9/12/2007

(Yeah, it's late, takes a while to spew this garbage)

Multi-engine training has to be the most flagrant misnomer in all of aviation.

You'll get to fly with one engine working for about one lesson. The remainder of your training hours are all filled with the various and sundry methods of killing one or more of the fans. The upside to multi-engine training is that your quadriceps should regain a semblance of symmetry, as left rudder is once more a useful control input.

I was woefully short on time during my training, partly because the airport (M54) was a full hour drive from my house. I pleaded with them to relocate closer to me, but they were having none of it. I'm going to need my helicopter rating one day.

Anyway, because of that, I did not have time to write up my two-engined adventures as I would have liked. The best I can do is to give you the last lesson before the checkride, and then the checkride itself.

Preamble...

I'm flying a Piper Seminole, which I pronounce: Sem-een-o-lay. Other than a brief demo in a Cirrus SR22 turbo, this is the fastest airplane I've flown to date. I'm more than a little nervous that I won't be able to keep up with it as I begin my lessons. I'm even more nervous that I won't be able to land it. Or that I'll land gear up. Or that I'll strike a prop. Or maybe I'll spin us in the Vmc demo. Or... you get the point. Nervous.

The first flight out cured most of this. The airplane is extremely stable (much more so than the Katana) and it climbs and accelerates much more powerfully than I expected. After a brief intro to the practice area on that first day, MEI and I head back to do my first landing.

I suggested that she may have to demo a landing for me so I'd know what to do. We actually forgot to do that, but I somehow managed to bring it in nicely and grease it on for my first official twin landing. I posit that it's due to the vast amounts of studlitude that I harbor. That, or luck. Definitely one of those.

MEI: Well you don't need me to show you how to land this plane.
Me: Yeah well, they can only get worse from there...

Fast forward through various lessons on training endeavors like slow flight, stalls, one-engine pattern work and landings, Vmc demos, and, my favorite, emergency descents, and I'm prepping for my checkride today.

MEI and I decide to fly in the morning. If I do well enough, we'll call it a day. Otherwise, we'll eat lunch and go back up a second time to unkink the kinks. Smooth out the wrinkles. Knock off the rust. You get the picture.

Now, I've had a few days off before today, so I've taken the time to review the maneuvers and I'm expecting myself to do well today. That's why I was surprised when I blew the very first maneuver. Adding insult to injury, it's probably the easiest of the bunch: Slow flight.

I lost 150 feet right away and then could not keep it together even after that. It was so gross. We finally just moved on to stalls, which I performed well enough.

Steep turns were also fairly good, but I tend to oscillate in them a bit to hold my altitude within PTS. They're never rock steady, and never have been. Oddly, today my right turn is as good as I've ever done until my right engine went kaput in the middle of it, with a little help from MEI of course. Whooopsie!

I manage not to flip us and go through the securing procedures fairly quickly. Now it's just me, MEI, and one very stationary, feathered, right propeller hanging out there on the wing. That's a sight that to which I may never become accustomed. We don't do a lot of full shutdowns in practice, so it always surprises me a little how much better the airplane flies than it does with "simulated feather" inputs from MEI.

One recover checklist and a bit of sweat later and the engine roars back to life. Next it's on to Vmc demos which, while not bad, require more input from MEI than either of us would like. We decide to head back as today is clearly going to require two flights.

On the way back in, I'm calling our position, and just as I'm about to turn downwind, MEI points out an airplane a few hundred yards in front of us. It appears to be turning downwind, but he hasn't been talking and I can't tell for sure what he's doing so I call out and perform a 360. Finally we hear him...

Guy: Lebanon traffic, N1234, for landing.
Me: (still turning) N1234, say again position and intentions.
Guy: Landing 1-9, turning downwind.

Now I'm wondering if he's got his runways backwards, because he is already downwind for 19 as far as I can tell.

Me: Do you mean turning base? Where you going, chief?
Guy: We're on a crosswind base for 1-9, landing.

I shit you not, that's a quote.

Me: Ok, we'll follow in behind you.
MEI: Got a lot of money and no sense...
Me: What's he flying?
MEI: A Cirrus.
Me: Ah, that makes sense.

In my short time as a private pilot, I've seen plenty of brain-dead halfwits flying other aircraft, too, so I'm not suggesting that all Cirrus pilots are as inept as this guy. But make no mistake, this guy was not a good ambassador for them.

We come barreling in behind him and head out to Hardees for a most delicious angus beef sammich. Then it's right back to checkride prep.

The second flight was more of the same. Bad slow flight, pretty ok everything else.

Me: You know, if you had asked me what I thought I'd do worst at today, I would not have said slow flight.
MEI: Me either, it's never been a problem before.
Me: And it won't be a problem by the end of today, either.

We practice it repeatedly until we are both reasonably comfortable that I won't botch it tomorrow. I think the two problems I had were that I was rushing the setup and then not being aggressive enough with power to solve altitude problems. Unlike many singles, this airplane will easily climb in slow flight, but I was just not allowing it to do so. Shame on me.

We're going to head back and MEI requests an emergency descent. Now, for those that don't know, emergency descents are basically power-off, 140 kt dives designed to get you down quickly in the event you need to set down immediately. Hopefully I'll never need one, but the practice is damn fun.

Now, I've spent part of the weekend devising new checklists for the Seminole so when she requests the dive, I consult my handy-dandy new emergency dive checklist before beginning the maneuver. MEI is unimpressed.

Me: (consulting checklist)
MEI: While the engine is on fire...
Me: Yeah, ok. Fair enough.

Having been put squarely in my place, I put gear down and nose it over aggressively and we're heading for dirt. Level off and gear up at the prescribed altitude and we're heading back into the pattern.

MEI: Make a right base over the gravel pit. I want to see how you do on non-standard entries.
Me: Ok.

Apparently I haven't been living right, because just as I'm about over the pit and descending, we hear...

Guy: Lebanon traffic, Cessna N1234 is over the gravel pit, straight in final for runway one.

I glance at MEI to see if she has the same "Oh shit" look on her face as I do. Yep! There it is, we got a bogie!

I arm the missiles and begin evasive maneuvers. Wait, he's probably too close... I'm switching to guns. (They always say that, right?)

It turns out, they're off to our left a good ways, and if I had heard "Cessna" the first time I probably would have gone ahead and turned in front of them for our final. As it was, I had already firewalled the throttles to get us out of the way and we yielded to them to eliminate confusion.

MEI calls a short-field landing and wants a good one on which to end our day. Well, maybe if she'd been flying she would have gotten what she wanted. As it was, the landing I performed wasn't entirely what one would term "short".

Me: I dunno. Think that was 199 feet from our target?
MEI: (looking doubtful)
Me: One more?
MEI: Yep.

Back around the horn again and one unquestionably within-PTS short field landing later we're heading for the ramp to shut down. After a quick debrief, I'm headed back home.

I am very, very hopeful that I don't screw up tomorrow.

Tags: multi, seminole