But I won’t fly any more, at least commercially.   This past winter I needed to travel from my hometown, Redding, to Detroit, Michigan… and I drove.   It took me six weeks, and I enjoyed every minute of it.    As you’ve probably figured out by now,  I won’t fly because I won’t give in to the TSA.

I’m a fiercely independent fellow anyway, but the scanning fiasco was the last straw.  You have to understand me first:  I’d rather not eat and live in a box than get welfare help from Uncle Sam.  They can keep it–I don’t want their help because I never asked for it, nor wanted it.   That’s just how I am.

Because of these things I’ve been called silly and unrealistic, but I don’t care.   The stakes underlying this whole thing are too important to shrug off.   This year, 2011, it will have been ten years since September 11th, 2001.   In that time, under the guise of security,  I personally believe we Americans have given up more liberties in the past ten years than the prior one hundred.   Powers that be are listening to your telephone calls, reading your emails, and now looking at your body–all without a warrant.    Sounds great huh?

“Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.”
-Benjamin Franklin

Sit back and think about that for a minute… really think about it.  Remember folks, once you give up a liberty to do something it is extremely hard to get it back.   Need proof?  It has been ten years and we’re still scanning the airport gates like it is 9/12/2001.   The powers that control our government are eager to jump at any chance to increase to their power over the people.    Those powers are cunning, and are driven by greed and money.   They will not hesitate to use a tragedy to further their control–and history has shown this to be true time and time again.   Yet we’re allowing them to do it again, and most appallingly; we’re doing it willingly.

The irony of it all is that this is precisely what the terrorists want.   They want us to be miserable.  They want us to be afraid and to submit to their whims.    If the terrorists wanted us to be afraid to use subways,  they’ll bomb a subway next.   Swooping in to save us all, our government would then install an overbearing dose of “security”.    The terrorists have hired our own government through its ineptitude to do their work for them.   More sinister, the moment it became convenient for that same government that “saved us”  to use that additional control & security against us, it will happen.   Don’t even pretend for a second that it wouldn’t.

The shocking thing is that our government doesn’t care–this single fact alone is the most convincing part about its subversive nature:  If our government was really concerned about defeating terrorists, why are they doing what the terrorists want?   Wouldn’t being defiant and doing the opposite be the approach to success?   Instead of locking down the airports, allow them to open up.    Open them completely up.

Would terrorists have a field day?   Probably, at first.   Would innocent people get hurt?  Probably.

“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”
-Thomas Jefferson

But dear reader, this is the price of liberty.   Liberty doesn’t come with a guarantee of happiness, or even life.   It’s the conduit to happiness in life.   To maintain liberty through our lives people will get hurt and even die, and there is a good reason Jefferson used the word “patriot” instead of “soldiers”.   Sound cold?  It isn’t.   It’s the tax of freedom, and like it or not that is how it works–and has worked throughout history.   Our country’s inventors understood this because they too lived (and died) through it.   The umbrella of safety will always block the sun.

The generations before us didn’t hesitate when that tree of liberty needed blood.  It is because of them that we enjoy the liberties what we now have.   My generation has become selfish and complacent–and in the name of convenience, we willingly surrender our liberties to the government

“Give me convenience or give me death.”
-Jello Biafra

Who are we to deny future generations their liberty?   We’re doing it right now by making excuses.   We do it in the name of convenience and haste.   Our fathers and dead soldiers are rolling in the grave.

“No free government, or the blessings of liberty, can be preserved to any people, but by a firm adherence to justice, moderation, temperance, frugality and virtue, and by frequent recurrence to fundamental principles.
-George Mason

I don’t propose going  right winger-crazy tomorrow waving guns around in one hand and a Bible in the other.   I suggest doing what you can, and for me and most others that is refusing to submit to what I’ve been told is good and safe for me–especially when I know it is a lie.

THAT is what being an American is about, and if you don’t understand that, I’m pretty sure you really don’t understand how or why the country you share with me was built.

The short version:  If you’re about to take your checkride, relax.  RELAX!  It won’t be that bad.  Just show up, be friendly and polite and you’ll do fine.   Quiz yourself here and there with real-world scenarios, and study up on the things you know you’re weak on.  Pay attention to details on your cross-country plan.   It’ll be a piece of cake.   If you weren’t ready, your instructor wouldn’t have recommended you!

