"Fiat One Sierra Sierra, cleared for takeoff," I replied to the controller. I did what Sunset told me, aligning the airplane with the white dashed line down the runway's centerline. This time, she was letting me run pattern laps all by myself, with her only there for control input and instruction. I felt that I had become rather adept at handling the airplane, and I was even beginning to understand the basic principles of forces applied in flight!
With this newfound confidence, I throttled up and released the brakes, racing down the runway as the small airspeed indicator's needle rose into the green arc. At this indication, I nosed down, then up to bring the airplane into the sky. As soon as the runway was no longer visible, I turned to the right and began the basic pattern lap. A transmission came through the radio from another airplane. "Tower, Fouga One Sierra Whiskey, request aerobatic pass."
Aerobatic pass? What was that?
"One Sierra Whiskey, pass approved. Fiat One Sierra Sierra, be advised that Fouga One Sierra Whiskey is operating in vicinity of airport. Maintain a holding circle north of the field."
"North of the field, One Sierra Sierra," I acknowledged. I left the pattern to the left and began to circle, flying no particular ground track. As I watched for the traffic, I saw the glint of the Fouga's chrome fuselage off my right wing. It was spewing white smoke, which I thought meant that something was seriously wrong with the airplane. I watched with surprise as it rolled over on its left wing, no more than thirty feet off the runway. It suddenly pitched up, entering a sharp left hand turn, the smoke still billowing from its underside. I decided to act then before the pilot hurt herself, or worse. "Uh, One Sierra Whiskey, this is One Sierra Sierra," I said into the microphone. "You have smoke coming from the belly of your jet. I'd advise that you land and have that fixed."
"Ah," the pilot radioed back, which was no more than a slight whisper, "That's aerobatic smoke, miss. That's not a malfunction or anything I need to have fixed. Call it artificial cloud making."
I face palmed as I heard Sunset laughing. Duh. Wouldn't engine smoke be black with fire? I could be so stupid at times! I continued to watch the little jet on its aerobatic routine, seeing it fly at extreme speeds and extreme angles relative to the horizon. After roughly half an hour, it lowered its gear and landed on the runway. As it did so, I continued to circle, waiting for the controllers to acknowledge my presence.
"Fiat One Sierra Sierra, cleared to land."
"Clear to land, One Sierra Sierra." I joined the pattern, lowered the gear, and throttled back to idle, dipping the right wing to put the airplane on the correct glide path to the runway. "Alright," Sunset said, "Request the option."
"The what?"
"The option. Request this, and you can make your landing a stop and go, a touch and go, or a full stop."
I nodded and got on the radio. "Tower, Fiat One Sierra Sierra requests the option."
"One Sierra Sierra, cleared for the option." I continued in, keeping an eye on the runway threshold. It rapidly disappeared beneath the nose, right when I expected it to. At this, I began to gently set the aircraft on its main wheels when suddenly, the tiny trainer rolled itself to the right. I felt one wheel hit the asphalt, then the other, before it finally began to settle on its tailwheel. Suddenly, the right wing lifted off the ground, prompting me to throttle up and make a go around. "One Sierra Sierra, going around," I radioed. I let the airplane become light once more, cursing my own stupidity as it rose off the runway once again.
"That's okay," Sunset reassured me from the rear cockpit. "My first few landings weren't perfect either."
I tried again, and the same thing happened. It bounced itself back into the sky. "Taildraggers are harder to land," Sunset said as I performed the climb out once more.
A third time, and it still bounced itself back into the sky. Now I was getting frustrated. "Land already," I muttered.
"It's the angle, Twilight, your nose is too flat when you approach. Landing isn't easy."
I wiped a tear from my eyes and made a fourth, more determined approach. This time, I throttled back, nosed down on final...
And managed to ease the aircraft down onto its landing gear. I expected it to rise back into the air, but much to my surprise, it stayed on the ground. I smiled slightly and taxied off the runway onto a taxiway after being told to monitor the ground frequency. I turned the aircraft onto the main taxiway and began to taxi back to Sunset's hangar to shut the aircraft down. When we arrived, she simply said, "Hold on" and popped open her canopy. She rapped on mine and asked for my logbook, which I handed her. She signed something in it before telling me to shut down, which I did before she handed it back to me.
