I called the control tower to tell them where I was and request the controller's permission to stop and go - land on the runway, come to a full stop, and take off again. The tower already knew that I was on my first solo and exactly what to expect.
If I had thought about the fact that this was my first solo flight - that I was 1,500 feet in the air and alone with no one to help if I got into trouble - I might have alarmed myself. But I wasn't worried and eased the thought out of my mind. I focused on the flying.
Crossing abeam the runway threshold, I pulled on the carburetor heat, pulled back on the throttle, and lowered the flaps the first 10 degrees. When I thought it was about time to turn onto the base leg, I looked back easily through the unblocked right window (this runway uses a right traffic pattern) to see that the numbers on the runway were indeed at a 45-degree angle behind me. It was the first time I'd ever had such an unobstructed view.
I lowered the flaps to 20 degrees and banked toward the runway, dipping the nose as I entered the base leg. Once again, I was aware of the amazing idea that this was my first solo flight. That exciting thought tried to consume my attention, but I smiled it away as I checked my altimeter and airspeed.
I can remember now how foreign it had all seemed to me just a few months before. There was so much information to learn, so many different things to think about, and so many gauges to watch. There were power, pitch, bank, altitude, and airspeed to control, not to mention constantly watching for other airplanes. During those first few lessons, I had no understanding of what I was doing-never mind feeling comfortable with all of those instruments and their different functions.
I had suddenly become comfortable with the whole thing just a week before my solo. It was a remarkable moment - the moment that I had finally taken control of the aircraft. That morning, for the first time, when I had finished my preflight and climbed into the pilot's seat, I was in charge of the airplane rather than being just a glorified passenger.
Now, a week later, I arrived at the airport not knowing that I would be flying my first solo before the day was through. My instructor and I had talked about it, of course, but there was a considerable breeze - 15 knots gusting to 20 - and neither Robert nor I wanted to see me go up in that airplane alone unless we were sure that I could handle it.
So we had started the lesson by doing five stop-and-goes. After the fifth one, Robert told me to drop him off at the terminal. Then I taxied out to the point just short of the runway where we would normally turn into the wind and do our runup. I hadn't shut down the engine when I'd dropped him off, so I didn't think that I needed to do the runup all over again. But, then again, I wasn't really sure, so I just went ahead and did it anyway.
Then came the takeoff clearance from the tower, and I was on my own. I taxied onto the runway and, without stopping, turned onto the centerline and accelerated. I watched the airspeed climb, and at 55 kt, I raised the nose into the air. Seconds later, as the airspeed climbed past 65 kt, the airplane lifted off.
I had always liked takeoffs and had learned to execute them reasonably well long before I got the landing concept into my head. But now I was ready to make a landing alone for the first time. There would be no one in the right seat calling out corrections to attitude and altitude, speed and angle.
On the base leg, I had to put in a significant crab angle to hold my position against the 20 kt of wind 1,000 feet above the ground.
With my airspeed below 85 kt, I lowered the flaps to their full 30 degrees. Seeing the two white and two red indicators of the precision approach path indicator confirmed what I already knew from my position above the ground - I was on the correct glidepath.
I checked my nerves but couldn't find a glimmer of concern. Where there might have been trepidation, instead there was a sense of excitement - the feeling that I had what I needed to pass this test. I was confidently reaching forward to pass through the doorway to a limitless future in aviation.
As I crossed the threshold 20 feet above the runway, I saw the crosswind push me off the centerline just as I was pulling the throttle back to idle. I could still go around, but I decided that I didn't need to. I had the right airspeed, so I slipped into the wind. The airplane drifted back toward the centerline, then across it, and back again.
Just as I flared, a buffet of air lifted me up from the descent. I released some of the back pressure on the yoke to control the glide back down toward the ground.
Seconds later, the wheels hit the tarmac. Firm, I think, would be a fair description - followed by what was probably a three-foot bounce. But only one.
Keeping the airplane on the centerline, I brought it to a stop. Off went the carburetor heat, up went the flaps, and then in went the throttle. Moments later, I was airborne again. The second time around went more smoothly - after all, the airplane was being flown by a pilot who had already soloed.
On the downwind leg of my final trip around the traffic pattern, I told the tower that I was coming in for a full stop landing. That was fine with them, but they did want me to extend my downwind to accommodate a landing commuter turboprop airplane. Oh, and watch out for wake turbulence on the way down.
Watching the turboprop touch down so that I could calculate the right spot for my own landing, I extended my downwind leg less than a mile before turning onto base. A comfortable turn to final, and then came the sudden realization of what I had done. What I could do.
Another little bounce on the landing, and I taxied back to the terminal. There, I saw my instructor standing outside waiting for me, arms raised, giving me two thumbs up. And with him were my wife and business partner. I hadn't known that they were coming, and I was honored by their attendance. I learned that they had watched the whole morning's flight but had hidden when I'd dropped off my instructor.
I shut down the airplane and climbed out. I had a long hug for my instructor and one for my wife. There was a bottle of champagne to be opened and crystal glasses to be filled to celebrate right there by the taxiway. And there would be photos with the airplane. But first, rather suddenly, I felt my shirttail being torn from my back. No, I hadn't known about this custom. Soon a piece of autographed cranberry broadcloth would be framed on my study wall.
I reluctantly put the Skyhawk back in the hangar. I knew I'd be with her again soon. There was still so much to be learned.
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