Please Don’t Kick Me Out Of the Club: Finding the Perfect Flying Instructor

“You will not succeed unless you have a good instructor. No person will be more influential and supportive during your training.” Aaron Krieger

The other day I read an excellent blog by Aaron Krieger (http://kriegeraviation1.blogspot.ca) outlining smart tips on how to choose a flight instructor.  In this blog Krieger articulated exactly what I meant to research when I was looking for a new instructor.  I just went about it a little bit differently.

Although I am a devout Aviatrix, it had been over a year since I had taken a lesson.  I know, I know!  I got busy with my business and my kids and my life.  While I was busy being busy, my flying instructor, Dave, got a hot-shot job in the Big City and moved on.  I didn’t know until the day I decided I was ready and I called the Flying Club eager to book the refresher that was going to make everything fall into place.  The Good News, I was told, was that I could absolutely resume my training right away.  The Bad News was that “my guy” was gone.

I’ve written about Dave before.  Flying with Dave was like flying with Cary Grant.  There was something about him, maybe it was his hair.  I suspect it was his poise and confidence in the cockpit (combined with the hair) that reminded me of the legend.  He is a straight arrow – very professional.  He was my first instructor and I held him in incredibly high regard.

When I started my pilot training I was surprised by my level of anxiety.  Dave rode it out in a very understanding, but let’s-get-on-with-it kind of way.  The fear factor threw me.  I always thought I had such a high degree of comfort in an airplane.  I hadn’t realized my level of comfort had been as a passenger who had always had blind faith in the pilot – who was usually my Dad.

With such fond memories of my eight-year-old self bush flying up North in the back seat of my Dad’s Cessna 172, I knew I needed a solid go-to guy I could really trust.  The Head Sky-God at the Club asked me if I wanted to book a flight with an excellent new instructor named Sean.  I said no. 

Then I laid out a couple of My Rules:

• If I end up speaking to him as if he were my kid, he’s probably not the guy for me.
• If he answers the phone at the Flying Club and says: “I dunno man, I’ve only been here a week”, chances are he’s not the guy for me (and also he should not be answering the phone.  Ever. Again.)

I may have been trying to make a point about professionalism but instead I just blurted it all over the unsuspecting ear at the other end of the telephone.

The Head Sky-God scheduled an appointment for me with his Second-In-Command.  I thought I was booking a flight with him but had misunderstood.  Instead we interviewed each other.  After listening to my concerns (read My Rules), he laid out a brilliant plan for getting my wings back on but then advised that he had a very tight schedule with commercial training and was selective in the private pilot students he trains.  Finding a new instructor is a little bit like dating.  I started getting that letting-you-down-easy feeling.  My heart turned cold, eyes narrowed and I said: “I’m not looking for the guy with the most experience.  I am looking for the guy who is OLD.”

What I meant to say was something about maturity and life experience.

I am fairly certain I’m no longer his favorite.  Lucky for me the Second-In-Command recommended another instructor who has a great attitude, track record and a mature outlook.

• If his schedule doesn’t coincide with mine - even though I am the one paying membership fees and for flying lessons (did I say that out loud?) - then he is probably not the guy for me.

Next interview with recommended instructor.  I liked him but after a month and a half of our schedules not working (I admit I cancelled our first flight because both of my children had a yucky virus) I realized he was not The One.  In the meantime I had friends try to fix me up with instructors they thought I would really like but sadly I already knew they weren’t for me.

I finally just said to the dispatcher: “Just book me a flight with anybody who has time that day.  I don’t care who it is.”

• You get that I’m a chick right?  Pretend you like me.  Women do business in a different way than men.  We form relationships and I wasn't connecting.

At a pre-flight-with-The-New-Guy coffee talk, a friend asked me why I was so nervous.  As I anxiously fingered my flashcards, I wanted to tell him how much I wanted to be prepared for The New Guy.  That I wanted to be able to perform for The New Guy, but instead I answered: “You know, I just want to have some fun.”  And I meant it.

