If you ever wondered what aircraft fuel smells like, the best way to describe it is a bit of a cross between gasoline and rubbing alcohol. It’s clear and has a blue tint to it when you hold the shot glass filled with fuel up to the sunlight during the pre-flight check.
I can still remember the smell of the flying club’s shack: ozone, oil, vacuum tubes and dust. I think everything was government issue even though it was a civilian club which meant more likely it was just “borrowed” from the base.
Like the Johnny Cash Song One Piece at a Time, the guys felt entitled to borrow, I think. Many flying club members were retired military and veterans. No one was going to question where that solid steel gray painted table or the scattered 60s era card table folding chairs came from.
The way the club worked was the members pooled their money to purchase small aircraft to take flying lessons. I think there were a couple of Cessna 152s and 172s and a little bigger Beechcraft. My designated plane was a 152 – a small two-seater with just enough room in the back to throw a duffel bag.
My instructor “Jim” was a nice enough guy I suppose. I was a teenager at the time and so my dad also took lessons separately but was on the premises. Dad never really liked Jim much and he wouldn’t say why but it was a bit unusual for my dad to take a disliking to someone. Even so we kept him as our instructor because he was basically the only one available and maybe the only one desperate enough for the money to take a teenager flying.
On my 17th hour lesson we had completed the pre-flight checklist and had taxied to the runway. I hoped I would be good enough that day for Jim to give me the go ahead on a “checkride” the next time.
We were flying out of a regional airport and it happened to be a busy day for air traffic. We were stuck on the sides a long time waiting to taxi. It’s been a while so I’m trying to recall the protocol but when you’re on the ground you talk to ground control and after you take off you are handed off to air traffic control.
Waiting for ground to tell you it’s your turn is a bit nerve wracking because the whole time you’re sitting there burning fuel and trying to remember what to do once you get to the runway, performing another check, and then finally taking off.
The AOPA says this about Taxi procedures:
https://www.aopa.org/training-and-safety/students/presolo/skills/taxiing
Checkride nervousness can begin to dissipate when you start to taxi. Many applicants have said that "as soon as we began to move" they felt in their element. Ironically, taxiing away from the tiedown is any applicant's first opportunity to fail the flight portion of the checkride. Element 2 rightly insists that you perform a brake check immediately after your airplane begins moving. Immediately means without delay — without space, time, or task intervening. Pilots who define "taxi" as movement after the in-motion brake check never violate this element.
There’s an order to everything when flying. Everything is managed by checklists and procedures. Deviating from any item on the checklist or procedure can get you grounded or fined and they are quick to discipline any screw ups.
Finally we were given permission to taxi and got in line at the end of the runway. At the end of the runway you have to perform another checklist where you test your flaps, brakes, and rudder and other items I have forgotten in time. You have to verbally tell traffic your checklist out loud “Ailerons, check. Rudder, check, Fuel check…” etc. while your plane is at the end waiting to take off.
I’m going through my checklist with ground and then suddenly a loud crackle happened. At a volume three times as loud and clear I hear a strong voice in the headphones burst forth a string of call letters and codes. It was so clear it felt like he was sitting in the cockpit with me. At this point I turn to look at Jim because I didn’t know what to do but Jim had fallen asleep. I looked back as a shadow crossed the carapace of my plane and a low sound vibrated my bones
MMMRMMMMRMMRMMMMMMMMMMRrrrrrrWWWAAHHHHHHHmmmmmrrr
In front of me a huge mountain of camouflage steel and props passed. I’m sure my mouth was open as the Marine sitting in its co-pilot seat looked at me through his window and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up. I could see his white teeth grinning - giving a kid a thrill.
Source: Wikemedia Commons
I watched the Sikorsky Sea Stallion turn in a lumbering awkward motion to line up on the runway. I never imagined a helicopter could be so huge. How many times I’ve flown and business commuter jets passed in front of me with priority queue and nothing held this level of power and strength.
As for Jim? I shook his arm and he woke up and said, “Why are we sittin’ here? Is the checklist finished?” Sitting so close to him after he had listed over to the side I could now smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Yes,” I answered concisely as I had been taught and a little exasperated. The radio was still open and the ground guys heard our exchange.
I could hear them laughing over the radio as the Cessna took off like a little bee in the wake of the leviathan.
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