After helping her move the plane back to the hangar and lock up for the day, she offered me a ride back to the gate. Not wanting to disappoint my friend, I agreed to her suggestion. She decided it would be fun to show off and rocketed down the ramp in between the hangars, causing me to hold on to her tighter and bury my face in her jacket. I hated motorcycles with a passion, that was for sure.
We reached the gate, and she complimented me on doing a good job today. "I know it isn't easy, but it will come with time. You just need more practice is all."
"Thanks, Sunset. I appreciate this."
"Of course, Twi, anytime."
Okay, so she's a CFI.
How was I supposed to know that?! I mean, I haven't known her for long so I guess it's only natural that some random surprise was bound to happen. But first she tells me she's a magical pony and now she writes me a letter addressed as 'Your Certified Flight Instructor"? What else does she hide up her sleeve?
Alright, so I may be getting ahead of myself here. This all started about two weeks ago, when I had thought that there was nothing left to learn. I thought I knew everything about quantum theory, physics, nuclear physics, astrophysics, mathematics, you name it. However, this all changed when I found a letter in my locker. It simply read, "Meet me at the airport after school. Signed, Your Certified Flight Instructor."
I did not expect what I saw waiting for me at the gate. Sunset Shimmer stood next to her motorcycle, a pad of paper in hand and keys dangling from the pocket of her studded leather jacket. She waved at me as I parked my small car in a parking space nearby, motioning for me to walk over. I obliged her, yet I remained skeptical. She hugged me as a greeting and said, "Have I got a surprise for you, Twi!"
"You?" I blurted, shocked. "You're my Certified Flight Instructor?"
"Yeah," she replied casually. She mounted her motorcycle and told me to hop onto the back seat. Said motorcycle was a violet and black Ducati performance bike, which I guessed she must have bought recently. She knew I didn't like motorcycles. I thought they were dangerous, traveling unprotected at high speed with only your balance keeping you upright. There were too many variables; any slight shift could prove disastrous, as many an accident has proven. I watched as Sunset input a code into the call box next to gate, prompting it to beep and the gate to slide open.
As she drove through the gate, I took a glance around the airport. It wasn't an international airport, or a large one by any means, but it seemed there was a fair amount of afternoon traffic. Propeller-driven airplanes orbited, landing on the runway and taking off again. In my mind's eye I calculated the forces acting from airplane wheel to ground, to acceleration to liftoff once more. Given that my estimates were correct, it took one of the high-winged ones an estimated velocity of about sixty to eighty miles per hour before the nose came off the ground. Those were the most common, ones with wings mounted above the windows. I've seen those types in movies and TV shows.... Cessnas I think they're called.
Sunset parked her motorcycle next to a large building made of shipping crates. We dismounted there, walking over to the large door that made up the front of the building. She unlatched it and raised it, revealing what lie on the inside of the dark room.
It was a beautiful orange and black airplane with a shiny silver propeller sitting horizontally on its raised nose, which glinted as my CFI pulled it out onto the pavement. Once it was fully out in the afternoon sun, I could see that it had a small wheel at the base of its tail, connected with a narrow body. It bore the designation N201SS, which to me appeared as a random series of a letter-number combination. On its tail was a yin-yang sun logo that matched that on Sunset's clothes.
She walked back out from the hangar and climbed up on the wing, unlocking the canopy. "This," she said proudly, "is Sunchaser, a Fiat G.46 trainer." She hopped down and began to methodically walk around the airplane, explaining as she went along. "It's an Italian postwar trainer, which I bought with some Equestrian currency I pawned a few years back. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise..." She paused as she replaced a red cap-like object on the wing. "...Owning a plane is damn expensive."
I laughed slightly. In all honesty, how expensive could it be? "How much did you pay for it?"
She smiled. "I paid a full ninety three thousand for this bird."
My eyes grew wide. So it was expensive.
