So, I broke the plane. Seriously, it won’t be fixed until Tuesday.
Now, before anybody thinks I damaged the landing gear, started an engine fire, or blew up the plane… let me just say that it was a minor break and not really my fault. I just happened to be on hand when it broke and feel an unecessary guilt about something I couldn’t control. But it sounds more impressive for a blog entry if I say I personally managed to break something that expensive.
Let me give you the DL: I was preflighting the airplane and everything was going according to plan. My goal was to work on my take offs and landings so that I could eventually take people up. I wanted to be more secure in my ability to get back on the ground in a plane I’ve only flown once in the last four years. Just call me caring. So I had checked oil and fuel and made sure no parts were missing like every good pilot does, and I crawled into the cockpit and got all cozy. I was running through my list: master switch on, mixture full rich, carb heat off, prime 2-6 times, throttle set at 1/8 of an inch, turn key to start engine. So I do, turn the key I mean, and it makes that noise that cars make when they’ve been sitting a long time, or you left the light on all night, or it stalled at an intersection and a semi is barreling down on you… a wum wum wum wum noise.
Okay, says I, perhaps it needs to be primed more, after all, according to the log it hasn’t been flown in two days. I prime it twice more, wum wum wum wum wum. The propeller spins but half-heartedly.
Well, once more for kicks and giggles and if it still won’t work, I think, I will go embarrass myself by asking for help. Wum wum wum wum wum. I look bleakly at the instruments and run through the checklist again. Everything is accounted for. I don’t want to prime it again, because it could flood the engine and having never had an airplane not start for me, I was unsure what to do. I look at the airport.
Fine. I shut everything down, crawl out of the cockpit and go into the building, sidling up to the front desk. It’s lunch time and the only person available with airplane knowledge is the owner of the entire airport. Yes, the owner. Because let me just state, when I embarrass myself I try to do it to the best of my abilities.
I quietly ask for help, trying to adopt the “I’m cute and adorable and new and a girl, so please help me big strong owner man” routine. It seems to go over well and I casually mention that I thought it would be better to look stupid than to break something on a plane I’ve hardly flown. That seems to make sense to him, and he very nicely comes out to help me. He goes through the same routine I did: power, mixture, carb heat, throttle, turn key. Wum wum wum wum wum.
Well, at least it’s not just me. He tries again. Wum wum wum wum wum.
He messes with the mixture, throttle and primer. Wum wum wum wum wum.
Once more he pushes the mixture in and out. Turns key. Wum wum CCCCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAANNNNKKKKKKKKKKKKK.
Okay, that was SO not me.
Turn key: CREEEANK CREEANK CREEANK CREEANK
Turn key: CREEEANK CREEANK CREEANK CREEANK
Oh. My. God. STOP TURNING THE KEY! STOP TURNING THE KEY!
At which point he looks at me and says “well, that doesn’t sound good.”
So to sum up, I broke the plane. He broke the plane? We broke the plane, together. He thinks it had something to do with the mixture not providing enough fuel/air as it is suppose to do, and then cranking it broke something in the starter. If that’s true, I don’t know. I just was told it wouldn’t be fixed until Tuesday.
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