The month of December starts off on a good note:

One checkride down, three to go. I wish I’d have remembered to bring a camera to capture the moment. But alas, a camera was just about the last thing on my mind today.

The commercial glider checkride went very smoothly. For one thing, the FAA examiner — Roger Brownlow — asked me to fly from the front cockpit rather than the rear one. It’s a lot easier to fly when you have unfettered access to the yaw string, variometer, and other instruments. My instructor had been preparing me to take the checkride from the back seat.

I did enjoy flying from the back seat, as it presented some fun challenges. And a few advantages, too. One of my favorite things about flying from the back is the short throw on the control stick. It makes using strong control deflections a lot easier since you’re not bumping into yourself when you apply full aileron one way or the other.

The winds were completely calm today, which made boxing the wake, holding position on tow, 720 degree steep turns, and other such maneuvers quite easy. It was a 180 degree difference from last Sunday, when the winds were blowing so strongly out of the north that after my CFI released the tow rope at 300 AGL, I almost got blown off the airport before the downwind turn could be completed.

The biggest challenge today had nothing to do with the test. It was the temperature. The checkride was scheduled to commence at 9:00, so I was out of the house by 6:30. The OAT at Corona was -2C when I arrived at 7:00 a.m. The grass was frosted over, puddles of water had frozen solid, and technically the airplane should have been preheated before starting, but it was close enough that I said the hell with it and just gave the engine an extra 10 minutes to warm up before departing for Hemet.

On the other hand, the cold temperature precluded any chance of thermalling, which meant there was one less thing to demonstrate on the checkride.

Now that I’m rated to fly gliders, what’s next? Transitioning from the 2-33 to a Grob single place ship might be a worthwhile endevor. Perhaps go after a few Federation Aeronautique Internationale (”FAI”) badges.

FAI Silver Badge
The FAI Silver Badge involves 3 required elements. Silver Altitude is a 1,000-meter (3,281-foot) altitude gain above an in-flight low point; Silver Duration is a 5-hour flight time after tow release and Silver Distance is a 50-km (31.07-mile) cross country flight.

FAI Gold Badge
The FAI Gold Badge involves 2 required elements. Gold Altitude is a 3,000-meter (9,843-foot) altitude gain above an in-flight low point; Gold Distance is a 300-km (186.42-mile) cross country flight.

FAI Diamond Badge
The FAI Diamond Badge involves 3 required elements. Diamond Altitude is a 5,000-meter (16,404-foot) altitude gain above an in-flight low point; Diamond Goal is a 300-km (186.42-mile) cross country flight using a pre-declared Out and Return or Triangle course; Diamond Distance is a 500-km (310.7-mile) cross country flight. As of January 1, 1996, a total of 818 Diamond Badges have been awarded in the US among a total of 5,846 worldwide.

1,000K Diplome
The FAI 1,000-Kilometer Diplome was adopted in 1964 and is awarded for a cross country flight of at least 1,000 km (621.4 miles). As of January 1, 1996, a total of 68 1,000-Kilometer Diplomes have been awarded in the US among a total of 275 worldwide.

2,000K Diplome
The FAI 2,000-Kilometer Diplome is the most recent addition to the FAI Badge program and is awarded for a cross country flight of at least 2,000 km (1,242.8 miles).

Anyway, I’m beat. And I’ve got a lot more studying to do before heading to Las Vegas on Sunday, so you may not hear much from me between now and then. I’ll have my laptop and a dial-up connection in Sin City, so I may be able to post an update every now and then.

I had a feeling this was coming.

Bringing viewers compelling, real-world stories of heroism, military strategy, technological breakthroughs and turning points in history, Discovery Communications, Inc. will transition its Discovery Wings Channel to the Military Channel on Monday, Jan. 10, 2005.

Despite the fact that D-Wings had an annoying habit of playing the same shows over and over again, it was still better than much of the stuff on television. From a marketing perspective, the switch to a military channel is shrewd. Many folks either have friends or family serving abroad or know someone who does.

There were some interesting series on D-Wings: Learning to Fly, From the Ground Up, Aviatrix, and so on.

I hope Discovery will spread new and existing aviation programming around rather than drop it completely. Few people outside of general aviation appreciate its usefulness or contributions to the economy. Anything that educates the public about GA is a plus, and the Discovery Wings channel was at least a step in the right direction.

Greetings from Las Vegas! After talking about doing this CFI thing for so long, it’s almost odd to actually be here.

The most remarkable thing about the “Total CFI” program seems to be the way the system works here. Days are long enough that one connects to another. For example, I was up at 4:30 a.m. today in order to be out of the hotel by five and preflighting the Seminole by 5:30 for a 6:00 a.m. wheels-up time. We were back on the ground by 8:00 for the ground seminar. That lasted for about eight hours, after which there was an administrative meeting, a quick dinner, and now it’s back to the books.

And this was a “sleep in” day.

I’ve got a training flight later in the week that’s scheduled to depart at 3:00 a.m.

Yeah.

Between that and the ground class, it’ll be a 20 hour day at the very least. Interestingly, I’m not even close to the first one scheduled to depart that morning (evening?). There are FAA checkrides taking place in the middle of the night. Part of the reason for that is because there aren’t too many instrument approach procedures available in the Las Vegas valley, and McCarren only allows practice approaches between 2:00 and 7:00 a.m.

When not flying, ATP has a brand new AST300 simulator that’s available for use. From what I’ve seen of it, it’s pretty nice. It has visuals and a Garmin GNS430. Not an exact replica of the Seminole, but close enough to be able to practice flows and instrument procedures.

I’ll have to take a picture of the scheduling board in the office. There are about a dozen checkrides taking place in the next few days. You’d think ATP would have a lot of aircraft here, but there are only three twins. They simply keep ‘em in the air most of the day. The ATP staff doesn’t hold anyone’s hand. Pilots simply have to be on top of things if they want to get through it. Which is exactly how it should be, eh?

Here’s how this program works: the first week or so is spent on the initial CFI certificate with a multi-engine rating. Once the MEI has been obtained, there’s another two days before the multi-instrument instructor rating is added on, followed by the single-engine CFI by day 14.

Most of the CFI training is ground based, which reflects how the checkride is run. Long oral, short flight. By the time you reach this level, it’s assumed that you can fly the aircraft. It’s more a matter of being able to teach the maneuvers, guide student learning, put together lesson plans, and cover all the legal elements (endorsements, PTS requirements, etc). Everything we’re covering is review, so in theory I should be able to pass the test even if I took it right now.

