Hi, my name is Tim, and I don't always look up when I hear an airplane, but...oh wait, yes I do.
Growing up underneath the traffic pattern for Lake Hood (LHD), airplane noise was the soundtrack of my childhood. I soloed gliders in the 90s as a CAP cadet, but didn't pursue powered flight.
College led to a job as a small-town air traffic controller, and I was privileged to occupy a front-row seat to the antics and skill of some of the state's best bush pilots.
My wife, after listening to years of puppy-dog longing and moping, told me I could either A. go get my PPL or B. please stop talking about it. So I went down to tarmac after work one day and met a flight instructor/mechanic who ran a little hole-in-the-wall flight school. Over the next ten months, I learned a remarkable amount of what not to do when flying and maintaining an airplane.
Example: while I had whole lessons on how to properly crash the plane, and how to remove corrosion from the airframe with an angle grinder and flapper wheel, we didn't really cover things like landings, at least not until after I failed my first checkride.
After a few more lessons and a second checkride the examiner finally signed me off as a private pilot.
Over the next ten years, still wary of the whole "landing" bit, I got behind the controls of an airplane three times. Two of those were with an instructor.
Last spring, I rented a 172 for a flight review. That led to twenty hours in a 7ECA and a tailwheel endorsement, then the purchase of a Piper Colt.
The little wheel is up front, but the story continues.

























