I flew a cross-country yesterday morning. It was one of those flights that will probably hold a place in my memory til the day I die. (As I was typing the words "til the day I die" I suddenly thought that I would probably continue to remember after I died, and then I had a mental image of me telling this story to Silas or Timothy or someone in Heaven.) The forecast was for decent weather and acceptable wind velocities until around noon. I was scheduled to leave the ground at no later than 6:30, so I was counting on plenty of time to complete my flight. My route was from the college to Deming, New Mexico, where I would overfly the field bound for Truth or Consequences. I'd do a touch-and-go at T or C, then backtrack to Deming and land for fuel before heading back home. Another student, Ryan, was scheduled to make the same flight yesterday morning, and he was at the airport getting his plane ready the same time I was. Everything was looking fine.
My first problem came as soon as I opened the cockpit door and noticed someone had left the master switch on. The master switch controls the electronics in the plane. Leaving it on is much like leaving your car's headlights on: eventually your battery is going to die. Sure enough, 2143Y had a dead battery. The other two Cherokees were already signed out, so if I couldn't get a jump, I wouldn't be flying my cross-country. I called Erin, and she made a couple calls and got someone to jump the plane for me. The plane got started, but waiting for a jump put me behind schedule. I didn't get off the ground until right around 7:00. The flight to Deming wasn't bad. The air was getting a little bumpy, but I thought I could handle it. And then I listened to the Deming ASOS (weather report). The winds were already a little stronger than forecast, but I'd already flown well over an hour. I didn't want to abort the flight, so I kept going, bound for T or C. I got there without incident, flew a pretty decent traffic pattern, and got myself all set up to land. I was tense, though, because I was going to be landing with a fairly substantial crosswind. I came across the end of the runway and began my flare. However, due to my tension, I overflared and the plane lifted back up. Not good. Not good at all. I pushed the nose back down, waited a second, then attempted to reflare. The plane, though, decided not to level off and I slammed into the ground pretty hard and, since I was holding quite a bit of back pressure on the yoke, the plane jumped back into the air. Then it slammed into the ground a second time and bounced back up. Not entirely sure how to remedy the situation, I added some power, hoping it wound bring the plane to the ground and leave it there. No dice. The power aggravated the situation. All told, I think I slammed into the ground 4 or 5 times before I got it under control. I was torn between adding power and take back off, or taxiing off the runway and inspecting the plane for damage. Maybe it was my imagination, but the plane seemed to be leaning to the left, which made me afraid I'd wrecked my left strut or blown my left tire. I decided, though, to attempt to take back off, so I added power and the plane responded by beginning to shimmy. I was close to the end of the runway at this point, so I cut the power, stood on my brakes, and taxiied off. I got to the ramp, shut down, and took a look at all 3 struts and tires. None of them looked damaged in any obvious way, so my choices were call Erin and sit in Truth or Consequences for however many hours it would take for someone to pick me up and recover the plane, or take off and hope everything was really okay. I took back off. The plane seemed a little shaky, but I think it was just the crosswind, which had only gotten stronger. I flew back to Deming for my fuel stop, fully expecting someone to radio me and let me know I was only flying with 2 wheels on my plane. I was also pretty concerned about my landing in Deming. The wind direction and runway layout guaranteed me I wouldn't be facing much of a crosswind. My fears were rooted completely in my recent crow-hopping experience. I knew I would only be more afraid of landing again, now that I had completely (and dangerously) botched my first one, and my fear was only going to add to more mistakes. On top of that, I wasn't completely sure my landing gear would hold through a second landing, since I couldn't be certain I hadn't damaged it in T or C. I checked ASOS again and discovered the wind was indeed getting stronger and gustier. And the rising outside air temperature had made the turbulence a little stronger than I was completely comfortable with. I considered skipping Deming and heading home, but doing that would have put me at serious risk of running out of fuel before I got home. Deming was now a necessary evil. Fear aside, I made an excellent landing at Deming (seriously, it was beautiful), taxiied to the ramp, shut down, tied down, and headed for the FBO office. I turned on my cell phone to let Jen know I'd made it to Deming safely, and noticed I had a voice mail. It was Erin. She'd called to let me know that the forecast wasn't looking good, and I should make haste to get back home. I called her back to let her know where things stood: I'd make a horrible mess of a landing in Truth or Consequences, I was well behind schedule, I was facing a bit of a wait for fuel (the FBO guy was trying, unsuccessfully to get the fuel truck started, and I was second in line for gas), and even under optimal conditions