Once I got the Instrument Rating, I was faced with the question, "What next?" I'd like to get a Commercial Certificate and cement the achievement by actually earning money flying an airplane. If I could get someone to actually *pay* me, say, $100 to do something, anything, then that would set me indisputably apart from the amateurs. And getting Commercial requires that you learn to fly well. In fact, it requires that you fly very, very well. It's a Professional Pilot's standard.

But achieving it is a long process and I was looking for something shorter term. I mentioned this to Charlie, the proprietor of Wings Pilot Shop at the Nashua, NH airport where I buy many of my toys, and he suggested aerobatics.

Evan

"There's a school right over there," he pointed, "It's called Aerial Advantage and Rob Holland is one of the best in the country."

I had seen the airplanes parked just inside the fence - a Pitts Special, which is a specialized, all-out, aerobatic airplane and a Super Decathalon, used as a trainer. I was intrigued. I wasn't particularly interested in doing loops and barrel rolls, but I came through my primary training with a respect for spins that bordered on fear. The fear was that, if I ever got into one, I wouldn't react correctly. My brain knows how to get out of a spin, but the brain sometimes freezes up under stress. The only safety is if the hands and feet know how to do it.

Spins kill a lot of pilots. The training used to be part of becoming a Private Pilot but so many students and instructors died practicing them that the requirement was eventually dropped. On my way through Private I had asked my instructor for a demonstration. He obliged, and even let me try one or two myself, but the bewildering speed with which the low wing and nose headed for the ground, and the frightening snap as the high wing came around made me more fearful than ever.

Eventually I contacted Rob, explained the situation, and asked if spins were one of those things that became less mysterious with practice. I had read of many pilots who started out fearful of spins, and all the accounts said that pilots who practice them enough, actually come to enjoy them.

Holland's Pitts Special

The military insists that student pilots become proficient in spins before they can even solo.
So much depends on training. The difference between an annoying deviation from normal flight, and a life threatening emergency, is how well you are prepared to deal with the annoying deviation. The airlines are a good example of how well this can work. The pilots train and train and train so that when something goes wrong - an engine fails on takeoff, or a tire blows, or the weather turns nasty - you just follow the appropriate procedure. It's all in a days work.

Rob said yes, it was possible to learn enough about spins through practice that they became just another maneuver - something to be respected, but not feared. He explained that Aerial Advantage offered a five lesson course which would lead to a "Spin Endorsement", a formal statement by an instructor that the named pilot had received training and demonstrated proficiency in performing spins. Certified Flight Instructors, among others, must have such an endorsement. He also noted that practicing spins in an airplane rated for aerobatics was much safer than doing so in a Cessna, where spins are only begrudgingly permitted.

Finally, he mentioned that AA offered a ten lesson course in Basic Aerobatics, which included the spin training and a tailwheel endorsement. Completing the course would mean I could rent the Decathalon, practice aerobatics on my own, and maybe even enter a local competition, flying against other beginners like myself.

Flying solo aerobatics was so far beyond my expectations as to be meaningless, but the tailwheel instruction rang a little bell. My very first flying experience was in 1960 when Grandpa Hollis took Cousin David and me out to Weiss field and treated us each a 30 minute lesson in a Piper Cub. I've still got the logbook, which is now half filled in, and here was a chance to attain some closure on the initial gift.

So there it was. I could learn to fly a taildragger, experience a "Victory Roll", and maybe even a loop, and do so with an accomplished professional. The chance was simply too good to pass up. I paid for the ten lesson course.

Meeting Rob Holland turned out to be a lucky chance. He's a young guy, early 30's, who started out on the Airline Pilot track. After becoming one, he found himself getting bored hauling passengers back and forth and decided to specialize in aerobatics instead. He and some investors formed Aerial Advantage, acquired the Pitts and the Decathalon, and hung our their shingle. Rob teaches, performs at airshows all over the country, and enters aerobatic competitions to measure himself against other pilots. He had just returned from Europe where he had placed 10th overall, and first among U.S. pilots at the FIA Worlds.

The course was laid out in a syllabus, and backed up by a textbook. I was expected to arrive for each lesson with the background reading completed, prepared to explain those materials which I understood and ask questions about those which I did not. Every day there would be a ground school discussion, followed by a flight of about an hour.

