My Second Chance
Three years and 2.7 hours later, I’m cashing in my rain check. No, not on a trip cancelled by solid IFR. But on some good old point-and-shoot flying that many of you probably take for granted.
In May of 2007, with 55.9 hours in my logbook, 5 of them solo, I was closing in on a private pilot ticket at the ripe old age of 61.
I first soloed in December ’06. However, in May of ’07, I had a personal early recession and had to give up flying for awhile. Awhile turned out to be three years and three weeks.
In June of this year, with a new job and much higher salary, a bunch of bills mostly paid off, and the financial future looking much brighter, my thoughts naturally turned again to the skies.
Unfortunately, however, my two-year medical had expired and now at the age of 64, I was a bit cautious about going to see the doc.
While grazing the web, I discovered Atlanta Sport Flight at Fulton County Airport (KFTY), a 35-minute drive away (on a good Atlanta traffic day) and made a phone call. And that call kicked-off a new obsession with N187SF.
I was awestruck when I first saw the CZAW SportCruiser, and impressed at how “fast” she was for an old, very-married man like me!
With all of my previous training in 152s and 172s, it was like having been infatuated with a beat-up old pickup truck and suddenly discovering a Ferrari.
In my first familiarization flight, I quickly realized her sleek lines required some gentle handling. You don’t just jerk her into the air, you carefully caress her off the ground… in just 350 feet.
You also don’t have to wrestle her to ground on landing, hoping she doesn’t bounce or otherwise become ill-tempered.
Just ease her down and let her gently glide onto the tarmac at her own graceful pace, with tons of runway left ahead of you to do with whatever you like.
After a circuit or two in the pattern, you learn she isn’t waiting around for you. Instead of wheezing along at 1,800 rpm on the downwind, she’s drilling holes at 4,300 rpm on the throttled-back Rotax.
My first hour of pattern work was scary. I was behind this thoroughbred most of the way around and my landings showed it, especially with 3 years of rust. But the second time out, we better understood each other, and the next six landings were almost pretty.
I know some of you will scoff at the Sport Pilot license. But before you judge a man in his declining years, come sit in this glass cockpit, with low wings, and a range of 600 miles.
Just don’t sit next to me. The extra seat is, of course, for my real obsession – my wife – who can clearly see the new twinkle in my eyes from the gift of aviation, and its second chance to make a first impression.
Article by Warren B. Causey; Send him an email & read his other posts…









