Sorry my riding only buddies this one doesn't involve any pedalling....
Christmas past Ma and Pa Fat Lad bought me a flying lesson to celebrate the birth of some long dead guy with a penchant for sandals sporting a phenomenal goatee. With the first free weekend since the wedding I gleefully organised to get behind the stick and head for the skies.
Thankfully the lesson was booked for early afternoon and so I could snooze a little later than usual for a Saturday morning. Making our way east to Hull International Airport the sunshine beat down through the windscreen and for early autumn the weather was promising.
Rolling up at the loose collection of warehouse units and portacabins that is generously referred to as an
International Airport the glorious weather had not held and cloud cover had obscured the sun.
After a brief briefing with my instructor I emptied my bladder (in a toilet, not in my pants) we headed out to the runway and the plane I would be heading out in.
The instructor showed me the way into the cockpit and the first thing that I realised was how basic it was inside. With sudden realisation, perhaps this was the ultimate in weight-weenie-ism keeping power to weight ratio as optimal as possible.
Ashley took control of the light aircraft and after talking, what was to me at least, complete gibberish with the tower we accelerated down the smooth tarmac runway. With barely a pull on the controls we were airborne with the gentlest takeoff I've ever experienced.
We headed out over the Humber Estuary flying above yet parallel to the
bridge. Handing over control of the plane to me I banked it a couple of times as the real pilot amongst the pair pointed out local landmarks. Below us we could see the
KC stadium:
and the fairground in town:
The twists and turns they we're enduring/enjoying were nothing as far as I was concerned with the ride I was having amongst the clouds. We headed out coastwards and again I put the plane in a tight bank over the docks rewarded with a birds eye view of the heavy shipping in operation.
Far too soon and my allotted time was running out. The instructor pointed us in the correct direction and pointed out a spot on the horizon to keep the aircraft on course with. That was surprisingly difficult if I'm completely honest. On the approach I was told to point the nose down so we could lose the altitude for landing and there was an odd sense of exhilaration in putting the plane into a dive, even if it was only a shallow one. AS the runway got closer (and with it the ground) the pilot took over in the last 30ish seconds and put the craft down with the tyres
barely kissing the ground. Adrenalin filled I left the craft and headed back to Mrs Fat Lad to try and describe all that as achieved.
To try and describe accurately the feeling is beyond my poor wordsmith abilities. But despite the exhilaration there was no fear just a peculiar sense of lightness. I think it was
Juancho who said that cyclists often talk of flying without understanding what it really means. Turns out; he was right.
Big thanks must go out to Ashley, the instructor and pilot for putting up with my god awful flying ability, Yvonne at the
Humber Flying Club for plying Mrs Fat Lad with coffee and keeping her company. And finally to my fantastic Mum and Dad for purchasing me an awesome Christmas present.
My instructor was gracious enough to let me take up my GPS and the details can be found here:
MotionBasedFat Lad