Enter The New Guy.  Sean was open and friendly.  A few minutes into our first meeting he said: “When I was reading your PTR, I noticed…” and all I could think was: “He actually read my PTR.”  He had prepared for me too.

We went over his background and my expectations.  We outlined a plan, made sure our schedules worked, and he helped me with an important exercise I had forgotten how to complete.  Then he said it: “Let’s just go out there and have some fun.”  Bing-bing!

That very sentence might just be in the flight instructor handbook but it was all I needed.  I got my sign and we went flying.

It was so good to be back in the left seat.  Seriously, am I the only person whose heart melts at the smell of the cockpit of an old Cessna?  Some people love chocolate chip cookies, I love the cramp I get in my abdominal muscles as I scrunch myself into the seat of a 152.  No sticky notes on the dash but I won’t lie – my flashcards were in plain sight.  It was just like riding a bike, only flying an airplane.

As we continue to fly together I realize Sean is exactly the kind of instructor I had been looking for.  He has just the right amount of life experience.  He’s relatable and has the ability to teach in a way that speaks to me right now.  If I used to wonder about things, now I just ask and he answers.  He is friendly, professional, laughs at all my jokes, and can correct me with ease.  It’s as if he has the inside skinny.  Flying with Sean is like flying with a “regular guy” who knows way more about flying than I do.  The only gigantic ego in that plane is mine.

I look forward to my student-pilot adventures with Sean.  I’m sure my friends and family are praying for him but I can’t help but think: “Mamma’s got her wings back!  It’s so good to be back on the broom!”

The New Guy: Sean
What a good sport!

Is That A 737 In Your Pocket Or...

Have you ever had an experience that was so impressive, so mind-blowing, that you had the same feeling as if you were in love?  Where you just float home and don’t remember how you got there?  That’s how I felt after my very first night flight.  My only memory of driving home from the airport that night is the soulful song that was on the radio when I got in my car.  There was another time I felt that way leaving the airport - the day I had a 737 between my legs.

What did she say?

Is this the part where we find out why she wears red boots?

No.  Let me tell you about it…  It was the perfect day for flying.  Clear skies and light winds in exactly the right direction.  Beautiful days mean busy airports and this beautiful day was no exception.  The circuit was abuzz with aircraft of all kind: YAKS flying in formation, high wing, low wing, floats, small private jets, and big commercial carriers.  The Tower Gods were hustling.  We were stacked deep on approach.  There was no time for the slow and sensual perfect landing; it was all quick and dirty.

Dave and I had done six or seven touch-and-gos and I thought I was coming in for a full stop but on final, instead of clearing me to land, the Tower God directed: “India Mike Hotel, fly a normal circuit at 1000 feet.  Stay on runway heading, but slow it down.”

My student pilot mind kicked into overdrive: “Why would he want me to fly at 1000 feet straight over the runway?”  I looked at Dave and he knew exactly what was about to happen.  His eyes lit up and he said: “Oh, you're going to love this.”

Although I had seen it holding short, it was only when I heard the Tower God clear the West Jet 737 for take-off that I knew I was about to experience something I had never known before.  I braced myself knowing that it was on the roll directly under me.  I cannot describe the feeling of anticipation as that 737 took off right underneath me or my utter breathlessness as I watched the jet appear from under the nose of my little Cessna 152.  Right between my legs.  It was beautiful.  And I know beauty in interesting circumstances - I have children.

As our paths separated and I turned my cross-wind leg, I looked over to watch the 737 continue its elegant ascent against a backdrop of the deep blue ocean meeting the clear blue sky that was only briefly interrupted by lush green islands, and that warm heady feeling washed over me.  Somehow the sun shone brighter.  The air smoothed out as did the Tower God's velvet voice over the radio as he invited me to extend my downwind leg.

Someone landed the plane that day.  I am pretty sure it was me.

