Unfamiliar Situations Are Uncomfortable

For those of you who know me really well, you know I suffer from incredible introversion.  I've gotten much better in recent years in covering it up with jokes and feigned extroversion, but that doesn't really mean I've gotten over my incredible anxiety with getting out of my comfort zone. 

This shyness isn't a new revelation in my life as I've been plagued with it as long as I can remember.  My mom loves to tell me the story of a 12-year old Chris on his way to try out for a baseball "All-Star" team.  As a youngster, I was always fairly talented in athletics.  Sports and sport-related activities came relatively natural to me.  I started playing organized baseball in my hometown at a pretty young age in a league we later referred to as "T-shirt" ball.  It received its slang name due to the nature of the competition.  Everyone who signed up for "T-shirt" ball made the team and had to play a certain percentage of the game.  At the beginning of the season, as part of the entrance fee, everyone received a shirt, not a jersey, with a number on it and at the end of the year, everyone "earned" a trophy.

A few teammates/friends of mine and I were invited to try out for a baseball team that essentially would be comprised of all-star athletes from around my county.  My parents told me about the team, that it was an "All-Star Team," and that tryouts were the next weekend.  My memory of the event starts on the drive to the baseball field.  As we pull into the parking lot, I strain my neck from the minivan in an attempt to get a glimpse of my friends. My mom and dad told me they were there so the first thing I would do is go find them but I can't see them anywhere.  Panic sets in.  Why am I doing this?  I was doing fine in my hometown league.  I didn't have to meet new people and with their spirit of competition, didn't have to risk failure. 

As my parents parked the car, I became hysterical.  I would NOT leave the van.  You can't MAKE me try out.  I WON'T!  I just wanted to go back and play with my friends.  What if the coaches don't like me?  What if the other kids don't like me?  I began to tell myself that I wasn't that good and that I wouldn't make the team so why even bother.  My dad became frustrated with me which made me even more belligerent.  My mom tried to convince me to just try but my anxiety and panic escalated my hysteria into tears. 

Once I'd calmed down, my mom confessed that the coach had already seen me play and I'd already made the team.  This was just a formality and a chance to meet the other players.  After one of the more embarrassing tantrums of my young life, I got out of the car and trotted out to the field.  Almost exactly one year later, I walked onto a plane in Kansas City bound for Cleveland holding a National Championship trophy.  Had I not gotten out of the van that day, I wouldn't have one of my favorite childhood memories.  I would've continued to play with my friends while never having to challenge myself.

The mental breakdown in my parents van was really the pinnacle of my insanity.  As I've gotten older, my rational mind has continued to win over the irrational anxiety brooding deep under the surface.  It's tried to boil up over the years in major life events and even in simple daily choices.

I was originally rejected from the Air Force Academy in February of my senior year.  At first, I was disappointed but internally relieved.  I could go to Kent State or Ohio State with my friends and not travel across the country to a military academy, a far more daunting situation.  Then, in April, I received my appointment package from USAFA.  My mom called the school while I was on a field trip. When we arrived back at school, I hurriedly called my mom fearing the worst.  She answered the phone and gave me the news.  I was going to the Air Force Academy.  I know I should've been ecstatic, but wasn't.  I was afraid of the unknown; afraid of leaving my family, my girlfriend, and the comfortable surroundings of Northeast Ohio for a distant, ominous world.  Of course, I went, graduated, and served my time.

Some of the more inconsequential examples stem from my fear of making poor choices.  A few months ago, I decided early one morning that I wanted to go grab some brunch; the only stipulation being a place with a view of the beach.  I scoured the internet looking for places.  Several grabbed my attention but the anxiety of making a choice plagued my search.  What if I went to one and didn't like it?  I would have wasted a perfectly good morning.  After two hours of internet searching, I put my computer down, went to the kitchen and made cereal.  Decision averted.  I just chose not to choose.  Problem solved.  My Montana friends know these situations all too well.

So, why am I telling these stories?  The monster inside of me has returned and this time it's not about breakfast.  This past year has honestly been great.  As much as I try to complain about my job or the students, I know deep inside that I enjoy what I do.  Sometimes the anxiety of making a decent paycheck gets me down when planes are in maintenance, but as a whole, I've become really comfortable here...and therein lies the problem.  After a year of flight instructing, I've somehow managed to become one of the more senior and experienced instructors.  I know what I'm teaching, I know how to get students through a check ride, and I know that there is relatively decent job security where I am.  Then Friday happened.

As I was finishing up my last activity for the day, my phone rang.  It was number from an area code I didn't recognize.  My first instinct was to hang up, but decided to answer it this time.  "Hello?" I said with some contempt.

"Hi, my name is John Smith.  I am a recruiter from American Eagle Airlines (an American Airlines owned regional airline) and was wondering if you have a minute to talk."  Immediately, my heart jumped and adrenaline rushed into my brain like a broken dam.

"Uh, yes.  Can you give me one second?" I was standing in the middle of the hall and didn't want to bring attention to myself.  I made my way outside the building to talk.  As I talked to the man on the other side of the phone, my mind began to race.  They wanted me to interview for a First Officer position and was wondering if I was still interested.  Of course, I said yes.  It wasn't the first such phone call I'd received offering me a chance to interview flying passengers.  In October, I received a call from a sketchy operation in Denver.  After some research, I decided to not apply.  A few months ago, I received an offer to fly a jet for a rich guy in Tampa.  Unfortunately, it offered too little compensation, too little stability, and too little flying for me to consider it.

Somehow this phone call was different.  This was a real opportunity.  Before we hung up, he said I'd be receiving an email in a few days to set up a time to interview.  As I took a deep breath following the conversation, I suddenly felt woefully unprepared.  I hadn't expected any attention until July or August (or maybe I hoped).  I mean, I only have 1330 hours.  At this stage in the game, I'm not employable until 1500.  So, I spent the weekend scouring the internet message boards.  I began to soak up as much information as I could.  I've convinced myself that it is to learn about the company but part of me wonders if its an attempt to dissuade myself from going to an interview.

