1977. All those years ago and just yesterday, on a severe clear March day in the Golden Isles of Georgia, my superb flight instructor (he of 27,000 ATP hours!) and I were flying my favorite training aircraft, N757WW, a Cessna 152 widely known by ATCs from Jacksonville to Savannah as "Double Shot". After several circuits around the pattern at KSSI with some nice touch-and-goes, we taxied back to the school's hangar. As I prepared to shut down, Frank touched my right hand as I reached to close the throttle. "Time to solo!" said Frank to his twelve hour total time pilot. "She'll feel a little lighter; just do everything you already know how to do!" My pulse went tachycardic, but I was so very ready to go...
I taxied back to the run-up area of 33, that day's active runway. After requesting an airport advisory and clearance to take off which was granted, I entered the runway. Everything on the panel was in the green. 10 degrees of flaps, a last look around the pattern, a quick deal with God followed by full throttle and some right rudder. Double Shot leapt into the air as if she were STOL equipped! The engine sounded smooth and powerful and the air was as smooth as Steuben glass. I retracted flaps and soared upward at 1,000 f.p.m. toward pattern altitude of 800 feet MSL. Nirvana!
WTF? Just as I reached my assigned altitude and commenced a ninety-degree left-hand turn to downwind, my windshield was filled with an huge Air South DC-3. At my altitude! Not more than 300 feet horizontal separation! Talk about your from ecstasy to seventh sphere of Hell moment! I was too frightened to soil my garish pantaloons!
Long story short: I extended my crosswind leg, watched as the DC-3 made a perfect three-point landing on 22, then proceeded to make three circuits to full stop landings. They were great landings, too: I was not hurt and the aircraft was reusable!
As my flight instructor used scissors to cut the shirt tail off of my favorite pink (but not ghey) shirt, the Air South cockpit crew walked out on the apron and approached us. "Who was flying Double Shot today?" the pilot asked. "This guy?" said the co-pilot, pointing at me. I nodded in assent. The pilot said "Didn't mean to cut you off, but we were an hour behind schedule. Congrats on the solo - can we buy you a beer?" And so they did. Plural.
How wonderful to relive the memories of that extra-special day...