my planned route back home was going to take me at least an hour and a half. Erin suggested I figure out a new route that would be closer to a straight line back, instead of the longer, more squared-off route I'd planned. She also let me know that I should keep my options open and, if the winds were too strong at the college, I should divert to Bisbee Douglas International and land there. The FBO, thankfully, had free New Mexico state aeronautical charts that I'd be able to use to figure out that more direct route. (I had the proper charts for my intended route, but not for a straight-line route, and flying without a chart would put me in danger of wandering into Mexico.) The fuel truck finally started, the guy ahead of me got fueled, and then my plane got gassed up. As quickly as I could, I went over my charts and figured out the best way back, did my taxi and runup, and took back off. My new route took me through the San Simon Valley, which is a narrow valley between two mountain ranges. Turbulence tends to always be worse around mountains, so I was extremely uncomfortable flying through this valley, but my alternative was to fly my original route and give the winds even more time to become unworkable. I chose the valley. The turbulence was terrible, and I prayed and feared for my life my whole flight back. In my fear, I couldn't figure out why I was getting such poor performance out of the plane. I was almost red-lining my tachometer, but I was only getting 85-90 on my airspeed indicator (normal is anywhere from 95-105). (I realized, after the flight, that it was because I was flying near the upper limits of the Cherokee's climb abilities, and I had a high density altitude because of the high air temp, which decreases the plane's performance.) I eventually got back to the college and overflew the windsock so I could see what I was up against. What I saw didn't inspire confidence. The sock was completely horizontal, and it was showing an almost-direct crosswind. I knew Bisbee Douglas International had a runway that would turn that bad, bad crosswind into a much better headwind, but I've had bad landing experiences at BDI, and I felt sure that the wind and the turbulence and the bad memories would all work together to guarantee a damaged plane or a damaged Josh, or both. And a final landing at a field other than the college wouldn't have necessarily been a good thing for me or my instructor. I was going to land at the college, no matter what, I decided. I entered the downwind leg of my traffic pattern and had a brutal time holding my altitude. Then I reduced my power at the proper time and had a hard time regulating my descent. I fought the plane all the way to final approach and ended up about 200 feet in the air as I crossed the threshold. That's way too high for landing. Any other time, I might have attempted to lose altitude with a forward slip, but I was already feeling pretty gutsy just trying to land. I wasn't up for an attempt at slipping. I decided to go around and try again, so I added full power and tried to climb out... and nothing happened. My engine roared with power, but I couldn't get the plane to climb beyond about 4500 feet. Traffic pattern altitude is 5000 feet, so I had a problem. I leveled off as best I could, in order to gain some airspeed that I could use to climb, and I retracted one notch of flaps. It worked, to some extent, and I eventually got back up to 5000' just in time to reduce power and start my descent again. This time the plane gave up altitude too easily, and I had to add power just to make it to the runway. But I was determined to not go around again, so I did the best I could with what I had. As I was just about to begin my flare, I noticed that two people were standing just off the left side of the runway. If I screwed up my landing and came in too far to the left, and they didn't move in time, I could injure or kill them. Not good. I pulled on the yoke to begin my flare and found myself overflaring again, just like in Truth or Consequences. REALLY not good. I let the nose back down a little and forced myself to focus on smaller control corrections, which resulted in a fairly decent, albeit slightly slanted, landing. However, as soon as my wheels met the asphalt, they gripped pretty well and straightened my nose out. I taxiied off the runway, breathing thanks to God all the way to the ramp.
I found out when I got back that Ryan, the other student who was scheduled to make the same flight, had decided against going. Probably a very wise decision, all things considered. Yeah, I got the cross-country done and I can cross it off my list, but it was a very frightening experience. Here's something interesting I wanted to share, though. As I was flying my downwind leg on my second attempt at landing at the college, I was fearing for my life and praying again, and a sudden thought popped into my head: God isn't killing a student; He's shaping a pilot. Whether that was the Holy Spirit or just wishful thinking I'm not sure. I do know, though, that I learned quite a bit from that flight and my experiences will certainly make me a better pilot.
This is me unchaining the airplane. We chain them up when we're not using them, so the wind doesn't flip them over.
This is me taking off, or possibly flying a low approach (I did one to show off a little bit for my parents).
This is me taxiing back in at the end of my flight.
Here I am standing on the wing like a goober, because Jenny was eager to take my picture.
