I reserved a 152 for four hours today to take the girl's mother on a trip. This is again a first flight in a small airplane but since I was dealing with an adult, I decided to actually go somewhere instead of staying in the pattern. It's easy enough to come back if she can't handle it.

Yesterday I met with the instructor who checked me out in the 152 - let's call him Sean because that's his name - to finish up the ground portion of my biennial flight review (BFR) and then get checked out in a 172.

Knowing that I was going to make this trip today, Sean helped me review controlled airspace, how to request flight following, and anything else that would be helpful for a cross country flight that I may have forgotten.

We also talked about various destinations I could go to. He asked me if I had heard of "Nancy's" at Willows (KWLW) and was surprised that I hadn't. He told me he thought everyone in aviation knew of Nancy's and even told me a story of one time he forgot himself, asked for flight following to Nancy's, and the controllers knew where he was going. Heh.

We discussed a few more destination options and then talked about other BFR-related topics.

As for the 172 checkout, we couldn't get the engine started. When I primed the engine, we weren't getting any suction so he had me pump it a bit to get some fuel in there. That may have put in more fuel than intended thus flooding the engine. At one point, he got out and inspected the underside and it wasn't leaking fuel like it should be in a flood. After having me attempt it (under instruction) two or three times, he took over and still couldn't get it started. Eventually the battery went limp and we had to call it off.

Overnight, I finally decided to go to Santa Rosa for a number of reasons. It has less airspace (for me to deal with) and more scenery (for her to enjoy) than the two other real alternatives for the flight I wanted to do. Also, we have a friend who lives there so we arranged for lunch.

Santa Rosa is only 48 nautical miles away from University, so I can't log the trip as a cross country but there is another airport nearby in Healdsburg that I can hop over to if I want. I haven't really planned this trip beyond getting a weather briefing and picking out some landmarks. There are power lines going from here to there so I'll just follow those.

I take my new passenger around the preflight with me as I always do because I find it relaxes them, but then when I get to my passenger briefing I explain to her the emergency procedures, and that ruins all the mental massaging I'd been doing over the last few days. Oh well.

For a few thousand feet after we took off, it was quite turbulent and I was afraid the whole ride would be really bumpy but it turned out to be beautifully smooth. However, my idea to follow the power lines was a bad one because I quickly got myself lost in my new neighborhood. So I start circling around and my passenger is helping me figure out where we are. Turns out, we're right on course, but neither of us can find the power lines. So I just look at which direction I need to go and call up NorCal Approach for flight following. I'm told to bugger off and use Travis Approach. Okay. So I call up the military and get what I want, although he thought I was doing airwork because I was still circling.

Everything now being in order, I start my ascent to my chosen cruising altitude of 6500 feet. We fly over a few hills and get a gorgeous eye-full of Lake Berryessa. All the while, my passenger and co-navigator is pointing out our checkpoints and taking it all in. All her nerves are pretty much gone now.

Charles M. Schulz - Sonoma County Airport doesn't have any waypoints for me to report my location. Perhaps this is because it's only Class D? So I improvise by calling up the tower and saying I'm coming off the mountains to the East for a full stop landing. That seems to make the tower happy and I'm told to enter for left downwind 14 and report mid-field. When I do, I get cleared to land behind a Mooney.

My landings have been really rusty lately - probably because I haven't hardly done any since I passed my checkride two years ago - so I was really nervous about it but I pulled it off nicely. A perfect full stall that initially got applause and then later she told me that she knew when we were in the air and she knew when we were on the ground, but she didn't know when we switched from one to the other. That made me glow for a while.

We were directed over to transient parking and some guy came out to greet us on a golf cart. He offered to drive us up to the terminal but I had no idea what was expected in return so I declined. Am I supposed to pay him? Tip him? I don't know.

Our friend picked us up as planned and took us to eat. In Healdsburg. If I had known that, I would have told her to pick me up from that airport so I could log this whole thing as cross country. Tant pis, as the French say.

As we're going through the town, things start to look familiar. Have I been here before? Then we come to a large square and it hits me. This is where I met Aviatrix! After lunch we went to her house to see if I could reserve the plane for a bit longer. I could, so we stayed and visited for a bit longer.

When we got back to the plane we decided not to hop over to Healdsburg because it was getting late even with the reservation extension, and why do I need to log cross country anyway? (The answer to that is I need 50 hours of cross country for my instrument rating so I should have gone ahead and done it) I got a little flummoxed on the radio trying to leave the airport. I was told to read back my hold short clearance, which I know to do but maybe didn't do it quickly enough for him. And then I told Ground I was ready for take off instead of switching to Tower.

The flight back was straightforward, as if I had been doing it for years. The only problem came when it was time to find my home airport. Lots of circling again. We both figured out that it must be right there but neither of us could spot it. Finally I did see it and entered the pattern. I landed a little fast, squeaking the wheels as I touched down, but I didn't bounce and my companion seemed just as impressed as with the first one.

We refueled and pushed the plane over to its spot. I did not run over her foot.

The plane I fly was finally fixed and ready to be flown at the end of July. Unfortunately, that is exactly the time that I was moving away from Monterey. Figures.

Now I live in Vacaville, California, and one of the first things I did was head on over to the local airport to see if I could fly. The FBO there was charging something like $75/h dry for a 152 so I wasn't too eager to hop in. Who knows how much they charged for an instructor. When I moved here, I took a severe pay cut, but my quality of life is much improved. Life isn't all about money, except when you want to go flying. When I finally did decide that it had been too long and I needed to go up again, there was a sign on the door saying it was temporarily closed. I went back about once a week for what seemed like the longest time and it was still closed with no indication of when it would open again. One day, I asked some guy walking from the hangars if he knew anything about the FBO and he said it went out of business and there was nothing temporary about it. He pointed me to Davis University about 20 minutes away and said I might find something there.

I found a nice non-profit organization at University Airport with a lot of planes and some very reasonable rates so I signed up and scheduled a checkout.

