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A letter to a friend...



 
 
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  #1  
Old August 22nd 05, 01:27 PM
Greasy Rider© @ invalid.com
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default A letter to a friend...

I can't vouch for the validity of this but it is funny as hell....

(if you've seen it before, tough titty....)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Jack,

I hope you and Dianne are well. I know it's been quite a while since
you last heard from me, but Doreen and the rest of the family are all
OK but I think they're getting a bit ****ed off with station life,
particularly when there's bugger all rain to speak of - and the cattle
and sheep are dying all over the place! Damn draught. I'm writing to
you, mate, because I need your help to get me bloody pilots license
back (you keep telling me you got all the right contacts through your
good friends here in Oz, well now's your chance to make something
happen for me because, mate, I'm bloody desperate). But first, I'd
better tell you what happened during my last flight review with the
CASA Examiner.

On the phone, Ron (that's the CASA d!ckhead) seemed a reasonable sort
of bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a flight review
every two years. He even offered to drive out, have look over my
property and let me operate from my own authorized landing area..
Naturally I agreed to that. Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday.

First up, he said he was a bit surprised to see the plane outside my
homestead because the ALA is about a mile away. I explained that
because my home strip was so close to the homestead, it was more
convenient than the ALA, despite the power lines crossing about midway
down the strip (it's really not a problem to land and take-off because
at the half-way point down the strip you're usually still on the
ground). For some reason Ron 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 prick was watching me carefully, I walked
around the plane three times instead of my usual two.( I remember when
you were here and we were ready to go aviatin', you said: " You got
the nod, get off the sod." My effort was rewarded because the colour
finally returned to Ron's cheeks - in fact they went a bright red.

In view of Ron's obviously better mood, I told him I was going to
combine the test flight with farm work as I had to deliver three poddy
calves from the home paddock to the main herd. After a bit of a chase
I finally caught the calves and threw them into the back of the ol'
182. We climbed aboard but Ron started getting' into me about weight
and balance calculations and all that bullsh!t. 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 Ron that he shouldn't worry as I always keep the trim wheel
'Araldited' to neutral to ensure we remain pretty stable at all stages
throughout the flight.

Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimised the warm-up time
by tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500rpm. I then
discovered that Ron 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 OK. However, as Ron was obviously a real nit-picker, I
blamed the noise on vibration from my stainless steel thermos flask,
which I keep in a beaut little possie between the windshield and the
magnetic compass. My explanation seemed to relax Ron 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 Ron back to full alertness. He looked
wildly around just in time to see a rock thrown by the prop wash
disappear completely through the windscreen of his brand new 4Runner..
"****, now I'm really in trouble", I thought.

While Ron was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement
that we taxi to the ALA and instead took off under the power lines.
Ron didn't say a word, at least not until the engine started coughing
right at the lift off point, then he bloody screamed his head off, "Oh
God! Oh God! Oh God!"

"Now take it easy, Ron" 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 petrol, but one day I
accidentally put in a gallon or two of kerosene. To compensate for the
low octane of the kerosene, I siphoned in a few gallons off super
petrol 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, Henry, at this
stage Ron seemed to lose all interest in my flight test. 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 altitude of 10,500 feet - I don't normally put in a flight
plan or get the weather because as you know getting Aviation weather
reports out here is a joke and the bloody weather is always 8/8 blue
anyway. But since I had that near miss with the Saab340, I might have
to change me thinking. Anyhow, on levelling out I noticed some wild
camels heading into my improved pasture. I hate camels and always
carry a loaded .303 clipped inside the door of the Cessna just in case
I see any of the *******s. We were too high to hit them, but as a
matter of principle, I decided to have a go through the open window.
Mate, when I pulled the bloody rifle out, the effect on Ron went
friggin' 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, Ron's reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration
for a second and the next shot went straight through the port tyre.
Ron 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 tyre. Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and
decided to do my fighter pilot trick, like you told me your test pilot
nephew Joe used when he was long at the Rosamond airpatch. . Ron had
gone back to praying when, in one smooth sequence, I pulled on full
flap, 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 rushing up to the red area on me ASI. ****, what a
buzz, mate!