On Monday, my phone buzzed and beeped several times throughout the day.  Text messages were answered and emails were ignored.  I wasn't yet ready to face reality.  What is your problem?! -- I wanted to scream at myself. Then in the afternoon, I opened my email and glanced over the 10+ emails that had accumulated throughout the day.  Subway wanted me to buy a new footlong.  My credit card bill was ready. And there it was...or they were?  What?  As I stared at my inbox, I had two email invitations from two separate regional airlines asking me to call to set up an appointment.  As I quickly glanced over them, I immediately closed my app and went about my day.

The next time I opened the emails was that night before bed.  I read them in their entirety looking for clues...of what I don't know.  I knew it was too late to call, perhaps that's why I waited until then to open them.  Tomorrow.  I'll call tomorrow.  Yeah, that'll be good. I told myself as I rolled over and went to sleep.  On Tuesday morning, I opened the emails again and stared at them.  I'm not ready. I'll never pass an interview.  I found myself ready to hit the delete button.  Then I hopped out of bed and got in the shower.  It took me 2 more days to make the call.  As I sat in an office in the school, my hands felt cold as I dialed the numbers, one at a time.  First, to the other airline, Trans States (United Express).  I felt a sense of relief as I was told to leave a message.  Whew.  Then to American Eagle.  This time, someone answered.  In 3 minutes, I'd set up a date to interview, the 20th...two weeks.

Since then, the "what-ifs" have been spinning through my mind.  What if I choose the wrong one?  What if I don't like it?  What if I don't get offered a job?  What if I screw up in the interview?  What if the company starts furloughing pilots, it is a regional after all.  What if something better comes along down the road and I commit to one.  What if.

As I sit here in a Starbucks and study, I can't help but stand at the edge of the familiar and stare into the blackness of the unknown; my eyes squinting in a vain attempt to get a glimpse of the future.  I continue to study, to read, to refocus on the dream, but it's not easy.  Easy would be staying here.  Easy would be not taking a pay-cut.  Easy would be giving up.  I know I will continue to press-on as I chase my dream.

What is fair?

"Life isn't fair," I told my 14 year old cousin one day over text message.  Up until this point in her life, things have been pretty easy.  She was born into a loving, middle class family in a good neighborhood.  She's attended good schools, gotten good grades, and lives in a clean, nice house.  So, after not hearing from her for a month, I get a message saying she has her iPod Touch back.  I knew almost immediately that she'd done something to get it taken away.

"What'd you do?" I laughed to myself.  She had rolled her eyes at her mom after getting chastised for getting bad grades.  "I don't know why they're mad at me!" she protested.  "They should be mad at the people in my class who get Cs and Ds too!  It's not fair that they punish me!" 

I exchanged a few texts and ended with, "welcome to the real world and your first taste of how fair life is."

I knew I could get on a soap box and tell my story.  I wanted to make her listen to how I worked so hard in high school and college to become a pilot.  How I'd gotten so close and had it all taken away from me at the very end.  And to throw salt in the wounds, I was assigned to the single worst Air Force job and sent to one of its worst bases.  I wanted to, but didn't.  I could do the same to you, but won't.  Instead, I'll tell a different story, one that many of you have never heard.

This is the story of Richard.  Born and raised in Oregon, Richard had always wanted to be a pilot.  He worked hard during his teen years both in high school and in extracurriculars.  During his senior year in high school, he was appointed to the United States Air Force Academy and was set to join the Class of 2006 on June 26th, 2002, not long after graduating high school.  A local flight school in Medford offered free instruction to appointees of the Air Force Academy and he took full advantage of the program.  Things were looking up for the future Air Force pilot as the cards just seemed to fall into place.  Not long before leaving for basic training, he took and passed his private pilot check ride in the valley not far from the Pacific Ocean.  A huge step in a long line of steps to becoming an Air Force pilot.  Unfortunately for him, it would also be his last.

It was a summer unlike any other in Colorado.  Fires raged just beyond the ridge projecting an eerily red glow behind the majestic looking mountains.  Even as a Basic Cadet, it was hard to not feel overwhelmed by where we were.  After the smoke settled and fires extinguished, Basic Cadet Richard became Cadet Richard.  He had joined the 1100 that had gritted it out through the 6 weeks of hell, a task that 300 of our former classmates could not do.  It was now time to settle in for the long haul.  He had a long 4 years ahead of him if he was going to graduate with a future as a pilot.  So he did just that.

The day it happened was just another day.  Fall had started to creep in on the Rocky Mountain Front Range.  One day while running to class, the world to Richard started to tip on its side like a capsizing boat.  Within seconds, the disoriented freshman leaned, fell to one knee and then collapsed into the grass along side the dormitories.  When he awoke in the hospital, he'd been told that he'd suffered a stroke.  Of course, it doesn't take a doctor to understand the implications of a stroke.  He suddenly realized that in one instant as an 18 year old barely out of high school that his dream of becoming a pilot was over.  In fact, he'd be lucky to ever fly again. 

Fair or not, that fateful fall day in 2002 changed his life forever.  I didn't know Richard then but knew of him, most of us did.  His stroke had paralyzed one of his eyes.  For most of his freshman year, he was forced to wonder the grounds of the Academy with an eye patch on; the Dreaded Pirate Richard.  Many of us chuckled at him and wondered what he'd done to deserve that.  I met him for the first time in 2003 when I showed up to my new squadron and learned that he was my new roommate.  He ended up being one of my best friends and someone who was there for me during some of my most trying times.

Richard would go on to graduate from the Academy, a feat in itself all things being equal.  Unable to become a pilot, he choose a career in maintenance to stay close to the flying side of the Air Force.  If he couldn't fly them, he'd learn to work on them.  After graduation, we all went our separate ways as the Air Force shotgunned it's new shiny Lieutenants across the globe.  Richard ended up in Idaho working on F-16s and I in Montana.  Even though less than 7 hours separated us, I only made the trip to see him twice, something I truly regret.  In 2010, Richard and his wife would be moved to Korea.  In an instant, one of my best friends was on the other side of the globe.

