> I didn't say screw the FAA, I can fly that sucker.
A bit long, but it has most of the elements......
> I am writing to you, because I need your help to get me bloody pilot's
> license back. You keep telling me you got all the right contacts.
> Well, now's your chance to make something happen for me because, mate,
> I'm
bloody
> desperate. But first, I'd better tell you what happened during my last
> flight review with the CAA Examiner.
> On the phone, Ron (that's the CAA d@#$head) seemed a reasonable sort
> of bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a flight review
> every two years. He even offered to drive out, have a look over my
> property and let
me
> operate from my own strip. Naturally I agreed to that.
> Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday. First up, he said he was a bit
> surprised to see the plane on a small strip outside my homestead,
> because the ALA (Authorized Landing Area) is about a mile away. I
> explained that because this strip was so close to the homestead, it
> was more convenient than the ALA; and despite the power lines crossing
> about midway down the strip it's really not a problem to land and
> takeoff, because at the
halfway
> point down the strip you're usually still on the ground.
> For some reason Ron seemed nervous. So, although I had done the
> preflight inspection only four days earlier, I decided to do it all
> over again.
> Because the pr@#$ was watching me carefully, I walked around the plane
three
> times instead of my usual two.
> My effort was rewarded because the color finally returned to Ron's
> cheeks.
> In fact, they went a bright red. In view of Ron's obviously better
> mood, I told him I was going to combine the test flight with some farm
> work, as I had to deliver three poddy calves from the home paddock to
> the main herd. After a bit of a chase I finally caught the calves and
> threw them into the back of the ol' Cessna 172. We climbed aboard,
> but Ron started gettin'
onto
> me about weight and balance calculations and all that crap. Of course
> I knew that sort of thing was a waste of time because, calves like to
> move around a bit particularly when they see themselves 500 feet off
> the
ground!
> So, its bloody pointless trying to secure them as you know. However,
> I
did
> tell Ron that he shouldn't worry as I always keep the trim wheel set
> on neutral to ensure we remain pretty stable at all stages throughout
> the flight.
> Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimized the warm-up time
> by tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500 rpm. I then
discovered
> that Ron has very acute hearing, even though he was wearing a bloody
> headset. Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle and
> demanded
I
> account for it. Actually it began about a month ago and was caused by
> a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the floor and lodged in the
> fuel selector mechanism. The selector can't be moved now, but it
> doesn't matter because it's jammed on 'All tanks', so I suppose that's
> okay.
> However, as Ron was obviously a real nit-picker, I blamed the noise on
> vibration from a stainless steel thermos flask, which I keep in a
> beaut little possie between the windshield and the magnetic compass.
> My explanation seemed to relax Ron, because he slumped back in the
> seat and kept looking up at the cockpit roof. I released the brakes to
> taxi out,
but
> unfortunately the plane gave a leap and spun to the right. "Hell" I
thought,
> "not the starboard wheel chock again." The bump jolted Ron back to
> full alertness. He looked wildly around just in time to see a rock
> thrown by
the
> prop wash disappear completely through the windscreen of his brand new
> Commodore. "Now I'm really in trouble," I thought.
> While Ron was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement
> that
we
> taxi to the ALA, and instead took off under the power lines. Ron
> didn't
say
> a word, at least not until the engine started coughing right at the
> lift
off
> point, then he bloody screamed his head off. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh
> God!"
> "Now take it easy, Ron" I told him firmly. "That often happens on
> takeoff and there is a good reason for it." I explained patiently
> that I usually run the plane on standard MOGAS, but one day I
> accidentally put in a
gallon
> or two of kerosene. To compensate for the low octane of the kerosene,
> I siphoned in a few gallons off super MOGAS and shook the wings up and
> down
a
> few times to mix it up. Since then, the engine has been coughing a bit
> but in general it works just fine, if you know how to coax it
> properly.
> Anyway, at this stage Ron seemed to lose all interest in my flight
> test.
He
> pulled out some rosary beads, closed his eyes and became lost in
> prayer.
(I
> didn't think anyone was a Catholic these days.) I selected some nice
> music on the HF radio to help him relax.
