tradford
24th Dec 2013, 20:51
I wrote a little poem after my recent solo experience -
Solo Flight
The day is just right for companion-less flight,
winds are calm with no clouds in the sky,
the critical gear has received the “all clear” –
now she’s fueled and deemed ready-to-fly.
The mixture’s full-rich, I confirm that the pitch
will adjust as I move the controls –
and the tach isn’t fazed as collective is raised,
since the grip automatically rolls.
I pull it up slow – wonder which way she’ll go
until finally she’s light on the skids –
then I counter the yaw and correct for the draw
that could lead to what safety forbids.
She lists to the side as collective’s applied,
‘cause the fuel weighs a bit more than me –
but the wonderful gift of additional lift
makes the earth set the two of us free.
It’s hard to describe what it feels like to ride
on a cushion just feet from the ground
in an aerial sled – as the blades overhead
beat the air with a thunderous sound.
The pound of my heart when I’m cleared to depart,
makes me wonder if all that I’ve learned
will ensure I survive, that I’ll get back alive –
still intact when my flight is adjourned.
I know I’ve progressed and that leaving the nest
is a ritual all must transcend,
but I find it profound that there’s no one around,
if I panic – that might be the end!
I start on my roll with the cyclic control,
get in trim with the help of a string,
then I push for the shift to translational lift
and I climb like a bird on the wing.
I’m really content with my rate of ascent,
it’s much faster than any before –
the reduction in crew makes this R22
fly a lot like an R44.
I’ve reached AGL in my flying gazelle
and the tower has cleared me to land –
I’ve already seen that the gauges are green
and the cyclic is firmly in hand.
I reach by my seat and I pull in some heat
so my rotors continue to spin –
then I pilot my coach onto final approach
and the two of us softly descend.
I try to be neat with my hands and my feet,
keep her straight ‘till we come to a stop,
and I’m back to the stand where my journey began –
the experience – over the top.
My memory’s tossed to the hurdles I’ve crossed
and the times I was ready to quit –
the tasks I assailed and consistently failed,
and a few that I hate to admit.
This tunnel has light that is barely in sight
and there’s no turning back now for me –
I’ll stay on this course if it leads to divorce,
but a pilot – I’m destined to be!
Solo Flight
The day is just right for companion-less flight,
winds are calm with no clouds in the sky,
the critical gear has received the “all clear” –
now she’s fueled and deemed ready-to-fly.
The mixture’s full-rich, I confirm that the pitch
will adjust as I move the controls –
and the tach isn’t fazed as collective is raised,
since the grip automatically rolls.
I pull it up slow – wonder which way she’ll go
until finally she’s light on the skids –
then I counter the yaw and correct for the draw
that could lead to what safety forbids.
She lists to the side as collective’s applied,
‘cause the fuel weighs a bit more than me –
but the wonderful gift of additional lift
makes the earth set the two of us free.
It’s hard to describe what it feels like to ride
on a cushion just feet from the ground
in an aerial sled – as the blades overhead
beat the air with a thunderous sound.
The pound of my heart when I’m cleared to depart,
makes me wonder if all that I’ve learned
will ensure I survive, that I’ll get back alive –
still intact when my flight is adjourned.
I know I’ve progressed and that leaving the nest
is a ritual all must transcend,
but I find it profound that there’s no one around,
if I panic – that might be the end!
I start on my roll with the cyclic control,
get in trim with the help of a string,
then I push for the shift to translational lift
and I climb like a bird on the wing.
I’m really content with my rate of ascent,
it’s much faster than any before –
the reduction in crew makes this R22
fly a lot like an R44.
I’ve reached AGL in my flying gazelle
and the tower has cleared me to land –
I’ve already seen that the gauges are green
and the cyclic is firmly in hand.
I reach by my seat and I pull in some heat
so my rotors continue to spin –
then I pilot my coach onto final approach
and the two of us softly descend.
I try to be neat with my hands and my feet,
keep her straight ‘till we come to a stop,
and I’m back to the stand where my journey began –
the experience – over the top.
My memory’s tossed to the hurdles I’ve crossed
and the times I was ready to quit –
the tasks I assailed and consistently failed,
and a few that I hate to admit.
This tunnel has light that is barely in sight
and there’s no turning back now for me –
I’ll stay on this course if it leads to divorce,
but a pilot – I’m destined to be!