Not long after his move, Richard complained of incredible pain in his groin.  After several trips to the doctor, I was unfortunate enough to have this conversation with him. "Chris, I've been diagnosed with testicular cancer.  They've caught it early enough, but I'm going to lose a testicle."  Shock.  It's the only word to describe how I felt.  He reassured me that everything would be fine. Testicular cancer has a very high survival rate, he said.    Why was he reassuring me?  Shouldn't I be reassuring him?  Only 8 years after having a stroke, he was diagnosed with cancer...and I was the one who needed consoling. 

It was only a few months after the surgery when I suffered a pretty devastating break-up.  When I told Richard, he called me immediately.  I was surprised he would call from Korea for something seemingly as inconsequential as that.  "Chris, I'm really sorry to hear that.  Are you spending Easter alone?"  I responded that I was as the break-up had happened so close to the holiday weekend.  I'd never be able to get a reasonable ticket out of Great Falls.  "OK, Katy and I are coming to spend Easter with you."  He would go on to explain that he was on his mid-tour leave when he heard the news.  They were in Oregon and would be making the trip across the Rockies to visit.  The outpouring of support I received during that time was incredible but none as great as a cross-country trip and for that I will always be grateful.

After his tour in Korea, Richard hop-scotched his way to Belgium where he's stationed now.  About 6 months ago, Richard sent me an enthusiastic email.  They were going to have a baby!  His excitement was palpable.  Due at the beginning of June, it would be their first and considering the circumstances an incredibly fortunate event. 

As many of you have witnessed, I have expressed displeasure or frustration with my current situation.  How could a stupid rule change get in the way of my dream.  In March, I was humbled yet again by Richard.  After a brief period of silence from his end, I noticed he was on his computer.  As I was walking out my door to go to work, I sent him the typical intro statement..."RIIICHARD!"  It's the closest I can come to emulating Chris Farley.

In one quick response, he said  "Hey man.  During a routine exam, they found a lump on a lymph node in my abdomen.  They are going to remove it at the end of April."  I had to pull my car over when I read the news and take a few breaths.  It couldn't be happening again.  At 28 and 2 months before bringing a newborn into the world nonetheless.  I've tried to be supportive but his anguish tears me up inside.  Life isn't fair.  For someone who has done so much good, how can it be so cruel? 

Tomorrow, Richard goes under the knife to have the growth removed.  Following a stroke, he graduated from the Academy.  After having a testicle removed, he came to my side to comfort me and even managed to make a baby.  This is just another bump in the road and I know he will go on to raise a great kid.  In 2056, I want to sit on my porch with him and laugh about the time in my life that I blogged.  He will go on and he will be more successful than ever.  This post is dedicated to you, Richard. I'll see you in a few weeks.

I have included two links below.  The first is a link that Richard put on his Facebook a few days ago.  It is a support website for young adults diagnosed with cancer.  The second is for the Testicular Cancer Society. If you have a few extra dollars laying around, please donate to a good cause. 

Stupid Cancer

Testicular Cancer Society

Keep on Keepin' on

Bad weather has rolled into New Smyrna Beach on this particular day.  As I make the 20-minute drive down the East Coast to the airport, the clouds hang low and taunt me.  I pull into the gravel parking lot, get out of my car with coffee in hand and take a moment to look up at the sky before I enter the building.  Looks to be another one of those days.  I sigh, grab my bag, and walk into the building where my day of work might await.

Off to the right as I enter the building is a small room with two leather couches and TV.  At any given time, students will be sitting, sleeping, or talking in their native language.  I scan the faces of the 10 students sitting in the room.  None of them are mine.  I walk to the back of the building where the dispatch desk is to greet my fellow flight instructors.  "Happy Saturday!" Since getting out of the Air Force, I've made a conscious effort to start every morning with a smile.  Some days I am able to maintain the happiness all day.  Others, like today, end in frustration.  

Other than the bad students, I love my job.  On Friday, I had another student pass a check ride.  Finishing him was bittersweet.  It's always good to see the pure elation in their faces as they walk in from the airplane.  I walk out to greet him and help him tie down the airplane and the smile on his face was unending.  "Thank you Chris.  I couldn't have done it without you."  I shake his hand and tell him that he did all the work, I just gave him a few pointers.  For students like him, that statement is true.  He studied and it showed.  He is the kind of student an instructor loves to have.  Unfortunately, for every one of those, you get 2 or 3 students who refuse to study and then complain it is taking them so long or they are paying more than they thought.   My track record is clear.  I finish students and make good pilots.  If you aren't safe, we do it again until you are safe.  If you don't study, you pay me to study with you.  I'm not cheap.  

In fact, last week I was promoted.  Aside from assuming the role of "Safety Officer," I was recently appointed by the school as a Designated Check Instructor.  As part of our school's curriculum, at certain points throughout a student's training, they must flight with a Check Instructor to ensure their progress is satisfactory for that particular stage in training.  It allows our school to issue "licenses" at lower than normal training time.  For a student, this means they spend less money.  As a designated check instructor, I will be conducting these "mini-check rides" to ensure the students are progressing and the instructors are teaching them what they are supposed to be learning.  While this isn't an incredibly significant promotion, it does mean that I have the trust of my boss to be an important "quality check" for our school.  Oh, and it comes with another pay raise.  If you wouldn't asked me a year ago what I was hoping to make as a flight instructor, I would have never even imagined I would be where I am at now.  It definitely makes the frustration of dealing with students worth the hassle.  

Sometimes I wonder why things happen the way they do.  Two years ago, I was engaged to be married.  I was committed to move to Alabama or Florida with my fiance and look for a government contract job.  Then, at some time right around now, everything changed and the engagement was painfully ended.  I had already started the process of separating from the Air Force so after a few months of thinking, I decided to keep the ball rolling.  It isn't every day you are given a chance to start your life over.  With no commitments, and no debt, I was able to ask myself what I REALLY wanted to do with my life.  I thought over the things I really enjoyed over the past 27 years and remembered a conversation I had with some of my best friends not long before.  One of my friends commented about how happy I had become since I started flying in Montana.  I attributed it to the new relationship I had found myself in, but he was skeptical.  He claimed the relationship was a result of flying and he was right.  I LOVED flying.  So, I took the leap.  