"So you better not crash it." She tossed me the keys. "Hop in the front seat."
I looked at her, surprised, but I decided to do it anyway. I'm only going to live one life, so why pass this up? It could be something new to learn! With my mind set, I awkwardly climbed up onto the wing, slipping myself into the front seat of the tandem trainer. Sunset climbed into the backseat, and I saw some switches move as she flipped them. "Okay," she began. "The G.46 is dual control. If at any time I need to take control, I will say 'I have control,' and you will repeat, 'You have control.' Got it?"
I nodded.
"I can't see you, so I'll take that as a yes. In aviation, you need to use your words. Should we encounter an emergency inflight, I will take control and bring us down when safe. We will then dismount and meet behind the aircraft. Your seat belt is a five point harness; crotch, shoulders, waist. They're custom made, so insert the tab into the buckle to fasten. To release, press on the circular button in the center. Don't unbuckle at any time in flight. And with that, I think we're good to go! You ready?"
"Yep," I said.
"Alright. Put your feet on the pedals and hand on the stick."
"Stick?" I assumed it was the thing in front of the seat. I grabbed it firmly with one hand. From the corner of my eye I saw a headset dangling from what seemed to be a lever of some kind. Maybe it was the takeoff lever? I didn't know. "Do I need that?" I asked.
"Need what?"
"The headset."
"Go ahead and put it on. We'll be able to talk easier if you use that."
I donned the headset and immediately heard Sunset's voice. "You can hear me, right?"
"Yes, much better," I replied.
"Good. Now reach up and close the canopy."
I reached up and pulled the canopy down, fumbling with the latch until it eventually closed. Once it closed, I received my next set of instructions from Sunset.
"Okay, now you're going to start the plane. I have the brakes set, so we won't go anywhere. It's easy, just like starting a car. But first, you need to move the throttle lever a bit forwards."
So that's what that was! I nodded and moved the lever slightly forwards. I then took the keys from my pocket, inserted them into the ignition, and turned it to the 'Start' position. With a sputter and a roar, the aircraft's engine came to life, the shiny silver propeller spinning at a rapid rate. The plane was shaking from the sheer power of its engine, and I could envision the cylinders moving inside at a rate fast enough to turn the propeller. I heard Sunset talking through the headset, saying some strange pattern of numbers and letters. It sounded like 'Ground, Fiat Two Zero One Sierra Sierra ready to taxi for straight out departure,' but I wasn't too sure. A reply came seconds later, a rapid stream of instructions from air traffic control.
"Alright," Sunset said after reading back her instructions. "I'm going to release the brakes now, and I want you to throttle up and use the pedals to steer us onto the main taxiway."
I reached for the throttle and slowly increased it, making the airplane move slowly on its wheels. I tried to look where I was going, but the nose was at such an angle that I couldn't see over it. I resorted to looking out the side and hoping my control inputs would work. However, one thing baffled me. Aren't foot pedals for gas and brake input? They're that way in a car, so why would a plane be any different? As it turns out, they were for brake input, but in order to steer it on the ground, you used your heels to press the lower part of the pedal and used your toes to stop. I figured this out by stopping the plane while attempting to turn it. After throttling up to get it unstuck, I tried pushing with my heels, and that seemed to work. I managed to get the airplane onto the main taxiway, and began to throttle up with the intention to take off. After a "What are you doing?!" from Sunset, I figured I'd better not take off there. Eventually, she told me to turn left onto a smaller taxiway and park off to the side. I did as told, fumbling with the parking brake lever. Next, I received a series of directions from Sunset, and attempted to memorize them.
"Repeat back what I just told you."
I took a breath. "Set mixture to full rich, throttle up to maximum, test magnetos, throttle back, throttle up to takeoff power, turn on landing light, tell you when ready to go," I replied confidently.
"Perfect!"
I reached for the red mixture control, pushing it in fully. I then throttled up, used the key to check the magnetos by turning it to the 'Left' position, the 'Right' position, then back to 'Both.' I throttled back, checking the RPM gauge as instructed. I turned on the landing lights using a switch on the panel in front of me, then throttled up once more. "Ready," I said.
