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| GOING SOLO | |
| By CliffBowes | ||||||||||||||||
| 11 May 2007 | ||||||||||||||||
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There's nothing quite like flying a light aircraft on a lovely Summer's day. GOING SOLO The Piper Cub and I rush down the runway, building up speed until at last our wheels, no longer attached to the heavy soil of County Durham, leave the ground and upwards we soar, free as a racing bird released from its travelling box. The airport buildings look like models, surrounded by tiny trees with the river Tees cutting a winding silver thread through them. I can see the A1 with Matchbox cars making their slow ways North and South. A little wispy cloud at about ten thousand feet keeps the sun out of my eyes. I feel that I could fly up into them and get out for a walk. The words of the fighter pilot poet, John Gillespie Magee kept running through my head. “Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.” At six thousand feet I level out making a ninety degree turn to the left. Don’t slip, don’t lose height, keep up your speed, adjust your trim. I strive to remember all I have been taught. Two miles on, I perform another left turn, still at six thousand feet, that’s good. Now call ATC for permission to land. “Yankee Bravo you are clear to land, runway four-nine, acknowledge.” “Tees Valley acknowledge Four-nine, Yankee Bravo out.” Two more left turns put me in line with runway four-nine, I slowly ease back on the throttle and lower the flaps. Speed falls as my altitude decreases. Down, down I go toward the hard concrete runway. Tyres squeal as contact is made with runway four-nine. Throttle right down and taxi away to the apron. I’ve made it – my first solo flight. I’d better exit this flight sim program and get on with some work now.
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