Ian here, I've been mostly a military "big" plane pilot part-time for the better part of the last decade. Been itching for a mooney for some time now, lurking and reading all I could here. Finally a TN '59 M20A with original wings will be my new baby. Can't wait to fly a wing built on a Mustang jig!
I have submitted a request to join the wood wing mooney mailing list and am looking forward to knowing you guys and having discussions about turbos and everything about the glorious Mooney.
And now, gather around as I tell to you this story of mine:
I took up my kids in a C-172 for the first time some months back. I had been prepping them for a long time for the flight. Sure they've been on airlines, but this will be a very different experience. My youngest gets carsick frequently. Encouraged by friends who regularly fly their progeny all the time, even younger than mine, I thought they were ready. I put the one I thought was going to possibly have anxiety up front with me. Intercom was screwy right off the bat, with me not able to hear. I spent 5-8 minutes figuring it out while we baked in the sun. Turned out this socket required me to pull my connector part-way out to make a connection. When I finally could hear them and myself talk, I realized that the volume was alarming loud. Pissed that I just spent their first crucial minutes in the airplane listening to me repeat endlessly "can you hear me?", I vowed to make the rest of the flight enjoyable. Good kids though, they didn't complain about their ears bleeding...
Take-off and climb-out went great, especially once the cooling airflow started to comfort us. The little girl in the back was super excited about everything, until about 15 minutes in, when she stopped responding to me and I looked back to see her eyes drilling into the seat-back straight ahead of her.
Like a ticking time bomb, within 2 minutes she was crying out between big alligator tears, "I just want to be on the ground!" It didn't help that there were little occaisional bumps. As I was racing to get back to the originating airport I tried to sooth her with "It'll be fine, honey. We're going to be on the ground very soon." With intensity that I will never forget, her amusing but sad immediate retort was, "No, it's NOT ok! I just want to be on the ground now!" Attempts to hold her hand in an akward backwards stretch proved only momentarily effective. Big brother's attempts at comforting remarks equally so. How could she believe him when he himself didn't know quite what to think of this unnatural ability for man to leave the Earth? Finally the perch point is here, and she seems to finally believe me that all will be well with the world.
But nay, I was delusional! Just then she lets loose a slow stream of vomit onto her shirt and lap. And I could do nothing except tell her that we'd clean her up. "So that's why she was quiet in the pattern," I thought. "She was too busy holding her cookies to complain... At least her queasiness will abate for a few minutes..." Just 200 feet now, time for one of my signature greased landings. But, lo... "et tu, Anemoi, gods of winds?" A sudden downdraft elicited a very uneasy gasp from both kids as their tummies leapt up. Thanks for that final middle finger from the sky as we spent our final moments of slipping the surly bonds of Earth.
The landing was a greasy one, but I figured it wasn't the right time to ask tower to confirm whether I was actually on the ground (especially since there was no tower to ask). Taxiing clear and shutting down, I leapt out, picked her up, gave her the shirt off my back, and spent the next 10 minutes squeezing her tight under the shade of the wing. She said then that she would never ride in a small plane again.
But I am not deterred. Every few weeks I probe, "You want to go flying today?" or "Some day you'll go flying with daddy again." Each time is met with less negativity than the last. My last question to her was met with a promising, "Where would we go?" Doing mental jumping jacks of joy, I thought, "now to appease the flying gods for perfect weather." I wonder what sacrifice will suffice? Perhaps a very expensive annual w/ repairs is enough?