And now, the long version.

The exam was scheduled for 9:00 AM at Hillside Aviation in Redding.  The week before, when scheduling it with him, the examiner provided me a cross-country flight plan of Benton Airpark to Fresno.   I show up at 8:00AM (tired from not getting a wink of sleep the night before) to get organized as well as get my cross-country weather from Flight Service one last time.   I had completed the majority of the weather planning the night before with Phaedrah using DUATS.  I’m wigged on coffee in an attempt to wake up.  My nerves are going nuts at this point.  My stomach is in knots.

I finish up the last bit of planning at about 8:15 AM after walking out to the plane and getting the magnetic deviation off the compass card in the plane.   I double check that I have the driver’s license, all the required entries in the pilot log, the maintenance records, etc.   I start scanning through the FAR/AIM one last time.

The examiner walks in at about 9:05 and introduces himself.  Where’d that past 45 minutes go??  I realize I’d met him once before while he was giving another checkride to another student earlier in my training.  At time, I could barely fathom being here for the same myself!   My first impression is that he’s a really friendly and easy-going guy–disarming even.  I relax a bit.

We go through the initial introductions as well as the basic structure of how the exam will work.   No surprises, first the oral part of the test, a short break, followed up by the flying portion.   He indicates the basic constructs of the testing, i.e. we’ll follow the PTS, he expects me to stick to those standards.  He also says the oral part with partially extend into the flying portion–I should be ready to answer questions at any time.

The oral part of the exam begins at about 9:15 AM.

The first couple questions are point blank and pretty straight forward.   What kind of airplane are we flying today?   What is the maximum weight? (I goof this answer by 100lbs, stupidly responding with an answer I memorized from a generic C-172 POH versus the actual POH from my test plane, but realize and recover).   Is this airplane ready to fly today?

“Sure is.  I’ll show you, if you like”  I explain the necessary requirements:  The Annual, the 100-hour check, 12-month ELT, 24-month Pitot-static, and the 24-month transponder checks.   We go through the airframe logs and he has me point out all the checks.   Wait a second… where’s the transponder?   The last check was from 4/2006.   My instructor and I just reviewed this the day before!?  What the?!

The DPE calmly says, “If I were you, I’d take this down to the mechanics downstairs to make sure something isn’t missing.  Of course I can’t tell you to do that, but I would if I were you”.  Basically, he’s saying “get this fixed before the oral is over, and you’ll still have a shot at passing today!”

Feeling like an idiot about missing something so basic,  I scoot my rear downstairs fast and find out that it indeed is NOT ready to go, they were intending to finish it for me this A.M., but got backed up.  I then remember my instructor mentioning “the transponder check will be there in the morning” the night before.  ACK!  I then run back upstairs and tell the examiner the transponder will be ready in an hour.

“I certainly hope your instructor isn’t flying that airplane around with an expired transponder check!”, he says with a grin.   We both chuckle about it a little bit, and it helps lighten the mood.  He then starts to drill in to more specific questions.

I do pretty well until we get to the sectional charts.   He points at Benton, and says… “What airspace are we in here?”

“Class E with a 700AGL floor”, I say confidently.

“What is the minimum weather requirements here?”

“3 miles visibility, clear of clouds and objects 500ft below, 1000ft above, and 2000ft laterally.”

“Good.”

He then presents me with a weather story-problem about flying from Benton to Red Bluff.   I remember there being a broken cloud layer at 900 AGL, an overcast layer at 2000AGL, and whether or not we could fly there.

At this point, I try to think it out but start to crack.  I ask for a second to think about it.  I waaaay over think it, forgetting that Red Bluff is surface Class E airspace, so even if we could stay clear of the clouds on the way down, it’d be a bad idea and probably even impossible to land with the necessary cloud clearances that low.   In a defeated fashion my answer is simply, “Well, for sure I wouldn’t fly it”.

“That’s not what I asked though, is it legal?”

Brain activity: gone.   At this point I’m freaking out that I’m failing the test.  My instructor walks in and sits at his desk (we were using his office).   This only adds to my panic state, knowing I’m now going to embarrass myself as well as my instructor!  The examiner moves on to another question.

