to fly if I can't see where I'm going; only pilots with an instrument rating--i.e. the ability to read and understand all the dials in the airplane's dash--can take to the skies during inclement weather. Luckily, I awoke to an azure sky, cloudless in all directions. A perfect day to learn to fly.

Now we are heading West, traveling at 3,000 feet over islands and inlets, towards the ocean and quickly away from the runway that sent us into the air.

The headphones we wear are tight and relatively sound-proof; the lack of noise makes the experience even more wondrous, stripping the mechanical elements away and leaving only the elated feeling of flight. Jolley's voice crackles in my ear.

"Make a medium-grade bank here, and head towards Mt. Baker," Jolley instructs me. We check over, under, and around the plane for possible obstacles--following visual flight rules--and seeing none, I initiate the turn. The plane shifts easily into its new heading, and I feel like I might have what it takes to be a pilot.

Of course, getting one's license is hardly as easy as making banking turns. In addition to all the other requisite skills--taking off and landing, for instance--students must also complete at least 40 hours flying time, with at least 10 of those done solo.

Prospective pilots must also pass a physical, an FAA knowledge test, and a 90 minute flight test. Then, and only then, will you be issued a license.

In case you were curious, the FAA does issue plastic licenses similar to the ones you receive at the D.O.V. Currently, they are multi-colored, understated, with the pilot's information and rating printed over a picture of the Wright Brothers.

When flying, the pilot is required to carry his license along with the plane's title and certification of airworthiness. Should a pilot get ramp-checked, the FAA's version of a police pullover, penalties could be enforced if they weren't carrying their papers, much like you would if you were caught driving without your license, insurance, or title.

"We've only had that happen once here at Paine Field and the pilot asked for it," says Jolley. "Our resident FAA inspector was explaining ramp checks, and this gentleman wanted to know how likely it was to occur. The inspector asked if he'd like to be ramp-checked, and he did, so they went out and did it. It really only comes up if you're behaving strangely, recklessly, or illegally."

We are behaving like none of these things. I follow Jolley's instructions, completing another set of turns back towards Paine Field. Jolley thankfully takes over this part of our flight, explaining his actions as we continue to descend, steadily losing both speed and altitude.

Finally we land, none the worse for wear, and once again, I weave us back and forth across the center lane, the toe brakes still a mystery, as we return to our parking spot. The plane is secured, and my first flight lesson comes to a close.

It was an amazing experience, one I would recommend to anyone without reservation. Should you want to continue on after the introductory lesson, you can earn a Private pilot license with as few as $3,000 in costs and 40 hours of training and practice flying. Even a more typical 50-70 hours in the air can cost as little as $4,000 - $7,000 depending on your needs and the school you attend.

Better still is that a Private Pilot certificate is good for life and purchasing an airplane is optional. More than half of all pilots rent planes, for as little as $89 per hour including fuel.

What you do after you earn your license is up to you; you can make local sightseeing flights or learn to fly aerobatics for competition or even work your way up the licensing ladder until you're qualified to fly commercial commuter jets.

Your choices are as open as the skies. Come fly them anytime.

...

If you'd like to learn to how to fly, or just want to know more about becoming a pilot, then visit the Project Pilot website at www.projectpilot.org or visit Regal Air's website at www.regalair.com

Also available here

A Lesson Before Flying

We--the flight instructor, my photographer, and I--are nearly half-way down the runway before I realize we're about to take off. The four seat Cessna in which I'm sitting hums in response to the controls; I pull back on the yoke and we become airborne, easy, like a rigid mylar balloon let loose into the sky.

Below us now are islands, at our right is Mount Baker, and off in the distance, only slightly obscured by haze, is Seattle. We hold steady at 3,000 feet, the world serene. And you could be next.

Since 1997, the number of licensed pilots in the U.S. has increased by about 6 percent, and from 2003 to 2004 the number of student pilots rose 1%. In addition, the Federal Aviation Administration predicts a dramatic increase in both student pilots and licensed pilots in the next 10 years.

But if you're anything like me, you'll probably have never considered a pilot's license, thinking it difficult to obtain due to money, opportunity, availability, or even ability. As someone who needs corrective glasses, I assumed that I wouldn't even be able to pass the physical. In truth, a pilot's license, while harder to get than your driver's license, can be earned faster than a college degree and cheaper.

Project Pilot--the company that set up my lesson--is an umbrella organization that contracts with flight schools across the nation, connecting students to schools while providing information and resources for anyone interested in learning to fly. Among them are tips for finding a flight school and instructor, as well as their database of more than 3,500 flight training facilities in the U.S.

When I check, there are nearly 30 schools within 30 miles of my location. The choices are daunting; not knowing one from another, I decide on Regal Air, based out of Paine Field in Everett.