I told my instructor that it had been almost a year and a half since I'd flown so I wanted a full flight review and that I didn't know how well I still knew how to fly. He took me around the facilities first, showing me the club. The keys to the airplanes are kept in individual lockers that open with a proximity card that I'll get once my application is approved. My card will only open the lockers to planes I've been checked out on, and only if my account is in good standing. Additionally, the chief pilot can lock down all lockers if the weather is bad. This may be a standard feature at most places but it was my first experience and I was delightedly impressed.

After showing me around, he left me to preflight the plane. Everything was in order except the oil was a bit low so I put another quart in and we got started. Taxiing wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. I did a good job of staying on the yellow line and I didn't once try to drive the yoke like a car.

Take off was as exhilarating as ever. Why did I wait so long? He directed me toward the practice area and instead of asking me to do certain maneuvers, he just told me to play. Weeee! After I'd had my fun, he had me do slow flight, but I had to be reminded how to get into it, and then we did some stalls. On the power-on stall, my right wing dropped considerably. He applauded me on correcting it with rudder and not aileron, but I'm not so sure I did. I know I felt him applying left rudder, kind of like a car passenger will stomp on the brakes, except here he actually had a pedal.

For landings, he told me to go to Yolo County-Davis (Woodland) Winters Airport. After all the spinning around I had just done, I had no idea where we were. "You've got a sectional," he said, "I'm sure you can find it." And eventually I did.

My first landing was actually quite nice. I came in a little low so had to add some power, but other than that it was good. In fact, there was only one bad landing but I aborted it before I got anywhere near the ground. I still don't really have my aim right, and although I touch down gracefully, my whole approach is ugly.

Despite my failings, he told me that I had good control of the plane and that he felt comfortable. That made one of us.

After landing back at University, I refueled the plane per club rules and parked it. It's good to be back.

For my first passenger's birthday last Saturday, we went up to Half Moon Bay Airport for breakfast. I didn't make a flight plan because we were just going to follow the coast, but I did call weather services for update. He said all was clear, and it looked clear outside, so we headed down to the airport.

We only had two hours, so I wasn't sure we could really do anything significant, but the person after me cancelled so I put myself down for another hour. To really be relaxed, I should have taken one more even.

I go through all my preflight checks, and then we were off. A bunch of birds are hanging out at the end of the runway at about 1000 feet, trying to get a Darwin Award. That makes me nervous.

As we make our way up the coast, it is quite bumpy. I repeatedly ask her if she wants to continue the trip with this turbulence, or if she would rather stick around close to home and just dance around the sky. She assures me that she's fine, if a little nervous, and we carry on.

When we get to the airport, I get very nervous. This is my first destination without an instructor's approval, it's right traffic which I'm not used to, there is nowhere to land anywhere around if something goes wrong and I can't land on the runway, and there are birds all over the place. At least I'm the only one here.

As it gets time to turn base, I start to do some very stupid things. I actually told her that I was thinking of aborting this and just flying back home. I'm sure that made her feel great about being in a little tiny plane for only the second time in her life. There are a ton of birds on final, and I'm not certain they'll move out of my way. Then it gets real fun. I decide to land anyway, and completely botch my approach. Right-base to short final in a slipping turn is probably not the best thing I could have done to keep my passenger relaxed. I bounce the landing a little bit, nothing major, and we park at the airport restaurant.

I had to deal with unfamiliar right traffic, birds on final, and a ten knot perpendicular crosswind. I'm very happy with all the decisions I made about the safety of the landing, and I'm somewhat pleased with my execution of those decisions. But the choices I made were based on eight months of training, and not on the hour or so of non-training that my passenger has. If I could do it all over again, I'm not sure what I would do. She didn't appear to be shaken up, but she didn't say it was the most fun she'd ever had either.

The way back is even more eventful. The visibility is still excellent, but it's choppier than ever. I can tell she doesn't like this. She keeps making me reassure her that the turbulence won't flip us over. It won't.

We make it back to KWVI a lot quicker than the trip up. I wanted to take her to my favorite airport, Frazier Lake, but it's just too bumpy and I know it'll be worse going over the hills. As promised, my landing isn't nearly as perfect as the first one she experienced with me. Oh well.

She said she enjoyed it for the most part, but doesn't want to go up again when it's that bumpy. I don't blame her. We had a plane reserved for the evening so she could see the bay by night, but neither of us were really in the mood to see how choppy it would be so we postponed that flight.

Marc went over more of the oral portion of my checkride today, asking me about various things such as hypoxia, carbon-monoxide poisoning, how to put out engine fires on the ground, how to put them out in the air, how to put out electrical fires, which instruments are required for VFR flight, which are not, which are not required by the FARs but are by the aircraft, weight and balance exercises, proper procedure when the engine quits in flight, and a bunch of other stuff. I didn't get it all 100% correct, but I did surprise myself with how much I know now that I didn't know before.

We start off with a soft-field takeoff and head out to the training area. Marc wants to do steep turns first, and I can't argue with that. I'm not very good at those. We're right on the edge of the hills and it's a bit turbulent, so I request we go somewhere else. That was predictably denied. The whole reason he put me here was because he wanted me to do it in turbulence.

After a few not-so-good attempts, he tells me that I'm looking inside the cockpit way too much and that I should look outside more. As soon as I do this, my steeps get much better. I even hit my wake which I've never done in a steep turn.

Then we crossed the hills to do some stalls. We start with approach stalls and when I recover, I can't seem to climb back up; the plane just isn't cooperating. Then I realize that I haven't put my flaps up and when I correct that, all is fine. Marc gets a chuckle out of that.

He wants me to do another one, and we coming up on some more hills, so I turn to the right. I see Hollister right there so as I pull my throttle back to idle and trim for best glide I also turn around to face away from that airport. This draws high praise from Marc. "Smoooth! I like it! I like it!"

After some departure stalls, and some banked departure stalls, he tells me to go to South County.

Me: I don't know where that is.
Marc: Well, then, that's your job.

I grope around in my flight bag for my sectional, find the airport and the approximate heading I need to get there, and as soon as I turn towards it, I see it. I never see airports. I also grope for my A/FD to look up its CTAF and TPA.

