I was preparing to depart with a friend on a two-hour cross-country flight in a Piper Twin Comanche. The airport is tower controlled, but there is no ATC radar. Controllers rely on pilot position reports to separate traffic. That means spending a lot more time talking on the tower frequency.
Three other factors added to the confusion of the moment. The controller was using one frequency for both ground and tower communications, which added to the frequency congestion. Second, the airport's single runway doesn't have a parallel taxiway. Third, the day was broiling hot. We sweated buckets of perspiration loading the airplane and preflighting, so when we got in the airplane we left the pilot's-side vent and right-side cabin door open. In hot weather it's the only way to ventilate the cabin and stay reasonably cool until takeoff. The alternative is to sit in an overheated greenhouse, which can lead to dangerous fatigue and dehydration.
We started engines and called the controller for our clearance and taxi instructions. The clearance was on request, he answered, and meanwhile we could taxi to the hold-short line on the taxiway that connects the runway to the main ramp.
The pre-takeoff checklist includes "cabin doors and windows closed and latched." But because of the oppressive heat, I elected to wait until we were cleared for takeoff before closing the door. The controller quickly came back with our clearance and instructed us to taxi into position on the runway.
This involved back-taxiing about 1,000 feet to the runway's departure end. While we taxied, the controller turned his attention to a couple of other aircraft in the vicinity, both inbound for the airport. As soon as the controller resolved their respective positions he cleared us for takeoff.
Problem was, we still were back-taxiing to the departure end. At that point I began to get anxious. I'd been listening to the controller's voice rise in pitch as he tried to establish the positions of the inbound aircraft and sequence their arrivals. But I had no idea how close or far they were from the runway. Meanwhile, the controller cleared us for takeoff long before we were in position. I'd say that urgency was the prevailing mindset among the pilots and controller sharing the frequency at that particular time. I was already hot, but I felt myself getting hotter.
We finally reached the end of the runway and pivoted the airplane around into position. In my mind I quickly ran through my personal pre-takeoff checklist - fuel on main tanks, flaps and trim set for takeoff, transponder on, instruments reading correctly, altimeter set, and directional gyro aligned with the runway heading. Satisfied we were okay to go, I advanced the throttles.
As we gathered speed I heard the word "Door!" in my headset. I looked over and saw my traveling partner holding the armrest of the cabin door, which was open.
In the hurry-up excitement of the moment I'd failed to close and latch the door, and then double-check to make sure it was closed and locked.
I chopped the throttles. We closed and locked the door and, the second time around, I made a normal takeoff and climbout.
I've had a door pop open on takeoff and in flight (it's a relatively common occurrence in light general aviation aircraft, many of which have complicated but fragile latching mechanisms), so it didn't frighten me or distract me from concentrating on slowing and maintaining control of the aircraft. However, this is the first time I've started a takeoff roll without closing the door.
Looking back, it's easy to trace the sequence of events that led to the error. But the bottom line is that I was hurried. I allowed myself into a situation where I didn't have time - or thought I didn't - to do it right the first time.
Now when I preach to my son, I add that I know what I'm talking about because I've been there. He still hates to hear it.
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