Do I Have to Go Myself?

How one ride pilot elicits the proper level of panic, thereby enhancing the learning process.

I guess the people who, on a daily basis, discover the gulf of experience that exists between a soaring enthusiast and the general public are the commercial pilots who attempt to bridge that gulf by once more patiently explaining what will happen to the glider "if the wind stops blowing." The answer to this and many other such questions, delivered in the confident and learned tones of the experienced ride pilot is, "Of course, then we'll die."

George Carlin or Jay Leno could very well give a refresher seminar for any commercial pilot to sharpen up his responses to questions that no one would ever ask on an airline flight but that just seem to be naturally aroused by the unique aspects of unpowered flight.

As an instructor, I once felt an obligation to offer an explanation of "What happens if this thing stops flying?" I began my recitation of stall entry and stall recovery only to be interrupted from the front seat by a knowing "You're putting me on" chuckle. "You can't stall this airplane, it doesn't have an engine!"

I now know the correct response to this question is to immediately pull the nose up to a ninety degree pitch angle and put in full rudder. Midway through the second spin rotation, ask innocently, "You mean like this?" (Note: This technique is only to be used for those commercial customers who have just eaten the pancake and sausage breakfast at the DinerSoar and only with a full compliment of plastic bags in the glider, but out of reach under the front seat.)

Sean Carney swears this technique never fails to satisfy the curiosity of even the most ardent passenger at this critical point.

Some other common questions the intrepid uninitiated might ask and their proper responses are...

"Do I have to do anything?" This question is generally asked just as the glider and towplane begin the take-off roll. There are a good many ways to answer this, but the only response that elicits the proper level of panic and thereby enhances the learning process is "I don't know. I've never done this before."

"How long have you been doing this?" is often asked in feigned nonchalance by the passenger while being strapped in. This common question is best answered by "What time is it now?"

To "Where are we going to land?" I find the response "I don't know, but I've never picked the same town twice." works well.

Certain members of the line crew and experienced Club members have made the commercial pilot's job easier by creating an atmosphere in which many questions will be asked.

Just as the canopy closes on the confined cockpit enclosure in which the commercial pilot is patiently explaining that just because there are "dive brakes" does not mean the aircraft has amphibious qualities, Oates likes to ask if the pilot remembered his medication; Eric pleads, "Please return this time. We're running out of gliders," while Messner and Crawley, as instructors, are more inclined to suggest that the pilot would be wise to make regular reference to the "How to Fly" manual always kept on board the aircraft.

With such consideration prior to the flight, the otherwise commonplace ride becomes an exciting adventure and the source of innumerable questions for our potential soaring enthusiasts.

One question stands out above all others as the most frequently asked and the most difficult question to answer seriously.

The person asking the question will usually be seen uncomfortably watching the Great White Fleet launch into the mid-day thermals. He stands by the office door, clutching his receipt and Visa card in his now damp and trembling hand. As the third or fourth single-place, high-performance glider is towed past him, the tendrils of uncertainty turn to a horrified, deeply-rooted conviction. He turns to the nearest pilot-like figure (anyone wearing sunglasses regardless of the weather and a watch so impressive it makes one arm hang appreciably lower than the other.) and blurts out "Do I have to go by myself?" to which the responses are legion.

"Only if you want to." "They do at Disneyland." And Caleb's favorite, "Yes, we call that the $60,000 ride."

Carl Kreedon noted a refreshing variation on this theme when he helped belt a passenger into the ASK-21, carefully explaining how the belts and canopy worked, adjusting his passenger's camera and film containers to avoid interference with the controls. When he began to settle himself into the rear cockpit, a minor rebellion began in front. "Why are you getting in? This is my ride! I paid for it and want to go alone!"

Carl patiently explained the FAA rules, certification, insurance, flight characteristics, aerodynamics, wing loading and adiabatic lapse rate issues, finally convincing the passenger that he probably needed to go along on this one. But all the while saying to himself, "You want to go by yourself? You mean, like this?" as he dreams of climbing out.

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