On a personal note, North Las Vegas Airport is located pretty close to my old high school, so I stopped by the old Robin St. campus location during my leisurely 30 minute lunch break. The high school is no longer there — they moved out to a new campus in Summerlin about seven or eight years ago — but it was nice to see that the old building is still standing. In fact, it’s still a school, I think. Some sort of public adult education facility. Robin Street used to be mostly open space, but now it’s all covered with homes. I grabbed lunch at the Wendy’s where I used to eat during senior year when we were allowed off campus during the noon hour. Deja vu.

Well, I’ve got a spin training session scheduled for 6:30 a.m. tomorrow. Gotta get some sleep…

Title 14 CFR Part 61 requires a Certificated Flight Instructor candidate to demonstrate ‘instructional proficiency’ in spinning an aircraft. That means I not only have to be able to put the plane into a spin and recover it, but also instruct as I do so.

My spin sign-off flight was scheduled for 6:30 a.m. this morning.

Unfortunately it was cancelled due to clouds and low ceilings. Ironically, one of the instructors said just yesterday that Las Vegas only has five days of IMC conditions per year. What are the odds?

(Actually, the odds were about 71-to-1 against. Not that I’m counting or anything.)

On the positive side, I had a chance to grab some breakfast before another grueling day of classwork. We started at 8 am and didn’t finish until about 6 pm. The only truly new thing were the endorsements. There are about fifty of them, with countless variations depending on the rating or certificate being sought, and the category and class of the aircraft in question.

Hopefully the weather will be better tomorrow.

I received an email from a fellow musician that bodes ill for the future of the performing arts. It’s bad enough that the arts have essentially been eliminated in our schools. Must professional theatres go the same way? If major arts facilities don’t understand this issue…. well, I just wonder who’s going to pay $100 (or more) for a ticket to see a show that’s not even played live.

On Tuesday December 21, 2004 the musical show “Oliver” will open at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. This show is traveling with a machine known as the Virtual Orchestra. This machine uses digital sampling to record and replace live musicians in the pit.

This is a very real threat to the future of live music. The Virtual Orchestra jeopardizes every phase of the music business. Last year the Broadway musical theatres in New York City were closed for three days as singers, dancers and stagehands joined with musicians in refusing to work with this device. As a result there is no Virtual Orchestra on Broadway.

On Tuesday December 21, 2004 Local 7 will be distributing leaflets to the opening night audience. To be noticed and taken seriously we must have a large number of people participating. You as a practitioner of the art of making music owe it to yourself, as well as to all musicians who have come before you and who are yet to come, to standup to this attack on our profession.

The Orange County Performing Arts Center by its very name proclaims to be dedicated to the performing arts. To replace musicians with this mechanical device is a betrayal of the purpose for which this magnificent structure was conceived, funded and erected. It cannot be allowed to contribute to the decline of music performance by employing the Virtual Orchestra as a cost saving device without hearing from us.

I’m in Las Vegas until the 21st, so I won’t be able to be there. But “canned” music bothers me, because when I lived in Las Vegas in the late 80’s, the hotels on the Strip decided to save money by replacing live musicians in the orchestra pit with taped music. The musician’s union went on strike at every hotel in town. They stayed on the picket lines for literally years. Eventually they just stopped picketing, the battle lost. And today, there’s not a live orchestra left anywhere on the Strip that I know of.

I haven’t used dial-up since the mid 1990s, and now I remember why.

I’m 99% sure this is a problem with the ISP (Netscape Internet), because I have no problems connecting, it just says my password is incorrect. Which is, in itself, incorrect. I even had Netscape’s tech support confirm it, after spending half an hour on hold. Why do tech support people always assume the problem is that the customer is too stupid to operate a computer? Sheesh.

My hotel room here at Texas Station has high speed internet available for an extra fee. You don’t even need a computer — they let you access it through the television. Or you can hook into an ethernet connection with your laptop (again, for a fee). Pretty slick. I’m tempted, but honestly don’t need it. Being away from the ‘net will be good. That’s what I keep telling myself.

I’m not totally cut off, though. ATP’s Cheyenne facility at the airport has high speed access, which’ll come in handy for checking weather, filling out my 8710, and keeping the email spam at bay so I don’t come home to a thousand virus-laden messages.

Speaking of weather, it was another scuzzy day. We managed to get in an hour of pattern work with me “instructing” my CFI on multi engine operations, cutting the engine on him in the air and on the ground, and so on. What I really feel the need for is some time to run through the checkride maneuvers in sequence. If those are down cold, the instructing part will come easy. Can’t do that, though, until the weather clears enough to fly in the practice area.

The good news is that I’m getting a lot more comfortable with the airplane and flying from the right seat. Today I learned that the DPE checkride schedule is full until the end of the year, so if anyone flunks the flight portion of a practical test, there’s no way for them to get a re-test before the program ends. Which is no problem as long as everything goes… perfectly. On all three checkrides.

I inadvertently made a shrewd move in choosing to go through this program before the end of the year. The FAA has notified ATP that as of January 1st, they are reserving the right to have an FAA inspector perform any and/or all initial CFI practical tests. The good news: FAA inspectors are free. The bad news: the pass rate is historically pretty low. I’m not sure how the FAA will even be able to handle the quantity of applicants ATP turns out. But what do I know? I’m just a guy trying not to ring in the holidays with a “notice of disapproval”.

Hey, here’s a neat fact: I found out that my instructor, Dan, is a classical pianist by trade. He got into film scoring and is good friends with the guys who wrote the Broadway musical Avenue Q, which opens here in Las Vegas pretty soon. I think he said he studied at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Dan’s father is a corporate pilot and that’s how he got into aviation.

The ground school portion of the program ended today. I’m tempted to think that this will free up a lot of time between flights to do things like study and maybe even sleep a bit. Somehow it probably won’t work out that way. The folks who are in the preceding class are currently in the second week of this 14 day program, and they look like they’ve been run over by a truck.

The DPE has assigned me a “drag demonstration” for my multi-engine instructor checkride. No, it has nothing to do wearing women’s clothing. Rather, it’s a way of demonstrating the effect different configurations and airspeeds have on single-engine performance in a twin. Anyway, I’ve put together a lesson plan and will have to “teach” this lesson to the examiner as if he were a student. I rehearsed it this evening with another pilot who’s also been assigned the drag demo for his lesson plan. He had some great ideas on how to use different color markers to keep the whiteboard from looking so cluttered. I’ve also got to pare down on what I write up there. If you write too much, it’ll be a mess. Key points only.