Thankfully, it turns out that Regal Air is a well-established school with a fleet of airplanes available for rental and lessons, from a Piper Seneca I to Cessna 152s. The plane I will fly is a Cessna 172, under the watchful eye of instructor Matt Jolley.

In the email detailing my lesson, I'm told that I may receive a call to reschedule if the weather is at all questionable. As a student pilot, I am not allowed to fly if I can't see where I'm going; only pilots with an instrument rating--i.e. the ability to read and understand all the dials in the airplane's dash--can take to the skies during inclement weather. Luckily, I awoke to an azure sky, cloudless in all directions. A perfect day to learn to fly.

Since 1985, Regal Air has taught students all the necessary skills to pilot an aircraft. They employ 14 full-time flight instructors, each with an extensive knowledge of planes, craft, and safety.

Matthew Jolley has taught here since 2001, after returning to his childhood love some ten years prior. The son of a Navy man, Jolley often saw the comings and goings of military air traffic, and it stuck with him. He pursued other opportunities before deciding to follow the air.

We meet Jolley inside Regal Air's offices; he is of medium build with an easy smile that he flashes quickly as we shake hands. The lesson begins not inside the plane, but under fluorescent lights.

The first stop is the weather center, a big-sounding name for a computer pulling data from the internet. Drawing on feeds from both commercial and government sources, the weather center can show you a thunderstorm in Illinois or the FAA weather report for your airfield, a nearly incomprehensible assortment of letters and abbreviations.

"We don't usually need to use this here," says Jolley, looking at the report. "Paine Field is wonderful for that. I can walk outside and see fifteen miles in any direction. If it's cloudy in the East, we'll head West. If it's going to storm, I'll know."

The weather report is always the first stop for the student pilot.

"Students rely on VFR--Visual Flight Rules--when flying," says Jolley. "While they are in the air, they are constantly looking for other aircraft while making sure their flight path is clear."

Much like on the road, a good airplane pilot is a defensive, aware pilot.

We pass by the Frasca 131 Flight Simulator, where students can hone their instrument skills after their instructors pull up a single approach from the thousands they have available. The simulator can approximate any approach for any airport in the nation under any type of weather condition.

Jolley shows us the garage; it is brightly lit, clean, and currently home to a Cessna 152.

"Every 100 hours, our planes are brought inside, opened up and checked from top to bottom," says Jolley.

All of Regal Air's aircraft are maintained by FAA Certificated Airframe and Powerplant Mechanics and Inspectors employed by Regal Air. All maintenance is completed to approved FAA standards and regulations, which means it is performed in a timely manner by mechanics that are already intimately familiar with each airplane.

The plane currently undergoing maintenance has its cowl--the metal sheeting covering the engine--removed. Two mechanics are moving about efficiently, testing and double-checking for cracks, imperfections, and needed adjustments. It will take them about a day to completely check the craft and give it a clean bill of health.

Every inspection, flight, and change in instrument readings for every airplane is carefully logged inside its own little zippered black binder. The binder also contains the owner's manual for the plane--a well-thumbed, dog-eared book filled with charts, schematics, graphs, and more math than I've seen since high school--and a set of silver keys.

Jolley pulls the binder for the plane we'll be using and double checks the logs.

"Before we take-off, I want to make sure we won't overfly a required inspection by either date or flight hours," says Jolley. "That way we're safe and FAA compliant."

Our Cessna is fine, so we adjourn to the outdoors.

"We'll be taking [plane number] N5512E," says Jolley as we walk. He points to the plane, the lettering huge on the airplane's tail. "The numbers didn't always used to be that big. The FAA actually mandated the size increase. Now if you buzz the tower or land and immediately take-off again, the FAA will find you."

In case you were curious, the FAA does issue plastic licenses similar to the ones you receive at the D.O.V. Currently, they are multi-colored, understated, with the pilot's information and rating printed over a picture of the Wright Brothers.

When flying, the pilot is required to carry his license along with the plane's title and certification of airworthiness. Should a pilot get ramp-checked, the FAA's version of a police pullover, penalties could be enforced if they weren't carrying their papers, much like you would if you were caught driving without your license, insurance, or title.

"We've only had that happen once here at Paine Field and the pilot asked for it," says Jolley. "Our resident FAA inspector was explaining ramp checks, and this gentleman wanted to know how likely it was to occur. The inspector asked if he'd like to be ramp-checked, and he did, so they went out and did it. It really only comes up if you're behaving strangely, recklessly, or illegally."

Out at the plane, there is a comprehensive check list; we make sure all the flaps work, and are properly bolted and hinged; that the tires and brakes are operational; confirm the fuel tanks are full and the gas--100 octane, low lead--is free of sediment; and a dozen other things are as they should be before we even get inside the cockpit.

