Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Art Works

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She could fly.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

Today I did three landings with the other instructor, and he said we should stop at that.

Why?

Because they were good.

The first one he said was perfect, and the others were good, and, he said, "I think you finally have the picture in your head of how it should look."

Yesterday, after doing 11 landings/takeoffs for almost two hours, I confess to being tired. My right leg was twitching from the constant right rudder, worse than when I go for a hard run. My left arm was tired from pulling back on the yoke during the landings (my friend Naomi informed me this past weekend that I have "chicken arms").

After yesterday's session, he sat down and drew a side-view picture of landings on a piece of paper, explaining what was happening during each part. He also drew a picture of what I was doing so I could see what I wasn't grasping correctly. I studied that picture all day yesterday, and envisioned landing so much that I got honked at in the jeep* at a green light because in my mind as I practiced "landing", at the intersection, I was just about to start pulling the nose up. That was no time to accelerate!

Today, he said, we'd stop at the three and end on that good note. "If we keep doing them, you'll start getting tired and little things will happen and you'll begin wondering what you're doing wrong. Right now, you have your confidence level up, and that's a good place to end on."

Frankly, I'm pretty happy.

Granted, the wind was light and almost straight down the runway, but still. I know I don't have it down perfectly, and that there will be rough landings and go-arounds and such, but today I did alright. I really did. I didn't screw up talking to tower, setting up the radios...it was a good morning.

Ending on a good note every now and then is really important for students, especially those like me who are all to quick to beat ourselves up, anyway.

There were a lot of airplanes on the ramp, and so I had to park the plane a little further away from the building than usual. The guys who work there are pretty friendly, and one joked with the instructor, as he was walking to the building, that I'd probably get worn out hiking to the building. I was in the airplane still, doing post-flight things like installing the control lock and turning switches off and such, but I could hear the instructor's reply.

"Nah, right now she could probably fly right to the building," he said, in regards to the dorky smile I couldn't wipe off of my face after not bottoming out on the landings.

Well, he was right.

I could fly.

And now I'm going home for the weekend. Driving, yes, but smiling the whole way.

* More than once I've reached for the cigarette lighter to slow down while driving the jeep. That's weird. But it is "throttle-like."

Labels: landings, lessons

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What happens?

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

This morning, final landing of the session was power-off.

The instructor reached over, pulled the throttle when I was on the downwind, almost abeam the touch-down point, and said, "What happens when we do this?"

In professional reality, I somewhat calmly followed his directions to maintain 75 for the glide slope.

"Do I lower flaps?" I asked.

"Let's see if we'll make the runway, first."

I turned base, then final, then flaps, then "landed" as per my usual technique, and that was that.

However.

In my head, the answer to that question, followed by the throttle getting pulled, is considerably different than the above narrative may indicate.

"What happens when we do this?" Hmm. Let's look at the options:

I crap my pants.*
My stomach leaps into my mouth, which makes for a confusing digestive existence.
I all but eat my lips off in nervous chewing, which explains my Chapstick fetish.
I frantically wish I were on the ground doing something innocuous like origami.
I want to yell something like "quit messing with the throttle!" just as if someone had reached over and tried to change the radio station when I'm driving.
Several smart replies linger at the tip of my tongue but I swallow them because I'm paying to learn this.

And oh, yes: Fly the plane.

* I would never do this. I have personal standards which will not allow it.

Labels: lessons

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It seems a bit windy.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

I was scheduled to go flying today, again, at 1 p.m. I showed up around 12:30 to do the pre-flight.

Wow. When did this overcast sky roll in? I thought, noting that the stillness of the morning of just a few hours before had been replaced by a strong wind from the south.

I walked into the building and saw my instructor for the day. I figured he'd say something if it was a no-go for the lesson.

Out at the plane, I started the usual routine, but I kept eying the crew working on runway 13, which would have been the runway we'd use in this wind, and thinking how the crosswind on the other runway was going to be a wee bit o' a challenge for me.

But, I went back to doing the routine thinking I'd be told to stop if I should.

I mean, I gotta trust the instructor; it's impossible to learn anything in life if you don't trust your teacher. You have to trust that they know more than you, that they know how and when and what to teach you, and even if things don't make sense right away, that there is a purpose for doing it. I figure there are things I need to learn and that when we go up, the conditions will be right to learn them.

"So, what do you think?" came the instructor's voice behind me, and I turned around.

