Entrepreneurs have always been more likely than most folks to be private pilots; now they have new reasons to leave commercial flight behind. Here's what new aviators are in for.
Business owners have always been more likely than most people to be private pilots, and now they have new reasons to leave commercial flight behind. Here's what the new pilots are in for.
EDITOR'S NOTE
The "company plane" has long been part of the entrepreneurial dream of how a successful CEO's life might go. But what about piloting your own way around the country? Company builders, more than the typical salaryman, often have the flexibility, resources, and decision-making authority to make private piloting possible. They often have good practical reasons for flying privately, too -- including the need to get to places that big planes can't go or, at least, can't get to conveniently. Now, after the events of last September, many business owners have decided that piloting a plane may be a better option than ever. (See Private Flight, Post-September," below.) But are practical considerations the real reason so many CEOs are looking into taking over the controls? Phaedra Hise doesn't think so. An author, a pilot, and the wife of an entrepreneur, Hise says that flying a plane is about the stark miracle of doing something that only birds were designed to do and that could kill you -- something that demands a kind of concentration that, at least for a time, puts the rest of your cares entirely out of mind. What does it feel like to fly your own plane? We asked Hise, in words, to take us up.
It looks sturdy and ready to fly. The plane's tires are full, and the wings are level and smooth, with no holes or dents anywhere. But this isn't Delta Air Lines, where a crew of mechanics has already carefully examined each flight system. No, this little propeller-driven six-seater is your plane, and you're the one who has to check it out -- intimately. Once you're 8,000 feet up in the air, you can't pull over if something goes wrong.
Here's the thing about flying your own airplane: It requires a little work. There's nobody scheduling the departure time, checking the bags, filing the flight plan. No Bloody Marys on board, no in-flight movie. Just you, buddy. You and the big sky. There's always a little bit of a question about whether or not you can pull it off, and that's what makes it interesting.
"An hour ago business was going to hell. But you can handle it. If you can make this screaming monster fly, you can do anything."
SO: THE PREFLIGHT. Here's one inspection you'd better get right. Run your hands over the wings and the propeller, feeling the smoothness of the metal surfaces. Smell the 100 low-lead gasoline in the tanks to verify that it doesn't have the kerosene stink of damaging Jet A fuel. Click the stall-warning vane on the wing, and listen for the cockpit horn. At this point you've forgotten about the investor meeting that went so badly an hour ago. And about the partner who keeps griping about expansion. All that stuff fades as you focus on the machine that will keep you alive for the next hour. Finger the spark plugs to make sure they're seated. Is everything OK? One last glance.
Climb into the cramped cockpit. "Why can't they make these things at least the size of a Honda Civic?" you ask yourself. Once you get the headset on, you're nearly bumping your head on the ceiling.
Last year, at the beginning of flight training, the cockpit panel was a technical-looking jumble of dials and digital numbers. None of it made sense, which was terrifying because your life depended on the instruments. But now, after logging 100 hours in this cockpit, you run practiced eyes over flight gauges with complicated names like Manifold Pressure, Attitude Indicator, and VHF Omnidirectional Rangefinder. You can easily translate the words, ferreting out the mysteries of the airplane's engine, flight systems, and navigation. Gently adjust the levers for the fuel mixture and pitch of the propeller. Scan the stack of fuel and oil gauges, and feel the tiny round circuit breakers to see if any have popped. Click the four-point harness closed, and hold the brakes.
"Clear prop!" is the standard holler out the cockpit window. It means, "I'm about to fire up this big propeller on the front of my plane. Get out of the way."
Crank the engine, and the propeller wakes up, turning into a circular blur on the nose. The oil and fuel gauges spark to life, solid in their green arcs. Everything's go.
But it's not time to fly yet. First you have to talk to a bunch of people. Talk to them fast over the radio in that jargon-filled technical lingo that only pilots and air-traffic controllers can translate: "Departure Bonanza Eight Three One Eight November VFR to Delta Kilo X-ray at 8,000 with Mike." You're looking for clearance to Knoxville, Tenn., and you have the most recent weather update. (Mike is the code word for weather information.)
The controller speaks the same language, and you actually understand him when he fires back, "Roger One Eight November fly heading two six zero, squawk four zero tree [aviation lingo for three] niner." He wants you to fly a 260-degree heading on departure and tune your transponder radio to 4039, so air-traffic-control radar can track your plane. The radio chatter always makes you look good to passengers, who gape and ask, "What did you guys just say? Something about X-rays? And who's Mike?"
You quickly flip the radio dials -- click, click, click. They look like a series of random numbers, but you've got the communication and navigational frequencies memorized from the charts. Push the throttle in gently and steer the plane with the rudder pedals at your feet. At the end of the runway the controller announces, "One Eight November cleared for takeoff," and it's time to make magic.
The plane bumps shakily down the asphalt as you eye the airspeed indicator for that 90-mile-an-hour mark. It's all about the airplane at this critical moment. There's no room to think about anything else. Listen to the engine, free of any lags or misses. Feel the runway underneath and the controls responding to your hands and feet. Your gut agrees with the airspeed indicator: the plane feels ready to fly. Pull steadily back on the yoke, and suddenly you're airborne!
