There was something familiar about the young man sitting in the FBO, waiting. He was wearing a dress shirt with epaulets. At his feet was a serious flight bag, larger than the usual. And the expression on his face said, “I’m nervous.”
I grabbed a cup of coffee at the counter and settled in to wait for my appointment to roll up. Since we were both sitting there, facing each other, I asked, “Are you here for a check-ride?”
He nodded vigorously, but with no sign of enthusiasm.
“Which one?” I pressed. I’ve been in his shoes. Personally, I’d rather be involved in a superficial chat with a stranger than to be left alone with my concerns just prior to taking a check-ride.
He was about to head off on his MEI ride. Multi-Engine Instructor. That’s a big one. He told me he felt prepared, but knew he was capable of a mental lapse. Pretty much like all the rest of us, I countered.
We talked about what examiners are really looking for. I pontificated. The examiner really wants to see PIC decision-making, I said. They want to see you fly to the metrics set in the Airman Certification Standard. They want to know that you can fly, that you understand the machine, the airspace, the facilities you use, etc. And they’d like to be confident you can explain all that, to be a teacher, while flying.
My new friend settled down a bit. His partner returned and disappeared into the examiner’s office. There is always paperwork to be done. Fifteen minutes later the two applicants had switched places. The one I had been talking to was now in the office beginning the process. His counterpart was on the couch in the lobby, looking glum.
“How’d it go?” I inquired.
Applicant number 1 shook his head and frowned.
“Hang in there,” I tried my best to provide some encouragement at a tough moment. “It’s hard, but it’s worth it.”
A few days later I found out just how true that last statement is.
Todd taught me to fly. He was my primary instructor. He was my instrument instructor. He accompanied me in a Piper Seminole to a small grass strip where I was supposed to take my own MEI ride nearly 30 years ago. We ended up with a light twin stuck in the mud at the end of a very soft runway, and my examiner paid the bill for our unanticipated overnight stay, since he was the one who stuck it there.
The Piper Seminole.
Todd flies for one of the majors now. He sits in the left seat. He’s still my hero.
As is true of so many of us in this line of work, we don’t see each other very often. Maybe three times in the last three decades. But we like each other. Enough in fact that he reached out to let me know he’d be in Orlando on a layover. We made plans. We met up.
Sitting at an outdoor table, soaking up the warm late December evening air, we enjoyed a couple adult beverages while air traffic turned downwind to base overhead. Like the goofballs we are, we looked up at most of them…because that’s what you do when an airplane flies overhead. You look. It’s just a thing. I can’t explain it.
The first time I made that exact turn in that particular pattern, Todd was sitting just to my right. The first time I shot an approach into Orlando Exec, Todd was talking me through it. The experiences we shared helped us bond. He was (and I assume still is) an exceptional flight instructor.
We had a deal back in the old days. If I’d buy pizza, Todd would stop by my apartment to tutor me with whatever I was having trouble with in ground school. Today, we relaxed in a far more enjoyable place, with significantly better food.
Our conversation touched on airplanes, of course. We’ve both owned a few by this point. We’re both active in GA. But we also have families, and mortgages, and guitar collections, and hopes for the future. We talked about all that, too.
We reflected back over all the training we’ve done, all the check-rides we’ve subjected ourselves to, the inflight challenges, the ground-abort weather days, the nervous or even ill passengers, the life-affirming beauty of the sights we’ve seen, and the thrill of cruising at altitude in a dead still sky as the sun sets over the horizon. We chase it with no expectation of anything more than enjoying another moment or two up there where we feel so liberated from Earthly woes.
Yeah, it was hard, but it was definitely worth it. Every minute of it.
I hope one day, many years in the future, Applicant Number 1 and Applicant Number 2 will meet up at a restaurant in some far-flung corner of the planet to reflect on that time they flew off to take their Multi-Engine rides together. I hope the sound of a whirring propeller overhead distracts them for a moment, and gives them the opportunity to bask in the accomplishment of their lifetimes.
Yes, it was hard. But it was so worth it.
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The worst punishment that can be given to pilots in airline or charter services is being grounded for whatever reasons. But on the other hand a regular pilots is a happy go lucky types.
During refresher classes, some pilots do fail in the technical/performance written tests. But they do not feel bad or upset about it. Most say they spoilt the test and will rewrite again. But the greatest humiliation that no pilot can digest is failing a check-ride. That is something they are not willing believe. Most do not eat or sleep well for few days.
What I tell many instructors is that, if a trainee pilot realises he has goofed up but can be released for inline flying after a remedial session or briefing works out great. Do not fail a student if productive situation can be worked out. But if you have to deal with super ‘Dud-heads’, then it is different.
Happy flying.
I had my wife read this. She said “You have told me that a bunch of times, but he said it better.”
Thanks for saying it for me.
Jim;
Consider it just one of the services I’m willing to offer to GANews readers. If I can say it in a way that gets others to understand it better, that’s great. But you’re living the life, and that’s even better.
Thanks for reading, sharing, and reaching out to tell your story. I really appreciate it.
Fifty-two years ago I began flight training. I’ll be blunt, most of my instructors were terrible. The Flight Test Guide only required ±200 feet for Private Pilot and later ±100 feet for Commercial pilots. To make things even sloppier an applicant only had to begin a correct by the time the altitude was deviation was reached.
My primary instructors were more interested in building hours for a “real” job.
As a result I developed some bad habits. Not just holding altitude but in all things “Aviation.”
I was soloed to stay in the pattern and after three touch and goes returned to the ramp Next flight I was cleared by my CFI to the ‘practice area.”
I took off and flew west and north. Flew up to New Salem and looked at Lincoln’s log home and the paddle-wheel steamer on the river.
When I got back to SPI my CFI asked “How did it go?”
So I said I flew up to New Salem, looked at the park and followed the river boat a short distance.
My instructor then said, “YOU CAN”T DO THAT!”
At that moment I realized that I’d better take control of my education. So I began to read Part 61 and 91 like Jack Webb studying a script on DRAGNET. I memorized Part 91 and most of 61. That came in very handy years later when doing Chief Flight Instructor checks with the FSDO. Then the FAA re-numbered and can’t just say “that’s 91.52” when asked a question.
Back to altitude… When I began instructing I found students will do whatever you tell them and accept it as proper.
I told my students from the first flight to correct their altitude anytime they were a needle width away from the altitude. That means ±20 feet and that level of attention makes flying easier. Only a light pressure corrects the altitude, everything comes together.
Scan OUTSIDE, look and the gauges and look outside to correct bank angle, pitch.
You are not correcting 100s of feet, just a little. bit.