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I should have known. I should have known when my car door almost closed on its own after I parked at the airport. But I needed to fly. I wanted some pattern work. 3 landings. Maybe a go-around. So into my FBO I went, to rent. I should have known.

As I made my way from the flight school to the flight line, it was clear that the wind was blowing... eh, howling. The flags were whipping. The windsocks were dancing. The wings on my Cessna 172SP were waving.

My mind raced back to that lesson where my instructor talked about crosswind limits. The plane can handle 15 knots. But what about me? My personal limits were growing with my experience and confidence. Yes, it was windy. Was it too windy?

The San Carlos Airport in California where I fly out of is known for its wind. It races over the coastal hills from the Pacific and fills the San Francisco Bay. To complicate matters, cross winds and gusts are common because of buildings and hangers on the field. Oh, and the runway is narrow, and only 2,600 feet.

I tuned in the ATIS. "Wind 260 at 12, gusts 16." Not bad, given that I'd be using runway 30. My plan: give it a shot. If I took off, tried to land, and didn't feel comfortable, I'd find another runway near me, one that was wider and longer, until things settled down a bit.

Diving away from the wind during taxi, as my instructor taught me, I called the tower and was told to hold short. Sure enough, another Cessna was bearing down on the runway. At times, it looked like it was going to land short. Then long. Then on top of me! It finally rattled onto the pavement and skipped halfway down the runway. Did I really want to do this today?

"Cessna 5204A, cleared for takeoff." Deep breath. Line up. Power in. Normal roll. Liftoff good. Then, THUMP! The roller coaster had started.

As I reached pattern altitude, I fought with the plane to turn crosswind, and downwind, against rivers of wind that were going in every possible direction at different speeds. My Cessna followed suit. Before I knew it, I was abeam the numbers, and cleared to land.

While turning on final, the crosswind became very apparent. So did the bumps. One eye was locked on the numbers, the other on my very agitated airspeed needle. I kept my speed up to compensate. A wind check by another pilot hinted at gusts growing now to 21 knots.

Short final was like riding a bull. Tossed side to side, up and down, front to back, pressed against my seatbelt. All at about 200 feet. I fought the plane, and when it came time to flare, it fought back. A gust caught the wings, and propelled me back into the air. The Cessna then started to quickly settle. I added a touch of power. And after doing this 3 times, my wheels finally thumped onto the runway, halfway down, and off of centerline.

Many wise instructors have told me: never stop flying the plane, even on the ground. Boy, was this ever true today. My feet and hands were very active until I coaxed the Cessna onto the taxiway. I took a deep breath, and wiped the sweat off of my hands.

As the tower told me to "taxi back" for another round, my finger almost involuntarily pushed down on the push-to-talk button and asked to be excused. But something in me told me to go back, try it again, and do it better next time.

In my 3 years of flying, I've learned that there is a line between safety and confidence. I know when to say no. I have my limits. But in this case, I knew I had an out if I didn't like my next attempt. Go around, or go to another airport.

And if I called it a day right then and there after only one mediocre landing, I'd go home rattled, and the next time I heard a gusty ATIS, I knew I'd stay home. For me, flying is about getting better and gaining confidence and being safe. This was a perfect lesson in balancing all three.

I should have known.

Article by Chris Archer; Send him an email