Learning to fly, one mistake at a time
Five years ago today I flew an aeroplane on my own for the first time. One circuit of Elstree in a PA-28, fifteen minutes in the logbook, and a right seat so empty it was practically shouting. If your own first solo is somewhere ahead of you, this is the post I wish I'd read the night before mine.
Read more: Your First Solo: What It's Actually Like (Five Years On)
I drove to my own airfield the other day, walked up to the café I've eaten at for years, and couldn't get a table. Turns out the national press had found the place first. Here's why that's the best problem an airfield can have. And why I still ended up at a drive-thru.
Five years ago I turned onto Elstree Aerodrome and I saw a sign. Now that sounds deeply religious, and I've probably just offended half of you already. It wasn't. It was an actual sign. A board. And on the strength of it I picked the flight school that would teach a man in his fifties to fly. Me.
Read more: I Chose My Flight School Because of a Sign. Here's How That Worked Out.
Look, mum, no instructor! Yes it's true. I flew without an instructor and, more importantly to me anyway, I've managed to create another video from another flight in a month. God, is my channel coming back to life? Could I be doing more flying? Yes.
There's a man carved into a Dorset hillside who has been showing off for about a thousand years. The Cerne Abbas Giant. Fifty-five metres of chalk, a club in one hand, and absolutely nothing in the way of clothing. You can probably picture him. Most people can.
There are some people you carry with you long after you've stopped sitting in their classroom. Léon Ellison was one of mine.
Léon was one of my electronics tutors at Royal Holloway. A genius and a gentleman, in that order and both completely. The kind of teacher who made hard things feel reachable, and who treated a slightly-lost undergraduate like the engineer he hoped you'd one day become. I owe him more than I ever told him.
It's true. I hadn't flown in months. November last year was the last time I was in the air. There was an abortive attempt to go night flying in December but circumstances canned that idea. So weather, work, more work, and then the annual appearing just as the weather improved all combined to keep me from flying. Well, that is my excuse, but the real answer is I also got a little lazy, finding excuses to not get my flight bag out and plan a flight. It was easier to start up Netflix than start up SkyDemon. The aerodrome was still there. KK was still there. I just kept finding reasons not to be there.
A neighbourhood in Seattle called Laurelhurst has successfully restricted helicopter landings at the local hospital. Seattle Children's Hospital, to be specific. The complaint? The helicopters are too noisy.
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