Giday was the greeting as número uno climbed into the instructors seat and as he strapped himself in I updated the check list status, all good so clear prop was bellowed at the unopenable door window and the fan burst to life.
With the taxi call made and the brakes released the familiar kerplunk of the nose wheel over the taxiway light reminds me that each light run over carries a penalty of one schooner so with a bit of quick mental arithmetic I calculate that in three more lessons he will own a bloody pub, but probably money well spent. We arrive at he holding point, do the brmmm brrmmm test, check all the wobbly bits, set every thing for take off and with the radio call made, line up and shove the go knob down the little jabawoki's throat. As we career down runway 37 like a rabbit in the car headlights right rudder número uno says firmly as the centre line moves towards the right wing tip right rudder more right rudder he's yells and now with the runway light in clear vision RIGHT RUDDER RIGHT RUDDER he screams making some sort of spasmic thrust with his right leg but my left knee was locked in place MY AIRCRAFT he screams with the pitch control of a pubescent teanager MY AIRCRAFT he yodels again and lurches for the control stick, now I'm not saying I have a grip of steel but even my ptt button was turning purple, and as we jumped the runway light all be it with the grace of a startled wood duck, the familiar sound of tyre on tarmac gave way to the wobble of an out of balance wheel and as I glance at número uno with my best HOWZAT look, I notice the tiny beads of sweat on his wrinkle free forehead ( oh to be young again). Leaning forward to raise the flaps and kill the fuel pump the Sunday morning sermon begins, "when I say my aircraft you blah blah blah blah blah blah" and as I gave him my best "problem?" Look, I notice the beads of sweat had migrated to the tip of his nose and had amalgamated in some type of desperate attempt to escape captain grumpy pants, all the while cheered on by his rapidly flaring nostrils, but the sermon continued "when I say right rudder blah blah blah" then silence over the headset. Oh I said I just wanted to hear some one scream my name and as I waken from my slumber even my poodle, who was apparently sick of licking his doggy bits and was now using my face to wipe the tast off his tongue, couldn't erase my cheeky grin.
Pleasent dreams and see you at Narromine Saturday
Right rudder