The only thing I had ever piloted before my intro flight had four legs, a mane and a tail. I was type rated in thoroughbreds and had only soloed airframes with hooves and brains.
I walked into the hangar expecting to see a Clydesdale of a machine, but instead was faced with an aircraft more akin to a pony — a tiny, yellow pony.
Bred by Robinson, Bravo Charlie was an R22 helicopter that would eventually teach me how to trade my reins for a cyclic and collective and exchange stirrups for pedals. [Read more…]