THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 2, 1995 TAG: 9506290247
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 08 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY JENNIFER CHRISTMAN, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: MANTEO LENGTH: Long : 109 lines
MY DAD SNICKERED through the phone when I told him I was going to learn to fly a plane in three hours.
``Well, let me take some extra insurance out on you before you head out,'' he sputtered through guffaws.
You see, I am not very vehicle-friendly. In two years, I have been in two minor accidents, both the result of my own flightiness.
But the pastel blue Outer Banks Airways brochure promised to teach me to pilot and maybe even land a plane unassisted in 180 minutes. All for just $48.
Sure I was nervous. I've seen Gilligan's Island - I know all about ill-fated three-hour adventures. But the nice woman on the phone assured me that the ground training and simulator would prepare anyone - even the mechanically challenged - for flight.
And, she added, there are controls on the instructor's side of the plane ``just in case.''
Classes of three students learn under the wing of a certified flight instructor. Each student gets 20 minutes to man the computer simulator and another 20 minutes to play pilot.
The sky on the Thursday afternoon of my lesson was a stone gray slate interrupted only by daunting charcoal clouds. That - added to the stifling humidity and sporadic showers - made for miserable flying weather.
``What a day for an introduction to flight,'' joked instructor Jody McGee.
For the ground training, Jody, myself and fellow classmates Dick Cowley, 51, of West Virginia and Maria Bucceri, 18, of Pennsylvania, used a wing of the Cessna 172 as an umbrella. Jody walked us around the plane for about 25 minutes, pointing to different controls and features. He demonstrated the pre-flight routine of checking the plane for damage.
While Dick asked good questions and Maria nodded knowingly, I stood there blank - befuddled by the many levers and buttons. I silently prayed Jody would not spring a pop quiz.
After ushering us into a tiny back room that was empty except for three white patio chairs and a tiny chalkboard, Jody proceeded with a lecture about the basics of flight.
With Jody furiously scribbling diagrams on the board and citing theories, I felt like I was back in 11th grade physics.
The room's only lightbulb had burned out, making it almost pitch black except for a seeping of gray light from the window.
``Yawn.''
``Aww, am I keeping you up?'' Jody asked me, laughing. ``Don't worry. It'll be over soon.''
It was. The next stop was the simulator - just a computer, a yoke and a vibrating chair. Seeing that the simulator was no more sophisticated or scary than the average arcade game, I figured it would be easy.
Dick sailed through the simulator effortlessly, steering the plane around the buildings on the screen and leveling his wings until reaching a perfect landing.
Four words summarize my simulator experience: ``Crash. Splash. Splash. Crash.''
Above the loud buzz of the simulator, Jody shouted commands at me, but I just could not get the hang of pulling back on the yoke to bring the nose up and keeping my wings level during turns. I crashed four times into buildings, the ocean and a random wall.
When Maria's simulator experience mirrored mine, I knew death was in our midst.
But Jody explained that the simulator is much more difficult to manage than a plane, because it gives only a frontal view of what's happening.
Maria flew the blue-and-yellow plane first, and remarkably well. She had a little trouble keeping level, which resulted in a series of nausea-inducing dips for myself and Dick in the back seat. But her successful flight gave me confidence to volunteer to go next.
Once I had pulled back on the yoke and pushed the plane off the ground and into the air, I felt weak. I was not really nervous, just exhilarated by the scenery. The clouds that rained all day surrendered, and everything looked still and peaceful.
Areas where the land meets the water began to look like scattered puzzle pieces, and trees looked like stitchings on a dusty tapestry.
As we loomed above the sound, all the things Jody taught me fled from memory. Like a marionette, I just reacted, knee-jerk, to his instructions. Jody did more than his share of steering and flicking controls.
Landing was scarier. As Jody's instructions became less frequent, I panicked. As my knuckles turned white from clenching the yoke, Jody just told me to relax.
``I don't see you yawning now,'' he shouted above the plane's roar, as we skidded to our landing.
Dick's flight was next, but by that time, I really wanted to be on the ground. Making a feeble excuse about having to return to the office, I scurried off to the gravel-covered parking lot.
As I left, I saw a white Honda Prelude with the license plate: I AV1ATE.
Shaky and still a little sick from the plane, I realized my car will never boast a license plate like that.
But for a few minutes in time, I aviated too. MEMO: FLIGHT CAMP
What: One-hour ground school, one-hour simulator use and an hour of
flying time. Generally, each student uses the simulator and pilots the
plane for 20 minutes.
Where: Outer Banks Airways in Manteo.
Price: $48.
Reservations: Required.
Phone: 473-2227. ILLUSTRATION: Staff photo by DREW C. WILSON
Paula Hall of Richmond, Va., is coached by Outer Banks Airways
instructor Scott Seely of Manteo during her initial flight.
by CNB