Soon we are taxiing again for Stage 2, which, since we've already used up the free half-hour, is on my dime- or rather 1,000 dimes. The itinerary: useful exercises for the kind of flying I normally do, including recovery from really unusual attitudes.

Climbing out again, I feel like I'm grabbing this airplane in just the right place. Sweet.

"You fly well," J. tells me. I'm sure if I asked for a more thorough critique, he'd have plenty to say, but this part is an add-on, and I'm satisfied with that comment.

The first trick he shows me is something I must have been showed before but have forgotten about: Dutch rolls. To begin to understand this one, you simply pick a point and wiggle the stick from side to side without touching the rudder. The plane responds with more yaw, overall, than bank, and more aileron simply increases the arc of each wag of the nose. This is adverse yaw, in a handful-sized amount, ready to be played with intentionally, instead of waiting until it happens while you're trying to turn properly.

It's an exercise for your feet, which are next added to the mix to limit the movement of the nose. Very simple, but the trick is using stick and rudder together, just so... or it doesn't work.

On my first try, I use too much aileron at first, forgetting the Zlin's brisk roll rate. Jeff shows me again, and my second attempt goes much better.

Next trick is the accelerated stall... this I remember, but I do recall not getting much practice at it, because, I guess, it can be a little hairy if not done properly. But Jeff flies aerobatics often, and is not intimidated by teaching this maneuver.

The idea with this one is to bank as one normally would, but gently coax the plane into the kind of mischief that will kill you quickly if you let it happen by accident in the pattern. At 30 degrees of bank, then 45, then 60, he gently tugs the stick back until the plane buffets (which is quite pronounced in this type), then flicks the stick forward just enough to resume flying, still in the steep turn.
"Stall... recover. Stall...recover," he says as he does it.

It seems easy, and when I try it myself, it is easy. The breakthrough for me is thinking of it as a continuous turn with stalls, rather than a stall you enter with a turn. another thing I realize is that it's impoirtant to practice this in the kind of airplane you normally fly. A 172 doesn't buffet like that... if anything, it's harder to pinpoint that moment when the airflow begins to break up.

 I'm eager to try this new way of doing this maneuver in a 172, but I know I'll have to ease into it carefully. But I know I'll get better use of the exercise by focusing on recovering while turning, instead of turning into a full stall, then recovering into level flight. The whole point, after all, is to squash the buffet so you can continue turning safely.

We take a moment to look around and get oriented after all that turning, then J. shows me another very useful exercise: recovery from a 120-degree rollover.
This is a very nasty place to be in the average light single, especially down low. But there is a way out: simply roll to the nearest horizon.

I'd heard of pilots trying to recover, and sometimes succeeding, by continuing with the roll, so as to not waste time and altitude fighting the plane's inertia to go back the other way. Jeff doesn't even mention this, and as he demonstrates the correct way, I see why. It's so obvious: even past knife-edge at 120 degrees, it's only 120 degrees back to level. Try to get level by rolling further, and you have another 60 degrees to go until you are upside-down, then another 180 to get level.

Even assuming the engine will keep running upside-down and you do not stall by getting mixed-up while inverted, that could take quite some time... time you may not have.

Anyway, here's how it's done: While keeping the nose straight, bank quickly to 120 degrees, then simply reverse that action. simple. J. upsets the plane each time for me, then lets me recover. It was not harrowing at all, thanks to the Zlin's sporty roll characteristics. In a 172, it'd be awful... which is why this is not one I will practice on my own, not past 60 degrees, anyway. But if I remember to just "get back to the nearest horizon", I should be okay even if I get rolled over someday, by natural or wake turbulence.

My next landing is better than the first, and as we taxi back, I notice a couple of charred fuselage sections of a heavy freightliner sitting on the edge of a ramp area, covered loosely with tarps. My first guess is that it is a decommisioned hulk that's been set on fire for fire/rescue training, but J. informs me that it was destroyed in an accident at Newark that summer, and the NTSB brought it here.

That rings a bell, and I quickly remember why: I was nearby when it happened.I tell Jeff the story:

I was out in the parking lot at the old loft on Green Street, a bit farther north than the place where I live now, and I heard a big jet, as I often did, applying reverse thrust after landing... or so I thought, until it grew louder, not fainter, and it seemed to continue for a long time. Traffic was not departing to the south or east, so I knew it was not just tailpipes pointed at me. Curious, I looked towards the airport about two miles distant, and as I did, I saw a great rolling pillar of smoke begin to rise from the south end of the field. Then the door of the Rescue One fire station across the street from the loft opened, and those guys went screaming towards the airport, along with several other police cars, ambulances and fire trucks. The rumbling still continues, the smoke still rises. I would soon find out that it was a MD-11 that had rolled over on final approach somehow and wound up on its back, burning. Luck was with the crew and three dead-heading employees; they managed to get out in time.
But now I want to know- if the plane was upset suddenly while in the air, which way did the pilot-in-command go? Back, or all the way around?