To be honest, it was a day that I thought I might never reach. For me, the flying learning curve was steep and there were times in the beginning where my progress seemed to be a series of "two steps forward, one step back" lessons. My instructor kept reassuring me that I WAS learning, even after those days where I could have sworn I'd forgotten how to fly a plane and left the airport wondering if I'd ever finish my training.

Well, my instructor was right. I was learning. I learned to make my takeoffs smooth. I learned to be ahead of the plane all the way through the pattern. Most importantly, I learned to land.

Then one day, on the sunny Sunday morning of July 19, 2009, I finally did it all without any help.

My parents were visiting for a long weekend, so I wanted to squeeze in a quick two-hour lesson before I went to lunch with them. Drew (my CFI) met me at the airport on what might have been the most calm, perfect Oakland morning I'd ever seen. I was pretty sure I was going to solo that day, and I climbed into the airplane with excitement. I waved goodbye to my interested and slightly fearful-looking parents and Drew and I set off for San Pablo Bay. We flew around for a little bit, did a little maneuvering flight, flew to Napa, did a few touch and goes, and then returned home to Oakland. We did one or two touch and goes on 27L and then Drew called the tower and told them that we'd be making a full stop on 27R. I turned to him in surprise. "We are?" I said, possibly a little anxiously. "Oh yes!" he said, "I'm going to solo you now!"

I landed in silence and taxied to Business Jet Center, our usual FBO. We went inside, had a short review of the 27L pattern and off I went.

When I called ground they had me taxi to the East runup area between 27L and 27R. Now, I usually take off initially on 33 (as it's closer to where we tie down) so I wasn't as familiar with this end of the 27s as I could have been. I did have a rough idea of where was going, so I set off on a cautious taxi. Upon reaching the East runup area I was confronted by a black-and-yellow line on the tarmac that I'd never seen before. It looked a bit like a hold short line, but not exactly. I thought to myself, "I didn't see a runway sign, so it can't be a hold short line." It went through the run up area, and I thought that I probably shouldn't cross the line. In my nervousness, instead of calling the tower to ask what to do I very carefully squeezed the plane into the tiny part of the runup area that was before the line!! I was later to learn that it was the ILS critical line and I could have crossed it with no problem. A good lesson about not being too proud to call the tower with a question.

As I sat in the runup area doing my runup I began to get nervous. I went through my checklists slowly and very carefully, undertaking what was probably the longest runup a 172 pilot's ever done! Eventually though, I couldn't stall any longer and called up ground. "Student pilot first solo, taxi to 27L for left close traffic." Without any hesitation, the familiar voice on the radio cleared cleared me for takeoff! As I taxied onto the runway and applied full throttle my heart was in my throat and I briefly wondered what would happen if I threw up on takeoff. However, the moment my wheels left the ground my nervousness evaporated.

As I climbed out and began my first crosswind turn, I found myself executing actions I'd done probably a hundred times before. As I passed each turn in the pattern I was able to do stay with the plane and do what I knew I should be doing. As I came in on final I found myself repeating out loud one of my "on final" mantras, "don't pull up, don't pull up, don't pull up!" Then, like magic, I was settling into my first ever solo landing!!! Exhilarated, I went around again. Three touch and goes later I was back on 27R for another full stop and another taxi to Business Jet, this time with an exuberant Drew bounding out to the plane to clap me on the shoulder with pride and then to drag me off to find scissors with which to remove the tail of my shirt!

When I saw my parents again later that day I tried to share the feeling of being alone in the plane, but couldn't quite convey the fear, exhilaration and satisfaction of soloing. I felt legitimate, I felt proud of myself, and I felt like a pilot.

About two or three weeks ago I had a lesson on a day with extremely stiff winds, probably about 25 kts, gusting to 32 (so sayeth AWOS). It was certainly extremely windy at the field, and we really got bounced around on takeoff. The plan was to fly down to the South Bay and do ground reference maneuvers around the salt ponds (nicely rectangular and unpopulated save for a few stray cyclists). I'd done rectangular courses once before and was familiar with what I needed to accomplish. I was feeling pretty good about it going in, and was excited to try ground reference maneuvers with substantial crosswind. We made seven or eight trips around one of the salt ponds, and I was really beginning to feel comfortable with it, like I was really tracking the line, or as my instructor says, "working the plane". And then, something scary and unexpected happened.

I have no idea what brought it on, but during a turn I was, with no warning, overcome by a strong wave of vertigo, followed by a sense of confusion and then a creeping nausea. I told my instructor that I needed a break, and he took the plane. We flew straight out over the bay, and I tried to recover my composure. It didn't work. I felt sweaty and sick, and generally fuzzy and disoriented. I told my instructor what was up and he immediately said, "we're going home". I was embarrassed and overwhelmed, but too shaky to put up a fight. We landed in a strong crosswind and hightailed it to the fuel center. We went inside and I had a cup of juice, and two cups of water, and slowly began to feel more normal. My instructor and I sat and talked about what had happened, and he told me some stories of when he'd gotten vertigo, or sick, and said that it still happens occasionally, even after thousands of hours of flying small planes.

I was feeling pretty darn dejected nonetheless. At that point a fellow student (we have the same instructor, and are friends off-airport as well) walked into the FBO and greeted us. I told him about my vertigo episode and he immediately shared a similar experience he'd had a few months ago. It was amazing how hearing his story perked up my mood and started to make me feel less embarrassed. The three of us talked for a while about wind and disorientation and flying in general, and about 45 minutes after that first cup of juice I was ready to taxi back to the tie-downs. My fellow student and I went to dinner and talked flying and life for a long, long time. By the end of the evening I felt physically okay, though I was left with a headache and a gnawing feeling of self-doubt.

My instructor was incredibly encouraging in the days afterward, and even wrote me an email to remind me of how great I had been flying (which I do remember feeling) before the vertigo set in. A few weeks out from that experience I still have a slight apprehension of returning to the salt ponds, but also have an understanding of the high and low tides of the learning experience. Being in the plane and getting to fly is ALWAYS mind-blowingly wonderful. But some lessons are more amazing than others.

This is not the most auspicious subject for a first post in a new blog, but it's certainly funny, and aviation-related, and of course, I can't resist sharing the pain of a terrible movie!

Tonight a friend and I watched San Francisco International. We watched the MST3K version. Frankly, that was what made this pile of crap tolerable. Well, also getting to see a bunch of 1970s jets, each livery more dated than the last. Stripes sure were popular 40 years ago! 

This movie has about four different sub-plots, each of which is pretty terrible on its own. As a group, though, they're a mildly amusing mess. The silliest subplot features a boy whose parents are about to divorce. He is very upset about this, and ends up stealing a bright red Ercoupe while its owner is off looking for some missing sunglasses. The airport director hops into another plane and flies up next to the boy, talking him down into a landing at SFO. Remember that this kid's never flown a plane before! The best part is after they're all on the ground, the kid says to the airport director, "Does this mean I've had my first solo?" Hah! 

I don't want to give away all the surprises, and there's a harsh summary of the movie on IMDB. If you like cheese, and poorly writen movies, and some bad acting with some nice jets in the background, San Francisco International is the movie for you. You just might want to have a beer (or two) first.