I feel like the rest of the oral exam is going 50/50.  Some stuff I recall instantly, straight from the books–but my thinking capacity is deadlocked.  I get the weight and balance questions answers okay, but the next one regarding figuring out ground roll at a high-altitude airport puts me in mental shutdown.   I surrender and finally say “I’m sorry it’s taking so long, I just can’t seem to get the answers straight in my head at this point…”, as I pointlessly fumble with the E6B flight computer.  “I’m sorry I’m so nervous”, I admit.

The Examiner in his infinite wisdom comes out and says, “Why don’t you try looking in the POH.  You’re doing fine so far.  Just try to think out the questions.”

That sets me at ease.  OF COURSE the ground roll information is in the performance section of the POH.  DUH.  I get him the answers he was looking for.   We look at my weather and navigation logs for our theoretical trip to Fresno.  He makes a comment that he’s very pleased with my cross-country planning, probably the best he’s seen (wow!), and that after a break we can begin the flight-portion of the test.

Stunned that I’d made it through that train wreck, I go down to verify the transponder check was completed and recorded, and begin to pre-flight the airplane.   I think whether or not I should show the examiner, I remember him pointing out specifically that I’m pilot in command, and all judgement calls are mine.   I take that to mean he trusts my checking it.

I grab a quick drink of water and head out to the airplane.  The examiner walks out about half-way through the preflight.

“What’s that antenna for?”   ELT.

“What are you looking for in the gas?”   Sediment, water, color of the fuel.

“What type of fuel does this airplane use?”   100 octane, low-lead.

“What does that hole on the wing do?”  Stall warning.

“How does fuel get to the engine?”  I stupidly brain fart and after correctly saying it’s a gravity-fed system, that the engine fuel pump pulls it from the sump.   I’ve worked on car engines so much lately it just slipped out.

“It has a fuel pump?”  No, sorry sir.  I said that by accident.  It’s a gravity-feed system.

“How do these brakes work?”  Disc, hydraulic caliper/rotor system.  No problem.

“If that air filter in the front of the plane gets clogged, what happens?”   I remember from my training that newer 172′s have a spring-loaded airbox that will open if the filter gets plugged.   I tell him I think that’s how it works, and I remember reading that somewhere, but he says it doesn’t.

“Open the carb heat.” he says.  Really?   Well, yea, that makes perfect sense.   Carb heat pulls air from a baffle around the exhaust pipe.   Separate air source.  “Oh cool, that’s logical enough!” I say somewhat nervously.

We hop in the plane.  No comment during the initial checklists.   I brief him on seat belts, as well as making sure the door is locked.  I mention that since we’re planning on maneuvers I’d appreciate his extra set of eyes for other traffic.  I also re-instate that I’d like specific confirmation of the flight controls changing hands.   “Sounds good, I’m all set if you are” he says. “I’d like to start with our flight to Fresno, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, sir”, I say lightheartedly.   Truth be told my heart wasn’t so lighthearted at that point.

Run-up, no comments.

We do a normal take off from Benton (sort of expected a special short-field or soft-field).   I begin doing the time checks for our cross country flight.   Level off checkpoint is about 2 minutes late.  I tell the examiner we might be running a little behind schedule, possibly due to less of a tailwind than expected.

He asks I re-calculate the ETA to the next check point, which I do fairly quickly.  I practiced doing this extensively during the solo cross-country.   “11:04 we’ll be at the RBL VOR”, I say.

“1:04, you mean”?  Oh oops…where did I learn to read a watch again?

“Oh haha, sorry yes sir.  1:04″.   He looks at me and grins a little, knowing I’m still on edge.

Rest of the cross-country is me simply trying to get the plane trimmed out for level flight.  Having a heck of a time keeping her level for some reason.  We show up directly over the RBL VOR at 11:04, on heading, on alititude.

“Those flight computers really work!” I say jokingly, trying to relax myself a little.  He smiles and nods.

About 30 seconds later, he says that he’d like to divert to a new airport.  “I’d like to go to Ruth”, he says.  We looked at that one during the oral.  However I don’t remember it at all, being in a fog of fear the entire time.

“Would you mind folding the chart over to that while I go through the diversion checklist?”, I ask.  He seems pleased at the idea of me using a checklist for diversion I had prepared on my kneeboard.   “Sure”, he says.

I roughly plot our current location on the sectional with an “X”, mark the current time next to it, then hastily calculate a new heading and ETA.   I made the mistake of doing these before turning to the new heading, and he politely pushes me: “I’d like to go to Ruth, please”.   I get it, and turn to 250 right away.