Due to the fact that I’m in a 15 hour multi-engine program here at ATP, I’ll actually be working on my instrument stuff before I’m done with the initial multi engine instructor certificate. A lot of balls to keep in the air. I’m starting to think that this program is not suited for everyone.

I’m starting to form an opinion on ATP’s instructor program. I’ll reserve final judgement until I’ve completed the course, but my thoughts thus far are that your average pilot is probably not going to be well equipped or well served by this kind of thing. Allow me to explain.

My class is comprised of five people of widely varying experience. Each has unique challenges to overcome. For example, the high-time member of our group is a former airline pilot who now flies DC-3s for the U.S. Forest Service. She overcontrols the Seminole since it’s far lighter and more maneuverable than the Douglas. Quite a minor thing.

On the other hand, the other three people are low time pilots who came out of various academies. They simply don’t have a lot of flight experience. It’s not a ‘dig’ at them — they’re extremely nice and hardworking people. But they only have the tools that they were given in their previous flight training. Is that enough? I think it can be — after all, the military takes people from zero to high performance jets in less than a year — but it’s unlikely that their training met a high enough standard to overcome the lack of seasoning and experience. The academies are geared toward getting those pilots into an airliner cockpit, not a GA aircraft. But general aviation is where we are at the moment.

And then there’s me. Ironically, ATP’s program is probably best suited to someone like myself who lives and breathes general aviation. I have a lot of experience flying a wide variety of aircraft and profiles: gliders, sea planes, biplanes, twins, experimentals, aerobatics, instruments, formation flying, and so on. That serves me well when I show up and have to master a new airplane quickly. I’ve also got a lot of real-world general aviation flight experience because of Angel Flight. I understand systems well because I’ve been an aircraft owner. In addition, the “accelerated” training fits my personality, as I prefer to focus on whatever I’m working on until it’s completely done.

But the real key is the slow, in-depth training I got at Sunrise Aviation as a private, instrument, and commercial student. Sunrise has extremely high standards, and I came into this course with a perfect foundation for this kind of training. When you’re doing “accelerated” training, there’s no time for those with holes in their primary training to fill them during the program. In a sense, you’re sunk before you’ve started. The pace is so quick that even if the instructors here wanted to hold your hand, they just would not be able to do it. One of the guys in my class is in that sinking boat, and it’s sad to watch. He told me that he’s having trouble sleeping because he’s so worried about the maneuvers. I asked him which ones, and he said, “All of them.” I’m trying to help the guy out, but there’s only so much I can do.

If you’re considering accelerated training at the CFI level, I’d recomment you make an honest assessment of your skills and experience first. The prerequisites are not just lip service. They are the only thing that’s going to sustain you. When ATP says you have to come into the program with full IFR currency and proficiency, they mean it. My first instrument flight is tomorrow, and on that flight we’ll be doing engine out, partial panel circle-to-land approaches at 3:00 a.m. at a Class B airport.

There’s nothing wrong with ATP’s instructor program, but it’s not for everyone.

Okay, getting up at 1:30 a.m. wasn’t as bad as I thought. Flying in the middle of the night has it’s advantages, especially in the desert. I’ve never seen the air so smooth. It makes the flying easier and more enjoyable, but of course it also leaves a pilot with little excuse for deviations in altitude or heading.

McCarren Int’l Airport was quiet at three in the morning, so we were able to do a full ILS 25L approach, then execute the missed followed by another ILS 25L partial panel. And of course the left engine “failed” just as I was intercepting the localizer. After that we held at the Boulder VOR for a few minutes, which I used to set up for the VOR 25L/R, which terminated with a circle to land 19L. My flying was good, but I did make one stupid error in forgetting to use the circle-to-land minimums instead of the numbers for a straight-in approach. Duh.

My biggest hurdle in flying instruments here is just getting used to the avionics they have. A Garmin 430 and Apollo SL30 make for a powerful combination, but it’s easy to either make a mistake or spend too much time hunting around for the right button. That could easily lead to a bust. If you leave the GPS/VLOC switch in the wrong position and fly the CDI needle off course, you’re done. Even the simple things count, like the fact that the SL30 will self-ident a VOR. I wasted 30 seconds aurally identifying Boulder VOR when the “BLD” was right there on the radio.

This is a problem that will only get worse as the Garmin 1000 and other advanced all-glass panels filter out into the world of general aviation. I think eventually the FAA is going to step in and require specific training on an avionics suite before a pilot can fly the airplane.

Anyway, the MEII training is going well. And I feel I’m prepared for the CFI multi-engine initial. My plan for tonight is to hit the sack nice and early because I’ve got a 5 am flight tomorrow, and if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that you can’t have too much sleep when you’re doing this kind of intensive training. Students here are asked to perform to their limits, and so many of them are eating junk, getting no sleep, and not drinking enough water. You can’t do that for two solid weeks and expect to give your best.

Looks like Ocean’s Twelve is going to be a success. Hey, it could happen.

LOS ANGELES, California (Reuters) — “Ocean’s Twelve,” the heist caper that George Clooney, Brad Pitt and their A-list pals shot in their spare time while living it up in Europe, stole the No. 1 slot at the North American weekend box office.

According to studio estimates issued Sunday, the Warner Bros. film sold $40.9 million worth of tickets in the three days since opening December 10. Warner Bros. and CNN are units of Time Warner Inc.

It marks the fourth-biggest opening for a December release, after the “Lord of the Rings” movies, and narrowly surpassed its 2001 predecessor, “Ocean’s Eleven,” which opened with $38.1 million in 200 fewer theaters and finished with $184 million.

I can think of at least a few sequels that met the standard set by their predecesors: The Godfather II, The Empire Strikes Back, Rocky II, Terminator II, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Hell, sometimes a film goes on to become a full-fledged franchise, a la the James Bond flicks. Most of the time, however, sequels are mediocre at best.

Remakes have an even worse track record.. Which is why I wasn’t expecting much when the remake of Eleven opened in 2001. Thankfully, Steven Soderbergh was smart enough to know a) not to mess with a classic, b) the storylines and pacing that satiated a 1960’s audience would not be well received by a 21st century theatre goer, and c) third rule of fight club: there was only one Rat Pack, so leave it alone. So beyond a vague similarity in the storyline, the two films are independent of one another.

One of the few films I was really hoping to see a sequel to was another remake, The Thomas Crown Affair. It didn’t set the box office on fire, but it’s been my favorite movie since the day I saw it.

Anyway, I’m glad to be in Las Vegas during the premiere of Ocean’s Twelve. Not only was the original filmed here by Sinatra and company, but the remake of was set at the Bellagio, my favorite hotel. I’d probably be staying there right now were it not for the fact that it’s about five times as expensive as Texas Station.

