My mom, my flight instructor, and I walked out onto the taxiway towards a small, blue, red, and white single prop monoplane with tripod landing gear. My mom stood and watched as we did the preflight check on the plane. We checked for cracks on all the lead edges, engine obstructions, exhaust residue, fuel and oil samples. I climbed into the left side of the cockpit and my instructor climbed into the right side. We adjusted the seats and made sure all the switches were in the right places then turned on the battery. The engine started to make a high pitched noise that gradually increased its frequency. A few power gages began to get readings and the attitude indicator synchronized itself with the ground Mr. McKeown (the flight instructor) asked me to flip a switch labeled fuel pump, The engine made a clicking noise and the corresponding gage started to get readings. We put our headsets on and I adjusted the fuel mixture and-throttle as Mr. McKeown reached over an turned a key. The propeller started to turn and we cracked the doors open to allow air flow. He told me to turn the key to different positions (left spark plug and right spark plug) then return the key to normal position (both spark plugs). The R.p.m.’s dropped a notch but the engine stayed active. He released the brakes and asked me to turn the throttle up slightly. The plane started to move and I pushed on the left rudder pedal. The plane turned onto the line and down the taxiway. We went straight for a while then made a left turn.

“Remember to stay on the yellow line,” Mr, McKeown said, pointing out the window, “if you don’t, you might make the wing hit one of those lights.”

We pulled into an enlarged part of the taxiway and stopped. We checked a couple more systems, then throttled up and continued. We used the enlarged part of the taxiway to turn around and head in the other direction. The pedals didn’t turn easily. It took a lot of strength to push one to the floor, and even that wasn’t enough, so Mr. McKeown had to assist with the brakes, we coasted down a hill for about a half-mile, then took a left ninety degree turn. Halfway through the turn, we stopped again so Mr. McKeown could talk on the radio. We finished the turn and got on the runway, The taxiway put us part way up the runway, so we had to go to the end and turn around. On the way, Mr. McKeown explained the lights, “when landing.the yellow lights mean it’s time to get on the brakes, and the red ones mean you’re in trouble.”

When we got to the end of the runway and turned around, Mr. McKeown said, “push the throttle forward all the way, and hold it there, While we’re accelerating, only do small corrections with the rudder pedals.”

“I thought you were supposed to put the flaps down one notch for takeoff.” I said.

“You do with Cessna short takeoffs, but not with this plane.”

“Oh,” I said. I pushed the throttle up to full, and the plane started to accelerate.

After a few seconds, Mr. McKeown said, “The plane needs to be going seventy to take off; we’re at sixty right now.”

Seventy!, I thought, I thought the plane had to be going over one-hundred miles per hour! By then, the plane was probably going seventy miles-per-hour, maybe even eighty. I pulled back slightly on the yolk, and the plane rose into the air quickly, Mr. McKeown told me to climb at the first mark on the attitude indicator, which was ten degrees looked out the window and saw the ground being left behind. As I re-glued my eyes to the attitude indicator I felt a reduction in the plane’s vertical speed. After a few seconds, I realized that the attitude was about half of a degree short. I found it hard to believe such a small difference could be felt so dramatically. At the end of the climb, we turned right, towards a large lake, I realized how small the plane felt. Not claustrophobic, but light and easy to control. Also, the slightest change in attitude could be felt dramatically. After a min of flying straight, Mr. McKeown said, “we’re going to do a couple of turns now. To turn, turn the yolk in the direction that you are turning and push on that pedal lightly. This indicator,” he said, pointing to a transparent, curved, tube with two black lines and a black ball inside, “is called a turn indicator. It tells you how much rudder to use. If you use too much or too little rudder, the turn just becomes really sloppy. Try to keep the ball between the two black lines. The memory aid is to step on the ball. But make sure you look out the window to make sure there are no other planes to collide with.”

He helped me with the first turn, then let me try two three-hundred sixty degree turn on my own. My eyes were now glued to the turn indicator, and I was concentrated on keeping the ball exactly in the center of the two lines as I banked the plane. It slowly started to turn. I returned the plane to normal position after the plane was facing the lake again, a repeated the process in the other direction.

“We’re going to do a stall. This one won’t get as dramatic as they can get though. Turn down the engines. The nose is going to want to fall, so let it do that,”, said Mr McKeown. We turned the engines down and the nose dropped. “pull back on the yolk,” he said. The nose pointed up and a horn that was muffled by the headphones but still clearly heard over the engine sounded. “keep pulling,” he reminded me. The plane started falling and the nose went down. “Now we’re going to do an approach for and emergency landing. Turn right.” After one rotation, he pointed out a field. “That field would be perfect for an emergency landing. We would have no trouble landing in that,” We pulled out of the turn and returned to cruising altitude.

We turned around and headed back to the airport, We turned the lights on at the airport by pressing on the radio button seven times, about three times per second. As we approached what appeared to be the longest runway at a ninety degree angle, we turned the engines down to idle. After we crossed the runway, we turned left until we were paralleled to the runway.

“Turn left again when the runway is about forty degrees off the back of the wing.” Mr. McKeown said.

He pulled on a lever that looked like an emergency brake on a car to put down the flaps or notch. As the flaps went down, there was a sudden increase of lift. As we completed the turn, he put the flaps down the rest of the way. We were aimed straight at the runway. As we made a final approach, Mr. McKeown pressed the radio button and started talking. Although I can’t remember exactly what he said, I think it was something like: “Augusta transport, fifty-three lima, approaching runway one seven from two miles, at Augusta.” We went into a twenty to forty degree dive, and pulled up slightly at about fifty feet of altitude from the ground. We maintained a dive of five or ten degrees until the width of the runway made it look like we were too low. I instinctively pulled back on the yolk, Mr. McKeown had a firm grip on the yolk. Feeling extremely stupid, I loosened my grip on the yolk as we continued to descend. Mr. McKeown pulled back on the yolk and the stall indicator went off.

We started falling, then… THUMP… the gear hit the runway. We coasted until we approached the taxiway entrance while still going quite fast. We were going to overshoot! But then Mr. McKeown applied the brakes. We quickly slowed down and turned onto the taxiway. We got halfway through the same turn we came through on the way to the runway. I got to talk on the radio this time (although I wasn’t at all good at it), “Augusta traffic, transport fifty three lima, down and okay, urn…………. um,” Then Mr. McKeown reminded me, “Oh yeah, down and okay at Augusta.”

“One seven,” he reminded me again.

“One seven,” I said over the radio.

We began to taxi again and headed back to the place where the plane was originally parked. When we got there, we turned off the engine. When I flipped the battery switch, the high pitched whining noise began to slow down and eventually stopped. We took our headsets off and got out of the plane. My mom was waiting for us when we got inside the building. While Mr. McKeown went into another room, my mom asked about my flight. When I told her about being able to turn on the lights with the radio, my mom said, “Oh, I was wondering who turned the lights on.”

Mr. McKeown came back into the room. He let me turn on the lights again. He handed me the receiver on a coiling cord. I pressed the talk button seven times-or so I thought.

“That was six!” said Mr. McKeown. I quickly pressed it again and watched a majority of blue lights light up the field, “I don’t know why I get all these students who can’t count.”

“I probably didn’t release the button all the way one of the times.”

I gave the receiver to Mr. McKeown and he showed us the other two settings. “Five is medium… three is low.”

“How do you shut them off?” I asked.

“You don’t, they’re, on a fifteen minute timer to shut off-” Mr. McKeown replied.

“Well anyway,” my mom said, changing the conversation, “He’ll be asking when his next flight is now.”

We said goodbye and left. On the way to the car, I said, “So when is my next flight anyway?”