We'll break the game into sections, with each flight being a section of the game. This means each time we fly, we're judging ourselves, assessing our performance against perfection. The game is over when we reach perfection in every aspect of our flying. Reaching perfection makes us the automatic winner.
Oh, yeah, one other thing. There are no losers. Just playing the game makes you a winner.
Okay, so what we're talking about here is self-improvement, but before you skip to the next article because you're tired of motivational hype, give me a chance to lay out a few facts.
Fact one is that we all like flying.
Fact two is that flying can be dangerous.
Fact three is that we can reduce the danger by improving our flying skills.
Fact four says that improvement comes from working at honing our skills each time we fly.
This brings us back to fact one - We all like flying. So, why not make a conscious effort to get better every time we saddle-up?
This kind of improvement game (or program) is really based on a couple of very minor changes in our flying. The first is that every single time we fly, we're going to notice what we're doing at all times, and keep track of the little things. The second is that we're going to try to do something about all the little deviations we notice. If we do these two things each time we fly - be aware of what we're doing and do something about it - we can't help but improve.
So, what kind of things are we supposed to look for? Most of them fall under the heading of "precision." Exactly, how good a job are we doing at holding speeds, altitudes, and making the airplane go exactly where we want it to go?
For instance, when we roll out onto the runway to take off, are we right on the centerline? Or are we a foot or so to one side or the other? To win this portion of the game, we have to be dead centered.
Okay, so the throttle starts forward, and we're moving down the runway. Are we still centered? If we moved off the line, did we catch the deviation before it got more than a foot off-center? If we moved we lost some points. If we didn't correct we lost some more.
We're still on the runway with the speed building. What are we doing? What are we watching?
Most of our attention should be outside the cockpit watching the nose, but our hands should be telling us something now. They feel the tail coming alive, the airplane getting lighter. What's the next step in the game?
The old pros tell us the proper takeoff is one where the airplane assumes a slightly tail-down stance and holds it until it's going fast enough that the slight positive angle of attack generates enough lift to get the airplane off the ground. What this means is that in a nosewheel airplane we have only to lift the nosewheel barely off the ground. Then we hold that attitude until the airplane decides it's going fast enough to fly.
What are our hands doing? At first they lifted the nose with back pressure on the yoke, but, as the airplane goes faster and faster (we're assuming the training wheel is up front), that amount of up-elevator becomes too much, so we have to release some of the back pressure to keep the nose from coming up too far. In fact, we actually ease the yoke forward as the nose tries to come up throughout the entire takeoff run.
Then, a magical thing happens. The airplane flies itself off the ground.
How do we grade that in our game?
We get a passing grade if we do nothing more than get the nosewheel clear of the runway and let the airplane fly off rather than keep the nose down and yank the airplane off the ground when we think it's going fast enough. But how do we tell how good we did?
The scoring is a bit subjective because we're doing the judging, but it's not too hard to figure out. When we lifted the nose gear a few inches off the ground, the nose assumed a specific angle relative to whatever was in front of it. Maybe that barn way off the end of the runway looked like it was sitting on the top of the cowling. Or maybe the notch in the mountain touched the cowling. We give ourselves a grade based on how well we kept the nose exactly on one of those features. We lose points if it moved. If we kept the far object nailed to the cowling, we're closing in on perfection.
Now we're off the ground and climbing. But at what speed? The airplane's pilot operating handbook (POH) says the best rate of climb speed (VY) is 84 mph at this altitude and temperature. So what's the airspeed now? 85 mph is not 84 mph. Neither is it 83 mph. We're talking perfection, remember? The name of the self-improvement game is making the effort to get it right. The effort is almost as important as the score.
By the way, the POH says climb power is 2,575 rpm, not 2,550 or 2,600. Perfection, remember? And what about the slip-skid ball? Is it in the middle? If not, put it there. Remember, step on the rabbit to chase it back into its hole. Silly, but true.
Now we're pushing over into level flight at 3,500 feet. How did we get there? Did we start to level at 3,400 feet and stagger up to 3,500, or did we go slightly over and coast down, letting the speed build at the same time we reset the power and leveled at 3,500 feet exactly? Either way is okay, but one is a little cleaner than the other.
Where are we going? We know the general direction, and we might be GPSing our way there, but what's our heading? Heading. You know, that number on the directional gyro or compass we used to watch before we let the perceived exactitude of GPS interfere with our desire to hold an exact compass heading. The line on the map figured out to 255 degrees. The GPS says 257 degrees. Which is right? Both are correct - one is magnetic, the other is Great Circle routing, but the GPS says we're to the right of the course we laid out on the chart. Funny, but looking out the window, we discover the same thing all by ourselves.