Seeing as how the VP is such a VIP, shouldn't we keep the PC on the QT? 'Cause if it leaks to the VC he could end up MIA, and then we'd all be put out in KP.

South County Airport of Santa Clara County is a bit of a silly place. It's got left traffic on 14 and right traffic on 32 and I'm coming in on a super long final for 32 so I swerve over to the left to enter the pattern on upwind. Somebody is taking off right next to me so I just extend my upwind to follow him on crosswind.

Extending... Extending... Geez, guy, turn any time.

Then I get a call on the radio asking where I am. I say that if this is the departing aircraft on the line, then I'm just to your left and up a bit. Marc cuts in with "10 o'clock high" which I guess is a bit more accurate. We all say howdyoudo, he turns crosswind, and I follow. When the time comes, I'm asked to do a soft-field landing. I float down way more runway than I like, but I could barely feel when I touched the ground. I don't think I've ever made such a soft landing.

When we get back to the start of the runway, I see why that guy took so long to turn crosswind. There's a big sign saying that for noise abatement, pilots are requested not to turn under 1100 feet.

Marc asks me to do a short field take off. I set my flaps to 10°, pick my nose up, taxi out onto the runway, full power, lift off and put the nose down to stay in ground effect, and when my speed is sufficient, pull up the flaps and climb out at Vy. So, then, that would be a soft field take off, not short field. I slap my forehead and Marc makes fun of me.

Marc: Do a short field landing.
Me: Soft field landing, coming up!
Marc: No! Short field!

I did this quite well, stopping the plane on an eight hundred foot dime. Before I could take off again, we had to wait for some traffic on base and final which allowed for this conversation:

Me: I had a terrible dream last night.
Marc: I had a dream about you.
Wow, these 152s are small...
Me: I woke up in a sweat because I had failed my checkride.
Marc: My dream was you fired me!
Me: Well, if I fail my checkride... :-)

I did a good job on my short field take off and we head back to Watsonville. As we start to climb over the hills, he announces that my engine has failed. Lucky me, I didn't see him pull the throttle back because I just happened to be looking for a suitable emergency landing site. He done trained me good.

I set up for best glide and immediately turn the plane around. I'm rewarded with a compliment because I would not have made it over the ridge. I'm not sure what that's all about because I can't see over the ridge and that would be a piss poor time to start looking for an emergency landing site that may not be there.

He has me call out the steps I'm taking to diagnose the reason for the engine failure, so I do. Carb heat on, that didn't work. Fuel shut off valve open, nope. Mixture rich, right. Oh look! Someone pulled my throttle all the way back! (I find out that this isn't the time for jokes.) Both mags are on and the primer is locked, so I don't know what's up.

Satisfied with my choice of landing sites and my rundown of engine recovery, we abort this and continue back home where he has me do a short field landing. Just as I'm in the flare, he has me go around. I did quite a good job, even impressing myself, and when the plane is configured once again for the pattern, I thank him for being so alert because I had completely missed whatever was on the runway that made us go around. I learn that it was a stampeding herd of oxen.

As I come around again, I'm number two to land. After the guy in front of me lands, someone pulls out to position and hold on the runway. This will be a good test of judgment for me. I continue my descent and carefully watch what's happening. Number One is rolling down to the exit, Takeoff Guy is just sitting there waiting, hopefully getting anxious and embarrassed. I turn final, and I'm actually on a short final. Number One is just starting to turn off the runway and I realize that there is no way Takeoff Guy will make it out of the way in time. I announce my go-around and bear off to the right to continue the pattern on upwind. I explain my logic to Marc and he tells me that I made all the right decisions at all the right times.

For my third landing attempt, Marc decides that I'm not annoyed enough so he gives me a simulated engine failure on downwind. I'm high enough that I can just land normally on the runway, but I probably shouldn't try to land on the numbers. I've got a long runway, I should use it. I've become so accustomed to landing on the numbers that I forget this.

Dual: 1.7 (38.3)
Total: 1.7 (51.2)

Where to begin?

First of all, the weather finally decided to play nice. It got so bad, that I had pretty much scheduled every day (or night, since that's what I need right now) and just kept cancelling until conditions were good to fly.

Secondly, I'm having a fall-out with Marc. I believe he is putting his own interests ahead of mine, and that's just not something I want an instructor to do. For example, he refuses to sign me off for Monterey because "this is a high-liability job". He also wouldn't do night flight until daylight savings was over. We'll see what happens in the future, but for tonight I'm going with an interesting fellow named Don.

Don decided that we would do a cross-country flight and so I arrive at the airport with my flight plan and weather briefing at the ready. We're going through all kinds of airspace and it turns out my flight plan wasn't very good so he helps me plan another one. Traffic Control would have a better idea about how I did things, but at least it was good practice.

After I preflight he talks to me about night flight and how different it is. He says that even though there are fewer planes in the sky, I'll see every one of them. He also teaches me about loss of depth perception and therefore everything looks closer. The world shrinks.

Before we head out to the pumps to top off the tanks, he gives me a brief review of airport lightings; then off we go.

Immediately after take-off I realize that this requires a heavier usage of instruments than it does during the day. During all my downtime over the past weeks, I've been studying for my Instrument rating so I'm happy for the opportunity to perfect my scan and other such techniques. When we turn on course and head for the hills, he teaches me how city lights will tell me what's ahead. If they start to get obscured from the bottom, I'm going to hit a mountain; and if they start to get obscured from the top, I'm going to fly into clouds. Somehow, there are no clouds tonight.

Once we get over the hills, all the lights of the Silicon Valley welcome me and it's one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. As I make my way to San Jose, my first checkpoint, I think about busting out my best impression of Burt Bacharach but instead I just call up NorCal and request flight following. Immediately, my flight plan is thrown out the window.

She gives me a bunch of vectors and altitudes but she uses all local references, and I'm not too familiar with the area. I get somewhat flustered at this and Don kindly takes care of the read-back and explains what I should do.

It's all smooth sailing from here. No navigating, just do as I'm told by ATC. I'm not bothered by this because there's so much airspace to deal with here. I've got San Francisco's Bravo, San Jose and Oakland's Charlies, and then some Deltas thrown in for good measure.

