A calm, beautiful day greeted me on the occasion of my first post-solo flight. I performed a very thorough and deliberate preflight walk-around followed by entering the cockpit, buckling my seatbelt, and shouting "CLEAR" as I started 757WW's Lycoming 0-235 engine. A comm check gave me that morning's barometer as well as the current airport advisory. The tower gave me choice of runway; I chose 15 as its extended centerline proceeded directly over our oceanside house which was about one quarter mile from McKinnon airport. I loved to "waggle" my wings at my wife and son who were usually in our backyard or on the beach on severe clear days like this one.
I taxied to 15's runup area, pointed the aircraft into what little breeze there was, and did a mag drop and carb heat check. Everything indicating in the green, I sought and was granted permission for immediate takeoff. My seat was a little further forward than I liked, so I slid it backwards, recinched the belt, and closed the door which I'd left open for ventilation. I swung on to the runway, selected full power and 10 degrees of flap. More than 3,000 feet of runway was before me and fuel was full in both wing tanks. A smooth rotation and I was airborne seconds later. That is when ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE!
A very loud and rapid metallic clattering filled the cockpit and permeated my headphone set. With heart in throat, I scanned the instrument panel and found all to be within normal limits. As I gained speed the volume and frequency of the cacophony increased! I was waiting to see pistons flying out of the cowling, followed by oil and flames. I had enough runway to land, but knew if I miscalculated that I might wind up in our backyard with my son and wife wrapped around a windmilling prop!
Then, for reasons I cannot explain, I glanced to my left and noticed that the distal end of my safety belt was hanging about six inches outside of the aircraft. Its metallic end was beating the $hit out of double shot's fuselage and pulling some sort of serious sadomasochistic punishment on my withering brain. I maintained climb and power, opened my door, retrieved the errant belt, closed the door, closed my eyes, and thanked the Almighty for His intervention in a very brief but very heartfelt prayer.
I flew for a joyous and redemptive hour out over the Atlantic and the Golden Isles of Georgia. When I returned, I noted with satisfaction the fact that my little Cessna had narry a blemish from the seatbelt's flagellation. When I told my flight instructor what had transpired, he asked me if I had followed my mental emergency checklist. I assured him that I had and he congratulated me. Then he said "That's one mistake you'll never repeat!" And I never did...
- Ed