"I think it's...a bit windy," I said. I wish I didn't always sound so hesitant. Confidence, Julie! You are not an idiot*.

"Yes, I think going up now in this crosswind will be counter-productive."

Now that's a useful word. Just racking up time isn't necessarily productive. I generally forget that being busy isn't necessarily productive. There's a whole lot of sub-paragraphs to the idea of counter-productive.

Tomorrow I'm on the schedule again (weather permitting), and I look forward to it. My new kneeboard and my instructor's borrowed noise-reducing headset work swell.

* There simply must be an asterisk after such a statement. You can fill in your own footnote in your head, and spare me the grief.

Labels: lessons

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What's your frequency, Kenneth?

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

I went flying this morning with the other instructor who is working with me on my landings. We'd just begun climbing off of another touch-and-go when a racket exploded on the radio.

Beeps and hisses and two guys talking -- "Looks like a loose cord here!" and some moregarbledtalk then "not sure but it sounds fine at this end, really loud in the head set" -- I wondered at the who and why.

My instructor didn't say anything; we just kept on flying. However, the mess continued and it didn't really sound like pilots. The guy working air traffic control came on the radio.

"Stop using this frequency for your test and don't ever use this frequency again!"

The garbled noise continued a bit, with faint voices still evident. No one else could use the frequency as long as these two yahoos were tying it up, and there was actually a fair amount of traffic this morning, with another plane doing a few touch and goes, a King Air, a citation or two, plus work on the runway meaning the instructions on getting to the right spot (charlie three at runway one three) were a little more involved than usual.

"Stop using this frequency. Don't ever use it again!" ATC said again. The garbled noise ended.

A bit later, a pilot came on the radio and got his instructions from ATC. At the end, he mentioned what had happened.

"What was that? Sounded like two guys checking phone lines..."

ATC responded back, "Yeah, it happens once in a while." He paused. "Usually at the most inconvenient time."

I wonder how often it does happen, and if those two guys knew not to use some frequencies or if they were completely clueless. Or, perhaps there's another explanation.

I can't think of one.

Labels: flying stuff, radio

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Pink tablets.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

Buying a small tablet for my new kneeboard was on my list of errands today. I didn't want a replay of the clumsy dropfest the last time I went for the morning flight with a different instructor, of which tomorrow I am to do.

I stood in front of the impressive display of small tablet options at Staples, and marveled again at my inability to not over-think absolutely every decision.The safe choice would be standard yellow. The little yellow mini-legal pad has great presence and tradition. "Look here, I'm serious," it says. There was also some recycled paper, as well as some neutral-toned paper.

Really, I should just grab one.

Just pick one and go! I thought to myself. The store brand was the cheapest.Then I saw a stack of pastel pads, Staples brand, which included pink.

I like pink.

It makes no sense to me, why this is so, since I'm sort of churlish and graceless and despise girly crap* in general.

This morning I spent many hours reading from my flying textbook about carburetors, magnetos, fuel injection engines, oil pumps, and other aspects of the various engines found in aircraft. I felt as if I really could use some pink.

So, I bought the pink notepads for my kneeboard which may lack a "serious pilot" air about it, but I really like pink so I don't care.

* Except high heels. Of which I am obsessed. And write about frequently. And I like heart necklaces. But I swear, that's about it for girly things. Oh yeah, perfume. THAT'S IT! Promise.

Labels: flying stuff

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White noise.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

I've been up for a while this morning, using the hand-held transceiver, listening to the airport traffic and comparing what I hear with what I see on FlightAware for KBIS.

It makes a lot of hissing, and in order for me to hear some of the back-and-forth talk between tower and the pilots, I have to have the volume up a bit. I'm sure my housemates wonder what I'm doing, and why I don't just get the TV adjusted better or something. I may have to explain it, at some point.

Anyway, it's very interesting to hear how differently pilots talk to the tower. I've noticed a few types of responses.

For example, there's the Long Extended Uuhhhh pilot.

"Bismarck Tower, we are uuhhhhhhhhh we are uuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh eight miles north on a heading for uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh straight final on uuuuuuhhhhh runway one three."

There's the Southern Guy, who is pretty much like any other guy except, when he talks to tower, I always think of Colonel Sanders, for some reason, and feel very welcome.

Unfortunately, Seinfeld's Low Talker seems to fly, and some of the voices are nearly impossible to make out. There's considerably more at stake then ending up wearing a puffy shirt, so I need to remind myself to not be a mumbler.