After three or four hand-offs to different approach frequencies, I'm sent to the tower and set up for landing.

Metropolitan Oakland International Airport is actually two airports in one. It has a commercial side with a landing fee, and a general aviation side without a landing fee. I'll take the free side, if you please. I'm sure the traffic controllers assumed I would because that's where they sent me.

When I was planning this flight, I was hoping to land on the water, but that's the commercial runway and besides I can't see the water anyway, it's all black.

Don points out the San Francisco skyline. Words cannot suffice here. Simply stunning.

I'm cleared to land on runway 27R and I'm having a terrible time finding my glide slope. The VASI over on runway 27L helps a little bit but it's still a challenge to get this right. It doesn't help that Don has a different landing style than Marc's.

He has me maintain altitude until the VASI stops indicating red over red (too low) and it seems like it never does. I pretty much have full throttle back in for a while and finally it turns to red over white (on slope) and I continue my approach.

Don: Wow, the Bay Bridge is really beautiful tonight!
Me: Yeah, I can't really look at that right now.
Don: <chuckle>

I'll get a chance to see that on departure, but for now I just drop the plane down with a thunk and taxi back.

Before I have time to get something to write on, the tower comes back and rattles off my clearance. I repeat it incorrectly (I said 2000 instead of 2500 feet) so she repeats it. I clearly see someone on final but Don has me tell her I'm ready for take off anyway. Not surprisingly, I'm told to hold short. Lear Jets on final have priority over Cessna 152s on the taxiway. After it lands I'm told to position and hold, and a few moments later it's go cat go. As I fly my right downwind departure, I fly over McAfee Coliseum, but there's no game on.

When the tower hands me off, the NorCal controller asks me if I want to go back the way I came, or if I'd like to go this other route. For variety, I pick the other way. "Maintain heading one one zero, climb to five thousand five hundred, cleared through Bravo" Whoo hoo!

Don points out a city on my left that looks like it's just right there, and tells me it's Modesto which is actually 60 nautical miles away. He points out other, similarly distant places that look like I could glide to them if my engine went out.

Speaking of engine failure, I had asked him early on how I'm supposed to look for emergency landing sites at night and he said I'm not. Oh. Then he told me that if I was coming down and I saw a tree in front of me, I should turn my landing light off. Har har, not really in the mood for that sort of humor yet.

Traffic Control would periodically change my heading and point out the traffic I was avoiding; all of it Boeings and Airbuses. When we get sufficiently out of the airways, Don breaks out the foggles! I must say, foggles are much more comfortable than the hood. He was intending to do recovery from unusual attitudes and lost procedures but there are clouds rolling in at 1200 feet so we abandon that. He navigates me around to come in on the 45 and I take off the foggles.

My first landing wasn't so bad, although I wouldn't want a regular passenger to experience it. Then he tells me to turn my landing light off and let's do it again. A little more nervous this time, and I'm sure I'm not landing on the numbers like I like to but all in all it's okay. The clouds are really moving in and if we hadn't returned when we did, I'm not sure we would have been able to.

We go around the pattern one last time and I think I'm getting the hang of these night landings. BOOM! Okay, I don't really have the hang of it. That must have been the hardest landing I've ever done. I would have liked to end the evening on a better note, but I had so much fun and learned so much already that it doesn't bother me.

After we debrief and chat for a while, we decide to continue the daily scheduling in case the weather gives us another absolutely gorgeous night like this one.

Night Dual: 1.9 (1.9)
Total: 1.9 (44.4)

I get to the airport at 9:30 this morning so Marc can go over my flight plan. Everything is in order. I'm not flying until noon, but he has another student so I had to come in early. I debate going back home, but decide to just hang out at the airport instead.

I figured this would be a great time to get some information about my written exam that I've been procrastinating doing, so I walk over to the test center and ask for some information.

Girl: I can't help you with that, I'm not 21.
Me: Wha..?
Girl: I'm not 21.
Me: Well, can you at least tell me if I need an appointment or if I just walk in?
Girl: I can have someone call you...
Me: Thanks, I'll just come back later.

That was helpful. I talk with some guy who overheard this flurry of information for a while and then Marc and his student bring my plane back.

As I'm doing my preflight, the guy who runs the FBO comes out and checks my oil for me, even adding another jug. Marc is here talking to us as I clean my windows and then they leave telling me not to forget to check my oil. I make some inquisitive remarks and they shout over their shoulders: "Never trust the lineman!"

I head out to the pumps, fill my tanks, taxi to runup, perform runup checks, note the time, and off I go. It sure is bumpy out here; I'd better get above these clouds. I spiral up to get through a nice hole I've chosen and then I get on course and contact ATC. No answer. This headset really sucks. It's a demo set that I'm trying before I buy. I ain't buyin'. Non-stop static and if I set the squelch to high heavens, then it doesn't pick up voices.

I wait a few minutes and try again for flight following. Still no answer back from the controller. I hear other aircraft talking to him (or her, but it's usually a him) and realize that I can hear aircraft just fine, just not the controller. I don't know what's going on, but I resign myself to the fact that I won't get following so I'll have to pay extra attention. The static in my ears isn't helping.

I hit my first checkpoint just fine and then fly over the mountains where there is quite a bit of turbulence. I'm constantly scanning for flattish surfaces to land if needed. A few minutes later I'm on the other side (they aren't very big mountains) and it's all farmland now.

When I get near where my second checkpoint is, I tune in to local frequency to hear its traffic. It's the usual uncontrolled chatter but I can't seem to find this airport. I find another airport and realize that I'm a little off course. No biggie, I'll just correct for that. I exercise a cunning use of VORs to find where I am. This isn't that easy since I only have one VOR receiver but it works. The winds up here are between 24 and 30 knots according to my weather brief.

As I get closer, I listen to the ATIS but hear nothing. I double and triple check the frequency with my sectional and airport directory, but still don't hear anything. So I try calling Approach to express my concerns and oh by the way I'd like to land but I again get no response. I can only assume this is the same problem I had with the other Approach and reluctantly alter my course to a smaller airport I got signed off for in case anything went wrong.

