Давно я так не смеялся.
Целиком переводить нет сил - спрашивайте если какие термины непонятны. Тренируйтесь в английском.
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Hi Dad.
I am writing to you because I need your help to get me bloody
pilot's license back. You keep telling me you got all the
right contacts. Well now's your chance to make something happen for me
because, dad, I'm bloody desperate. But first, I'd better
tell you what happened during my last flight review with the FAA Examiner.
On the phone, John Hill (that's the FAA ****head) seemed a
reasonable sort of a dude. He politely reminded me of the need to
do a flight review every two years. He even offered to drive out, have a
look over my property and let me operate from my own strip.
Naturally I agreed to that.
Anyway, John turned up last Wednesday. First up, he said he was a
bit surprised to see the plane on a small strip outside my
homestead, because the ALA (Authorized Landing Area) is about a mile away. I
explained that because this strip was so close to the
homestead, it was more convenient than the ALA, and despite the power lines
crossing about midway down the strip, it's really not a
problem to land and take-off, because at the halfway point down the strip
you're usually still on the ground.
For some reason John seemed nervous. So, although I had done the
pre-flight inspection only four days earlier, I decided to
do it all over again.
Because the p**ck was watching me carefully, I walked around the
plane three times instead of my usual two.
My effort was rewarded because the color finally returned to John's
cheeks. In fact, they went a bright red. In view of
John's obviously better mood, l told him I was going to combine the test
flight with some farm work, as I had to deliver three
calves from the home pasture to the main herd. After a bit of a chase I
finally caught the calves and threw them into the back of
the of Cessna 172. We climbed aboard, but John started getting onto me about
weight and balance calculations and all that crap. Of
course I knew that sort of thing was a waste of time because, calves like to
move around a bit particularly when they see themselves
500 feet off the ground! So, it's bloody pointless trying to secure them as
you know. However, I did tell John that he shouldn't
worry as I always keep the trim wheel set on neutral to ensure we remain
pretty stable at all stages throughout the flight.
Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimized the warm-up time
by tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500
rpm. I then discovered that John has very acute hearing, even though he was
wearing a bloody headset. Through all that noise he
detected a metallic rattle and demanded I account for it. Actually it began
about a month ago and was caused by a screwdriver that
fell down a hole in the floor and lodged in the fuel selector mechanism. The
selector can't be moved now, but it doesn't matter
because it's jammed on 'All tanks'. so I suppose that's Okay.
However, as John was obviously a nit-picker, I blamed the noise on
vibration from a stainless steel thermos flask which I
keep in a holder between the windshield and the magnetic compass.
My explanation seemed to relax John, because he slumped back in the
seat and kept looking up at the cockpit roof. I released
the brakes to taxi out, but unfortunately the plane gave a leap and spun to
the right. "Hell" I thought, "not the starboard wheel
chock again".
The bump jolted John back to full alertness. He looked around just
in time to see a rock thrown by the prop-wash disappear
completely through the windscreen of his brand new Buick. "Now I'm really in
trouble", I thought.
While John was busy ranting about his car, l ignored his requirement
that we taxi to the ALA, and instead took off under the
power lines. John didn't say a word, at least not until the engine started
coughing right at the lift off point, and then he bloody
screamed his head off. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"
"Now take it easy, John" I told him firmly. "That often happens on
take-off and there is a good reason for it". I explained
patiently that I usually run the plane on standard MOGAS, but one day I
accidentally put in a gallon or two of diesel. To compensate
for the low octane of the diesel, I siphoned in a few gallons of super MOGAS
and shook the wings up and down a few times to mix it
up. Since then, the engine has been coughing a bit but in general it works
just fine, if you know how to coax it properly.
Anyway, at this stage John seemed to lose all interest in my test
flight. He pulled out some rosary beads, closed his eyes
and became lost in prayer. (I didn't think anyone was a Catholic these
days). I selected some nice music on the HF radio to help him
relax.
Meanwhile, I climbed to my normal cruising attitude of 10,500 feet.
I don't normally put in a flight plan or get the weather
because. as you know getting FAX access out here is a flippin' joke and the
weather is always 10/10 blue anyway. But since I had
that near miss with a Saab 340,1 might have to change me thinking on that.
