BrianR
Pre-takeoff checklist
Upon planning a work-related trip to San Francisco for this month, I began corresponding with POA's own Kimberly about meeting up with her and doing some Bay-area flying.
She generously agreed to my proposal, and we spent hours arranging the details - the day, time, route of flight, which airplane and so forth. So following a long, tiring transcon on a 737 last week, I spotted her waiting at the curb in her Beemer with the top down outside the SFO terminal. "C'mon, let's go," she said. So I threw my stuff in the back and off we went.
Driving into the city, with the wind blowing through our hair, I was a bit confused, as her picking me up at the airport hadn't been part of our plans. The thought occurred to me that maybe I was just exhausted and dreaming -- after all, my body was telling me it was 3:30 a.m New York time -- and that I was really in the back of a San Francisco Yellow Cab with the window cracked, but bear with me here. She dropped me off at my hotel, and we made plans to meet the following night, after my meetings ended.
I was so excited about our plans I couldn't wait for the "work" stuff to wind up. At the appointed time, she appeared. After giving me a fantastic tour of San Francisco -- I am pretty sure at some point we were on virtually every street in the city -- she asked if I was hungry. Answering in the affirmative, she asked what I wanted to eat. Expressing a desire for real Mexican food, she said, "I know just the place."
We drove and drove. For miles. Asking where we were headed, I was told, "You'll see." Finally, we arrived at what looked like...an airport. She pushed some buttons on a keypad, and a huge hangar door swung open, revealing more airplanes than I'd ever seen in one building! There was an Aeronca Champ, a couple Cessnas, an SR-22, a PC-12, a Falcon jet and an Embraer Business Jet. "Let's grab one of the jets. Which one shall we take?" Kim asked me."
"Wha...wha...what?" I stammered. "But...but...I thought you were a low-time, new private pilot, just like me?" "Oh, that..." she replied. "I just say that on the internet. After all, if all those guys on those pilot forums knew I had a trust fund and was type-rated in these things, they'd never leave me alone."
I was in a state of disbelief. I thought she flew a 152. Nevertheless, I followed as she opened the door of the Falcon. I took my seat and watched as she fired up the APU and got the turbines running. Before I knew it, she had gotten our clearance and we were airborne. "Where are we going?" I asked. "Well, you said Mexican, didn't you?" she replied.
Less than an hour later, we were seated at a quaint restaurant, somewhere deep in Mexico. Over dinner, we told flying stories. Or rather, she told flying stories. My flights around cows and fields in upstate New York could hardly compare. Finally, it was time to return to the states. Climbing through FL 250, she said, "Your airplane." And then I awoke.
Damn! So it was all just a dream? Well, not exactly...
She DID give me the SF tour as described above. And we DID have Mexican...although it might have been on Lombard Street rather than in Mexico. And we DID have plans to fly. I was there for five days, and although she had the airplane reserved for most of them, the majority of available times for flying would have been at night, due to our schedules. However, she graciously had taken off work my last full day in the city, so that's when we planned the flight.
The weather was forecast to be near-perfect. Clear and light winds, and no afternoon issues with the marine layer. (Being from New York, I'm like, "What's a marine layer?") So leaving the city for Petaluma Tuesday afternoon, this is what we saw:
"No worries," she said. It will be clear soon. And sure enough, pretty much right where she said on the drive north, there was blue sky!
So after a brief tour of Petaluma and a great Thai lunch, we headed for O69. Calling the weather briefer on the short drive to the airport, we heard, with disbelief, the guy say, "VFR not recommended." WTF? Sure enough, a $#%#* marine layer moved in right before our eyes, the field going from clear to probably 500 feet in the space of about 15 minutes. And it appeared to be going nowhere for the remainder of the day.
So, sadly, the closest I came to California flying was sitting in Kim's beloved 152.
I want to publicly thank Kim for showing me the wonders of the SF area and for trying to fly with me. Instead of flying, we drowned our sorrows at the Marin Brewing Company, so it wasn't a totally wasted afternoon.