I start my descent to skip under the Class C shelf but now I'm below 2500 feet and I can't find the airport. If I over-fly it I might end up entering the controlled airspace on the other side, so I find something I can describe, go to it, and call up the traffic for help. Fortunately my radio works air-to-air, it just doesn't work when the other end is on the ground.

I announce who and what I am, and then say I'm lost and that I'm circling over a series of square pieces of water. A very helpful man guides me on in and I enter perfectly on the 45.

Fresno Chandler Executive Airport is a little weird because it's uncontrolled but it has two parallel runways. It also has a tower, but it's obviously no longer in use.

It's been two weeks since I've flown, and it shows. I can't set up for landing to save my life and even have to think: "so what do I do now.... oh yeah, flaps". Goodness. I go around. It wasn't very pretty, but I got the plane down safely, taxied over to transient and shut down. The static meets a welcome demise. I don't have much time before I need to head back, but I mosey on over to the restaurant for a quick bite to eat.

This place has the heart and soul of a truck stop. A plastic diner with a partially sliced chocolate cake on the counter, blues music radiating from a tiny radio, and Luanne Platter welcoming guests and taking their orders. The only thing missing to complete the ambiance is a pillow of smoke, but this is California.

I go to pay ("What, no pie?") and my sandwich, salad, and soda comes to $9.99. I'm given an expert's insider tip to play them numbers on the lottery. I look in my wallet and I see a $10 and a $20. She's been really nice to me, so I hand her the twenty so I can tip her. She hands me a penny and a $10 and scurries off to tend to others. Hmm. I decide it would be rude to just flick her the penny so I'll have to just remember her next time I come back.

During my runup checks, one of my mags is rough. Oh super, that's just what I need. I push the throttle up to 2000 rpm for a while and that did the trick so I take off. I blissfully climb up to my intended cruising altitude but when I hit 3000 feet, I suddenly realize that I was under a Class C shelf and nose dive to get back down under it at 2000. I tune into Approach so I can listen to traffic and whaddya know, I can hear the controller. Figures. I'm not going to talk to him though. I may have just broken airspace and I'm not about to give him my call sign.

The checkpoint I missed on the way here, I hit right on target. I can barely see it, it's so perfectly beneath me. Unfortunately, that was the last time I'd be on course. It got really hazy and I can't see anything. Every weather report I had said VFR conditions but this looks really bad. I see the mountains in the distance but not in any detail. Judging by the time it took me to actually get to the mountains, I'd say visibility was at least 20 nautical miles which is well above the minimum requirements for VFR, but it still doesn't seem right. I'm used to seeing the horizon.

As I get towards the other side of the mountain (switching to a different control frequency), I realize I'm lost. This is not at all where I'm supposed to be. To make matters worse, I hear something that sends shivers down my spine: "Jumpers out". I would love to get flight following right about now, but the radio problem is back and I can't hear the controller.

I see a small body of water that looks large enough to be on my sectional, so I get my radial from a VOR and trace it out until I find myself. I am extremely far south of where I should be. Instead of correcting my path, I decide to just turn north and rejoin my planned course.

Visibility is really getting to be a problem now, and I contemplate landing somewhere and calling Marc but then I see familiar smoke stacks in the distance and know that visibility is even better than it was before. I suppose I'll get used to this eventually.

When I switch to local traffic, the radio becomes alive with chatter. A very welcome sound. My homecoming is slightly ruined when I enter the pattern behind someone who thinks she needs to fly a 747 pattern, but I don't let that bother me today. I perform a beautiful, full-stall landing and get out and stretch. I'm home and the static is finally stopped again.

Debriefing with Marc, he says I managed everything all right (I didn't tell him about the airspace thing), and forgetting that I was solo, I handed him my log book, but he wanted none of it.

PIC: 2.8 (12.5)
Total: 2.8 (42.1)

I went out to dinner later at a restaurant whose owner I know. He is also a pilot and he explained the "I'm not 21" thing to me since he flies out of that FBO. They've had problems with student pilots bribing the employees with alcohol so that they'll look the other way during the exam. Since 21+ people can buy their own booze, that's not a problem with them. Yet another example how the US drinking age system is flawed.

What a long day. I'm pooped. This is a long post, too.

I wake up way too late for a workday but way too early for the non-workday that it is. Marc has decided that my first solo cross country - one day after my first dual - will be a long one. That means that at least one of the legs is 100 miles long. This would be cool, except he picked the only direction that required me to buy another sectional. He made me draw on it, too.

I don't have a plotter yet because my school is out of stock and I haven't bothered to shop around so I just kind of rough it and choose a vague flight path. I'm way too shy to call flight services for a weather brief, so I look up the METARs online for all the non-private airports along the way. This will be good enough until I get to the airport.

Once at the airport, Marc flings me his plotter and now I have to do all that again, but for real this time. He helps me write down everything I'll be asking of the weather briefer and then walks away. I hate this. I don't know why I get such a block when it comes to accosting strangers over the phone, I just can't seem to get comfortable doing it.

I stumble through it adequately, I suppose. It started off like so:

Me: Good morning! Student pilot, first time caller.
Him: Okay, what can I do for you?
Me: Boxers or Briefs?

Obviously that last line is a joke; he's a weather briefer. Marc warned me during my first lesson that I would develop an absolutely horrid sense of humor. I read off all the information I had written down and he didn't ask for anything more so I must have done it right. He slowly reads off the weather brief and I scribble it down as fast as I can. I need to learn some shorthand.

The weather is a little too perfect for Marc. We didn't have any winds yesterday, and I don't have any wind today. No matter. I sign my life away and head out to preflight the plane when Marc asks me if I've eaten. Huh? I tell him I never eat in the morning and he says I have to, it's a long flight and he offers to go get me something while I preflight. I'm flabbergasted. I thank him and tell him I'll just pick something up when I get there.