Speaking of which, there’s a large cinema complex here in the hotel, and they had some sort of special event going on for the opening of Ocean’s Twelve yesterday. I’m hoping to see the film while I’m here, but with the ATP course schedule, it may not be possible.

Despite my longstanding reputation as a night owl, I’m actually getting used to being up at 3:00 a.m. Maybe it’s just the Vegas effect, but when you’re flying at that hour, it doesn’t really matter if it’s early or late. In reality, it’s both.

You’d think that walking through the casino at that hour, the place would be empty. You’d be wrong. Every day as I make my way toward the parking garage in the middle of the night, I wonder about these people sitting at the slot machines. What are they doing there at 4:00 a.m. on a weekday? (They’re probably wondering the same thing about me.) One thing’s for sure: the wee small hours bring some, uh, interesting looking characters out of the woodwork, especially at off-the-beaten-path casinos like Texas Station.

Yes, the world looks a lot different at this hour.

On the plus side, I’ve witnessed some of the most spectacular sunrises from a wonderful vantage point. This morning I flew a challenging partial panel VOR circling approach under the “hood”, meaning I could not see anything outside the airplane at all until the last minute. When I took off the view-limiting device, the mountains around the Las Vegas valley were glowing red as I flew the missed approach from McCarren’s runway 19L. It’s a climbing right turn to a heading of due west that takes you right over the Strip at about 500 feet. With the right wing down, you can see it lit up like… well, like a Christmas tree. And as you complete the turn, the sun is rising over the mountains in the east.

Another advantage to early morning flights is that the frequencies are quiet. When the airliners and other training flights start to clog the TRACON frequency around 5:30 a.m., my workload goes up because I have a lot more radio communication to filter out while listening for my call sign. It also gets harder to talk to the controllers when they’re busy on landlines. Then they start talking faster, cutting the vectors short, and so on.

The instrument flying has been going well. Las Vegas is rather limited in the approaches available to the examiner for the flight test, and that works to my advantage. In the Los Angeles area, it’s just the opposite. There are dozens of airports with literally a hundred different approach procedures, and you never know which ones the examiner will want you to fly. Plus the airspace is more complex and less forgiving, so you really train to a high IFR standard in that environment.

I know I’ll be doing three approaches at McCarren on my MEII checkride. The ILS 25L, then the same ILS with an engine failed, followed by an instrument failure on the missed approach and a partial panel hold at BLD, and finally the VOR 25L/R circling approach (also partial panel).

Today’s flight had an interesting moment. The Garmin GNS430 (which is a GPS, navigation receiver, and two-way communication radio in a single box) froze at a very inopportune moment. I was leaving a hold, starting a transition to the final approach course and being given an approach clearance when the Garmin froze, taking all com, nav, and GPS capability with it. That’s not supposed to be able to happen. The 430 is designed so that if the GPS fails, the radios don’t fail with it. But it happened.

I was also flying partial panel, so instead of using the ground track on the GPS, I had to use the compass. I looked up and noticed that the light had burned out, so I couldn’t read it. My instructor offered to give me the HSI back, but I declined. I figure anything that makes the training harder will make the checkride seem easier by comparison. “Train to a higher standard”. I did, however, accept his offer to hold the flashlight aimed at the compass. CRM at work.

I managed to make do with the second nav/com and CDI and flew a decent approach. But if I ever experienced that situation in real world IMC, I’d declare an emergency and get no-gyro vectors from ATC.

The MEII flights have only reinforced my belief that you have to bring your “A” game to an accelerated training program. I have the benefit of 13.5 multi-engine hours to prepare for the MEI and MEII checkrides, but many of the people in the program are on a shorter variant that only provides 7 hours of multi time. With probably 4-5 hours of that being used for the initial CFI certificate, you’re left with only a flight or two to prepare for a very demanding instrument checkride where you’ll also be required to provide instruction while dealing with all the stuff I detailed above.

I have noticed that the members of my class who were a bit behind the curve are catching up now and as a result everyone thus far has passed their practical tests. It hasn’t been easy, but we’re all studying hard in our “off” time and are working together to help fill in gaps in our knowledge or experience. Little things like tips on maximizing the realisim of AST300 simulator (technically it’s a “flight training device”) can go a long way.

I should add that ATP does not place any limits on the use of their new $250,000 simulator, so we can fly it as much as we want. I could write a book on what I’ve learned about that box, but it’s getting late and I’ve got the oral for my MEI initial tomorrow, so I’m calling it a night.

I thought this was pretty cool. Read the whole thing. (via Speed of Thought)

Speaking of radio messages, I was on a training flight near Indian Springs the other day and kept hearing what sounded like an instructor talking to a student over the practice area frequency. My first thought was that a CFI was inadvertently holding the PTT (push to talk) switch, so instead of talking over the aircraft’s intercom, he was broadcasting to everyone on that frequency.

Later, I learned that it was indeed an instructor. A military instructor. And the aircraft in question was an unmanned Predator. Pretty cool. I never did see the Predator, but then I guess that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Indian Springs is right on the cusp of a restricted military area. In fact, that’s also where the Thunderbirds practice. In the early 80’s, it’s also where the Tbirds experience their worst accident. The lead aircraft had a malfunction and flew right into the ground. Since the wingmen don’t watch anything but their lead, they followed him into the dirt.

To me, Indian Springs is the place where the youth detention center (read: prison) is located. In high school, Indian Springs was one of the teams we’d play.

Anyway, back to the Thunderbirds. Sometimes they’ll buzz over ATP’s planes on their way between Indian Springs and Nellis AFB. One of my instructors said he saw them pass right over the top of him in diamond formation. Just another day in Las Vegas.

The first checkride is officially upon me. The oral portion of the practical test for my initial flight instructor certificate was this afternoon, and it wasn’t that bad. It only lasted perhaps two or three hours. The flight portion is tomorrow.

I’ve heard stories of CFI orals taking eight or ten hours, which seems a bit excessive to me. On one hand, I appreciate the seriousness with which the instructor certificate is approached by examiners, because these guys will be training tomorrow’s pilots. But does it really take eight hours to go through the PTS requirements and figure out whether the applicant knows what they’re doing? Checkride or not, we were prepared for the test as though the oral was going to last that long.

I’m finally feeling comfortable enough with both the Seminole and ATP’s procedures to know the checkride will be a success unless I just have an unlucky day (in Vegas?? That never happens…) and do something boneheaded like forget to put the landing gear down. I’m tempted to say ‘that can’t happen to me’, but I’ve seen enough good pilots do it to know you should never say never.