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 Ron looked a bit green
and had rolled himself into the foetal position and was screamin' his
bloody head off. Mate, talk about being in a bloody zoo. You should've
been there, it was so bloody funny!

At about 500 feet I levelled out, but for some reason we continued
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 "carby heat, carby heat", so I pulled carby
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 mate, 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 IF. bloody R, mate. Henry, you would've been
bloody proud of me as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did make a
mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is
repaired (something I've been meaning to do for a while now).

Suddenly Ron's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared. His mouth
opened wide, very wide, but no sound emerged. "Take it easy," I told
him. "We'll be out of this in a minute." Sure enough, about a minute
later we emerge; 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 Ron didn't notice that I had
forgotten to set the QNH 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 tyre 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 puled the 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, I was proved wrong again!

Halfway through our third ground loop Ron 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 Ron asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to
stuff the port tyre with grass so we could fly back to the homestead.
It was then that Ron 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 *******!

Anyhow, mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is I just got a
letter from CASA 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 QNH using
strip elevation, but I can't see what else I did that was so bloody
bad that they have to withdraw me flamin' licence. Can you?

Anyhow mate, the reason for writing to you is to ask if you have any
suction with any Ausie flight instructor who would be willing to come
out to the station for about two months to help get me back up to
speed. I'll pay them good money while they're here and they won't have
to worry about paying for food or accommodation.

Looking forward to your response. Until then, take care, mate.

Kindest regards, Hi to Dianne.

Pete O'Heat
Katherine, NT
21 August, 2005


  #2  
Old August 22nd 05, 08:10 PM
Diamond Jim
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

Obviously, Ron doesn't have what it takes to be a first class flight
examiner.

Diamond Jim


Greasy Rider© @ invalid.com wrote in message
...
I can't vouch for the validity of this but it is funny as hell....

(if you've seen it before, tough titty....)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Jack,

I hope you and Dianne are well. I know it's been quite a while since
you last heard from me, but Doreen and the rest of the family are all
OK but I think they're getting a bit ****ed off with station life,
particularly when there's bugger all rain to speak of - and the cattle
and sheep are dying all over the place! Damn draught. I'm writing to
you, mate, because I need your help to get me bloody pilots license
back (you keep telling me you got all the right contacts through your
good friends here in Oz, well now's your chance to make something
happen for me because, mate, I'm bloody desperate). But first, I'd
better tell you what happened during my last flight review with the
CASA Examiner.

On the phone, Ron (that's the CASA d!ckhead) seemed a reasonable sort
of bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a flight review
every two years. He even offered to drive out, have look over my
property and let me operate from my own authorized landing area..
Naturally I agreed to that. Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday.

First up, he said he was a bit surprised to see the plane outside my
homestead because the ALA is about a mile away. I explained that
because my home strip was so close to the homestead, it was more
convenient than the ALA, despite the power lines crossing about midway
down the strip (it's really not a problem to land and take-off because
at the half-way point down the strip you're usually still on the
ground). For some reason Ron 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 prick was watching me carefully, I walked
around the plane three times instead of my usual two.( I remember when
you were here and we were ready to go aviatin', you said: " You got
the nod, get off the sod." My effort was rewarded because the colour
finally returned to Ron's cheeks - in fact they went a bright red.

In view of Ron's obviously better mood, I told him I was going to
combine the test flight with farm work as I had to deliver three poddy
calves from the home paddock to the main herd. After a bit of a chase
I finally caught the calves and threw them into the back of the ol'
182. We climbed aboard but Ron started getting' into me about weight
and balance calculations and all that bullsh!t. 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 Ron that he shouldn't worry as I always keep the trim wheel
'Araldited' to neutral to ensure we remain pretty stable at all stages
throughout the flight.

Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimised the warm-up time
by tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500rpm. I then
discovered that Ron 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 OK. However, as Ron was obviously a real nit-picker, I
blamed the noise on vibration from my stainless steel thermos flask,
which I keep in a beaut little possie between the windshield and the
magnetic compass. My explanation seemed to relax Ron 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 Ron back to full alertness. He looked
wildly around just in time to see a rock thrown by the prop wash
disappear completely through the windscreen of his brand new 4Runner..
"****, now I'm really in trouble", I thought.

While Ron was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement
that we taxi to the ALA and instead took off under the power lines.
Ron didn't say a word, at least not until the engine started coughing
right at the lift off point, then he bloody screamed his head off, "Oh
God! Oh God! Oh God!"

"Now take it easy, Ron" 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 petrol, but one day I
accidentally put in a gallon or two of kerosene. To compensate for the
low octane of the kerosene, I siphoned in a few gallons off super
petrol 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, Henry, at this
stage Ron seemed to lose all interest in my flight test. 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 altitude of 10,500 feet - I don't normally put in a flight
plan or get the weather because as you know getting Aviation weather
reports out here is a joke and the bloody weather is always 8/8 blue
anyway. But since I had that near miss with the Saab340, I might have
to change me thinking. Anyhow, on levelling out I noticed some wild
camels heading into my improved pasture. I hate camels and always
carry a loaded .303 clipped inside the door of the Cessna just in case
I see any of the *******s. We were too high to hit them, but as a
matter of principle, I decided to have a go through the open window.
Mate, when I pulled the bloody rifle out, the effect on Ron went
friggin' 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, Ron's reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration
for a second and the next shot went straight through the port tyre.
Ron 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 tyre. Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and
decided to do my fighter pilot trick, like you told me your test pilot
nephew Joe used when he was long at the Rosamond airpatch. . Ron had
gone back to praying when, in one smooth sequence, I pulled on full
flap, 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 rushing up to the red area on me ASI. ****, what a
buzz, mate!

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 Ron looked a bit green
and had rolled himself into the foetal position and was screamin' his
bloody head off. Mate, talk about being in a bloody zoo. You should've
been there, it was so bloody funny!

At about 500 feet I levelled out, but for some reason we continued
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 "carby heat, carby heat", so I pulled carby
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 mate, 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 IF. bloody R, mate. Henry, you would've been
bloody proud of me as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did make a
mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is
repaired (something I've been meaning to do for a while now).

Suddenly Ron's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared. His mouth
opened wide, very wide, but no sound emerged. "Take it easy," I told
him. "We'll be out of this in a minute." Sure enough, about a minute
later we emerge; 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 Ron didn't notice that I had
forgotten to set the QNH 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 tyre 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 puled the 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, I was proved wrong again!

Halfway through our third ground loop Ron 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 Ron asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to
stuff the port tyre with grass so we could fly back to the homestead.
It was then that Ron 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 *******!

Anyhow, mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is I just got a
letter from CASA 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 QNH using
strip elevation, but I can't see what else I did that was so bloody
bad that they have to withdraw me flamin' licence. Can you?

Anyhow mate, the reason for writing to you is to ask if you have any
suction with any Ausie flight instructor who would be willing to come
out to the station for about two months to help get me back up to
speed. I'll pay them good money while they're here and they won't have
to worry about paying for food or accommodation.

Looking forward to your response. Until then, take care, mate.

Kindest regards, Hi to Dianne.

Pete O'Heat
Katherine, NT
21 August, 2005




  #3  
Old August 22nd 05, 09:09 PM
Gord Beaman
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

"Diamond Jim" wrote:

Obviously, Ron doesn't have what it takes to be a first class flight
examiner.

Diamond Jim


Yes indeed, seems to be sadly lacking in the intestinal
fortitude department...
--

-Gord.
(use gordon in email)
  #4  
Old August 23rd 05, 12:23 AM
JimP
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

Poor boy should swap for a tour in Alaska--Much safer place for rogue
pilots.

 




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