I've heard a few pilots from China, both here in my room and while out flying. They are studying through UND, from what I've been told. A little hard to understand, on both sides, I guess. Kind of disconcerting.

I like hearing the different pilots say their N-numbers and call out their locations. This morning, for example, there was "triple two romeo bravo" and "king air six one six gulf bravo" and a meek-voiced "four zero six romeo charlie."

The woman controller is the easiest to understand out of all of the people I hear; there's one guy that seems to work later in the day which I have great difficulty making out his words. I'm trying to learn to hear what tower tends to tell pilots so I can figure out what is said when I'm in the airplane. I'm also trying to hear how other pilots talk to tower.

Mainly, though, it's a lot of hissing white noise. I try to listen in the morning, though, since that's when the airport seems consistently busier. And, it kills any thoughts of going back to bed since that loud hiss sort of wipes the last vestiges of sleep right away.

Labels: flying stuff

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Which half?

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

I bought a kneeboard from Sporty's Pilot Shop. I've been using my flight instructor's kneeboard, but when I went flying with someone else last week, I had nothing. It was really annoying to have my pen first drop off of my lap and onto the ground after buckling in, only having to apologize to the instructor there for the day, then unbuckle, then climb out, then get the pen, then get back in, only to...drop my notebook.

I need a kneeboard, I grumped inwardly.

So, I bought the cheapest one they had, for about $10. I informed my regular flight instructor of my purchase when we went flying on Saturday.

"Did you get it from Sporty's?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You may not be aware of this, but if you should win the airplane that Sporty's is giving away, the policy is that I, as your instructor, will get half," he joked.

I hadn't been aware of the contest at Sporty's until now.

It would be very unfair if a person such as myself, who has only purchased a glorified highchair and now a cheap aluminum kneeboard, were to win. All I could offer such a plane would be years of crushing blows to the landing gear.

"Which half do you want?" I asked my instructor, "The wings or the tail?"

However, for those of you who really want to have a free airplane and it doesn't look like you'll be the lucky recipient of the Sporty's sweepstakes, I want to help you.

So here it is. Free airplanes (more than one!) from Lone Prairie. And you didn't even have to buy a thing. All you have to do to "win" is to position your mouse and click. Here. (PDF)

Labels: downloads, flying stuff

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China's superior airports.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

I'm not much for writing about politics, but sometimes* politicians say some really stupid things.

For example, Obama the Messiah is wowed by China's superior infrastructure. Perhaps he thinks his take on a billion people is accurate from what he sees by the Beijing Olympic facade. He's impressed by it, apparently.

I'm more impressed by China's ability to push people under tanks and bulldozers to achieve the necessary end result and still sell plastic crap to me for a dollar.

I can't say, after my recent understanding of what constitutes "reality" in China (computerized Olympic fireworks and 14-year-olds passed off as eligible gymnasts) that I'm really prepared to jump on Obama's bandwagon on China's spiffy airports.

I don't know. Sure, they had the Bird's Nest Stadium. But they also have turned their country into a land that is now one-fourth desert with three-fourths of its forests gone. One big birds nest at the cost of a gazillion real ones. And yeah, they built some amazing things for the Olympics, and wowed the world with their skills in architecture, planning, and construction. They also have less ballyhooed skills with crowbars, which they use to beat Christians.

But they have a pretty airport that seems superior, and also some nifty trains. Thus sayeth Obama. Frankly, I'm more impressed by a clean restroom** than anything else.

Sometimes, I just wish politicians would eat the native food, smile for the camera, clap when we win the gold, and shut up.

But no.

* By sometimes, I mean 99 percent of the time.
** The restrooms in the airport in Managua are fabulously clean.

Labels: flying news

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The in-flight movie in my head.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

I'm sure you'll find this disturbing, since I seem to inspire that reaction in far too many people. Anyway, here you go, a little "movie" for you.

Labels: cartoons

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Look, no hands.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

Yesterday morning I went flying with my instructor and just practiced landings at the airport in Bismarck. (Obviously there were some takeoffs in the mix, too, otherwise it makes for a pretty short lesson.)

"Do they have a pool running on how long it is taking me to get my landings down?" I asked, as we entered the downwind portion of another go in the traffic pattern. It could be a lucrative way of making money.