I explain that Ruth requires us to climb to at least 8500 feet to clear obstacles (based on the sectional chart) and he says that’s fine, so I begin the climb.  About a minute goes by and he says he’d like to start the instrument portion of the test.  “Put your foggles on”, he says.

I reach in the back seat, grab my instrument training glasses, and put them on.  “You’ve just entered into a cloud! It looks like there is a fog bank all the way to Ruth”, he says.  “What do you do?”

“First thing I will do is a 180-degree standard turn to get out of the weather we just ran into”, I explain.  He says that’s fine and that once I’ve done that, he’d like me to intercept a radial off the KRDD VOR to fly back home.

“Ok”, I explain.   I also state that the OBS in my airplane is very lazy and that we may not be able to pick up KRDD’s station from our current location.  Sure enough, we don’t.   I tell him that our current altitude (6500 feet) is plenty high to clear us of obstacles in our area, and that flying on a heading of 360 will put us in range of the KRDD VOR without danger.

“I’ll trust your judgment”, he says.  What does that mean?  I’m walking into a trap?  Ack!

We finally get a reliable signal and I intercept the 030 radial and begin to fly it. No comments, so I assume that’s a good sign.

Shortly thereafter he explains he’s going to get into unusual attitude recovery while I’m under the hood.   I hand over controls, he throws the plane into a banking climb, and I recover it no problem.

Ever since I started training, I’ve had a good “seat-of-the-pants” feel of the plane.   I also seem pretty resilient to vertigo, so putting my head down and closing my eyes does little to throw off my senses.

Next is a diving bank to the right, which actually threw me a little.   I see the airspeed increasing quickly, and instinctively yank off the throttle, and put the carb heat on.   I gently level her out and bring her back to straight-and-level flight at about 5500 feet.

“Ok, you can take your foggles off.   I’d like to do slow flight next.  Stay at this altitude, and hold us at 5500 feet at heading 270.”

“Ok, sir, will do”.  I slow the plane down by backing off the throttle, neutralize the trim and put on full flaps.   I get the plane to about 50 knots holding steady, thinking I’m spot on.

“I said I’d like slow flight”, he says.   I’m somewhat confused, as my instructor had us practice at 50 knots.   I asked for clarification, and he said that meant about 40 knots in our C-172 at full flaps.

HOLY CRAP, I think.   She stalls at mid-30′s with 40-degrees clicked in.    “Ok sir”, I say semi-worried.

The next 5 minutes I was pretty focused on nothing else than the airspeed indicator and the DG.   “Keep her on heading!”, as I slid a bit off.   She’s acting like a greased goose on a bowling ball.   If I slightly lose the coordination between the rudder and the ailerons, she wants to stall to the side.   Outside the windshield is nothing but sky.  I’m pitched up about 35 degrees just maintaining altitude.  I then manage to pull in two 90-degree turns without dropping a single foot while flying at roughly 39-40 knots.   I even impressed myself!

He tells me to level off and get back to cruising speed.   We run through the stalls:  Power on, power off, as well as banked.   I had some trouble getting her to stall in the power-on, but it finally happened.   He comments I need to work on recovering with losing less altitude, but that we were still within spec.   Whew.

We’re roughly over RBL’s airspace and I suggest making a few more clearing turns before more maneuvers.  He agrees.  Coming out of my bank to the right I notice the engine stopping.   I look over at him, “Oops!” he says.

Ok this ought to be easy, I think to myself.   I’m 2 miles south of a perfect final approach on a huge (6500 foot) runway.  I’m at 6000 feet and have plenty of time.   I explain to the examiner that I’m planning on landing into the wind at RBL.  “Perfectly acceptable”, he says.  I pretend to call “Mayday, Mayday!” and simulate switching the transponder to 7700.

I trim the plane out for 65 knots, begin a gentle descending left-hand spiral to scrub altitude.  I run through the engine-out checklists on my kneeboard and realize he had simply pulled the mixture out.   I explain that I can push it back in to get it started.  “Go ahead”, he says.

I push in the mixture to full rich and the engine kicks back in.   For a second, I think I may not have to do an engine-out!   Vrrrorooompuh.  The engine quits again.  “That didn’t work”, he says with a smile.

