The checkride

[Cub flyer]

Got this today. I think he'll need some dual.

Hi Mate,

I am writing to you because I need your help to get me bloody pilot's
license back. You keep telling me you got all the right contacts. Well

now's your chance to make something happen for me because, mate, I'm
bloody desperate. But first, I'd better tell you what happened during
my
last flight review with the CAA Examiner

On the phone, Ron seemed a reasonable sort
of
a bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a flight review
every
two years. He even offered to drive out, have a look over my property
and let me operate from my own strip. Naturally I agreed to that.

Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday. First up, he said he was a bit
surprised to see the plane on a small strip outside my homestead,
because the ALA (Authorized Landing Area) is about a mile away. I
explained that because this strip was so close to the homestead, it
was
more convenient than the ALA, and despite the power lines crossing
about
midway down the strip, it's really not a problem to land and take-off,

because at the halfway point down the strip you're usually still on
the
ground.

For some reason Ron seemed nervous. So, although I had done the pre-
flight inspection only four days earlier, I decided to do it all over
again. Because he was watching me carefully, I walked around
the
plane three times instead of my usual two.

My effort was rewarded because the colour finally returned to Ron's
cheeks. In fact, they went a bright red. In view of Ron's obviously
better mood, I told him I was going to combine the test flight with
some
farm work, as I had to deliver three poddy calves from the home
paddock
to the main herd. After a bit of a chase I finally caught the calves
and
threw them into the back of the ol' Cessna 172. We climbed aboard, but

Ron started getting onto me about weight and balance calculations . Of course I knew that sort of thing was a waste of time

because, calves like to move around a bit particularly when they see
themselves 500 feet off the ground!
So, it's bloody pointless trying to secure them as you know. However,
I
did tell Ron that he shouldn't worry as I always keep the trim wheel
set

on neutral to ensure we remain pretty stable at all stages throughout
the flight.

Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimized the warm-up time
by
tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500 rpm. I then
discovered that Ron has very acute hearing, even though he was wearing
a
bloody headset. Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle
and demanded I account for it. Actually it began about a month ago
and
was caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the floor and
lodged in the fuel selector mechanism. The selector can't be moved
now,
but it doesn't matter because it's jammed on `All tanks', so I suppose

that's Okay.

However, as Ron was obviously a nit-picker, I blamed the noise on
vibration from a stainless steel thermos flask which I keep in a beaut

little possie between the windshield and the magnetic compass. My
explanation seemed to relax Ron, because he slumped back in the seat
and
kept looking up at the cockpit roof. I released the brakes to taxi
out,
but unfortunately the plane gave a leap and spun to the right. "Hell"
I
thought, "not the starboard wheel chock again".

The bump jolted Ron back to full alertness. He looked around just in
time to see a rock thrown by the prop-wash disappear completely
through
the windscreen of his brand new Commodore. "Now I'm really in
trouble",
I thought.

While Ron was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement
that
we taxi to the ALA, and instead took off under the power lines. Ron
didn't say a word, at least not until the engine started coughing
right
at the lift off point, and then he bloody screamed his head off.
"

"Now take it easy, Ron" I told him firmly. "That often happens on
take-off and there is a good reason for it". I explained patiently
that
I usually run the plane on standard MOGAS, but one day I accidentally
put in a gallon or two of kerosene. To compensate for the low octane
of
the kerosene, I siphoned in a few gallons of super MOGAS and shook the

wings up and down a few times to mix it up. Since then, the engine
has
been coughing a bit but in general it works just fine, if you know how

to coax it properly.

Anyway, at this stage Ron see med to lose all interest in my test
flight. .
I selected some nice music on the HF radio to help him relax.
Meanwhile,
I climbed to my normal cruising altitude of 10,500 feet. I don't
normally put in a flight plan or get the weather because, as you know
getting FAX access out here is a joke and the weather is
always
8/8ths blue anyway. But since I had that near miss with a Saab 340, I

might have to change me thinking on that.