I said it before and I’ll say it again: the key at this point in the process is to always bet on black get a good night’s sleep, drink plenty of Jack Daniels water, and panic just relax. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed. Got a plane to catch in the morning.

The system must be broken, because they let me slip through the cracks: I am the world’s newest FAA certified flight instructor!

(Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.)

The checkride was a textbook flight. Once we got in the air, that is. The DE thought he heard something odd coming from the left engine, pehaps a stuck starter. So we exchanged that aircraft for a different one, demonstrating one of the great strengths of ATP: with dozens of Seminoles in their fleet, they are nearly impervious to mechanical delays. If this had happened at a traditional Part 61 operation, the checkride would have ended with a “notice of discontinuance” and I would have had to reschedule the flight for at least a few days into the future. Instead, we just moved our stuff to a new airplane and the only penalty was that I had to perform another preflight inspection.

Anyway, I passed! I really want to celebrate, but… must… resist… temptation…. I just realized that my multi-engine instrument instructor checkride is at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow and there are a lot of things to do. Money for the examiner fee, fill out a new 8710 form, a few logbook endorsements, and more than a little studying for the instrument oral exam.

The whole first week of the program was oriented toward passing the initial instructor checkride, but nothing was done to get ready for the next one, and they are less than 24 hours apart. This reinforces what I said before: you have to show up to these accelerated courses already prepared to pass the checkride.

After tomorrow’s test, however, I think things will ease up a bit. I’ll have the rest of Wednesday free, and only one flight per day on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Sunday morning at 8:00 a.m. I’ll take the CFI-SE test, and then I’m outta here.

It’s a scary prospect, actually having free time in the middle of this program. What ever will I do with myself? Hmmmm. It may be time to see what George Clooney Danny Ocean is up to.

In related news, Dan has already referred a potential customer to me, a gentleman who is seeking a CFI to teach his son to fly in their Cherokee 140.

Apparently his insurance company wants any instructor to have Cherokee 140 time, and there are indications that my several hundred hours of P28-180 time may not suffice. “Curioser and curioser”. The only difference between the two is a slightly smaller powerplant, so I can’t see any reason why I would not be qualified. Maybe if this was a special aircraft like an R-22, but this is just a plain old Cherokee.

I’m starting to wonder if insurance requirements help or hinder aviation safety.

ATP has their own insurance situation. They keep their rates rasonable by promising the insurance company that no one will ever fly an ATP airplane solo. Does it serve career pilots to go through their entire training regimine and never fly the airplane by themselves? In my opinion, no. While it’s true that as professionals they will likely fly with another pilot in the cockpit, that’s not always the case. Caravans, 421s, Navajos, and many other airplanes tend to be flown solo when operated by professional pilots. More importantly, solo flight reinforces pilot-in-command responsibility. You cannot delegate or lean on anyone when you’re flying an airplane by yourself.

I recall when I got my sea plane rating, I was looking forward to renting one of those fun airplanes. But no one will rent them for solo flight anymore. The multi-engine airplanes are getting to be that way too. Want to fly solo? You better have the cash to buy one.

Ok, enough pontificating. Back to the books…

Wouldn’t you know it? Just when I was getting used to the 5:00 a.m. flights, they’re over. I took my multi-engine instrument instructor checkride this morning. And passed, thank you very much.

In fact, everyone in my class has passed every test so far. Three of us took MEII checkrides this morning. As I recall, Casey departed at 1:00 a.m., Gracie took off at 3:00 a.m., and I got to sleep in, departing at 5:00 a.m.

The hard work paid off, because the checkride was easier than the training flights. There were only two instrument approaches, a single-engine ILS and a partial panel VOR circle-to-land. There was also a hold, unusual attitude recoveries under the hood, constant speed climbs and descents, and compass turns. Piece of cake.

The flight wasn’t completely without surprises. For one thing, traffic was pretty heavy up there. It was about 5:45 or 6:00 when McCarren suddenly got slammed with aircraft.

Also, the wind was howling at altitude. Another aircraft on the approach frequency noted that there was “some wind up here”, but I wasn’t prepared for how much. The examiner had failed the left engine on me, and when I turned to intercept the final approach course, the HSI nearly pegged before I could get it under control. It ended up requiring about a 35 degree wind correction angle to keep the airplane on course. And naturally the wind was coming from the north, so I was cranking the Seminole to the right with the left engine failed. Meanwhile, I’m intercepting the glideslope and have to run the ‘gear down’ checklist to configure the airplane. Fun!

The other day I experienced a complete “freeze up” of the Garmin 430 in this exact aircraft, but there were no problems today. On the other had, Casey lost the GPS in his plane during an instrument approach today. In fact, all the Garmins have been acting strangely. There’s a notam out for unreliable GPS signals, but I can’t see any reason why that should cause the box to freeze up or reboot. When it does that, the Garmin has to go through the power on self-test, reacquire the satellite signals, and then you have to reprogram it for the current approach, all while descending toward the ground.

Or not. After all, GPS is not necessary to shoot ILS or VOR approaches, though it does get used as a substitute for DME and the display is necessary to use the #1 nav & com radios.

Finally, I did fail to notice that the aircraft’s HSI was, unlike the other ATP airplanes, not slaved. As such, I should have set the HSI to the magnetic compass prior to departure, but it completely slipped my mind. Thankfully, the examiner was fairly understanding about it. Technically, he could probably have flunked me for failing to set all the instruments correctly.

I learned an important lesson, though: just because you’re flying a plane of the same make and model, with the same paint scheme and avionics, as those you’ve been flying for the past ten days, that doesn’t mean that there are no differences. You just have to search harder to find them.

The test was done by 8 a.m. and I was walking out the door with a shiny new airman certificate in my pocket. I’m done flying twins for now and have to go back to the single engine birds to prepare for my single-engine add-on. But seeing as how I’ve spend the past ten days — or two months, depending on how you want to look at it — working nonstop on this thing, I decided to take the rest of the afternoon off. A “sanity break”, if you will.

I cruised down Rancho Blvd. in search of the house I lived in back in the mid 80’s. I finally found it and grabbed a picture. I also drove over to the Robindale house and was blown away by how much the area has grown. As late as 1990, there was nothing out there. Now it’s bumper to bumper traffic, even in the middle of the day. Hotels and strip malls are everywhere, and the roads are twice as wide as they used to be.

I stopped by the Bellagio to check out the Christmas decorations, watch a bit of the World Poker Tour tournament going on in the casino, stretch my legs, and get some fresh air. For the past week and a half, I’ve had virtually no exercise. I’m either sitting in class, in the cockpit, or here in the hotel room studying.