I would eventually settle on a flight school known for the pace at which students finished.  They also offered guaranteed employment for their new graduates with a promise to build time and, more importantly, multi-engine time, fast.  So, after a little research, I jumped head first into the commitment.  By the end of training, I was told there would be a 3 month wait to start flight instructor standardization with the school.  So, I spammed my resume out to a bunch of flight schools around the country.  A small school in Annapolis, Maryland with a Naval Academy contract offered me a job.  I almost jumped at the opportunity but out of the blue, the small school in New Smyrna Beach called me and asked me to interview.  ATP, the school I went to, was offered $800 a month salary with minimal hourly pay for flight instruction.  I was told that an average monthly pay was around $1500.  Housing was provided at a minimal fee but you'd have to share an apartment with 3 other guys and share your bedroom.  Looking back, I am so incredibly happy I didn't end up there.

At the same time, airlines started raising their minimums.  My timing couldn't have been less favorable.  As I continued to build flight time, I just couldn't catch the raising minimums and this winter resigned to the fact that I would have to instruct for 1500 hours before getting hired really anywhere.  At the end of last month, I passed 1200 total time.  In a matter of months, the world will be my oyster.  Even more importantly, I am not going to be forced to make a decision based on my current working conditions.  I will be able to make a level-headed decision based on my future career and not based on the "next best thing." Yesterday, I turned down a job flying a jet.  The details behind my decision are unimportant.  The pay cut I would have taken (which would have been a raise from ATP), and the quality of life difference (on-call 24/7) could not be overcome by the incredibly small amount of flying I would do.  So I thanked the man for the interview and decided to wait for something else. As my friend Micah said, "the industry is opening up.  Just be patient."  

In the mean time, I enjoy the benefit of teaching at an international flight school.  As you see in the picture at the end, students are kind enough to give gifts to instructors they like.  Oddly enough, my students think I'm an alcoholic.

From left to right: 12 year-old Jamaican Rum, Brazilian Cachaça (pronounced Kushasa), Colombian Beer, a massive bottle of Grey Goose, Ukrainian Vodka, and a Sri Lankan silver plate.  

I've also received Colombian coffee candies, Colombian coffee, a gold Egyptian Ankh pendant, and one of my students even threw me my own Arabian feast.  So, until next time, Bottoms Up!

Drawing Interesting Conclusions

It's 1:00 PM on a Thursday afternoon.  I am sitting in the small briefing room in my flight school with a student.  The room is mostly square and it is void of decorations.  The only thing in the mostly square room is a small round table, two chairs, and a white board hanging on one wall.  I ask a question I must have asked over 100 times in the last year and one that this particular student has been asked at least 5 times.  "So, you walk out to the plane today.  What are you looking for to ensure your airplane is airworthy?"

The question was intentionally vague.  I've realized in my time if I ask a canned question like, "What documents do you have to be on board," students will just memorize an acronym and move on.  They don't correlate it to regulations or even practice it when they do pre-flight.  As far as they are concerned, flying and me asking questions are completely separate.

The student reaches up and scratches his head as he searches deep within his brain for an answer.  Part of me thinks he's waiting for a hint.  In early stages of training, I'll give them a hint or ask the question in another but leading way.  Today, I'm not in the mood.  This is the 4th time in a row he has been unable to answer the question.  I repeat the question verbatim two more times.  After each time, he pretends like he is coming up with an answer.  It's on the tip of my tongue, I can hear him want to say.  It's not.  It doesn't take long for him to just give up.  "I don't know."  Sigh.

*****

I've found that working with international students can be challenging.  Sometimes I feel bad for them.  They have come to a completely foreign country with a dream to fly.  English is their second language and, for some, saying it's even a language they speak is generous.  People often have two different views of what being a pilot means.  For some, they are amazed.  Concepts like aeronautics blow their mind.  "Wow, you must be really smart to be able to do that," they say.  Others believe it's no big deal.  "So you just take off and land.  What's so hard about that."  In all honesty, learning to fly falls somewhere between the two.  It's not rocket science and it's not easy.  Many students think if they just pay you money, they'll eventually just "get it."  Some do.  Most don't.  

So, what's the point of this post?  I honestly have no idea.  I just had a thought and I've been unable to get to it so far.  So, here's a "jump cut."  It's kind of related to what I've said, but not really.  

First, teachers are amazing.  Ever since I've started, I've begun to develop an immense appreciation for what they go through.  There are some days when I'll sit in a room and teach the same thing to three students in a row.  By the third, I've had enough.  I have a throbbing headache and am incredibly frustrated.  I'm not going to claim to have nearly as hard of a job as they do.  I mean, most of the time, I get to sit in an airplane and look down at the beach.  Plus, I have students who actually WANT to learn to fly.  Oh, and they have to pay me every time we interact.  So, I don't have to worry about motivation.  It's almost always in their best interest to learn the first time.  I can't imagine having an unmotivated group of walking hormones.  Pass.  

I will say, however, that I feel like a Renaissance Man with respect to teaching.  I've chuckled aloud sometimes when I think of all the subject areas I just taught.  So, I've decided to break them down here.  

Physics (Motion)

This is probably the easiest and most straight forward.  I teach people how to launch an aluminum machine through the air at speeds in excess of 180 mph and put it in one piece in a location hundreds of miles away.  We talk about Newton's Third Law of Motion when it comes to the torque effect an engine has on an airplane.  We talk about friction and drag.  We balance forces and learn how we actually rotate an airplane.  By the way, the correct answer is not, "I just turn the yoke to the left and the airplane turns left."  If my students tell me that, I just give them the "are you kidding me" look.  

