Bill Crawford’s Flightlab Blog

My mother-in-law lives in Phoenix. I probably shouldn’t burden you with her, since you might already have your own dysfunctional albatross to lug around. It’s just that in my family’s case the usual mother-in-law jokes fail to bring relief. We’ll get to flying in a moment. First hear me out. As far as we can tell, the woman’s behavior has suggested off-planet origins since day one. I’m convinced that even now my certifiably extra-terrestrial mother-in-law is signaling to all the other malevolent space aliens who lurk patiently just outside the Oort Cloud. “Get ready, my pets,” she pulses. “Our time soon comes.” I know this sounds mean-spirited and far-fetched, but I assure you that any attempt to account for my mother-in-law that denies the oncoming obliteration of humanity by methane-breathing Cardassians from the Gamma Quadrant just doesn’t cut the ice. She’s proof they’re out there!

All of which self-indulgent but justified bile is merely to inform you that her presence in Phoenix has generated a long-standing and family-wide reluctance to come frolic in the tumbleweed. Indiana has been close enough. As a result, my recent trip to Arizona Soaring, Inc., located at Estrella Sailport, which is just south of Phoenix, was a significant personal breakthrough.

I went there to do a glider add-on to my power rating. A commercial glider add-on requires a bunch of dual and twenty solo flights, while a private add-on requires a bunch of dual and ten solo flights. I eventually chose the latter, having first flirted with the former. Twenty solo flights is a lot of up and down when done over a short visit. I’d rather enjoy the flights at a moderate pace. The Arizona Soaring operation, by the way, runs like a Rolex not bought in a parking lot, and the instructors (and examiners) are first rate. I certainly plan to return.

I wouldn’t say that the Schweizer 2-33 trainers that a student flies have pleasant characteristics. But maybe that’s because they’re usually being flown close to the stall, either in thermals or when otherwise trying to minimize sink rate. Few aircraft are entirely agreeable in that regime. Also, gliders over-bank like crazy, so you can find yourself holding lots of opposite aileron (or running out of aileron) at the same time you’re holding in-turn rudder. As is typical of aircraft flying slowly, your turn rate depends on proper rudder application. Gliders tend to sideslip toward the inside of the turn if you’re timid on the rudder. Proper rudder deflection sets the yaw string straight and gets the turn going at the correct rate. (Remember: turn rates go up for any given bank angle as airspeed goes down, a point that slow-flying gliders quickly make clear.)

Gliders make you work the basics, and their stick-and-rudder characteristics are thus worth exploring. As a bonus, because their aluminum skins flex, when they land and come bumping to a stop the 2-33s produce an old-fashioned sound-effects thunder. It’s as if each flight ends as Macbeth begins: Cue the storm: rumble, rumble; enter three witches. (Well, maybe not entirely.)

I thought I flew a lame flight test, but I squeaked by. The rating included an oral test at the private pilot knowledge level, something I haven’t done, or prepped anyone else to do, for a long time. Most of the material was glider-specific, and I was learning it largely for the first time. But what amazed me was how much of the standard, every-pilot-is-supposed-to-know-this-stuff I had forgotten. The Class G VFR rules, for example, had lost practically all of their assigned neurons, and the VFR distance from cloud requirements above 10,000 feet were on total permanent leave. Even things I know a lot about I found difficult to fit into the FAA’s gospel call and response. When asked about spins, my mind struggled with how to explain inertial coupling to the guy. All he really wanted to hear is that you have to stall before you can spin. Check the box; next question.

Back at Plymouth, I mentioned this disquieting reversion to ignorance to Greg Ryan, a pilot whose opinions I always value. In years past, Greg and I taught aerobatics together. He’s since gone on to fly Falcons and a Global Express internationally (whereas I type). Greg made an interesting comment. While he admitted to forgetting things himself, he pointed out that much of what was once learned by rote, and was now to some degree forgotten, was actually retained as behavior. For example, you may have forgotten the prescribed distance from clouds in certain airspace, but you know enough to give them sufficient berth in case some other aircraft comes blasting through. Or you may not remember all the circumstances under which you need to make a report to the NTSB, but if something untoward happens at least you know where to find the list. As Greg put it, you know when to be wary, when to step back and re-evaluate the situation. I think that’s because you internalize what you first only memorize. You internalize the intent. It’s really not the same as forgetting, although it probably appears that way to a flight examiner.

I’m glad I had the oral review and also made peace with Arizona, a place I dearly loved in my calf-roping days, before you-know-who moved in. And I plan to hit the FAR/AIM and refill the memory cache well before my CFII renewal is due. It’s time to take this stuff seriously!