Ok, back to plan one.  I’m going to have to land her.  I finish going through the ditching checklist, simulating turning off all the extra electrics and popping the doors open.   I make a call to the area traffic that I’m on a simulated engine out roughly 2 miles south of the airport, and I’m doing a controlled spiral descent from 4000′ to make a straight-in final approach.

Three other planes call back saying they’re inbound, including a Skylane 5 miles further south than me, coming in for a straight-in final approach as well.   I don’t panic, but instead just call them back and ask if they could slow down or spin around to make room.

The other traffic on 123.00 hears my plight, and I think they all figured out I might have been on a checkride.  Much to my surprise, all THREE say they’ll just stay out of the way until they have a visual on my landing.   How awesome of them!

Instead of making one last turn around to scrub off more altitude, I make a judgment call to play it safe from the other inbound airplane south of me and head for the runway, using full flaps and some light slipping to drop fast.  I start in at about 3500′ and make it a point to explain I’m just going for the center of the runway to make sure the traffic to the south is way clear.   “Good idea”, he says.

I drop in and make a bit of a rough touchdown due to my steep approach, but he says that works for him.

We do two more spins around the pattern to do a short field take-off, as well as soft-field take offs and landings.   No comments.   The last spin around, he tells me to do a short-field landing on downwind.  I set up and am lined up for a beautiful one.  About 20 feet AGL on final he says “GO AROUND GO AROUND!”

Based on the panic-sound in his voice, I actually think there’s something wrong, so I mash the throttle and mistakenly retract the flaps to 10-degrees (I intended to going to 20).   The airplane sinks and literally drops within maybe 5 feet of the runway, but I keep the nose down to build up speed and eventually she picks up steam.

“That was close” he says.   “I agree!” I say back.   We fly back, and do a single turn about a point at a building.   “Let’s head back to Benton”, he says.

Somewhat comforted that the whole ordeal was almost over, I take my time and do a full approach with a 45-degree entry on downwind at Benton.   I didn’t want to push my luck doing a long straight in.  Pattern is good!

On downwind, he explains he wants a short-field landing.   “Ok, sure thing” I say.   The approach is perfect, but about 10 feet from the runway a sinker pushes the airplane down pretty badly.  This happens a lot at Benton, so I just recover with throttle and set her down on the numbers, a little more rough and fast than I intended.   It wasn’t a great short-field at all.   No comments from the examiner.   I clear the runway half-expecting him to say “do it again”.   Instead, he instructs me to go back and park it.

At this point, I’m thinking I might have actually done it!   No comments during the taxi and shutdown.

After the engine shuts off, the examiner takes off his headset and says:  “Ok. How do you think you did?”  I focused on the rough spots (maintaining heading, rougher-than-normal touchdowns, as well as my sloppy stalls).   “I think I batted about 80-85%”, I say rather glumly.

“I agree.   I have some notes here that I want to go over with you.”   At this point, I think I’ve blown it, and he’s going over the failure items.  Just as I’m accepting the fact that I blew it, he juts in again:

“But, overall, I can tell you’re going to be a safe pilot.  Your planning and accuracy for the cross-country was great, and your emergency calls and decision-making at Red Bluff were very well executed.   I think we’re going to make you a private pilot”.

“HOLY SHIT!” I say rather excitedly without concern for manners.  He gets out of the plane, laughing, and begins walking back to the office as I sit in the plane and just take it all in.   It takes me at least twice as long to put everything away and write down the Hobbs because I’m shaking with glee.

We head back to the office and I sit down with my instructor and the examiner.  He explains he thought I could have done better on the oral, but that he thought nerves had a lot to do with it.   I agree with him, and explain I’m planning on studying all the things I had trouble in.   I get the standard dialogue of the license being a license to learn and that I shouldn’t ever take it for granted.

I truly take those words to heart, shake all their hands, and head home at 3:00PM being a new private pilot.   I slept better that night than I have in weeks.

I’ll write up a play-by-play a bit later.  I’m too excited to type it out right now!

Anyway, the big event is set to happen on this Friday, January 30th.   After much hard work, a little under a year, and about 45 hours in airplanes, I’m scheduled for the FAA Practical Test–or “checkride”–at 9:00AM with Del Schulte at Benton Airpark.  There are two parts: an oral exam which goes over “should know” stuff and the actual flight, which involves going through different maneuvers and navigation procedures.