Anyhow, on leveling out, I noticed some wild deer heading into my
improved pasture. I hate bloody deer, and always carry a
loaded .30-30 clipped inside the door of the Cessna, just in case I see any
of the dastards.
We were too high to hit them, but as a matter of principle, I
decided to have a go through the open window. Dad, when I
pulled the bloody rifle out, the effect on John was flippin' electric. As I
fired the first shot his neck lengthened by about six
inches and his eyes bulged like a rabbit with myxo. He really looked as if
he had been jabbed with an electric cattle prod on full
power. In fact, John's reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration
for a second and the next shot went straight through
the port tire. John was a bit upset about the shooting (probably one of
those pinko animal lovers I guess) so I decided not to tell
him about our little problem with the tire.
Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to do my
fighter pilot trick. John had gone back to praying when, in
one smooth sequence, I pulled on full flaps, cut the power and started a
sideslip from 10,500 feet down to 500 feet at 130 knots
indicated (the last time I looked anyway) and the little needle rushed up to
the red area on me ASI. What a buzz, dad! About half
way through the descent I looked back in the cabin to see the calves
gracefully suspended in mid air and mooing like crazy. I was
going to comment on this unusual sight, but John looked a bit green and had
rolled himself into the fetal position and was screamin'
his freakin' head off. , talk about being in a bloody zoo. You should've
been there, it was so bloody funny!
At about 500 feet I leveled out, but for some reason we kept
sinking. When we reached 50 feet I applied full power but
nothin' happened; no noise no nothin'. Then, luckily, I heard me
instructor's voice in me head saying `,carb heat, carb heat". So I
pulled carb heat on and that helped quite a lot, with the engine finally
regaining full power. Whew, that was really close, let me
tell you!
Then dad. you'll never guess what happened next! As luck would have
it, at that height we flew into a massive dust cloud
caused by the cattle and suddenly went I.F. bloody R, you would have been
really proud of me as I didn't panic once, not once, but 1
did make a mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as my gyro
is repaired (something I've been meaning to do for a
while now). Suddenly John's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared. His
mouth opened wide, very wide, but no sound emerged.
"'fake it easy," I told him, "we'll be out of this in a minute". Sure
enough, about a minute later we emerged, still straight and
level and still at 50 feet.
Admittedly I was surprised to notice that we were upside down, and I
kept thinking to myself, "I hope John didn't notice
that I had forgotten to set the ATI when we were taxiing". This minor
tribulation forced me to fly to a nearby valley in which I had
to do a half roll to get upright again.
By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow
strip between them. "Ah!" I thought, "there's an omen.
We'll land right there." Knowing that the tire problem demanded a slow
approach, I flew a couple of steep turns with full flap. Soon
the stall warning horn was blaring so loud in me ear that I cut it's circuit
breaker to shut it up, but by then I knew we were slow
enough anyway. I turned steeply onto a 75 foot final and put her down with a
real thud. Strangely enough, I had always thought you could only ground loop in a tail dragger but, as usual, l was proved wrong
again!
Halfway through our third loop, John at last recovered his sense of
humour. Talk about laugh. I've never seen the likes of
it. He couldn't stop. We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves,
who bolted out of the aircraft like there was no
tomorrow.
I then began picking clumps of dry grass. Between gut wrenching fits
of laughter, John asked what I was doing. I explained
that we had to stuff the port tire with grass so we could fly back to the
homestead. It was then that John really lost the plot and
started running away from the aircraft. Can you believe it? The last time I
saw him he was off into the distance, arms flailing in
the air and still shrieking with laughter. I later heard that he had been
confined to a psychiatric institution - poor bugger!
Anyhow pa, that's enough about John. The problem is I got this
letter from FAA withdrawing, as they put it, my privileges to
fly; until I have undergone a complete pilot training course again and
undertaken another flight proficiency test.
Now I admit that I made a mistake in taxiing over the wheel chock
and not setting the altimeter using strip elevation, but I
can't see what else I did that was a so bloody bad that they have to
withdraw me fu''''''' license. Can you?
Your son, Scott