Some of the more advanced concepts are taught when we get into the multi-engine course.  We talk about moments, asymmetric lift and thrust, prop efficiency, etc.  So, I'll pose to you a question I'll ask a student.  "Tell me about what happens when an engine fails."  There are many right answers to this question.  A student could tell me about how the airplane will rotate, performance lost on one versus two engines, their supposedly memorized checklist actions when an engine fails, drag affects, losing directional control and why,  and much much more.  More times than I care for, I get one word answers. Students will say, "Torque!" and then smile.  I just stare and say, "well technically you aren't incorrect yet.  I'll decide when you put some other words around the one you just said in the form of a sentence."  

Chemistry

Now, I have to preface all this with a qualification.  I'm not actually teaching these subjects.  I do have to discuss areas from each subject area.  This is probably one of the harder connections to draw but I do talk a little bit about chemistry.  We will talk to the students about why moist air is less dense than dry air.  I'll talk about what happens when fuel is burned and how to make combustion more efficient through the use of compressed air.  Again, I know this one is a stretch, but it's slightly there.

Physics II (Electric)

I distinctly remember sitting in Physics 2 in college wondering why I was learning about how electricity works.  Well, now I know my answer.  I have to talk to my students about the ways we create electricity in our airplane.  For example, an airplane engine is similar to a car engine with one key difference.  An airplane is designed to work in the event of a complete electrical failure in the airplane.  If you are flying and the alternator and battery both fail, it may go dark in your airplane, but the engine will continue to run normally.  There are mini generators on the back of the engine that turn and provide sparks in the spark plug.  As long as the engine is turning, they will provide sparks in the cylinders.  We call these devices magnetos.    

For those of you who know how an engine works, the engine will run and turn an alternator belt. The alternator belt will turn the alternator which will provide electricity to all the electrical components and charge the battery.  So, I'll ask the question.  "What is the main reason for the battery."   Students will say a variety of things which leads me into other topics. I've heard, "to make the spark plugs work," "to run the magnetos," "to make the radios work."  All of these answers are incredibly incorrect.  The battery's function, other than being a limited emergency backup in the event of an alternator failure, is to start the engine and energize the alternator field.  A common series of questions would look like this: 

Me: Tell me about the electrical system on the airplane

Student: We have two 14 volt, 60 amp alternators.

Me: How does it work?

Student: It charges the battery

Me: Ok, how?

Student: Well, there's a belt and it turns the engine.

Me: Noooo, try again.

Student:  The engine turns the belt?  

Me: Ok, then what?  

Student: It makes electricity.

Me: How?

Student: It just does?

Me: Are there little ferries in there throwing lightning bolts at the wires?

Student: No.  

Me: We've talked about this 3 times.  How does it work?

Student: I don't know.

Math

I LOVE math.  Call me a geek or nerd, but I love being a geek and a nerd.  I'll be them both at the same time.  I don't care.  So, having strong math skills is important as a pilot.  You do get to use a calculator but it can be a crutch.  When you are trying to talk on the radios and fly an airplane all while doing simple math on a calculator, things can get out of hand.  So, what kind of math do we do?  Well, lots of word problems.  Keep in mind you are doing these at 160 mph with me and ATC breathing down your neck.

1) The situation is as follows: You are in an airplane traveling at 152 knots (nautical miles per hour) at 6500 feet above the airport.  Assuming you go 180 knots while descending 500 feet per minute, how far from the airport do we need to start descending to arrive at traffic pattern altitude (often 1000 feet) not closer than 3 miles from the airport? 

A) Simple!  You are going to have to descend a total of 5500 feet (6500 feet - 1000 feet above the ground).  If you assume that it takes you 2 minutes to descend 1000 feet, you are descending 5.5 thousand feet.  5.5 x 2 = 11 minutes.  So, how far are you going to travel in 11 minutes?  Easy!  If you know that 60 knots means you are flying at 1 mile per minute, 120 knots would be 2 miles per minutes and 180 knots would be 3.  So, 11 minutes x 3 miles per minute = 33 miles.  Now, because we want to be at traffic pattern altitude 3 miles from the airport, we simply just add 3 miles.  See, I told you it was easy.  

Physical Science

Students have to have a firm grasp of weather...being that you fly in and around it.  Also, it is important to have an understanding of various physical processes like ice formation, climate, wind, and temperature effects on performance of the airplane.  This subject often straddles the physics line. 

Trig

This my least favorite especially since this was my least favorite in school.  A student has to be able to answer headwind and crosswind components by breaking the total wind into vectors.  How do we do this?  Using trig of course!  For example, if you are landing on runway 18, you are actually landing on a magnetic heading of 180 degrees.  The wind, also measured in degrees of magnetic heading, would say something like 090 at 20 knots.  If you just take a minute to think about it, this problems is simple.  Of course it's a 90-degree wind so it is 100% crosswind.  Where it starts getting tricky is when you have a wind coming from 150 at 20.  The students are allowed to use all their resources like a flight computer or wind component chart when calculating these.  Unfortunately, most bury it in their bag thinking they aren't going to need it.  So, when I ask if the crosswind exceeds their abilities, they just say, "uh, no?"  So, I teach them, using SINE and COSINE how to quickly get a crosswind and headwind estimate.  I'm not going to bore you with the details here.

Biology

"You and me baby ain't nothing but mammals so let's do it like they do on the discovery channel."  Ok, maybe not that kind of biology.  We talk to the students about the structure of the eye and why we have very dangerous blind spots at night.  We also talk about things like hypoxia, hyperventilation, and the effects of stress and fatigue on flying.  I'll say to a student, "Tell me about the kinds of hypoxia and how we encounter them."  

Language Arts

I decided to clump all the arts into one.  When a student comes to me in a ground lesson and neglects to student on his or her own, I will teach them the concept.  After all, I do enjoy teaching.  The second time they come and still don't know the answer, I make them student in front of me.  "Ok, pull out your regulations.  Open up to 91.205, read what it says then tell me what you read."  Most students can read English around the 4th or 5th grade level.  It's incredibly frustrating.  