Anyhow, on leveling out, I noticed some wild camels heading into my
improved pasture. I hate bloody camels, and always carry a loaded 303

clipped inside the door of the Cessna just in case I see any


We were too high to hit them, but as a matter of principle, I decided
to
have a go through the open window. Mate, when I pulled the bloody
rifle
out, the effect on Ron was friggin' electric. As I fired the first
shot
his neck lengthened by about six inches and his eyes bulged like a
rabbit with myxo. He really looked as if he had been jabbed with an
electric cattle prod on full power. In fact, Ron's reaction was so
distracting that I lost concentration for a second and the next shot
went straight through the port tyre. Ron was a bit upset about the
shooting (probably one of those pinko animal lovers I guess) so I
decided not to tell him about our little problem with the tyre.

Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to do my
fighter
pilot trick. Ron had gone back to praying when, in one smooth
sequence,
I pulled on full flaps, cut the power and started a side slip from
10,500 feet down to 500 feet at 130 knots indicated (the last time I
looked anyway) and the little needle rushed up to the red area on me
ASI. What a buzz, mate! About half way through the descent I looked
back in the cabin to see the calves gracefully suspended in mid air
and
mooing like crazy. I was going to comment on this unusual sight, but
Ron looked a bit green and had rolled himself into the fetal position
and was screamin' his freakin' head off. Mate, talk about being in a
zoo. You should've been there, it was so funny!

At about 500 feet I leveled out, but for some reason we kept sinking.

When we reached 50 feet I applied full power but nothin' happened. No

noise no nothin'. Then, luckily, I heard me instructor's voice in me
head saying "carb heat, carb heat". So I pulled carb heat on and that

helped quite a lot, with the engine finally regaining full power.

Whew, that was really close, let me tell you!

Then, you'll never guess what happened next! As luck would have
it, at that height we flew into a massive dust cloud caused by the
cattle and suddenly went I.F. bloody R, mate. Keevvie, you would have
been really proud of me as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did
make
a mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is
repaired (something I've been meaning to do for a while now).
Suddenly
Ron's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared. His mouth opened
wide, very wide, but no sound emerged.

"Take it easy," I told him, "we'll be out of this in a minute". Sure
enough, about a minute later we emerged, still straight and level and
still at 50 feet.

Admittedly I was surprised to notice that we were upside down, and I
kept thinking to myself, "I hope Ron didn't notice that I had
forgotten
to set the QNH when we were taxiing". This minor tribulation forced
me
to fly to a nearby valley in which I had to do a half roll to get
upright again.

By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow
strip
between them. "Ah!" I thought, "there's an omen. We'll land right
there."

Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a
couple
of steep turns with full flap. Soon the stall warning horn was
blaring
so loud in me ear that I cut its circuit breaker to shut it u p, but
by
then I knew we were slow enough anyway. I turned steeply onto a 75
foot
final and put her down with a real thud. Strangely enough, I had
always
thought you could only ground loop in a tail dragger but, as usual, I
was proved wrong again!

Halfway through our third loop, Ron at last recovered his sense of
humour. Talk about laugh. I've never seen the likes of it. He couldn't

stop. We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves, who
bolted
out of the aircraft like there was no tomorrow.

I then began picking clumps of dry grass. Between gut wrenching fits
of
laughter, Ron asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to stuff

the port tyre with grass so we could fly back to the homestead. It
was
then that Ron really lost the plot and started running away from the
aircraft. Can you believe it? The last time I saw him he was off into

the distance, arms flailing in the air and still shrieking with
laughter. I later heard that he had been confined to a psychiatric
institution - poor bugger!

Anyhow mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is I got this
letter
from CAA withdrawing, as they put it, my privileges to fly; until I
have
undergone a complete pilot training course again and undertaken
another
flight proficiency test.

Now I admit that I made a mistake in taxiing over the wheel chock and
not setting the QNH using strip elevation, but I can't see what else I

did that was a so bloody bad that they have to withdraw me flamin'
license. Can you?