I taxi over to the pumps to fill up my tanks and both are occupied, so I shut down and wait. And wait. And wait. Normally I patiently wait next to my plane, but today I'm a little pumped about my first solo cross country that I patiently wait while walking around. There's an Arrow at pump one, and a Katana at pump two. The Katana is filling its tanks, the Arrow is doing nothing. I walk around a bit. A big ass taildragger with a radial engine pulls up to the 80LL pump. The Arrow continues to do nothing. The Katana is obviously in the midst of a lesson and takes quite some time to start its engine. I don't have a problem with that, I've been there myself. The Arrow still does nothing. Both the Katana and the taildragger leave and I tow my plane over to the pump. I can't help but notice all the inactivity going on with the Arrow. I finish filling up and tow myself out a bit to clear my wings of any obstacles. I don't have a problem when I taxi, but I always seem to tow myself too close to things. To my amazement, a souped up car drives up and starts pumping 100LL. Sheesh, I'll take my '91 Honda any day over a car that needs 100LL. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Arrow doing nothing.

I finish my runup, write down the time on my flight plan, announce my departure, take a deep breath, and then full throttle. Once I'm sufficiently distant from the traffic pattern, I tune in to NorCal Approach. When I reach my cruising altitude, I initiate the handshake and request flight following to my destination. We squabble about the my squawk code and how my transponder is not squawking the correct second digit. In the end we agree that I will squawk a certain code which is not what he's seeing and I'm responsible for knowing what my 'actual' code is. Fair enough.

I'm only flying at 5500 feet and all the traffic I hear is neither here nor there. They're all at at least twice my altitude and going to destinations already behind me. This is good because it allows me to study my sectional and match it with what I see out the window. I'm amazed at the amount of concentration required for this. I had assumed that long stretches of flight would be like long stretches of road but not so.

At a little over half way, I get my first call from ATC since the transponder fiasco.

ATC: You're terminated.
Me: I'll be back.

Marc had warned me about this but I completely forgot: I am now in no man's land. Fortunately, ATC gave me the new frequency and I can attempt more flight following there but for now I'm told to squawk VFR. I don't understand why I'm not passed off like I have been through other frequencies. I should ask Marc about that sometime. I get approved for more following.

Using this new frequency is some hick chatting about how many gallons per hour he burns and how he modified his aircraft for better performance. We never hear who he's speaking to, but he's stepping all over actual flight control. Just when I'm about to accept that my radio is somehow faulty, the controller tells whomever is babbling about performance to take it somewhere else.

When I get my airport in sight, I request termination and permission to switch to airport frequency and I'm approved. I switch my transponder back to VFR and tune my radio to local traffic.

Paso Robles Municipal Airport is a nice little field but I got behind myself and I was unprepared. I didn't know which runway was favored and I didn't know in which direction traffic was. I decide to overfly the field to look at the windsock but I hear them calling out their legs for left traffic 31. Before I left, I drew a little diagram of the airport with an arrow indicating where I'd be comming from, but I forget to consult this. Instead I fly around like an idiot trying to find out where runway 31 is. Once I find it and get down to pattern altitude, I start seeing the traffic I've been hearing. I move to enter the pattern up the upwind when this happens:

X: Traffic [over there] what are you're intentions?
Me: I'm going to be entering the pattern on upwind for left traffic 31.
X: Well, this is the first we've heard from you.
Me: Sorry, I was busy flying my plane.

Before I started using the radio, Marc taught me that at a Class G untowered airport, I wasn't even required to have a radio. Always fly the plane before worrying about communicating. However, I understand the other pilots' frustration at an anonymous guy hanging around without talking. I would be annoyed also at my home airport if that happened.

Once in the pattern, I call out all my legs, land, and taxi over to transient parking. After shutdown, I try to push myself into my little tie-down spot, but nothing doing. Finally, after 10 minutes, I ask my new found neighbor if he has a tow bar. He does and I park in a flash.

Once tied down, I stretch and walk around a bit. I call my sweetheart but she sounds like RoboCop so we hang up and I head into the restaurant. They are playing such greats as T. Rex and Creedence so I decide to stay and have a juicy piece of cow stuffed with rotten cheese. Yum! This would have been perfect with a small glass of red, but I'm flying so I abstain.

When I get back to my transport, I do a preflight and when I check my fuel levels I notice that the pilot-side tank is half empty and the other tank is almost full. Do you think the plane mechanically "knew" that I was weighing down one side so it balanced it out? If so the designer needs a raise.

I'm very worried about this, though. What if something is wrong and fuel is only being drawn from one tank? Do I have enough to make it home? Should I refuel while I'm here? Since the other tank wasn't 100% full, and I accidentally overflowed it a little bit when I filled it, I figured it was all good. It would turn out to be okay, but I really should learn to stop and ask about things like this.

After I depart, I climb up to my planned altitude of 6500 feet but it's turbulent and gives me the willies. Also, I've been endorsed to airport hop so I'll need to go back down soon anyway. I decide to cruise at 4500 feet. I'm not going far enough to request flight following so even though I'm listening in, I don't make any contact. Good thing I didn't actually tell ATC that "I'd be back".

When I get close enough and low enough, I switch over to local frequency and hear a young lady announce her final. When I get a little bit nearer, I request advisories but get no answer. The runway this woman landed on is on the same heading that I am on, so I decide to enter the pattern on upwind and swing to the right to accomplish that.

The closer I get to Mesa Del Rey Airport, the more I try to make contact with anyone in the pattern that I might not see. No one answers. In fact, no one answers so loud that I announce a straight in final and if any one has a problem with that, speak now or risk a collision. No one speaks, and no one collides. I land and taxi back. As I do so, I notice a sign advertising acrobatic training. I keep on keeping on and leave as lonely as I arrived.

When I get my PPL, there are several places I intend to go. That place is not one of them.

I am required to have at least three solo full-stop landings at a towered airport; and Marc and I had planned to do this at Salinas on the way back. I listen to the ATIS and when I get within ten miles, I call up the tower and announce myself.

After I perform the third worst landing in my life, the tower asks me where I'm parking today and I request pattern work. I'm granted permission to taxi back, but I need to cross another runway to get there. I was trained that I may cross any runway necessary unless specifically told to hold short, but I panic and decide that it is better to hold short anyway and verify that I'm cleared to cross, rather than assume so. I was cleared to cross.