Sunset spoke over the radio. "Tower, Fiat Two Zero One Sierra Sierra is holding short of Runway 24, ready for takeoff."
"Fiat One Sierra Sierra, continue holding, traffic on final is a silver Fouga."
I looked to the opposite end of the runway to see a sleek chromed out jet flying at high speed towards the runway, landing perfectly at the foot of the runway and cruising by at a rapid rate. I passively caught its markings- silver wings streaking from its nose down its chrome body, a name under the canopy window which I couldn't quite make out, and a blue badge with silver wings and four stars surrounding it on the tail above the letters 'SW.' I heard the controller say, "Magister Eight Two One Sierra Whiskey, taxi off on Bravo Four and monitor Ground," before a female voice replied, "Monitor Ground, One Sierra Whiskey."
Then I heard Sunset talking, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Alright," she said after receiving clearance to take off. "You ready?"
"Yep!" I replied. Who was I kidding? I wasn't ready for this! I received the next set of instructions: "I have control."
"You have control."
With the airplane now in Sunset's hands, I felt it lurch forwards, turning onto the runway. The engine roared, and Sunset instructed me to put my hand on the stick and follow through with her inputs. I followed suit as the airplane raced down the runway, becoming lighter and lighter on its wheels before she nosed it over and the tail came up. She then smoothly and expertly pulled back on the stick, causing the little plane to leap skywards. I saw the runway fall out of sight in front of us as the airport grew smaller, and I felt the clunk of the landing gear retracting into the wheel wells. We cruised at a climbing attitude for several miles before she demonstrated some basic maneuvers.
"Okay, so now that we're airborne," she began, "Watch what the airplane does when I give the input. To the left-" she moved the stick left, causing the left wing to drop before rolling level- "The right-" Similar movements to the left wing, going to the right. "And level. Now you."
I repeated the movement, rocking the wings.
"Now up." She put the plane into a climb for a few seconds and nosing over once more. "And down."
I repeated the movements once more.
"To turn, I dip the wing in the direction I want to turn and pull back, using the foot pedals to keep the aircraft from climbing." She dipped the right wing and began to pull back, causing the airplane to pivot on an invisible point on the ground. "Go ahead and try turning a few times."
I turned several times, trying climbing and descending attitudes. I noticed that it felt like something was pushing me down in my seat while turning, kind of like a roller coaster. I knew these were G-forces, an effect of lift, angle, and gravity. The steeper your angle, the more the G-forces were. When they acted on one, it increased your weight temporarily, returning to normal when the angle was zero. For example, at the angle of turn, which I estimated to be about 1.5 G's, I would have weighed approximately 154 pounds. At zero G's, I weighed 103 pounds.
After turning, Sunset took control and began to bring us back to the airport. She reported in and again told me to follow through on the movements for landing, which was quite the experience. A steep turn put us on final approach, and with the wheels lowered, it nearly caused the aircraft to stall out due to form drag. Sunset landed the aircraft on its front gear first, then letting it fall onto its back wheel and coast off the runway onto another small taxiway. She received directions from control to taxi back to her hangar, which she let me do. By the time we reached our destination, I felt that I had gotten pretty adept at taxiing an airplane, and was actually able to do it without messing up this time!
When we shut down the plane and climbed out, I asked her why she decided to take me for a ride.
"Well, Fluttershy told me that you told her you felt like you had nothing else left to learn," Sunset replied. "So I thought I'd take you for a spin in something I feel you're totally capable of learning to prove to you that there is still plenty to learn."
"Like how to fly a plane?"
"Exactly!"
"Well, I appreciate it, but I can't really afford flying lessons."
"You seem to have forgotten," she said, smirking.
"Forgotten what?"
"That I'm your Certified Flight Instructor! Anytime you want to fly, just let me know. And if you want to take up flying full time, I can have that arranged."
That completely baffled me. A flying instructor at only seventeen and a half. Wow! "Alright," I said with a smile. "Thank you."
Author's Note
Just a little aviation story.