The ground school for the first lesson was over two hours long. It was all about Safety. Rob explained over and over, in every way possible, that I was not there to become a Waldo Pepper daredevil. I was not going to learn to fly with a leather jacket and long silk scarf that would impress the ladies. I was not going to do things that nobody else thought could be done. I was going to learn to fly the outer reaches of the performance envelope and I was going to do it SAFELY.

There was a long list of AA House Rules and we went over each one, word by word. No aerobatics at night. Strict VFR [Visual Flight Rules] weather. No aerobatics other than in the carefully prescribed Practice Area. "Hard Deck" at 4,000 feet. It went on and on. When we were done, I had to sign the list indicating that I agreed to the conditions.

Then we moved out to the airplane and spent another half hour discussing Emergency Procedures. How to ensure that the parachute was legal and had been repacked in the last 120 days. How to put it on. How to know when the straps are tight enough (Hint: If you can stand up straight, they aren't). How to make a

Inside the Super Decathalon

parachute landing in a field. How to land in the trees. How to land in the water.
We went over the rules under which the lessons would be conducted. We went over Rob's authority as Instructor - "When I say 'GO', we GO. When I say the lesson's over, it's Over. When I say it's my airplane, it's My Airplane ...." How to open the airplane door for an emergency bailout. The sequence of steps for a bailout. I had to recite the list and practice the movements: "Mixure IDLE CUTOFF - Headset OFF - Door OPEN - Seatbelt UNLATCH - GO!".

We walked around the airplane doing the most extensive and exacting pre-flight inspection I had ever heard of. Check every bolt for tightness and every hinge for freedom of movement. Tug on the exhaust pipe to test the engine mounts. Tug on the propeller blade tips to check the hub bearings. Look under the seats for loose gear that might fly around the cabin when we turn upside down. Drain fuel from each of four access points to check for water or contamination. Check the brake lines for leaks. Tap the fabric under the aft fuselage and listen for any forgotten item bouncing around. Check each and every slotted bolt for a properly installed safety wire or cotter key. Look at the Recording G Meter to see how much stress occured on the last flight. Then back into the hangar to empty our pockets. Nothing is allowed in the airplane that isn't securely fastened to something else.

Finally, Rob helped me get belted in. There are seven straps. One over each shoulder, one up from the floor between the legs, two lower belts for the lap. These five get joined in a single fastening, and are then individually hand tightened. Over all these go the two upper belts for the lap, which are hand tightened, and then further tightened with a winch. The lap belts hold you to the seat. If they are very tight, they hold you to the seat well enough that you can fly the airplane inverted without swinging around like a pendulum or worrying that you're going to fall through the overhead window. I learned that they have to be very tight indeed.

Eventually, we started the engine and taxied out. This was my introduction to flying a taildragger. They are much trickier to handle on or near the ground than the more modern tricycle gear airplanes. The difference is the location of the Center of Gravity relative to the main wheels. In a trike, the C.G. is forward of the mains. This makes the airplane stable to taxi and easy to land. Taildraggers have the C.G. aft of the mains, which makes them dynamically unstable when taxiing, and downright treacherous when landing, particularly in a cross-wind. Here was a whole new world of things I might learn to do well.

Once we took off, I discovered yet another unsuspected learning opportunity: I really didn't know how to fly an airplane. All I had flown to date were Cessna's and Piper Cherokee's, airplanes used for primary training which are so stable that they practically fly themselves. They are designed this way. They are popular because they are so easy to fly. The Decathalon trades off some of this stability for controllability. If you want a high roll rate, you can't have an airplane that wants to keep its wings level. If you want an airplane that will fly upside down, you have to give up some of the stability that makes it want to fly right side up.

In short, the Decathalon does what you tell it to do, not what you want it to do. And in my 250 hours of flying I had never experienced an airplane that actually had to be TOLD what to do. All the others could figure it out for themselves. This one didn't. I slipped and skidded and yawed all over the sky. I was simply terrible.
When we got to the practice area, about 10 miles northwest of the airport, we began with some basic, familiarization maneuvers. Rob had me do some shallow turns, and then some steep ones. Then he had me slow down and do them again. This was even worse! I'd try to bank for a left turn and the nose would yaw to the right! At long last, the Adverse Yaw phenomenon, which had only been a theoretical construct described in books, was brought to life. For the first time I could see what the rudder of an airplane actually does.