He said no. He did comment that Tower probably got some enjoyment out of watching student pilots learn.

As long as I bring enjoyment to someone's life...

It was an interesting collection of landings. He had me using 40 degrees flaps and that felt different. I have now added to my list of experiences that of porpoising. Some dolphins, I've learned, should not be saved.*

"Do you know what that was?" my instructor asked, as he helped get things back together and in the air.

Another lousy landing? I thought. "Um, no."

"Have you ever heard of 'porpoising'?"

"Yes, I read about it...was that what it was?"

"Yes." He then proceeded to explain in greater, more terrifying detail, including a story of one student he'd heard about and his tragic porpoise tale that led to, no doubt, personal humiliation and a ruined aircraft.

On one of the next landings, I was apparently doing so well that my instructor began to lift his hands up so that I (who never believes the good landings happened without help from the right seat with sufficient "did you do that or did I" grilling) could know I did it all myself. Which would have been fine and impressive had not a large gust of wind caught us right in the moment of my triumph and turned the landing into the mild debacle I've come to expect every time I approach the earth.

"Whoa, that was a gust!" he said as he helped on the controls. He later said that having 40 degrees of flaps down is like having kites attached and that the wind likes to catch at that.

Regardless, I now curse the wind for taking away my one moment. I almost landed, "hands free", except for that.

*I know that a porpoise is different than a dolphin. Work with me here.

Labels: landings, lessons

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The Montgomery Scott effect.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

My friend Naomi met me at Bismarck BP to pick me up after flying lessons this morning. Somehow we got to talking about my landings and my instructor said I may have exagerrated the level and quantity of horror in them.

I said, in defense of myself, that I practiced The Scotty Effect.

Scotty was a genius. He knew that if it was going to take two hours to fix the engine, he'd be better off telling the captain it would take four or five. In this way, he'd always come out looking good. The captain knew it wouldn't take that long. He knew he could count on Scotty to get it done.

So, instead of telling people how "great" I am at something, I try to err on the extreme down side.

You know.

I'm a terrible violinist.
I'm not good in front of a crowd.
I'm not good at math.
I draw maybe a little bit.
My landings are like crashing.

In this way, no matter how badly I perform, it's still going to look better that what people expected from hearing me preface it.

(I'll pause here while you mental health professionals catch up with your note-taking.)

I know the saying goes something like "aim for the stars; you'll at least hit the moon*" or some such garbage. I bet that sells a lot of cards, and posters for teachers to hang on their walls.

I prefer to think of it in terms of one of the most well-known quotations from Sun Tzu's Art of War (a book I read because it seemed so applicable for an out-of-work artist in rural North Dakota): All warfare is based on deception.

Not that I think everything is a battle -- and lying is wrong!! -- or that I'm constantly at war with everyone.

Because that would translate into me being a nervous wreck over everything.

Surely no one would think I was a nervous person...

* I was mooned once, in high school. I can't say it was a spectacular experience. His name was Tyrone. He had difficulty extracting himself from the car window as his friends drove by the buses.

Labels: landings, lessons, personal

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I'm irritated about the oil.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

During the pre-flight check of the airplane, prior to my lesson on Tuesday, I encountered the ever-annoying reality of my weak upper body strength. I was checking the oil -- or, I should say, trying to check the oil -- but could not unscrew the cap.

Lefty loosey righty tighty, I thought to myself, just to make sure I wasn't turning it the wrong way.

Nope.

I was already up on my tip toes, since I can't see down into the compartment unless I do so. I tried both hands, a reverse combination of hands, both thumbs just pushing the same side...I cranked and twisted...

Nope.

Not gonna move.

&$#@$!!

I completed the rest of my pre-flight check, and then went back to the oil. I'm a person who sometimes watches a movie multiple times with the strange thought that maybe, just maybe, the ending will be different this time. I thought, perhaps, that I'd find the cap loosened now that I'd given it a scare.

Nope.

Tight as ever.

The pre-flight check was all finished, except for that. Which is, really, a rather major thing. I mean, oil. You need it.

I walked back into the building to find that my instructor had arrived. I explained that the cap was on extremely tight and that I could not get it off to check the oil.

He said something, talked for a bit -- I don't know what, exactly -- until I finally blurted that I was irritated about the oil.

When we got back out to the plane, he opened the cover and easily unscrewed the cap. That bugged me a great deal. He said, as he replaced the cap after checking the oil, that he thought he was probably the last one to check it and probably the one who had capped it so tightly.