I'm cleared for takeoff so I do so; I'm told to perform left traffic and I comply. I'm cleared for the option and I perform the second worst landing in my life. I can just imagine the tower guys snickering at my performance. I taxi back and prepare for my third and final lap.

On downwind I'm asked to execute a tight pattern to make room for traffic on long base. It would appear that my execution is not satisfactory as I'm told to remain downwind blah blah blah I'm now number two. I confirm I'm second for landing and try to process my other instructions. Finally I give up and ask him to repeat the commands but by this time I'm eight miles out and I get new instructions to re-enter the pattern.

I come in and perform the number one worst landing in my life, taxi back, and get the hell out. But when I get close to Watsonville, I encounter the same thing as before: a guy with no respect for the traffic pattern announcing his X mile final. This time I ask him for his position and let him know that I do not have him in sight. I extend my downwind until I see him, then I land behind him. I'm 20 minutes late but fortunately the person who reserved the plane after me isn't there yet.

What a day.

PIC: 3.2 (9.7)
Total 3.2 (38.2)

Yay! Cross-country today! I was told that it was finally time for me to buy my E6B calculator, flight plan sheets, and a plotter. Except they don't have any plotters so I get to use Marc's.

After he demonstrates a call to get a weather briefing, we go into the back room and the first thing he tells me to do is draw a line from here to there on my sectional. Noooo!!! I hate drawing on maps. I really hate it. I know I'm going to be replacing them when they expire every three months, but I just really hate drawing on maps.

Then we go through the whole process of filling out the flight plan. Contrasting with other student pilot blogs I read, he teaches me that the checkpoints we choose along the way aren't for making sure I'm on track, but to know if I'm ahead of schedule or behind. This is important information as it lets me calculate if I'll need a fuel stop before I reach my destination.

As we take off and climb to our cruising altitude of 5500 feet, we contact NorCal Approach and request flight following. I get another one of those cool squawk codes.

We cross the first set of mountains (some folk would laugh at that description and call them hills, but whatever) and I'm unfazed. I've been over here before but this time I'm maintaining altitude and not trying to land. Marc points out that this is a main airline corridor and indeed we see Southwest and a few others flying over us. Neat! They're being controlled by the same ATC guy controlling me which makes sense, I guess.

The second set of mountains is much wider and we get some in-flight entertainment courtesy turbulence. About halfway across, we have this conversation:

Marc: If your engine quit right now, where would you go?
Me: Er... I have no idea.
Marc: That's not good enough.

We discuss the different possibilities available and continue on with the flight. As we get closer to our destination we thank NorCal and switch over to the tower.

Modesto City-County Airport-Harry Sham Field is a little devil of an airport. From 10 miles out, where I had announced myself to the tower, I see where I think the airport should be but I can't see any details like runways or anything. I ask Marc if he can see it and he says he can. This frustrates me a little bit so I confirm that he can see the runways from way out here and he admits that he cannot see them yet but like me he knows where they are. That makes me feel better.

I'm pretty much at pattern altitude now and the tower is clearing me to land on runway 28L but I still can't see it. I don't know what my problem is, I'm staring right at it. Marc has me turn to certain headings while I'm looking for the runway. He's even telling me that I'm turning base but I remain clueless. We go over pre-landing checks and he has me descend and start turning to the left. Okay, this sounds a lot like I'm turning final so I look straight ahead. Oh, there it is! Sheesh.

We taxi back to the runup area and sit for a minute or two to let my brain rehab, and then off we go back home. The return flight is much the same except I took over a lot more radio responsibility. Marc had relieved me of the radio for a large part on the way there so I could concentrate on navigating.

I was asked to report when I had my airport in sight, and when I do the controller tells me to "switch over to airport frequency; good day". I repeat back "switching to airport frequency, good day" and then in my best Willy Wonka impression: "I said Good Day, Sir!" but I didn't key the mic for that. Marc chuckles.

Tomorrow I'm scheduled for another cross country flight, and I'm going stag.

Dual: 1.8 (28.5)
Total: 1.8 (35.0)

When I get to the school today, Marc notifies me that the fuel surcharge is now at $12/h. I scoff at that, and as I turn to leave he tells me it's a joke. I must be getting a reputation...

I preflight the plane and then it's time for The Learning. I've been looking forward to today for a long time. Not only am I going to a Class C airport but, as I've mentioned before, I work right off the extended centerline for the main runway. All day long when I'm not working I watch planes fly in.

Marc explains to me all that will happen on the radio and all the different frequencies they'll happen on. I don't know how the fancy shmancy radios work but if I were to design one, I would give it five or six banks that I could set and switch between instead of just the two that I have in my dinky plane. Most of this information is still sitting in the waiting room of my brain, waiting for triage. I hope it enjoys the Muzak.

Just like the first time I talked to a controller, I get extreme stage-fright. We have to do a little 360 outside of the airspace for me to gain my composure and go over my lines again for the umteenth time. I do a decent job, I guess. Good thing I'm the only person flying today (judging by radio activity). I get my squawk code which is major cool beans; I've been wanting one of those for a while now. Marc takes over the radio when it becomes apparent that my transponder is not working. We get permission to carry on anyway and I get put back on radio duty.

When we are told to switch over to the tower I suddenly remind myself of Steve Martin in My Blue Heaven. "I'm wit chyou" I get cleared to land on 28R and I set up to enter the pattern on base. The tower asks me where I intend to park and when I tell him transient parking, he clears me to land on 28L. Whoo hoo! I get to use the big boys' runway! I try to look for my office, but there are strong winds and it's gusting all over the place, so I can't really take my concentration off my landing. Maybe next time.

Monterey Peninsula Airport looks a lot different from the air. In fact, I was amazed that I could pick it out so easily when I was still about 15 miles out. As if it was the only thing here.

