I've been sitting here at the keyboard for fifteen minutes trying to think of something to say. No, that's not quite right. I can't choose the words to adequately express my thoughts, my emotion.

Seven weeks ago, on August 10, I sat behind a yoke for the first time with more questions than answers.Is this the right thing for a 43-year old husband and father of three to be trying? How badly do I really want to fly? Can I overcome the inevitable disappointments and bad days? Can my body and brain learn something new, and become proficient in these new, strange patterns? I think there are times in everyone's life that serve as milestones: marriages, births of children, victories, graduations, significant "firsts"...but the spotlights of such accomplishments tend to be focussed disproportionately on the young; the old are often relegated to 'lifetime achievement awards' or 'years of service' pens. Old dogs don't learn new tricks.

And after growing up, it becomes easy to accept that challenge and thrill and risk are best left to those younger.

No.

Youth is a state of mind defined by challenge and thrill and risk. By confidence and anticipation. By the realization that the best days in life lie ahead. Tomorrow, I may solo. Today, I am a child again.

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We did things in the plane tonight I never dreamed of. I knew that today was to be "unusual attitude and recovery" day, but as night fell (I didn't get in the plane until nearly 8:00) I became a little uneasy about my ability to discern the ever-important horizon during my recovery. As it turns out, I needn't have worried.

Took off on old familiar 34 and climbed out to the west at about 68 KIAS, to 5000'. Andy explained the principle of unusual attitude recovery, that he would place the plane in screwed-up positions and I would recover to straight-and-level, usually by (1) killing power (2) levelling wings to nearest horizon (3) climbing out. There are a few variations...in a steep turn the opposite rudder seems to pull you out of it pretty quick; in a power-off stall you need to add power rather than cut it (there's none to cut); and so on.

In fact, I spent the half-hour before my session wandering the flight line, arms extended, assuming various plane attitudes and jamming my "rudder" foot to break an imagined spin, or pulling/punching my "throttle" fist as needed. I was a child again, smiling, laughing, and unafraid. Not foolishly unafraid of dangerous maneuvers. Unafraid that my mind and body would let me down. That was the first time since I started that I knew.

So here we are, back at 5000', and Andy says he'll start setting up some attitudes. And he gives me a hood.

"Shut your eyes while I set things up. Once it's ready, you are to recover only by instruments. No looking out the window."

He threw me steep, twisting spiral descent. A climbing stall. Trim stalls and trim-way-out-of-trim. Low airspeed. High airspeed. Damn-near inverted...and I recovered them all. Some took a couple of tries, but none took three.

I knew.

Power-off approach. A little squirrelly near the runway (Note to self: FLY THE ARPLANE ON THE GROUND!!! STALL IT!!!) Then to a touch-and-go and up to 2000' directly over the end of the runway for another power off landing. this one required a slip. I initially started slipping the wrong way, but after Andy got my technique straightened out, I slipped it down to about 60', then straightened it out and hit a pretty smooth landing. Remembered to keep pulled back, let feet do the walking on the runway...best landing yet, totally in the dark except for runway twinkle lights..

Tomorrow (actually today now) at 7 AM we meet at Easterwood and decide on a solo. It may happen and it may not, but it really doesn't matter now. Oh, I want to be able to fly on my own time, practice, communicate. But whether or not tomorrow I'm in the plane by myself, my eyes are now looking beyond the solo toward a certificate.

This old dog's just getting started...0.8 hrs/16.0 total