"You know," I said, "I wouldn't normally go get some guy to do it. If I were at home, I'd go into my dad's shop and get a tool. I just didn't have the option here."

He just laughed.

I am a tightly wound bundle of "let me do it!"

I need to start carrying some tools with me.

Labels: lessons

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Things are OK.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

I flew with Bob Simmers this morning, instead of my usual instructor, Mark Scheele.

It's the first time I've flown in the early morning; so far all my lessons have been mainly afternoon/late afternoon, except for the cross country (which was 10 a.m. and felt less like morning and more like afternoon).

It was a pink, hazy morning. Hot, even at that early hour. Humid. Windy. There was a tiny rainbow in a patch of clouds on the base leg of the traffic pattern. A bit of a bumpy ride.

The lesson wasn't long -- just over half an hour. I was a bit nervous, and had to just concentrate on doing what I've been taught and not dwell on nervousness or fears.

I've gotten used to having my instructor be in the other seat, and someone new is someone new. A different person will, obviously, do things differently. I think I did alright on setting up the radio and talking to tower -- a few minor hitches, but I think it went OK. It's kind of a relief to see that the good habits my instructor has been pounding into me are a useful thing. It felt more like I was doing it on my own. This was arranged, having someone else go up with me, to see if I could get a better handle on landings if I had someone else explain them to me, or at least, a fresh eye to see what to suggest.

I think the landings went OK. Nothing beautiful, but not painful. They are still in much need of improvement. I'm not fully confident yet. But, again, no jarring conclusions. The airplane will not need the chiropractor. No bouncing. Not always dead-center on the runway, but...OK. I think OK. My traffic patterns felt a little sloppy, or at least, inconsistent, but I think it went OK considering my past performances and the wind and gusts at the airport today.

People kept telling me that I'll get my landings, that all at once, it'll just "click." I keep waiting for that as my sign of success, but I'm starting to think that perhaps it won't be exactly like that. Instead of the "ah ha!" moment, maybe I'll just gradually get it and I won't know the exact moment. Perhaps that has been part of my problem as far as determining accurately how I'm doing: I'm waiting for the "ah ha" moment as the harbinger of success when, in reality, it might be a gradual and steady thing with no delineated moment. Perhaps "success" won't occur at once, but will come in steps. That, of course, is a success that is harder to determine and often slides under the radar not as a series of steps to success but as a series of failures.

I feel better about the landings. I would like more practice, which I know I will be getting. But I think it was OK.

I'll be going back up tomorrow morning with Bob, weather permitting. I'll still be a little nervous, but that's pretty much how I go through life, anyway.

It's OK.

Labels: landings, lessons

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Advice from cowgirl Janet.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

"Um, Julie, after reading your recent post...you're not going to quit, are you?" came the email.

No.

I only quit jobs.*

Ha ha. Ha. Ha. Sob.

As my sister Janet -- a true cowgirl -- repeatedly told me growing up (usually after I fell off one of our horses): You have to get back on the horse that threw you.

I have three distinct memories of her saying that to me, standing over me while I layaskew on the ground in pain, the horse grazing smugly nearby. Though I'm pretty sure she got that well-known saying from somewhere else, I'm going to give her the attribute today since she was the person that told me that advice in the actual moment it was to be applied.

This is tremendously good life advice, applicable to all situations. I know, from the horse experience, that if you don't get back on right away, you become afraid of that horse or horses in general. You can easily let slide years of skill and confidence if you let one tiny seed of fear grow, which happens when we're too afraid to claim our confidence back. If you get right back on the horse, it's terrifying for only a while until you get past it. Which is then exhilarating. It's the only way to not let fear win. Essentially, find what scares you, and do that very thing.

We had more than a few scary horses growing up, one of which broke my wrist and really scared the crap out of me.

But.

I got back on. (Quite often without much grace or style...horses are tall and I am not.) I'm certainly not going to let a horse beat me. And I'm not going to let a machine beat me, either.

* I only quit jobs because that's the reverse: sticking with a job you hate is letting the job, or fear of the unknown, beat you. But we'll save that philosophy for another day. It makes for poor-house living.

Labels: lessons

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Cartoon: Discouragement.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

Click image to see cartoon.

Some days are just a bummer.