Anyway, as I noted at the top of this entry, the late night/early morning flights are done with. My next flight is at 11:00 a.m. tomorrow. Eleven a.m.?! I hardly know what to do with myself. The lady at the hotel front desk is so used to providing a three a.m. wake-up call that she might ring me at that hour just out of habit. Is it possible to ask them for a non-wake up call?

I’m sitting in the ATP office and the place is empty.

Just a week ago, the scheduling board was so full you almost couldn’t see any white space on it. Now there’s just a few flights left. Some of those flights are mine, and that’s why I’m still here. All but one other member of my class has finished the program and gone home, but since I was on the “long” 15 hour program, I’m still here. Part of the slowdown is also due to the fact that Christmas is just a few days away and therefore there’s no class right behind us.

Moving back to single engine flying has been an adjustment. The airplane, a 180 hp C172P, is not a stellar performer even on the cold days we’ve been having here in Las Vegas. The terrain out in the practice area northeast of town is so high that we’re flying at 8000 MSL or so. A 50 degree steep turn at that altitude is going to burn off a lot of airspeed. It also takes a virtual act of God to stall the thing compared to the Seminole.

Even so, I’ve been enjoying the return to “simpler” flying. I’m not worried about the last checkride at all, it should be relatively easy. Besides, the Designated Examiner is no longer an unknown since I’ve flown with him before, and the unknown is really what gets people nervous, isn’t it?

It’s not that I’m being nonchalant about the upcoming practical test, but the pace is slow enough that in comparison to the first week it seems like a breeze.

After living in a hotel room for two weeks, I can’t wait to pile into the car and make the drive back to Orange County. Put some Christmas music in the CD player, get into the spirit, and finally relax. Ahhhh….

Not much to report on day twelve. Only made one flight today, and it went fine. I was having a bit of trouble remembering the commercial maneuvers since I haven’t done them since… well, since I got my commercial certificate circa 9/11/01, but the cobwebs are slowly clearing.

You know, I’m starting to think that Lazy Eights are the non-aerobatic equivalent of barrel rolls: they take a moment to learn but a lifetime to master.

I’m also starting to think about What Comes Next. The new year will be here soon, and with it I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do with this new airman certificate in my pocket. Instruct, sure. But how? Freelance? Work at a flight school? Mix the two?

As a graduate of ATP’s instructor program, I believe I could get a job teaching for them. My commercial multi instructor told me that ATP has a hard time keeping the Long Beach office staffed, so maybe that would work. It’d involve a lot of multi-engine time, that’s for sure. That’s the big thing the airlines, and therefore many newly minted CFIs, are looking for.

The question is, do I want to work for the airlines? I’m not sure. Aerobatics, biplanes, tailwheels airplanes, and that sort of thing seem like a lot more fun, especially with the current state of the airline industry. Even so, some airlines are definitely hiring. I had dinner this evening with the three CFIs who run the Las Vegas ATP office, and it seems that Express Jet (a subsidiary of Continental Airlines) is hiring a lot of former ATP instructors. Nothing like getting paid $15,000 a year to fly a $15 million jet, eh? I told my instructor, Dan, that it’s like being an out of work actor, only you’re poorer.

There are a lot of unique and fun flying jobs in aviation. When someone finds out that I want to fly for a living, they always ask which airline I’m applying to, as if there are no other flying jobs out there. Heh.

I’m going to have to mull this question over quite a bit before I can figure out where I want to go after instructing. If there even is an “after”. Many people I highly respect are career instructors. That’s another possibility. Experimental transition training, glass panel instruction, aerobatics, type ratings, warbirds, etc. One of the members of my class flew for the Forest Service and made that sound like a lot of fun.

Decisions, decisions.

The end is in sight! Tomorrow is the final checkride. In fact, 24 hours from now I should be back in Orange County.

You know, these two weeks have flown by (no pun intended). And yet in many ways I feel as thought I’ve been in Las Vegas for months. The program started with such a bang, and yet seems to be ending with a whimper. Richard and I are the only students left, and the flight board is nearly blank. We each have our flights tomorrow with the examiner, and that’s about it.

This evening I was on my way to dinner at a little cafe inside the hotel when I heard someone calling my name. I looked over and saw all three ATP instructors standing in the buffet line. They invited me to join them, and I figured “why not?”. We had a pleasant conversation over dinner and I felt like one of the gang. Appropriate, I suppose, since I actually will be one of them after tomorrow.

I feel for these guys. They’re getting up at 3 a.m. and either flying or working in the office all day long. And in exchange, they get $1,000 a month. Minus the $200 per month that ATP deducts for company housing. And any withholding for tax, Social Security, etc. How anyone can live on a gross salary of $12,000 per year is beyond me.

You’d think things get better after they land an airline job, but it ain’t necessarily so. One of the guys, Bobby, is leaving soon for a job with Express Jet. Apparently they don’t pay much more than ATP, though you get a type rating and plenty of multi-engine turbine time. It’s odd to think of a $15 million jet being flown by a pilot making only $15,000 per year.

Anyway, now that the ATP office feels like home, I’m leaving. Isn’t that how it always is? My bags are packed, the car is full of gas, and I’m ready to put in another hour or so of studying before heading to bed.

A&E aired an fascinating documentary about Howard Hughes today.

Well, it was half documentary. The other half seemed to be a combination preview and advertisement for the latest Martin Scorcese film, The Aviator. The program interspersed clips of the real Hughes with commentary from the cast and excerpts from the motion picture.

It’s obvious that the cast did their research, and I enjoyed the program — right up to the point where Scorcese himself jumped the shark by first waxing nostalgic about Hughes’ pursuit of aviation greatness and then claiming that “the word ‘aviator’ is meaningless to us today because there are no aviators anymore.”

Excuse me?

Try telling that to Steve Fossett, who in less than a month will takeoff from a midwest airport in the GlobalFlyer in a bid to become the first person to circumnavigate the globe non-stop and unrefueled. He’s a rich guy, just like Hughes was, and has set just as many records. Fossett currently holds ten world records, including the distinction of being the only person to have ever circumnavigated the world nonstop and solo in a balloon.

Tell that to Burt Rutan, who designed the GlobalFlyer and the first airplane to circumnavigate the world nonstop/unrefuled, Voyager. Or to the guys who piloted Rutan’s SpaceShipOne into space two months ago, becoming the world’s first commercial astronauts.

Tell that to Jon Sharp, Richard VanGrunsven, the Klapmeier brothers.

