What We Learned
Before you solo
Presolo flight training requirements for students
FAR 61.87(c) states:
Prior to conducting a solo flight, a student pilot must have:
(1) Received and logged flight training for the maneuvers and procedures of this section that are appropriate to the make and model of aircraft to be flown; and
(2) Demonstrated satisfactory proficiency and safety, as judged by an authorized instructor, on the maneuvers and procedures required by this section in the make and model of aircraft or similar make and model of aircraft to be flown.
WHAT HAPPENED
“Sit here until you figure out why you’re not going to solo today,” Joe growled.
I worked evenings and weekends as a lineboy at the FBO where my dad was service manager. I started lessons a couple months before my sixteenth birthday. Joe, the company’s chief pilot, was my instructor.
I decided it would be cool to solo on my birthday, the first day FAA regulations allowed. I scheduled a lesson and let it be known around the hangar that I hoped to make my first solo that day. My birthday was a beautiful blue-sky spring day with light wind down the runway. The plan was coming together perfectly.
Joe and I walked across the ramp to the Cessna 150. Mechanics from dad’s shop, my dad, and his boss were all gathered in front of the hangar. Joe asked for three touch and goes. He always did that with a student about to solo; my confidence was rising. The first landing was a bit firm, but right on the numbers. The second was just past the numbers but soft. The third landing was perfect. Joe pointed to the hangar. I taxied up and swung the Cessna around smartly, right in front of the group. Perfect.
Joe drew a finger across his throat: Shut it down. This was not how it was supposed to go.
“Sit here until you figure out why you’re not going to solo today,” he growled. He got out of the airplane, walked over to my dad, shook his head, and said a few words. I watched Dad, tight-lipped, turn and disappear into the hangar.
I was stunned. My radio work was flawless. Takeoffs were textbook. The three landings were, in my opinion, well above average. The weather remained ideal.
Joe opened the door, reached in, and flicked on the master. Fuel! Both gauges registered empty. I had taken off without any thought of fuel, nor had I even glanced at the fuel gauges. One of our duties as lineboys was to make sure every airplane on the ready line was ready for the next customer: full fuel, oil checked, clean windshield, clean interior, and a charged battery. I had taken the airplane from the “Ready” line certain it was ready to fly.
I caught up with Joe. “I can fuel it in five minutes,” I said. Joe, with a tired expression replied, “Not today.”
I slunk into our house hours later. Dad was at the dinner table with my mom. I said nothing, they said nothing. I went to my bedroom. A slice of birthday cake my mother had silently brought me was still on my desk the next morning.
The next several days had murky skies and gusty winds. At last came a calm, gray day with enough visibility and ceiling to fly. Joe and I made three landings and returned to the ramp. He climbed out and said, “Do three; don’t do nothing stupid.” I performed three landings without an audience. I found Joe in his office. Not a word about the fuel debacle. I went home and found Dad and Mom again at the kitchen table. Dad looked at me: “Go OK?” I replied, “Yup.”
In the 50 years since my first solo attempt, I have guarded against thinking I’m a big deal around airplanes. And I always stick a finger in the fuel tanks during preflight to make certain that fuel
I know is there is, in fact, there.