The last time I found myself edging toward avoiding people I know was back in college, when they would ask what I was studying. As soon as they found out I was getting an art degree, the inevitable question became something like "art degree? what are you going to do with that?"

(As it turns out, not much. But that isn't -- and wasn't -- the point.)

So far, the most common question I'm getting now, is: when are you going to be done? You'd think there'd be a lot of other questions or things to talk about but, apparently, no. It has almost always been, without fail, a question of if I'm done yet/when will I be done?

This is surrounded by suggestions for me to get back home and into my "regular" life and such, and I do understand the question. It isn't really meant to be unkind. It's more about, as one friend told me, people "missing" me and wondering when I'll be back.

But, you know, in some moments, it's really discouraging. In some moments, I catch myself reading stuff into it that I know people don't mean, such as...I'm taking too long, therefore I must be a slow learner, therefore I must be stupid.

That's really extreme, yes.

Part of me is thinking that I've been in the same place doing the same things for the same people for over ten years (which, in itself, is a little disheartening); I wonder about the fact that while I've only been gone a few months doing something (at last) away from home, something new, and something on my own, that the most common question is, essentially...when are you getting back?

So I now find myself trying to either avoid people or keep the conversation from going there because I don't really have an answer and I've rather worn out the "well, there are certain minimums that are required, and then there are certain things a person needs to learn, and so it can vary...basically, I don't know."

Or maybe, if it weren't so rude sounding: I'll be done when I'm done.

-----------------------------------------------

Here's an Idea: Buy the original ink and marker drawing. It looks cool, and I need the money. Flying lessons are expensive.

Materials: Pigment and permanent inks on 8.5x11 super slick 80 lb. UV protected (archival) paper. Unframed.

Cost: $20 (plus S&H)

Labels: cartoons, landings, lessons

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Romeo and Juliet.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 7 comments link this post

After telling me what to say to flight service to file the first flight plan I've ever filed, and me taking notes, my instructor tried to take the evident terror out of my eyes by reminding me that "they're just normal people on the other end of the line."

Yes, but people scare me. Or, at least, make me nervous.

"OK," I said, and picked up his phone.

I wish I had a shorter last name. Spelling out "Julie Neidlinger", using the phonetic alphabet, is quite a chore.

"Juliet Umbrella Lima India* Echo, November Echo India Delta Lima India November Golf Echo Romeo."

You will note my mistake.

For some reason, I say "umbrella" instead of "uniform." I've done this more than once. I must focus on thinking "uniform" instead.

I don't know what to do with the fact that my name starts with Juliet and ends with Romeo.

Should I be concerned?

* Corrected...see comments below.

Labels: lessons

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This is a test.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

I'm highly suspicious that everything my instructor does is a test to see if I do things correctly.

Granted, I learn extremely well from mistakes (since I can't allow it to happen again), so by letting me make mistakes I get a little better understanding than I would if I wasn't allowed to.

However.

Yesterday, before my first cross country flight, I arrived at the Bismarck BP building at 8 a.m., got the current weather, and sat down to fill in the navigation logs. It takes me a while. My instructor came a little after 9, and said he would pre-flight the airplane to save us some time. This was so we could get going at 10 a.m.

I nodded, and went back to what I was doing.

When it came time to start the cross country flight, I walked out the door and immediately was suspicious.

Is this a test to see if I'll still do my own pre-flight? I thought. Is he trying to trip me up so I'll get all buckled into the plane and then turn to me and say 'you should always do your own pre-flight no matter what anyone says they did!' and then I'll shamefully say 'you're right.'?

"Is this a kind of trick test to see if I'll still do my own pre-flight?" I asked.

"No. It was just to save time."

I swear I still didn't believe him until we were bouncing in the hot, turbulent air several minutes later.

That turbulent air, by the way, was another lesson regarding choosing altitude.

"Why did you choose these altitudes?" he asked as he reviewed my navigation logs. I mumbled my explanation, which was heavy on the mumble and low on explanation. He went on to explain his question, "Lower altitudes are more turbulent on hot days like this."

As I now understand.

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She could fly.

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What happens?

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It seems a bit windy.

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What's your frequency, Kenneth?

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Pink tablets.

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White noise.

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Which half?

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China's superior airports.

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The in-flight movie in my head.

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Look, no hands.

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The Montgomery Scott effect.

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I'm irritated about the oil.

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Things are OK.

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Advice from cowgirl Janet.

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Cartoon: Discouragement.

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This is a test.

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