The check list continues inside. There is surprisingly little lingo to learn. There is the yoke in your hands and toe brakes at your feet, instruments in front of you and a voice-activated boom mike placed close to your lips. After priming the engine with fuel, I turn the ignition key four clicks to the right. The engine turns over and the propeller kicks on loudly.

While on the ground, the yoke does nothing. The propeller still pulls the plane forward but you steer with your feet, braking on the side towards which you would like to turn. It's an unusual skill to master. Jolley directs me to taxi out to the runway and I feel immediately inept.

"Follow the yellow line," Jolley says in my headset. "It's not like on the road. Here you want the yellow line to go straight down the middle of the cockpit."

Instead of going straight down the middle, we zig-zag back and forth like a seismometer needle. Eventually, we even out and turn onto the runway.

"Ready?" asks Jolley. "Keep the white line in the middle."

He increases the power to the propeller and relaxes the toe brakes. The plane sprints forwards.

"Now, pull back on the yoke," says Jolley. I do. The plane's nose edges upward.

"And you're flying."

...

This is the first part of a two-part story. Read the second installment next week here in the Beacon.

For more information, visit Project Pilot's website at www.projectpilot.org or Regal Air's at www.regalair.com.

There are times when the jobs I have kick me strange perks. Case in point.

You're looking out the window as the airplane accelerates. The ground is a blur of detail. You are waiting, waiting for wheels-up, waiting for the twinge of momentary weightlessness to seize your stomach. This is what flight is.
 
The date is July 14th. In exactly six days, I'll fly an airplane. Not fly on an airplane, but actually pilot a vehicle capable of traveling at speeds in the mid-range triple digits.
 
When I was in college, I lived in the dorms for a while. It was a sad situation for many reasons, not least because I was a junior and the only drinking-legal student in my building. At the time, I was in a relationship on the decline; a high-school couplehood that couldn't withstand the change. Her name was and is Lui.
 
Lui attended a community college one hour away, and would commonly come up to spend the night, only to leave early the next morning to make it to her 8 a.m. class. One day we were arguing; she left late. Twenty minutes later, I got a call.
 
Hello?
 
She's crying.
 
Where are you?
 
Turns out she was on the side of the road, midway to school. In an argument-fueled, sleep-deprived fugue she had decided to make it to school on time. In order to do that, speed limit laws were summarily dismissed as arbitrary, too limiting, and too low.
 
So, uh, how fast were you going?
 
The State Police often, on the route from Bellingham to Seattle, hunker down on the overpasses, hoping to catch some unsuspecting motorists overclocking their engines. The speed limit along this stretch is 70 miles per hour. Lui was doing 103.
 
103!?
 
103 miles an hour automatically qualifies as reckless endangerment, an offense for which the police can direct you out of your car over bullhorn, handcuff you and place you in the back of their squad car for arrest.
 
Thankfully for her, she had, at that point, kept a clean driving record. The officer, kindly, did not arrest her and wrote instead a ticket for $531.
 
My point in telling you this is that 103mph is seventeen mph away from the top speed of my truck and seventeen mph above the fastest I've ever driven. In one week, I'll be piloting a craft capable of topping my best by a factor of six.
 
I've invited my friend Kate along to take pictures. She wanted to know if it would be loud. The answer is yes, it will be loud, especially when we crash into that mountain.
 
There is little in my past as a driver of land-bound vehicles to recommend me to the air. I've hit a support column in a parking garage for God's sake. But somehow, with little more than an email and a promise, I can get behind the controls of my own personal death-jet.
 
How cool is that?

It does raise some questions, however. For instance, what good is our security--or, if I might indulge in some banal buzz-wordery, our homeland security--if someone with no specific credentials can earn their pilots wings in an afternoon?
 
Earning ones pilots wings, by the way, is nothing--NOTHING--like earning ones red wings. Nothing to get red-faced over, but still.
 
So, with six days left until I fly, I've decided to get my worldly affairs in order. I don't have a lot, but there's enough worth worrying about.
 
For instance, all of my musical equipment will go to Kat. All of the rights to my songs, writings, and other assorted whatnots will go to Sally. Sally will also get first pick of my CDs and vinyl--thats right, baby, my mint copy of Mel Tillis In Concert is all yours. My computer should probably be destroyed, along with those binders of CD-Rs in my closet, just to avoid any lingering questions or scandal. Anything left that isn't scavenged by my family or various friends will go to the Goodwill.
 
Hmmph. Well, that was strangely easy. Maybe I'll go listen to "Band on the Run" now.
 
- Tyson