I can assure the doubters she's most real, and most gracious. I'd encourage anyone having the opportunity to fly with her to take her up on the offer. Maybe the next time I'm in the area, she'll have that type rating!
She generously agreed to my proposal, and we spent hours arranging the details - the day, time, route of flight, which airplane and so forth. So following a long, tiring transcon on a 737 last week, I spotted her waiting at the curb in her Beemer with the top down outside the SFO terminal. "C'mon, let's go," she said. So I threw my stuff in the back and off we went.
Driving into the city, with the wind blowing through our hair, I was a bit confused, as her picking me up at the airport hadn't been part of our plans. The thought occurred to me that maybe I was just exhausted and dreaming -- after all, my body was telling me it was 3:30 a.m New York time -- and that I was really in the back of a San Francisco Yellow Cab with the window cracked, but bear with me here. She dropped me off at my hotel, and we made plans to meet the following night, after my meetings ended.
I was so excited about our plans I couldn't wait for the "work" stuff to wind up. At the appointed time, she appeared. After giving me a fantastic tour of San Francisco -- I am pretty sure at some point we were on virtually every street in the city -- she asked if I was hungry. Answering in the affirmative, she asked what I wanted to eat. Expressing a desire for real Mexican food, she said, "I know just the place."
We drove and drove. For miles. Asking where we were headed, I was told, "You'll see." Finally, we arrived at what looked like...an airport. She pushed some buttons on a keypad, and a huge hangar door swung open, revealing more airplanes than I'd ever seen in one building! There was an Aeronca Champ, a couple Cessnas, an SR-22, a PC-12, a Falcon jet and an Embraer Business Jet. "Let's grab one of the jets. Which one shall we take?" Kim asked me."
"Wha...wha...what?" I stammered. "But...but...I thought you were a low-time, new private pilot, just like me?" "Oh, that..." she replied. "I just say that on the internet. After all, if all those guys on those pilot forums knew I had a trust fund and was type-rated in these things, they'd never leave me alone."
I was in a state of disbelief. I thought she flew a 152. Nevertheless, I followed as she opened the door of the Falcon. I took my seat and watched as she fired up the APU and got the turbines running. Before I knew it, she had gotten our clearance and we were airborne. "Where are we going?" I asked. "Well, you said Mexican, didn't you?" she replied.
Less than an hour later, we were seated at a quaint restaurant, somewhere deep in Mexico. Over dinner, we told flying stories. Or rather, she told flying stories. My flights around cows and fields in upstate New York could hardly compare. Finally, it was time to return to the states. Climbing through FL 250, she said, "Your airplane." And then I awoke.
Damn! So it was all just a dream? Well, not exactly...
She DID give me the SF tour as described above. And we DID have Mexican...although it might have been on Lombard Street rather than in Mexico. And we DID have plans to fly. I was there for five days, and although she had the airplane reserved for most of them, the majority of available times for flying would have been at night, due to our schedules. However, she graciously had taken off work my last full day in the city, so that's when we planned the flight.
The weather was forecast to be near-perfect. Clear and light winds, and no afternoon issues with the marine layer. (Being from New York, I'm like, "What's a marine layer?") So leaving the city for Petaluma Tuesday afternoon, this is what we saw:
"No worries," she said. It will be clear soon. And sure enough, pretty much right where she said on the drive north, there was blue sky!
So after a brief tour of Petaluma and a great Thai lunch, we headed for O69. Calling the weather briefer on the short drive to the airport, we heard, with disbelief, the guy say, "VFR not recommended." WTF? Sure enough, a $#%#* marine layer moved in right before our eyes, the field going from clear to probably 500 feet in the space of about 15 minutes. And it appeared to be going nowhere for the remainder of the day.
So, sadly, the closest I came to California flying was sitting in Kim's beloved 152.
I want to publicly thank Kim for showing me the wonders of the SF area and for trying to fly with me. Instead of flying, we drowned our sorrows at the Marin Brewing Company, so it wasn't a totally wasted afternoon.
I can assure the doubters she's most real, and most gracious. I'd encourage anyone having the opportunity to fly with her to take her up on the offer. Maybe the next time I'm in the area, she'll have that type rating!