> Meanwhile, I climbed to my normal cruising altitude of 10,500 feet. I
don't
> normally put in a flight plan or get the weather because, as you know
> getting Fax access out here is a friggin' joke and the bloody weather
> is always 8/8 blue anyway. But since I had that near miss with a Saab
> 340, I might have to change me thinking on that. Anyhow, on leveling
> out I
noticed
> some wild camels heading into my improved pasture. I hate bloody
> camels,
and
> always carry a loaded 303 clipped inside the door of the Cessna just
> in
case
> I see any of the bastards.
> We were too high to hit them, but as a matter of principle, I decided
> to have a go through the open window. Mate, when I pulled the bloody
> rifle
out,
> the effect on Ron was friggin' electric. As I fired the first shot his
neck
> lengthened by about six inches and his eyes bulged like a rabbit with
myxo.
> He really looked as if he had been jabbed with an electric cattle prod
> on full power. In fact, Ron's reaction was so distracting that I lost
> concentration for a second and the next shot went straight through the
port
> tyre. Ron was a bit upset about the shooting (probably one of those
> pinko animal lovers I guess) so I decided not to tell him about our
> little
problem
> with the tyre.
> Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to do my
> fighter pilot trick.
> Ron had gone back to praying when, in one smooth sequence, I pulled on
full
> flaps, cut the power and started a sideslip from 10,500 feet down to
> 500 feet at 130 knots indicated (the last time I looked anyway) and
> the little needle rushing up to the red area on me ASI. What a buzz,
> mate! About halfway through the descent I looked back in the cabin to
> see the calves gracefully suspended in mid air and mooing like crazy.
> I was going to comment on this unusual sight, but Ron looked a bit
> green and had rolled himself into the fetal position and was screamin'
> his freakin' head off. Mate, talk about being in a bloody zoo. You
> should've been there, it was
so
> bloody funny!!
> At about 500 feet I leveled out, but for some reason we continued
> sinking.
> When we reached 50 feet I applied full power but nothin' happened; no
noise
> no nothin'. Then, luckily, I heard me instructor's voice in me head
> saying "carby heat, carby heat". So I pulled carby heat on and that
> helped quite
a
> lot, with the engine finally regaining full power. Whew, that was
> really close, let me tell you!
> Then mate, you'll never guess what happened next! As luck would have
> it,
at
> that height we flew into a massive dust cloud caused by the cattle and
> suddenly went I.F. bloody R, mate. BJ, you would've been bloody proud
> of
me
> as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did make a mental note to
> consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is repaired
> (Something I've been meaning to do for a while now).
> Suddenly Ron's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared. His mouth
opened
> wide, very wide, ! but no sound emerged. "Take it easy," I told him.
> "we'll be out of this in a minute." Sure enough, about a minute later
> we emerge; still straight and level and still at 50 feet.
> Admittedly I was surprised to notice that we were upside down, and I
> kept thinking to myself, "I hope Ron didn't notice that I had
> forgotten to set the QNH when we were taxiing." This minor
> tribulation forced me to fly to
a
> nearby valley in which I had to do a half roll to get upright again.
> By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow
> strip between them. "Ah!" I thought, "there's an omen. We'll land
> right there."
> Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a
> couple of steep turns with full flap. Soon the stall warning horn was
> blaring so
loud
> in me ear that I cut its circuit breaker to shut it up, but by then I
> knew we were slow enough anyway. I turned steeply onto a 75 foot final
> and put her down with a real thud. Strangely enough, I had always
> thought you
could
> only ground loop in a tail dragger but, as usual, I was proved wrong
again!
> Halfway through our third loop, Ron at last recovered his sense of
> humour.
> Talk about laugh. I've never seen the likes of it. He couldn't stop.
> We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves, who bolted out
> of the aircraft like there was no tomorrow.
> I then began picking clumps of dry grass. Between gut wrenching fits
> of laughter, Ron asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to
> stuff the port tyre with grass so we could fly back to the homestead.
> It was then
that
> Ron really lost the plot and started running away from the aircraft.
> Can you believe it? The last time I saw him he was off into the
> distance, arms flailing in the air and still shrieking with laughter.
> I later heard that
he
> had been confined to a psychiatric institution - poor bugger!
> Anyhow, mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is! I just got a
> letter from CAA withdrawing, as they put it, my privileges to fly;
> until I have undergone a complete pilot training course again and
> undertaken another flight proficiency test. Now I admit that I made a
> mistake in taxiing over the wheel chock and not setting the QNH using
> strip elevation, but I can't see what else I did that was so bloody
> bad that they have to withdraw me flamin' license. Can you?
LD.