Well, not to be a wet blank
it can get hairy. I began my fight adventure at a small paved field “2600ft.” at Pine Valley Airport in Albion N.Y., flying a Cessna 152. I soloed in 12 hours, flying once a week. Was having a great time and looked forwarded to my cross county later in the spring.
As luck would have it, my instructor took me up for some grass field practice. It was one of those days, were it was a *****, just to keep one’s feet on the rudder pedals. A strong wind, accompanied with abrupt up and down drafts. This was by far, the worst weather conditions I had flowed in up to this point.
We “bounced” our way over to that grass field. Got set up to land and was about 3/4 down final when we were hit buy a gust, micro burst or the finger of god, wasn’t really sure. We went from wings level, to a wing 12, 6 o’clock position in the time it took to snap your fingers. Hanging in the straps, I glanced at my instructor and noticed the only thing visible in the right window seat were treetops. I rolled the plane back left, about a half second ahead of his hands hitting the wheel. Finished the landing, rolled around to a takeoff position. As I reached to push the throttle in, a flood of sweat pored down my face and my flying days were at that moment, over with.
I got back on the horse, flew a haft dozen more hours duel and solo, but it was never the same. The minute I felt a bounce, I’d cringe, waiting for the plane to zoom off by itself again.