Spelling and grammar is another big one.  Here is a conversation I had the other day.  "Ok, so the service ceiling is the altitude you can reasonably expect to climb..." I've gotten really good at realizing when I lose a student.  While I was talking to him, I saw the signs.  The hardest part is figuring out what he didn't understand so I'll take stabs are "big" words. "Do you know what ceiling is? No?  It's that (pointing at the ceiling).  It's the top.  If you were in this room, you couldn't go above the ceiling, could you.  Ok, do you know what the word reasonably means?  No?  How about within reason?  No.  How about rational? No?!" I had to stop and think for a minute.  I had to stop and think of another way to describe it.  I sat for a minute and massaged my temples. 

The more I think about it, the more subjects I can come up with.  I won't bore you with the rest.  I just thought this was something interesting I've observed from my time.  As for an update from me?  I've almost reached 1200 total hours.  Still no jobs on the horizon though.  Thanks again for reading!

2013 Will Be A Good Year!

To my friends,

I don't have much to tell from work so I'll tell a few stories from 2012. 

I kicked off the year at a beach party in St Pete Beach, Florida.  Sitting around a bonfire, I toasted with my fellow revelers, stared into the flame and listened to the local band rocking into the wee hours of the night.  It was a relaxing feeling; the sand between my toes on my first ever New Year's Eve spent "alone."  The Gulf was splashing around in the blackness past the dull glow of the two bonfires and it's blackness combined with a slight chill in the night air gave me chills.  Of course, my vow to never wear shoes or long pants after moving from Montana helped to contribute to the chilliness of the evening.  I would remain stubborn in this vow until December of this year when it was just too chilly (40 degrees) here to keep the commitment. 

As I rode my bike back to my aunt and uncle's house, I couldn't help but smile.  I had managed to get two phone numbers after the clock struck twelve.  "2012," I said aloud riding along the busy street, "will be a good year."  Of course, the image I had in my head for 2012 wasn't even close to the reality of what occurred.  It was, however, a good year.

*****

Winter 2010

Matt and I turned onto the small two-lane highway and headed east.  The leaves had already started to change yet it was only September.  The nights in Montana, once comfortable, had already turned brisk and were threatening to freeze our mini corn crop James had planted in the back garden. Matt and I chatted to pass the time as we drove to a far away house in a seemingly far away land.  When I think back on that time now, it all seems like the subject of a bad dream.  

As we drove, my phone rang (it could have been a text but the details aren't important).  My little sister Julie, a brand new high school teacher and softball coach, was hysterical.  "Chris, I just watched a tv show last night and it was all about how the Mayans had predicted the end of the earth.  Is it true?!"  I chuckled silently as I tried to explain to her how improbable something like an ancient civilization predicting the end of the earth was...especially considering they couldn't predict their own civilizations eventual demise.  As I talked, Matt smiled and laughed (and probably told a USAFA joke).  It was a welcome fresh of breath air to the mindless routine that Montana had become.  So, Julie and Matt, I think we have our answer.  The Mayans were wrong...or the Americans who interpreted the Mayan calendar were wrong...or they were right and we're all dead.  Either way, let's all have some Kool-aid and enjoy the new year!

*****

"What up Tequila Guac!" I chuckled as I watched the YouTube video with Dick.  He had come home on his mid-tour leave from Korea.  After hearing about my broken engagement a few weeks before, he asked for my address and told me that he and his wife Katy WERE coming to visit.  It wasn't a question, they were coming and they'd be there in two days.  They drove from Oregon to ensure that I wouldn't spend Easter weekend alone.  As a way to cheer me up, Dick played videos of Epic Mealtime, a YouTube web-series shot in a semi-serious satirical fashion.  You ever eat fast food?  Yeah?  Have you ever eaten fast food lasagna?  The creators of the show make ridiculous food and even more ridiculous jokes.  

In the year that had passed, Dick and his wife moved to Belgium.  When they discovered that our other close friend, Shane, had just gotten back from the desert and was headed for a year in Korea, we all decided to meet up in Daytona for a last gathering.  When plans were being made, Dick asked what we wanted to do.  Jokingly, I wrote, "Dude, we should do Tequila Taco Night!" referring to an episode of Epic Mealtime.  Of course, Dick is not one to joke with.  The first thing he asked when he arrived in Daytona was when I wanted to do Tequila Taco Night.  So, on one of the last nights in town, we went to the grocery store and got supplies: a pound of chicken, a pound of beef, avocados, 4-dozen packages of bacon (for bacon weaved "tortillas"), and Patron (for marinade and drinking)!  I thought it would be disgusting but to my surprise, it was delicious.  Of course, after some very good Belgian beer and shots of Patron, I doubt anything would've tasted bad.  Thanks guys for coming out!!  

If you've never seen it, you need to check out the video "Tequila Taco Night"

****

Of course, 2012 was also a year for weddings.  Almost exactly a year after I had left, I returned to Montana.  It was weird flying back to a place I liked so little.  Of course, on this occasion we had a blast.  James and Michaela were wed in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains.  Not only was it beautiful scenery but it was also quite the party.  All but one of the self-proclaimed "Super Friends" made it to the wedding.  Ross arrived in Bozeman about 30 minutes before I did.  As I got off the plane, I was excited to see my friend and partner in crime that I hadn't seen in over a year.  As I walked with my bag to the parking lot, Ross smiled as he hit the unlock button on the rental car.  In true Ross fashion, he had managed to upgrade our rental car to a brand new convertible yellow Mustang.  So, for the 4 or 5 days we were in town, Ross and I cruised through the streets of Bozeman with the top down.  Mike arrived later in the day and planned to crash on the floor of our hotel room.  Colin drove up from Colorado and also found a comfy nook on the floor. The night after the wedding, this arrangement made it looked like Jamestown at the Royal 7.  Also joining us at our Montana reunion was Kevin and Damon.  For the first time since 2010, we were all back together.  Sorry you were stuck in Afghaniraqistan Rich!

Also for the first time ever, I got to visit the city of Boston...and in the fall no less.  Damon and Connie were married in Cambridge in a completely different yet wonderful ceremony.  As Mike would put it, we rode around Boston on the subway like Good Will Hunting.  Of course, this analogy was expressed when he found out I was looking at hotels in South Boston because I felt the $400 per night in Cambridge was a little steep and riding the train was something he wasn't really looking forward to doing.  Mike and James had significant roles in the wedding so during the prep, I was left to explore Boston on my own...and a blast I had.  I never thought I would enjoy traveling to new cities by myself but I loved it!