Get back over to that line and start working to correct the calculated heading to give a real heading. Why not just fly the GPS heading and course? Because that's not where the line on the map lies, and the line gives our exact relationship to landmarks instead of approximations that come from estimating visually. Besides, the line on the map doesn't need batteries to keep it running. The compass doesn't either. But, that's another subject.
Now we're on course, and it's time to shut down the GPS. Let's see whether we still know how to calculate estimated times of arrival (ETAs) and all that pre-electronic stuff. It's another part of the precision game. If the avionics are all lit up, we know exactly where we are without even rolling down a window and sticking our head out. Because of that, we get sloppy with things such as heading and altitude control because the electronic gadgets automatically compensate the ETA for such inaccuracies. Dead reckoning doesn't. Any corrections are self-applied.
Start playing with checkpoints and time. Start figuring our actual ground speed and ETA. Why are we doing this? Because we're trying to improve and improvement comes from preventing and/or correcting mistakes. If we don't have navaids telling us everything that's going on, the only way we can make our calculated ETAs work out is to hold altitude and heading exactly. Any deviations represent wasted energy and lost time.
Do this for a while and we'll be surprised at how easily we hold an exact heading when the GPS is on and how many minutes we save on each leg.
Time to land. Here we judge ourselves, not only on airspeeds and altitudes but also on a traffic pattern we've visualized in front of us. For instance, we know we're supposed to fly a 45-degree line to enter the downwind leg. So, let's make it 45 degrees, or as close as we can make it. We also know we're supposed to be at pattern attitude during the entry, so let's do it. We'll grade ourselves on whether we're 20 feet off or dead on.
Oh, by the way - downwind should be exactly the same distance from the runway every time. Maybe the wingtip is just touching the runway or the runway is supposed to be at a special place on the strut. The goal is to be the same distance out every time. That makes flying a precise pattern much simpler.
As we set up the approach, we have speeds and power settings in mind already. We trim the airplane to our initial approach speed and nail it exactly. If 85 mph is the number, then 85 mph is the number. Nothing else counts.
Got our spot on the runway picked out? No - not just the first quarter of the runway. That varies with runway length and is an approximation. If we're not comfortable planting it right on the numbers, pick a spot several runway lights past them and go for it. Ideally, we'll do it power-off, but if it takes power, use it. Just don't depend on it.
What about touchdown? Planting all three wheels on the designated spot doesn't count. We're trying to improve here. Of all the things that need improvement in most of our flying (next to rudder coordination), the actual touchdown is probably at the top of the list. Far too often we don't try hard enough to get rid of all excess airspeed. Instead, we let the airplane plop on like a shovel full of damp dirt.
In an airplane with tricycle landing gear, our landing goal is to touch down on the main wheels first, and to hold the nose up as long as practical. Let's make it pretty. Let's try for a little grace.
To get it on the mains means we're going to have to pay a lot of attention to what the airplane is doing those last few seconds before touchdown, especially if we have no one in the back seat (generally not a problem in Cessna 152s). We have to fixate on the edges of the runway and work really hard to hold the airplane a foot or two off the runway until it refuses to stay up any longer. If we do that, the mains will get there first. Holding the nose off is a different matter, and with full flaps it may be impossible - but try anyway.
Here we go again. Are we on the runway centerline? Not sorta on centerline, but exactly on centerline. It may not be necessary, but that's part of the game - part of trying to improve.
But, we're not finished. When we taxi to the ramp do we end up exactly in the middle of our parking spot? Did the mains stop exactly where they should to put the tiedowns in the right place?
All this talk about doing it right makes you crazy, doesn't it? In reality, all we're talking about is making a little effort to keep our eye on the details and to correct them when they aren't right. With most modern airplanes being so easy to fly, we have a real tendency to let them take care of themselves and approximate their way through life.
In reality, airplanes will do just that. They will pretty much take care of themselves. But not always. At some point in every flying career it becomes necessary for us to be able to put the airplane exactly where we want it in difficult circumstances. It's a blustery, gray winter evening, and the only runway still open is angled 45 degrees away from a gusty, 20-knot wind and is less than 2,000 feet long. We're tired, and maybe even a little scared. This is where skill pays off. This is where the airplane won't take care of itself, much less take care of us. This is where we have to see the details as they're changing and make the corrections. This where holding an exact speed, an exact attitude, an exact slip angle works for us and gets us through.
More important than actually holding the exact numbers is the attitude behind the effort. If we develop an attitude that says every flight will be better than the last, we'll get better regardless of how seldom we fly. At that rate, perfection can't be far away. And that means we're a winner.
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