Lights, Camera, Action

I remember that day.  You know the day where you finally catch a glimpse of that person you always wanted to be when you grew up?  In Gloria Steinem’s book: “Revolution from Within” she describes an exercise where she had visualized her future self – her “optimal self”.   She asked the questions: “What does she look like?”  “How does she carry herself?” “How does she feel?”  As I read the passage I imagined an older version of myself walking down the street in front of the office I worked in at the time.  She felt wise, strong, and caring.  She held clarity that I couldn’t relate to at that time.  She was so completely present that it startled me.  More startling, however, was that she was wearing red boots.  I call her the “Red Boot Lady”.

I read that book when I was 20.  I have been waiting for her to show up ever since.

Flash forward 20 plus (I’m not going to commit here) years, now I see that the Red Boot Lady is fully empowered in her life.  When I tune into her these days she’s a little bit different than I had imagined when I was 20.  She can play with the boys and the girls.  Her family is content.  Her relationships are authentic.  She laughs a lot and has a nice quiet calm about her.  She is my “go-to” place.  When I settle into her body everything seems so clear.  There is such confidence behind that smile that I am always reassured.  I usually imagine her calm presence as she is walking to her plane or her confidence while flying it.

I don’t get to fly as much as I would like to.  My days are long and fast.  I’m always “on the fly”.  It has taken me forever to attain my private pilot’s license.  On that day, I had just started accumulating some of the required solo hours.  Until that day, my instructor, Dave, had been coming up with me to fly a couple of circuits, then we would come back into the Flying Club and I would go back up and do more circuits on my own.

But on that day Dave took my training wheels off all the way.

When he suggested that I go out entirely on my own I tried to bat the baby blues to get him to come out for a quick spin, just to make sure I was okay, but he would have none of it.  I was on my own - from start to finish.  A-LONE.   All by myself - except for God, the angels, guides, dead relatives, ancestors, forgotten fighter pilots, Amelia Earhart, and anyone else I could think of to call in.  I secretly sent a friend a text from the bathroom to pray for me.  “Please call in the big guns.”

I nervously got in the plane and pep-talked myself: “Okay, you’ve done this a hundred times… well, maybe twenty, twenty-five times.  You’ll be fine.  This is like driving a car.”

FYI, it’s nothing like driving a car.  When a car has engine failure it doesn’t fall from the sky.  Thank God there’s a checklist.  As I went through my checklist I prayed. I prayed for a sign – a Big One.

As I prayed, I looked at the Blackberry that I had seat belted in next to me (my “timepiece”) and whispered: “Okay Boys (that’s what I call my people on the Other Side), I need a sign here so if we are good-to-go when I look back down at my Blackberry, I’m looking for the little red light.”

I looked down and saw: nothing.  I waited for that little red light.  I genie-blinked and wiggled my nose like Samantha but still nothing.  I looked back up and instead Dave was standing at my window in his red jacket:  “Ramona, the aircraft is still tied down.”  Small detail.

“You should add that to your checklist”, I heard him say as he walked away.  At least I got my sign.

After ensuring the Cessna was no longer earthbound by tie-downs, I was bravely on my way.  Without Dave sitting next to me I had all of the privileges of a full-fledged pilot.  In aviation “privilege” really means: “responsibility and liability”.  If I completely screwed up I had no back up – someone swiped my security blanket.

But on that day, the Red Boot Lady was flying that plane.  She was all Lights, Camera, Action.  I love her ease in an airplane.  If she notices the turbulence it’s something she thinks about after she has already ridden it.  She calls her plane “Sugar” because she loves it and it does exactly what she wants it to.  She doesn’t swear every time she lands like I do.  If she over flares, she just adds a little power and glides onto the mains like she meant to do that.  She can park right on the line.  On that day, on her way back into the Club another member was heading out and asked what it was like out there. “Beautiful”, she answered.

I would write about the eagle and the rainbow but I am pretty sure no one would believe me, although there may have also been an eagle and a rainbow involved on that day, and it was still my real life.

The Red Boot Lady thanked Dave for the terrific day and as she unlocked her car door she caught a glimpse of herself in the window.  There we stood.  I looked at her and she looked back at me with a smile and a warm afterglow.  It was then that I realized that she’s been here all along.