Tex, my instructor, says I’ll do fine but it hasn’t helped me quell the nerves–it’s only Tuesday and I’m already shaking like a leaf and reviewing all the materials.

However nothing would be more awesome than passing on Friday; it’d be a lifelong dream come true.   If I do somehow calm down and pass it, the plan is to take up someone for a ride (mom, dad, or Phaedrah and Ethan, or all!) this upcoming weekend to exercise my newfound privileges.

Do we possibly have another pilot-in-training in the family? Only time will tell!

Next he said: “Now it’s your turn, do three more of the same. Have fun!”

I did three more trips around the pattern on my own. Coach stayed on the radio, just in case I needed him–but it was smooth flying. After three decent (but not great) landings and doing it all on my own, I came back in and parked it. He took a polaroid of me next to N5519J, filled out a Solo Certificate (for framing) and then wrote stuff all over my shirt and cut it out

Tomorrow I had more time scheduled with my coach, but the plan has changed–it’s now all to myself. I’m planning on taking her south over our practice area and just doing some basic S-turn stuff and circling our house a few times (turns about a point)! Taking it easy at first and just having fun. I can’t wait!

Overall today’s lesson was “in my hands” and in the words of my coach, he was “only along for the ride”.  We departed from Benton Airpark on runway 33, and made a left downwind departure South on towards Red Bluff’s big airstrip. At Benton, we had 29 knot head winds from the North, but fortunately straight down the runway. By the time we made it to Red Bluff , the Northerly wind had died down a little–but because of it I made a decent (but unintentional) short-field landing. I received a word of caution from the coach, and also another lesson learned today–keep the airspeed at 65 knots on final no matter what it takes (power, flaps, whatever!). Don’t get so stuck in routine that you forget the basics.

After doing a touch-and-go at Red Bluff, it was off to Redding Municipal for some controlled airspace (Tower) work. I called in to Redding Tower about seven miles to the south with this line:

“Redding tower, cessna five five one niner juliet. We’re seven miles South over the I-5 weigh station inbound for a touch-and-go and request a left crosswind departure with information Romeo.”

Which won me some accolades from the coach.   I have never really been radio shy, and apparently this is now really helping me out down the road when dealing with controlled airspace.

Fortunately for us, Muni was slow today and I was the only plane in the area. After the call Redding Tower cleared us for a landing on 34. Nasty thing was that we were back in some rough North wind: 29 knots according to Muni ATIS–and now at about a 15-degree crosswind from the East. I did my best to keep it lined up, but rolled a little too much to the right in my slip just before touchdown. Coach helped out at the last bit, and made for a hectic few second.  But overall not a bad touchdown–for a 30 knot crosswind!  As my coach said: Any landing you walk away from is a good one! Heh.

Leaving Muni airspace and heading back to Benton, my coach said he’d take over for the landing at home. The winds were just getting too strong and starting to lean in further from the Northeast. Sure enough, as I flew over midfield at Benton, the windsock was straight out and at about a 20-degree angle from the East.  My coach did some amazing flying work coming down and we made it home safe.

During the de-brief we discussed how my landings still need some practice, but nothing so bad as to keep me from Soloing. I did received another “good job” on my radio work and for that I received a “1″ again today (on a scale from 1-5, 1 being best). According to my coach–my first solo could be any time now, so I need to come prepared and in a beat up old shirt(?) I guess there’s some rite of passage when a PiT (Pilot in Training) first solos at Benton!

I’m on for trips up Friday morning and Saturday morning. We’ll see how it goes!

I’ve had three lessons so far.  The first flight was on March 6th, followed up by the first assisted take-off on the 7th.   I last went up yesterday on the 11th, which involved the first “solo” pre-flight (checking the plane and prepping it for take off) as well as the first “unassisted” take off.   I say “unassisted” because after we took to the air, it got a bit squrriley on me and the instructor had to help out some.  Okay, a lot.

The training facility is at Benton Airpark, which is a bit down the road from downtown Redding.  The trainer aircraft I’m learning in is a 1980 Cessna 172, which they happen to have a picture of on their site (it’s the old looking one). 

Bottom line is that it’s turning out to be quite a challenge, way fun, and immensely involving.   There is a lot to learn–more than I expected by far–but once airborne, it really doesn’t matter.  It’s awesome.