Tell that to the guys who funded the X Prize, or shoot past 500 mph at the Reno Air Races in 50 year old airplanes that weren’t designed to go anywhere near that fast.

Scorcese may be a brilliant director, but he’s so dazzled by the legend of Howard Hughes that he misses the incontrovertible fact that these and many other modern aviators have eclipsed Hughes’ achievements, and in every case done it with far fewer resources. Films will be made about those people, too, though probably not for a long time.

If Scorcese was truly visionary, he’d at least be able to step away from the camera long enough to see what’s going on all around him.

“No aviators”? Please.

Put a fork in me. I’m done!

Today’s checkride went very well. I was up at 5:30 and at the airport by 7:00 a.m. By 10 a.m. I had the new temporary airman certificate in my pocket and had said my goodbyes to the ATP staff as I headed out the door.

So much work. And all for a little piece of paper! I really don’t feel that much smarter or more knowledgeable than I was two weeks ago, yet now I’m legally able to provide training as an FAA authorized instructor. But as I was explaining things to my non-flying friends this evening, I realized that hey, I really do know a lot. It’s just that you learn one piece at a time, bit by bit over a period of years. There are very few “ah-ha” moments.

Now that I’m done with the ATP program, I can render a judgement on it. And my opinion is this: as I said previously, the program is not appropriate for everyone. Accelerated training is serious business. It can work wonders, but not if you just show up and expect to be magically transformed into a serious instructor. There is no magic.

On the contrary, you have to do an incredible amount of footwork before hand. And when you arrive, you must take charge of your own learning and be an honest advocate for yourself. By honest, I mean if you need time in the sim, go get it. No one is going to babysit you. And for God’s sake, if you’re not ready, don’t sign up for a program like this until you are. Get some real world experience. Fill the holes in your training. Believe me, you’ll thank yourself later.

Anyway, enough about the program. The drive home was pleasant and quick — only three and a half hours from door to door. Quite a pleasant surprise for a Sunday afternoon.

I’ve already started contacting a few people about a job. I’m looking seriously at Sunrise Aviation, where I did my primary, instrument, commercial, and aerobatic training. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and Sunrise has a great combination of aerobatic airplanes (Extra 300, Pitts S2B, Decathlons, etc) and advanced composite birds (SR20, SR22, DA40, DA20).

This is attractive because I’d like to hit both extremes in the general aviation world: master the latest in all-glass IFR panels like the Garmin 1000 and Avidyne, while also teaching aerobatics in total VFR airplanes. Nosewheel and tailwheel. Smooth IFR flying and hard core acro. I feel that this is the best way to master general aviation flying and become the most highly skilled and capable pilot I can be.

Another key is continuing education. Change is constant in aviation, and there’s always more to learn. So once I get settle in as an instructor I’ll have to figure out what comes next. Cirrus Standardized Instructor? RV-6 flying? Rotorcraft training? Aerobatic competition?

The ATP Total CFI program has been quite an adventure. Despite the official two week duration of the program, it has consumed my attention, time, money, and effort for several months. Now I’m ready to move on to the next step and make the transition from student to teacher.

So who’s gonna be my first vict—er, I mean, student? Any takers?

Anyone?

I received an email today from an aeronautical engineering instructor which reminded me that I promised a while back to post a very interesting helicopter video clip.

So here it is.

I found the clip on Fergworld, which also has a translation for the German narration you’ll hear on the video:

The rotortips absorb the turbulence with their flexibility. This recording was made, during flight, by a camera mounted to the leading edge of the rotorblade. At every turn you can see the tailrotor. If the flexible rotorblades wouldn’t absorb the the forces, they would be transmitted to drive mechanism and fuselage and the vibration would destroy the helicopter.

With all that bending, it’s no wonder the FAA has mandatory retirement times for the blades! If we conservatively assume that they flex five times per revolution and are turning at 2000 RPM, a 5000 hour lifespan would mean that they flex fifty million times.

Though I don’t have any hard evidence (yet) to back it up, I’d wager that if you were to attach a camera to a fixed-wing aircraft propeller or one of the fan blades in a turbine engine, you’d see some flexing in those parts as well.

Helicopters, however, are a particularly extreme case because the aircraft is moving through the air in the same plane as the rotor disk, so the advancing blade’s airspeed is very high while the retreating blade is moving through the air much more slowly. Helicopters have a ’swash plate’ which constantly changes the angle at which each blade meet the oncoming air, and that movement is what causes the extreme flexing.

I’m not explaining it very well (a better description can be found here). But that’s okay, because I’m not a rotorcraft rated pilot.

Yet.

Hey, if a random professor can invent a holiday (Kwanzaa), why not Jerry Stiller?

Many real people are holding parties celebrating Festivus, a holiday most believe was invented on an episode of “Seinfeld” first broadcast the week before Christmas in 1997.

“More and more people are familiar with what Festivus is, and it’s growing,” said Jennifer Galdes, a Chicago restaurant publicist who organized her first Festivus party three years ago. “This year many more people, when they got the invite, responded with, `Will there be an airing of the grievances and feats of strength?’ ”

Those two rituals — accusing others of being a disappointment and wrestling — are traditions of Festivus as explained on the show by the character Frank Costanza. On that episode he tells Kramer that he invented the holiday when his children were young and he found himself in a department store tug of war with another Christmas shopper over a doll. “I realized there had to be a better way,” Frank says.

So he coined the slogan “A Festivus for the rest of us” and formulated the other rules: the holiday occurs on Dec. 23, features a bare aluminum pole instead of a tree and does not end until the head of the family is wrestled to the floor and pinned.

The actual inventor of Festivus is Dan O’Keefe, 76, whose son Daniel, a writer on “Seinfeld,” appropriated a family tradition for the episode. The elder Mr. O’Keefe was stunned to hear that the holiday, which he minted in 1966, is catching on. “Have we accidentally invented a cult?” he wondered.

Maybe.

More like ‘definitely’. Somewhere out there, the real Frank Costanza lives. And now we know his name.

“Seinfeld” continues to amaze me. Can you think of any other television program that has been responsible for the establishment of a new holiday? It cracks me up that Festivus predates the show.

In fact, that’s what was so perfect about “Seinfeld”. It’s life imitating art imitating life. Cosmo Kramer is based very closely on Kenny Kramer, a real guy. George is Larry David. Jerry is himself. Even the soup nazi and the festivus holiday were based on real live things. The genius of “Seinfeld” is that the situations they came up with every week were so insane that they just had to be true.

Gold, Jerry. Gold!

Few things make me truly angry, but this one comes close.