We continued with some stalls. First a power-off stall with the usual recovery, losing less than a hundred feet of altitude. Then a power-on stall, and recover without losing any altitude at all. This was a standard of proficiency I had never imagined. I couldn't do any of it.

Fortunately, Rob is an excellent instructor. He has the knowledge and knows how to communicate. He also has the experience to know that students start low and grow high, so he does not react with impatience. And he has that rare, delicate knack of offering encouragement and support, while also letting the student know that there is so much more that can be accomplished. I would curse my clumsiness into the headset microphone and he would calmly reply, "You're doing fine. You're going to get it. I can see the progress already."

Then we did something else I never imagined: A power-off stall with a delayed recovery. All primary flight instruction includes training on stalls. Stalls are an essential part of landing, which is nothing more than a controlled stall just above the runway surface, but can be dangerous if they happen anytime you're not landing. And because of the latter contingency, the emphasis is on recovering from a stall as quickly as possible. The idea of letting the airplane continue in a stalled condition is never mentioned, and I therefore concluded that if you *didn't* recover immediately, the airplane would go completely out of control.

It turns out, they don't. Rob talked me through it. "When it breaks, just keep the stick back. The wing won't be flying so don't bother with the ailerons. They won't work. Instead, use the rudder to keep the wings level." I entered the stall and the nose dropped. We sank and sank. The left wing dropped but standing on the right rudder brought it begrudgingly back up. It worked! Here was a corner of the flight envelope that I didn't even know existed. Finally Rob said, "OK, stick forward, unstall the wing and pull out of the dive."

Finally, we did an aileron roll. This is a ballistic maneuver, flown in a shallow arc that requires very little from the airplane. Nose down to gain speed; pull level; pull the nose up about 30 degrees, give it full left aileron with left rudder to match, and hang on for a full rotation. Properly done, the airplane will make a graceful 360 degree roll and end upright in a shallow dive. My first attempt wasn't so graceful. The second was somewhat better, but nowhere near good.

We called it a day and returned to the airport. I got out of the airplane drenched with sweat. I had done something I never expected to do, and learned about four or five things I didn't know existed. It seemed to me the whole course had already been worth the money.

The second lesson built on the material from the first. Review the safety stuff. Get in. Fly to the practice area. Do a couple aileron rolls to the left. Do a couple to the right. Improvement was noticeable, even to me.

Then we did a slow roll. This is not done in a ballistic arc, it is a straight line maneuver which means that the control timing and coordination is much more critical. Begin the roll with left aileron and left rudder. As the wings approach vertical, shift to hard right rudder to keep the nose from dropping. As the wings go past vertical towards inverted, ease the right rudder somewhat and push the stick forward to keep the nose from dropping. As the wings go past inverted, pull the stick back and shift to hard left rudder. As the wings come level, ease off the left rudder. It's actually more difficult than it sounds.

Lesson Three was loops. By now I was doing aileron rolls for a warmup exercise. By Lesson Five I was no longer skidding and yawing all over the sky, and was warming up with slow rolls and loops. By Lesson Nine, I was warming up with Reverse Cuban Eights.

Lesson Ten was the Checkride, a review of everything and anything we covered in the course. Before we boarded, Rob told me that I was doing the first half of the lesson entirely on my own. I was to start the engine, taxi, take off, fly out to the practice area, clear the area for traffic, and do a loop. During all this he would observe my performance but would say nothing. I got through it OK.

Then we did an aerobatic sequence. A sequence is what one does in a competition. Maneuvers are executed in quick succession, and are sequenced in such a way that potential (altitude) and kinetic (airspeed) energy are appropriately matched from the exit of one maneuver to the entrance of the next. I did a loop, which left me low and fast going into a hammerhead turn*, which left me low and fast going into an Immelmann, which left me high and slow going into a one turn spin. The sequence wasn't particularly smooth, never mind precise, and I didn't stop the spin on quite the right heading, but it we got through it, and did so without coming close to exceeding any of the limits.

We practiced a simulated engine-out emergency landing, and then headed back to the airport.

Page one of my logbook begins with the 1960 orientation flight at Weiss Field. Page 15 of the same book ends with the 2004 Tailwheel and Spin Endorsements. As I write this, Page 16, November 16, 2004, begins with a single entry: "Solo: TO/LDG (4), Stalls, Slow Flight, Spins 5L + 3R, Aileron Rolls 1L".

It took 44 years to get from there to here, but the spins were great fun, and the Victory Roll was an absolute joy!