Flight 67
02/04/97

C-172
TEB-N07-TEB

1.2 dual

"Norm t.o &lndg; short t.o. & lndg; pattern work; pilotage; go-around; x-wind t.o. & lndg."

High overcast; vis, 4 miles; hazy; wind NW 5 kts


This is my first dual flight since December, when I took that pathetic stage check with H. I've been fretting about how it will go, but after a halfhearted review of the books and my notes, I feel confident that I am ready to demonstrate my proficiency at basic maneuvers. Ah, but that casual assuredness has killed many a pilot...being confident is not the same as being prepared, as I will soon find out.

The weather is not so much forbidding as merely depressing. The sky cringes under a cold, dark blanket of high cirrus, and the ridge just west of TEB is languishing in a greasy-looking mist. I arrive early and go out to preflight 453. When C. arrives, he wonders why I haven't called for the weather yet. He's right... I know that conditions are suitable here at the home base, but elsewhere? I've been a fool to preflight without first getting a briefing.

I am now feeling terribly self-conscious as we climb aboard and prepare to start up. I am certain that C. is glaring at me, hawkishly evaluating my every clumsy move. With each moment, the veneer of swagger peels away. I am not truly prepared, mentally, for this flight. C. points out that the PTT button on my yoke is now working; i asset my right to set up my own portable one. after start-up, I key the mic to call Clearance Delivery. nothing happens. C. says nothing, but I sense an "I told you so!" I use the built-in switch to call C.D., but ehn for some reason later I try my button again to call ground, at which point C. says curtly: "Take it off. get rid of it. Get it outta here."

I successfully perform the run-up, although halfway through I realize I am not describing aloud what I am doing. Why...? Maybe I've decided C. will not be impressed by such thoroughness today. But I'm obviously not thinking straight- i should be talking while I'm demonstrating; it's the standard procedure; helps make the instruction and learning more efficient. On a more positive note, I at least manage to carefully follow the checklist. c. tries to trip me up by setting the fuel selector to the left tank, but I catch it as I run through the run-up checklist. And I knew he'd moved it because it was on "BOTH" when I did the startup checklist...

On takeoff, it is revealed that I have forgotten how to properly "rotate", and C. jumps on my case:
"No- don't pull it off the ground- pull back at rotation speed, and just hold it..."

The plan calls for a journey through the narrow corridor between the Caldwell Class D and the Class B shelf to the east.I  turn to an apporpriate heading after leveling off, then C. changes his mind.

"Turn to... 310."

"310", I parrot, then promptly bank to the right... to 030, or somewhere thereabouts. What am I doing?

"What are you doing?!" C. demands.

Quickly turning left towards 310, I mumble some vauge explanation which includes the word "whoops".

The visibility is poor, so there will be no stalls or ground-ref. maneuvers today. But before announcing this, C. tickles my sluggish brain with one of his uniquely C.-like questions:

"If you were by yourself right now, what would you do?"

My brow furrows. Lessee... we're headed north for maneuvers, so...

"I guess I'd head for the Mahwah Sheraton," I reply, referring to the squat block of glass and steel ahead that I know so well.

"You would?"he asks, with exagerrated incredulity.

My brain backpedals as my eyes remind me that the horizon is obscured by a close wall of haze- reported at 4 miles, and probably a little closer here... aha!

"no, no, that's not right... it's below my solo minimums, so I guess I'd turn around and go back."

"Good. Now take me to Lincoln Park."

It's been awhile, and as I usually do when approaching N07 from north of the  Oradell Reservoir, I find myself well north of the field, blundering around, scanning fruitlessly in the gray murk. Pathetic...

A call on the CTAF fails to produce an advisory and there are no traffic announcements, so I hook around to the west and overfly the runway at 2000 feet to look at the wind sock.

"Ooookayyy... the wind is... southeast? Yeah, it's... no, I've got it backwards, it's northwest..." at first glance, it appeared the sock was pointed the other way. This is silly of me, because in this area, the wind blows mainly from the west, and occasionally from the northeast, south, or southwest, but never southeast, as far as I know.

"Let me see", C. says, taking control. He rolls 453 up so he can peer down at the sock.
"No... it's sou- nope; you're right- northwest... oookay, what are you gonna do?"

This is an easy one to answer.
"I'll just move a little more east, here, then make a descendng turn to enter right downwind for 01."

"Good. Do it."

I'm not too sure I want to admit what followed. It's too miserable to describe in detail... I'l summarize, so as to lessen the pain of recollection.

Four approaches.
Two landings.
Not very good landings, either.

And to think that I have 172 landings logged before this lesson- 84 of them at this very airport!

What the hell is the matter with me?

Somehow, I conquer the urge to unfasten my seatbelt, slowly remove the headset and place it on the glareshield, then slide quietly out the door, maybe telling C. just before I fall to my miserable death that "it's not your fault... it's, well, I'm a moron..."

It's not a serious urge, but it would spare me the long ride back to Teterboro, followed by what will surely be another hamfisted landing.
As we make our way back, C. hammers me with the same lecture I've heard before.

"I- I know you can fly. You've got a lot of hours under your belt, man- you know what you're doing wrong... but don't just sit there- as soon as you see a problem, you've got to fix it right away!"

I nod, miserable. He pauses, then adds:

"Look. You're ready for the check ride; you know what to do. But I don't want you to get your ticket and just be one of those dumbass Private Pilots out there- you gotta do better than that!"

Amen.

It's moving, to hear how much this kid cares. I forget momentarily his impatience, his errors, his own minor corner-cutting... he's absolutely right, and you'd never catch him getting behind the airplane, that's not one of his weak points. It dawns on me that he's a pretty damn good instructor- certainly a good pilot.

My mood is still grim as I prepare to enter the pattern at TEB, but deep inside, my resolve is bolstered, and the clarity returns. The final touchdown of the day is somewhat more suitable, and after we schedule another review flight for the day after tomorrow, I am ready to hold on to that focus and truly prepare myself.

I hope I can do it.