I'm not used to so much runway, both in width and in length. This thing is huge! (In the photo, you can see the relatively tiny GA runway on the right.) I stop seemingly on a dime and before I know it I'm on the taxiways already. We go over to transient and park; then without shutting down we pretend we've just started up. I listen to the ATIS a few times because the recorded voice is mumbling, and then I contact Clearance which is the same guy as Ground, so I just tell him everything I want to do and he gives me taxi clearance to 28L. I start off on my little journey and Ground comes at me with a whole bunch of instructions. This angers Marc greatly. He really hates it when they expect students to take in a bunch of flight instructions while taxiing. I wasn't much a fan of it either, but my brain is so shot with the avalanche of information I'm processing to really know what was going on.

I've gotten myself into the habit of looking behind me after I take off to see how well I'm keeping the centerline, and I'm usually dead on it. This time I was not. That's even more serious because this is the first airport I've been to with parallel runways, and I drifted onto the other runway's space. Good thing I'm all alone out here.

The flight back is uneventful. I get transferred to NorCal Approach and then get "terminated" because of my defunct transponder so I switch to the CTAF and bring it on home.

Back inside I get praises for how I did. I don't really know how I did because I was (and am) so inundated with all the info. I'll let it seep in for a while, and then I'll reread the appropriate chapters in my books.

Somehow the book was 0.1 hours off the Hobbs in my favor again. I'm not really sure how this is happening.

Next flight is my first dual cross country. I can't wait, but I've got a lot of studying to do.

Dual: 1.1 (26.7)
Total: 1.1 (33.2)

New airport! w00t!

I've been waiting for today for a long time. I finally got to go to a towered airport.

The Learning starts with radio etiquette, most of which I already knew from books. Marc goes on and on about what kinds of conversation I'll have with the tower at different points and I have to stop him at one point and tell him that half of this is spilling out my other ear. It all makes sense to me, it's just too much information all at once.

I'm not really good at navigating. Marc has me orient my sectional with the plane, but I prefer to keep my maps right side up. I will probably please him until I get my license, and then do it my way. When I'm told to, I apprehensively call the tower and say my call sign. For some reason, I'm extremely nervous while I wait for the reply. Fortunately this lasted only a few seconds. I tell him my location, altitude, and intentions. I also tell him I'm with Mike and he correctly understands that I don't mean a passenger, but the weather information I'd listened to before contacting him. Not that I was worried about any confusion over that, of course.

I'm told to come in for right base traffic 26 report four miles. I read it back and give Marc a blank stare. As I was given the instructions, I scribbled them down using the shorthand Marc taught me before we started, but I'm not sure what to do about it. I turn a bit towards where I believe the airport should be (I wasn't far off) and Marc shows me a bit more on how to read sectionals. For the longest time I don't see the airport and I sort of zig-zag my way towards it, confusing right traffic with the more familiar left traffic and more fun stuff like that. I also have no clue where four miles out is. Not only do I not know how to judge ground distance from the air, but having been raised in Europe I'm not too sure what a mile looks like anyway. Marc helps me get on track for pattern entry and asks me what the pattern altitude is. A quick look at the sectional (that I have to turn around because it's upside down) and I report 900ft. He asks if I got that number by looking at field elevation and adding 800 and I confirm. I get a slap on the wrist for not checking with the airport directory. I don't even have one of those yet.

Marc lets me know when we're four miles out and I try to make a mental note of it. I contact the tower as instructed and am asked if I'm set up for downwind entry (instead of base like he asked). "Yes" I reply and Marc takes over the radio. Heh. You don't just give a simple answer to a simple question apparently. This reminds me of a conversation we'd had during ground school:

Me: Should I tell the tower I'm a student?
Marc: You don't really need to. They'll know.
Me: Gee, thanks.

Apart from silly mistakes like these, Marc is incredibly impressed at my radio skills. He even tells me he needs to stop complimenting me so as not to boost my ego. Suddenly I'm told to do a short final and I impress myself by being able to do it. I land, ask for taxi back, get instructions to turn off on runway 13 (!) and taxi back on bravo. Finally I get a chance to take in my surroundings.

Salinas Municipal Airport is beautiful, with its freshly paved and painted runways 8/26. Yum. I get cleared for takeoff for pattern work, say it back (I didn't write it down so I couldn't read it back) and off I go. I'm a little confused as to why I am cleared for left traffic since I was told to come in on right traffic. I fully understand switching runways based on how the wind blows, but switching traffic direction? I don't get it.

I find it interesting that Marc instructed me not to call out my legs as I make them. Not only is this unneeded, it's unwanted. I guess I understand not cluttering up radio time, but I'm just so used to announcing what I do to whomever is listening. As I continue left downwind 26, Marc reminds me that I am not allowed to touch rubber to pavement unless given clearance. I tell him that I would like to turn base now, and ask how I get clearance; but before I can finish, mister tower guy clears me for option. I'm impressed. I would really like to take a field trip to a tower to see how these people do their jobs. Salinas doesn't even have a radar, it's just some dude with binoculars.

We do some more pattern work, more for the radio than for the pattern, and then head back home. On the way back, as requested, he reviews steep turns and slow flight with me. For some reason, I'm surprised at the amount of throttle required for slow flight. No wonder I couldn't keep altitude when solo. As for the turns, I lose altitude turning left, gain altitude turning right, and can't keep my bank angle worth a hoot either way. I think I'll do fine in solo slow flight now, but I still feel uncomfortable with steep turns. Ho hum.

I park it back at the school and we go check the schedule to see if I can solo for a bit. I've got 35 minutes so I head back out to join the poverty. My solo landings aren't so great anymore, although my dual landings aren't so bad. I hear that the best landings you'll ever do in your life are the ones you do during your very first solo. So far, that's holding true for me. I decide to work on these instead of leaving the pattern for other airwork.

RFC: I notice that when I'm taking off, especially during a touch-and-go, I lean forward in my seat. I catch myself showing signs of tenseness that passengers might not appreciate at other times as well. To the other student pilots who read this, do you always sit back cool as a cucumber or do you sometimes lean forward during critical moments like I do?

Dual: 1.3 (23.6)
Solo: 0.4 (3.8)
Total: 1.7 (27.4)

We did not sing every song the pilot knew.