I am and have always been a tomboy seeking out boys to pick a fight with.  So I am going to tell a story which is as close as I can come to combat because it involves the army and an airplane. 

Right after Steve and I got married we went to Aberdeen Proving ground Maryland where he was to put in his 2-year stint to honor his ROTC contact.  This base had a flying club where anyone on the base could take flying lessons.  The club owned a Cessna 170, Cessna 195 and a Piper super cub.  The wet rate for the cub was a reasonable $6 per hour.  Steve first trained and got his flying license.  I then decided to take lessons and join him. 

I picked the Super Cub. The cub is a tight-fitting airplane with two seats and dual control. The seats were single file with one right behind the other. Steve got checked out for flying the plane from the back seat. This was so when we took an airplane trip together, he could sign out as the pilot flying from the back seat. I could not legally fly the plane with passengers until I was licensed. So, Steve was checked out to fly the plane from the back seat so he could file the flight plan under his name. I would sit in the front seat and be the ‘hands on’ pilot and he would sit in the back seat and be the legal pilot freely expressing his opinion about my newly acquired pilot talents.

I had passed my written exam and completed all my flying requirements except the last. I had made an appointment for my flying exam the following week needed to acquire my private pilot license. Finally, it was time to make my last long distance solo flight. For the first time and Steve would fly with me. Our plan was to leave early in the morning and fly to Fredericksburg Virginia where our flying club had a stranded plane patiently waiting for rescue. I would fly back the Super cub for my cross country and Steve would fly back the stranded Cessna.

Finally, it was time for me to make my last ‘solo’ flight requiring navigation for the first time and Steve would fly with me.  Our plan was to leave early in the morning and fly to Fredericksburg Virginia where our flying club had a stranded plane patiently waiting for rescue. I would fly back the super cub for my cross country and Steve would fly back the stranded Cessna 195. 

The nightmare started about the time we reached altitude.  Steve would shut down the engine and scream in my ear “where you going to land now if you have engine failure.”  The big bully in the back would play with my instruments and continue to shout questions in my ear while changing the pitch or altitude.  By the time we reached the airport in Virginia, there was no longer an agreed upon pilot but more of a committee flying the plane. 

I flew over this tiny airport to get the lay of the land.  It had one asphalt runway and a grass strip crossing the asphalt at an angle.  I could not get anybody on my intercom to check stuff like wind speed and condition of the runways.  The asphalt was longer and looked in better shape than the grass strip.  However, the wind-T said the direction the wind was blowing favored landing on the grass strip.  I had no way of knowing the wind speed was only two knots. I decided the grass strip would be my runway of choice.  he landing terrain looked like a bowl. The runways and associated turf  were shaven clean while the perimeter was a line made by tall trees.  So the approach would be to fly over the trees than loose altitude as fast as possible to touchdown on the runway and that is just what I did. 

This was a hot day in August.  The reason I mention that is heat and ‘no wind’ cause convection currents to radiate from the ground.  Convection currents can be strong enough to float little airplanes right above the ground, hence preventing the planes from landing. So, I am staring at the ground watching my plane float thinking ‘golly, look at that. Maybe we should go around and give it another go’. I wonder when Steve is going to decide we need to abandon this landing attempt.  A few second later I observe the same situation and am very uncomfortable with Steve’s inaction.  Then I look up and see the end of the runway with a big gully with a railroad track, a barbwire fence, and sheep grazing.  I think no more and slam the throttle forward to the max; and then……….  the motor dies.   That man in the back seat was thinking just like me and was waiting to see when I was going to make abandon landing decision and he hit full throttle forward at the same time I did and that killed the engine.  Committees shouldn’t fly planes. 

We touched down and I pushed on the toe breaks as hard as I could and watched when we skidded off the runway, hit the gully bank on the opposite side and landed on the railroad track.  When we hit that gully bank, my right wing took the blow and bent the wing backward.  This resulted in severing the fuel line and gas was squirting all over me.  I was yelling “get out, get out” because  I thought we might burn, while Steve was yelling “are you hurt, are you hurt.”   Actually, blood was running off my forehead and down my face, but I thought getting out of the plane was more important than talking about my forehead.  

Getting out of the plane is more difficult than you might think.  The plane is very small and we were squeezed in.  It is similar to getting out the backseat of a 2 door Volkswagen bug.  To complicate matters that plane only have one door made of two pieces which joined in the middle.  So once you managed to unlock the door the lower half automatically falls down but the upper half has to be pushed up over the hood. 

Fortunately, we did manage to get out of the plane and we were running away when we hear “toot- toot, toot-toot.”  Our airplane is on the railroad track and there is a train coming.  Steve rips off his shirt, ties it around my bleeding head and asks me if I can make it to the airport.  Then he rips off his T shirt to flag down the train.  I don’t know if any of you have ever noticed how far the end of the runway is from the terminal and I wasn’t sure I could make it but I wanted to die like a heroine.  

I finally made it to the little airport proper and ran in all bloody.  It was early in the morning and 2 guys were there drinking their coffee.  I yelled “hey you guys, you need to get down to the end of the runway because a train is coming and our plane is on the tracks.  They bolted from their chairs, dropping their coffee, jumped into their pick up and headed for the runway. 

Meanwhile somebody had called an ambulance for me which suited me fine.  Steve told me that our plane was actually on a spur of the main track and was not in harm’s way.   At the emergency room,  my forehead was cleaned and stitched and the intern told me I could go.  I concluded I was not going to die. 

We drove back to the airport.  The FAA had arrived and they needed to interview Steve, the legal pilot.   After the interview, one of the FAA guys took Steve up in his plane so Steve could check his flying confidence.  Then we got in our airplane and flew back to the base where we were greeted by the unhappy members of the flying club. 

We were to be discharged from the army the following week.  There was no time for me to jump in another plane and renew my confidence.  As a result I never got my license.  I don’t miss that as I found a lot of other ways to get in trouble.