So, to the newly weds James and Michaela as well as to Damon and Connie, I say BRAVO!

  *****

I really do wish I could continue to tell stories.  Of course, many of the good ones about flying have been told and I'm sure you're already tired of reading.  When I started the year, I had barely over 200 hours and before heading home for Christmas, I passed 1000 with almost half of it in a twin-engine airplane.  My knowledge has quadrupled since my CFI checkride (a scary thought) and my confidence with it.  As I watched the last few minutes tick by from my rooftop bar in Daytona Beach, I thought back on the last year.  While stressful and slightly disappointing, I realized that 2012 was the best I've ever had.  I reunited with the best friends a man could ever ask for and have started out on a journey to live my drive.  I'm not there yet nor am I where I thought I'd be but had I gotten an airline job, there was a very good chance I would've missed one or two of the weddings, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.  Instead, I have some of the fondest memories I've ever created and a dozen more stories where those come from.  While having a dream job is important, creating memories with the people I love is a far more important 

So, to my friends Dick, Shane, Ross, James, Michaela, Mike, Colin, Damon, Kevin, Rich, Luke, and Joe, I say thanks for making 2012 a year I'll never forget.  May our paths cross again in 2013 in hopes of making it better than the last!!

Love, 

Chris

Another Milestone

First off, I would like to thank all of you who have followed me over the last year and a half.  It means a lot to know that my friends and family follow my progress even if it isn't the most entertaining writing in the world.  You could, after all, be reading Michael Crichton (I know I would rather be doing that!).

Weather at the beginning of December was frustrating.  For almost two weeks straight, low clouds and fog sat over most of Central Florida and kept flying low.  In times like these, we take advantage of the downtime and sit down with the students and discuss aerodynamics, weather, rules and regulations, and the like.  We call these activities ground.  The convenient thing about doing ground lessons is that the students here never seem to really get motivated to study.  Oftentimes I'll ask the exact same questions four days in a row with similar incomplete answers. So, when bad weather moves in, I get to charge the students and help them study.  Sometimes the students get to sit with me as a penalty for poor study habits outside of school but mostly we have to review upcoming oral testing by our check pilots.

After 4 straight days of fog (and I mean San Fran-like all-day fog), last Tuesday was looking to be more of the same.  I was woken up by my alarm at 5:45 in the morning.  I picked up my phone, silenced the alarm and as I'd done for the past two weeks straight, pulled up my weather app to check the previous Daytona Beach report.  Thick fog blanketed the airport with visibilities less than 1/4 mile.  To put this in perspective, the fog was so thick if you laid 4 football fields end-to-end, you wouldn't be able to see the end of the 4th one.  If you were driving on the highway and driving 60 mph, you couldn't see anything in front of your car more than 15 seconds ahead.  Thick.

I sighed or grunted or both and called up the weather reports from all the major airports in central Florida.  Orlando International, Jacksonville, and even Tampa were all reporting fog.  The forecast was promising the fog would clear out by 11 at the latest but low clouds would persist.  Of course, my colleagues in another life said it was going to be clear all day the last 3 days but got those guesses wrong.   I got dressed and jumped in my car in hopes that THIS time they would be right.  As I was driving to New Smyrna, the fog appeared to get thicker.  I was no longer comfortable driving at 55 mph and when I reached the airport, I couldn't see the tower which was positioned no more than 100 yards from the road.  Great.

After canceling the first two flights of the day, sunshine filled the windows of the school.  Just in time for my 11 am flight, I jumped up, found my student and told him to go pre-flight.  We were going.  Period.  By the time we taxied to the runway, the sky to the south was clear and a beautiful shade of blue.  As we climbed out of New Smyrna, I peaked back toward the north at Daytona and saw a low layer of clouds chilling.  I snickered and thought some sarcastic comment about Embry-Riddle being grounded.

After about 45 minutes of practicing maneuvers, I looked back toward the airport merely 5-10 miles to the north of me and scattered clouds had filled the sky.  Out to east over the water, it was clear.  I made a mental note that if I needed to get under the clouds, that would be the way I could go.  A straight shot in from the beach left no towers or buildings any higher than 300 feet.  I was in a twin-engine airplane without GPS so an instrument approach would be impossible. I'd have to do it the old fashioned way.  Of course, there was a sizable hole in the clouds over the land and south of the airport but its position put it in a precarious position near airspace that I didn't really want to have to enter and the end of the runway at New Smyrna.

I told my student to do one more maneuver and while he did that, I listened to the weather broadcast at the airport.  They were reporting 1000 foot cloud bases barely making it legal to enter the airspace without a special instrument clearance.  "Ok, let's go back.  The clouds are getting low and I don't want to get trapped out here."  As we flew back over the hole, I thought briefly that we should just circle down through it but didn't want to have to walk my student through the simple maneuver.  It would just be easier to tell him to go out over the water to where there were clearly no clouds.  "Go ahead and descend down to 1000 feet."  As we reached the cloudless area over the Atlantic, I realized the cloud deck extended further out over the water than I thought.  At 1000 feet, I couldn't see below the clouds.  I told the student to descend to 800 feet to see if we could see below them at that altitude.  Still couldn't get below them but I figured I could get down to 700 and be clear of clouds.  On a special VFR clearance, I could make it to the airport as long as they didn't get any lower towards the coast.  Knowing that I could potentially make the run to the coast at 500 feet (something I really didn't want to do), I remembered the hole.  Plan B.


As my student oddly raced towards the cloud deck, I decided it would be my turn to fly.  He appeared to be overly stressed by the situation and deciding to fly towards the clouds at nearly full power.  "Ok, I'll take the controls for a minute."  I pulled on the yoke and shot up at over 2000 feet per minute.  As I climbed over the shallow cloud layer, I made my way to where I remembered the hole being.  As I made my way inland, the hole had disappeared.  "Bummer," I thought to myself.  During this maneuver, I had heard tower talking to some guys to the west of the airport.  They reported very low ceilings and poor visibility to the east out over the water.  I knew this pretty much eliminated making my way back to the water in an attempt to get below the clouds.  It sounded though as if another airport had found a hole.

