Why I never Learned to Fly
Author: Walter Berryhill

After I was grown and married I decided that I wanted to
learn how to fly. Both my brothers had airplanes, one a
Cherokee Six, the other brother had a top wing Cessna.
There was a small airport not far from my home and the
brother with the Cherokee insisted that I use his plane for
lessons. He even paid for the fuel. It was in this plane
that after six lessons, with the instructor, it was time
for me to solo. The more I thought about taking an airplane
off the ground by myself the more nervous I became. I kept
thinking, "suppose I get this sucker in the air and can't
get it back down". One reason for my intimidation was that
on one of the lessons the instructor said, "O.K. Walter,
today is the day. Imagine that I am not in the plane.
You're going to fly today by yourself." If you don't
already know a Cherokee Six is a single engine plane. While
on the ground the direction of the plane is controlled by
the hand-held steering, however immediately leaving the
ground, the direction of the plane is controlled by the
ailerons which are pedals controlled by your feet.
Immediately upon takeoff the direction of the plane will be
pulled off direction if the ailerons are not properly
applied. The thrust of the single propeller is so great
that the plane is pulled to the left after the wheels leave
contact with the ground. On that day there were two guys
fueling another plane and I buzzed them, missing by not
much. The instructor, at that point, took the controls and
did not turn the plane back over to me until we were well
into the air.

On other occasions the instructor would have me climb
straight up endeavoring to stall the plane. During the
stall the nose would fall over and the control of the plane
could then be recovered. During the stall the propeller
would make a knocking sound, as if the engine were cutting
out, which did not help my anxiety very much.

The interim between the faulty take off and my other
brother taking me in his plane to view the flooding of the
Mississippi River around Vicksburg, Mississippi, was
anything but encouraging. This brother had not been flying
long and I was not exactly comfortable flying with him. He
had told me earlier of a trip he had taken to New Orleans.
On the return trip he related that he had gotten into a fog
bank over Lake Pontchartrain and looked down to see his
engine "red lining" when just in time he was able to pull
the plane up just prior to crashing into the lake.

All of these incidents convinced me that I was much better
off on the ground by myself than in the air by myself. Call
me chicken(which my brothers did), or call me a wooze,
which I felt I was, however my life has not changed that
much because I did not learn to fly.


About the Author:

Walter Berryhill is the owner of
http://www.DollarsInTheMail.com and reviews popular home
business ideas and opportunities. Walter's most popular
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