BruceAir
Pre-takeoff checklist
A long time ago, a wise instructor advised me that no matter how nice, competent, sincere, and talented a student seems, that when acting as a CFI, I should "Remember--they're always trying to kill you."
I recalled that wisdom over the weekend, while I was participating in a formation flying clinic at Mojave. Somehow, I got tapped to act as an instructor for one of the novices who attended the clinic. My student, a genuinely nice retired firefighter, had a spiffy RV-6 that he'd built and flies regularly.
One of my regular formation buddies acted as lead for our two-ship so my student could learn the basics of hand signals, station keeping, cross-unders, and other basic maneuvers. We launched without problems and headed out to our designated "FOA" (formation operating area--formation clinic organizers talk like that).
It soon became apparent that my student was having trouble getting into and maintaining position, and my verbal coaching wasn't helping. We spread out a bit, and I asked to take the controls to demonstrate the proper position in fingertip, how to use power effectively to maintain station, and the like. He turned the airplane over to me (gladly I think--he was getting a workout), and lead wagged us back in.
I eased us up to and then in on the line and established us in left fingertip, straight-and-level to demonstrate proper spacing and stack down. That accomplished, we started some gentle turns. As we initiated a right turn, I continued my best CFI patter to explain how, in addition to matching lead's bank and adding power to compensate for our larger radius of turn, we also had to pull up slightly to maintain the proper position.
I eased back on the stick, and suddenly the control forces became very light--because the stick had come out of the socket on the floor. Like one of the Three Stooges in a scene where the steering wheel comes off the shaft, I was holding the control in my right hand and (apparently, as my student reported later in the bar) a very surprised look on my face.
I transferred control back to him (dropping my practiced, calm, lower-register CFI voice for something an octave or two further up the scale), and although I was tempted to effect an extremely positive exchange of the now useless control in my right hand, I decided that could wait until we were back on the ground.
As we headed back to the airport, my student explained that he almost always flew solo, and that he'd made the right stick removable for those rare occasions when his wife wanted to come along. He hadn't thought of installing a cotter pin (but that was first on his list when he got home) or remembered to brief me on that little piece of information before we launched.
As we descended, I heard that Obi-Wan Kenobie voice in my head: "Remember...They're always trying to kill you."
I recalled that wisdom over the weekend, while I was participating in a formation flying clinic at Mojave. Somehow, I got tapped to act as an instructor for one of the novices who attended the clinic. My student, a genuinely nice retired firefighter, had a spiffy RV-6 that he'd built and flies regularly.
One of my regular formation buddies acted as lead for our two-ship so my student could learn the basics of hand signals, station keeping, cross-unders, and other basic maneuvers. We launched without problems and headed out to our designated "FOA" (formation operating area--formation clinic organizers talk like that).
It soon became apparent that my student was having trouble getting into and maintaining position, and my verbal coaching wasn't helping. We spread out a bit, and I asked to take the controls to demonstrate the proper position in fingertip, how to use power effectively to maintain station, and the like. He turned the airplane over to me (gladly I think--he was getting a workout), and lead wagged us back in.
I eased us up to and then in on the line and established us in left fingertip, straight-and-level to demonstrate proper spacing and stack down. That accomplished, we started some gentle turns. As we initiated a right turn, I continued my best CFI patter to explain how, in addition to matching lead's bank and adding power to compensate for our larger radius of turn, we also had to pull up slightly to maintain the proper position.
I eased back on the stick, and suddenly the control forces became very light--because the stick had come out of the socket on the floor. Like one of the Three Stooges in a scene where the steering wheel comes off the shaft, I was holding the control in my right hand and (apparently, as my student reported later in the bar) a very surprised look on my face.
I transferred control back to him (dropping my practiced, calm, lower-register CFI voice for something an octave or two further up the scale), and although I was tempted to effect an extremely positive exchange of the now useless control in my right hand, I decided that could wait until we were back on the ground.
As we headed back to the airport, my student explained that he almost always flew solo, and that he'd made the right stick removable for those rare occasions when his wife wanted to come along. He hadn't thought of installing a cotter pin (but that was first on his list when he got home) or remembered to brief me on that little piece of information before we launched.
As we descended, I heard that Obi-Wan Kenobie voice in my head: "Remember...They're always trying to kill you."
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