As I maneuvered more north and west, I saw the hole but it was small and seemingly getting smaller.  I needed no more than a mile-wide hole and my mental ruler was telling me it was a mile.  I called tower and told them I was going to follow the Cessna through the hole.  Unfortunately, we would be unable to descend normally because of the speed we would get to in order to lose enough altitude to fit through the hole.  I dumped the gear, pulled the throttles to idle and pointed for the hole.  At around 3000 feet per minute and over 140 mph, I watched my altimeter needles spin unnervingly fast.  As we passed 1300 feet, the bases of the clouds rose above us and I could see the whole airport about a mile ahead.

I leveled off, added some power and gave the controls back to the student.  "There, I did the hard part.  All you have to do is land."

A few days later, I passed another milestone.  My logbook total passed 1000 hours.  If the experience and the knowledge I've gained in the first 1000 hours is any indication for what I will learn in the next 1000, I am in for quite another year!

 

Enter the Thunderdome!

I may have mentioned in posts past of my love for this concept whereby the harder you work, the more money you make.  It's great!  The more I fly (something I love), the more money I make (something I also love).  For the most part, I've been given the freedom to fly as much or as little as I would like.  In my case, the former is always the preferred choice.  It is a veritable buffet of flying.

And then November happened.  My mom came and visited at the end of October which slowed my flying down quite a bit but it wouldn't have mattered anyways.  Hurricane Sandy was trotting up the coast with her course set for New York.  While she didn't hit here, her massive wake sure did.  Operations shut down for the better part of a week as winds stayed steady at almost 30 knots and would routinely gust about 45 knots.  While it isn't impossible to fly in that kind of weather, it has limited training value.  It was almost convenient that my mom came to town when she did.  No one at Epic was flying...which also means no one was making money and I got to spend some quality time with my mom.

As I dropped my mom off at the airport in Orlando, I mentally prepared myself for my all-you-can-fly meal that I was about to partake in.  I had set it up so that I would fly non-stop for the next two or three days to make up for the bad weather and fly I did.  Then November 1st happened.

At a minimum, airplanes are required to go through an "Annual Inspection" every 12 months.  Think of it as your 3000 mile oil change except instead of just changing the oil, they replace the tires, check the engine to make sure it runs right, inspect all the moving parts that make your car move and more.  It is essentially to make sure the airplane is working and won't start falling apart on you a mile above the earth.  Unlike a car, if your airplane breaks down, you can't just pull over and call a tow truck.  So, one of our three twins went down on November 1st and into its annual inspection.  Well, at least it was supposed to.

On Friday, November 2nd, my life came to a screeching halt.  Early in the morning, the other two remaining twins "timed-out."  Every 50 hours an airplane flies here, it is taken into maintenance and inspected and given an oil change at the very least.  It's pretty much a "does anything look super broken here? No? Moving on."  While it's not that simple, I don't really feel like boring you with all the details.  Every 100 hours it flies (so, every other 50 hour inspection for those doing the math), it comes down for a more thorough inspection.  If this happens during the week and an entire day devoted to by a mechanic to inspect it, it'll take take an entire day to do.  So, it's a pretty taxing inspection.

Both of the twins went down into a 100 hour inspection with the third in annual.  Since the annual is the most time consuming, it is a lower priority.  The priority is to get the money-makers back on the line as soon as possible.  Unfortunately, this happened on a Friday.  Slowly but surely over the next three days, our single-engine airplanes started timing out and the skeleton crew maintenance department became inundated.  By the end of the next week, our fleet of 16 airplanes would be whittled down to just 4.  With 40 instructors, four planes wouldn't be enough to make a living.

This is when my world became that of Mad Max.  Resources were scarce and instructors frustrated.  Within a week, the singles and one or two of the twins were back up but tensions still ran high.  Some instructors, desperate to get theirs, woke up before midnight to schedule at the earliest possible time.  Upon closer inspection, 3 flights were all scheduled at 00:00 am by one instructor.  Another followed his lead at scheduled at 00:01 am.  It's almost like they were sitting in the same room.

Luckily for me, I signed that contract back in the summer to allow me to be get time in the other twin.  Being one of 3 of three instructors allowed to teach in it saved me.  I didn't need to resort to desperate tactics to get paid.  I found out there was a student who wanted to fly it and because the airplane was available (it is a significantly more expensive airplane to fly so most students avoid it) and coincidentally so was I, he was given to me.  

Slowly but surely, maintenance was catching up but another problem showed up in the middle of last week.  A cold front turned stationary front parked itself over central Florida bringing the worst possible weather for flying.  For three days straight, stubborn fog blanketed the area and lounged until shortly before noon.  With the abundant moisture and relatively cool air, super low clouds often kept the airport under instrument flight rules most if not the entirety of the day.  Flying an airplane without GPS equipment at an airport only equipped with GPS approaches really hampers what you can do...not to mention the limited training value of "VFR-on-top" operations and the added stress due to the proximity to sensitive airspace (Orlando to the west and Cape Canaveral to the south).

So you wait...and wait.  Every hour you hope for improvement but none comes.  For the majority of the last week,  I would spend 10-12 hours at work making as little as 2 hours of billable pay.  One particularly frustrating day, I had to cancel 3 flights in a row and even though I could have possibly flown the 4th scheduled for 7 pm, I gave up in disgust.  I had been at work since 7 am and only billed 4 hours.  My friend and I capped off the night with a beer and enjoyed getting summarily dismissed by the only two semi-attractive girls in the bar.  It was a good day.

Now, it is impossible to point fingers.  It would be easy to blame maintenance but they aren't at fault.  They are doing the best they can.  You could blame the owner, the economy, the guy who had to come inspect the props but didn't, the DC-7, God, my boss and even me but it does no good.  Instead, I binge on days planes are available and take a few extra days off.

It is getting old though.  Now more than ever I yearn to move on.