In the wake of the rising death toll from the Asian tsunami (currently 60,000 80,000 dead and still counting), United Nations emergency relief coordinator Jan Egeland has implied that the United States is cheap because our initial federal aid package is only $35 million.

With all due respect to the United Nations — and I’m not sure much respect is warranted at this point — that is pure bullshit. And it’s made so much worse by Mr. Egeland’s own employment history. He was the head of the Norwegian Red Cross, and therefore must know that his implications are false because the Red Cross gets most of it’s contributions from individuals.

I hardly know where to start in refuting this insanity.

Let’s begin with the fact that the U.S. provides official foreign aid assistance through a government organization called the U.S. Agency for International Development. USAID, like every other part of the government, has a budget. They cannot spend money they don’t have. That is illegal. They had only $35 million of uncommitted funds left for the fiscal year, so that’s where the $35 million came from. To increase the funding, USAID will have to receive an appropriation from Congress.

Then let’s look at Secretary of State Powell’s statement that by the time all is said and done, the United States will provide “billions” in assistance. Even if we wrote a check for $1 billion right now, what good would it do? Who can spend a billion dollars that quickly? They can’t even locate all the bodies yet, let alone count them, bury them, and triage the needs of those still living.

Egeland knows this. But he doesn’t care, because this is not about helping the people who are suffering. It’s about making the United States suffer a political embarrassment.

That’s why he and his ilk enjoy pointing to the OECD figures on foreign aid development that are based on gross domestic product percentages. If you look at it that way, Norway donates the most (0.92% of GDP) and the United States is dead last (0.14%). We must really suck, huh?

On the other hand, perhaps we ought to consider the fact that the U.S. has dispatched an entire naval battle group to the region, along with C-130s hauling supplies, and more volunteers than you can shake a stick at. These things are not included in the OECD numbers.

Neither is private giving. Coming from a country so highly socialized that the concept of private giving must be astonishing, Mr. Egeland chooses to turn a deaf ear to the notion that anything significant can be accomplished unless it is done by a large government agency. But if you want facts, how about this one:

Americans last year gave an estimated $241 billion to charitable causes — domestic and foreign — according to a study by Giving USA Foundation. That’s up from $234 billion in 2002.

At a total GDP of $10.9 trillion, that means we’re spending 2.3% of GDP on charitable giving, or $870 per person for every man, woman, and child in the nation.

A quick look at Amazon.com’s site would show that in less than 24 hours, nearly $1,000,000 $2,000,000 has been donated by private individuals toward helping victims of the tsunami. I just donated $1,000.

Churches, synagogues, and other religious groups are raising money all across the country.

Worldvision U.S. has a message on its web site indicating that “due to overwhelming response to the devastation in Asia, you may experience delays making a donation online”. So many people are donating that it’s slowing down computers. Yet Egeland (and I’m sure much of the U.N. agrees) would call us stingy.

When you consider the true per capita charitable contributions of the American populace, I guarantee we will be at the top of the list. By a mile.

What really burns me up about this Egeland thing is that the guy spends a lot of time in New York City, where the United Nations has its headquarters. How anyone in the Big Apple could be under the impression that Americans are stingy after 9/11 is beyond me. Not only did we open our hearts and pocketbooks to those in need, but it’s the first thing we remember when tragedy befalls others around the globe.

You’d think the United States might be worthy of the benefit of the doubt.

When I was training for my flight instructor certificate at ATP Las Vegas, there was some talk about the changes they would be dealing with after the first of the year.

Basically, the local Flight Standards District Office had notified ATP that as of January 1st, they were reserving the right to require any initial CFI candidate to take their checkride with an FAA inspector rather than the usual Designated Pilot Examiner (DPEs are highly experienced flight instructors that have been authorized and trained by the FAA to give checkrides. The FAA does this because there are too many pilots wanting new ratings and not enough FAA inspectors).

In theory, this shouldn’t make any difference to the applicant. Whoever administers the checkride has to abide by very specific criteria in testing him or her. These criteria are called the Practical Test Standards. In fact, they’re all available online.

That’s the theory. In reality, however, there seems to be quite a difference in how the practical tests are administered. Conventional wisdom has it that a DPE is easier, while flying with an FAA inspector is far more challenging because of how stringently they interpret those Practical Test Standards.

A few years ago, the FAA (or perhaps it was just the area FSDOs) adopted the same policy of doing all the intital CFI exams themselves. The horror stories I heard almost defy belief. Candidates routinely failed on their first attempt no matter how well prepared. Aircraft crawled over by inspectors until they found anything, no matter how small (a faded label on a seatbelt, for example), that would render the aircraft technically unairworthy and therefore grounded. The poor pilot would be left with no alternative but to appeal to the FSDO for a “ferry permit” to get the (usually rented) airplane back home.

I’ve always wondered if these stories were true. There’s no way to know unless you were personally present at each event. But the FAA often gets what I’ll diplomatically call a “bad rap”. For every incident that’s true, there are probably a half dozen that are either exaggerated or just mythical. But again, I had no proof one way or the other to back that up.

Until now.

For starters, I actually took a checkride with an FAA inspector on December 1st and found the inspector to be fair, thorough, and by the book. No more, no less. I would consider his administration of that checkride to be a textbook example of how it should be done.

Of course, one checkride is not exactly a panacea. So I dug up some statistics on the FAA web site that refute, in concrete terms, the idea that the FAA is tougher on applicants than a DPE.

If you look at the PDF file, you’ll note that during 2003, FAA inspectors passed 83.5% of applicants versus a pass rate of only 80.1% for DPEs. Further, the chart shows that for initial CFI candidates, those fearsome FAA inspectors gave thumbs-up to 75.2% versus only 66.5% for Designated Pilot Examiners.

Now that chart only covers initial (or ‘original’) certificates. The FAA provides a seperate chart for add-on ratings. But the gist is the same. FAA inspectors give out the white slips more often than the pink ones, and on average, applicants for a certificate or rating are more successful when taking their tests with the Feds than with a Designated Examiner. It may not have been true ten years ago, but it’s what’s happening today.

This is not to say there aren’t inspectors out there who are unreasonable. I’m sure there are, just as there must be DPEs who are likewise. And if you’re the unlucky soul getting saddled with a hard-nosed inspector who got up on the wrong side of the bed, it doesn’t matter that everyone else had a pleasant experience with the Feds.

But taken as a whole, the FAA inspectors seem to be a reasonable bunch who abide by their own testing standards. And in the end, that’s all we — the pilots — have any right to ask of them. Don’t you think?

(Note: full list of 2003 airmen statistics from the FAA web site)