I hadn't flown in nearly two months and with the flight test looming I decided last week that it was time to get back in an aeroplane.
The way my first flight after a lay-off normally goes thus: first landing, a peach; second, slightly off; third and subsquent landings, bruised and leaving a a slightly off taste. Last week there was an astonishing break from the norm.
First landing, near perfect. Second, not quite as good but decent enough for the instructor to suggest that the next one be a full-stop for a crew change. Whoo-hoo, solo time. Oh yes, the third one, the full-stop, was as good as the second.
Delighted and all as I was to be on my own in the plane, I was a little apprehensive that a deterioration in my handling was on the way. It wasn't. Each and every landing was perfectly acceptable. I'd have been happy to have witnesses to any of them. I'd have been happy to have passengers witness them. Even the change in circuit direction on my last circuit wasn't enough to through me off my stride. I spent the rest of the evening chuckling to myself - occasionally out loud.
I may actually have the makings of a half decent pilot in me. Man, I love to fly,
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