Volume: 1

Knockout

My soaring instructor picked the wrong time and place to show off to a beginning student.

Flying home in the 172, I called Coast Approach after I crossed the mountains. There was a garbled "Hi Ian" on the radio. Kira, my instructor for powered flight, had recognized my voice on the radio and, flying a Twin Cessna, landed before me at Orange County. As she taxied past she called again. We met at Avion for a hug and a one-two-three second kiss before she left again for San Diego.

Amonth later, back at Warner Springs, poor old stupid Joe lay in the dirt, momentarily unconscious. Not only was it the first time I had ever knocked anyone out, it was the first time I had ever knocked anyone at all. Joe pissed me off by smiling at me. Sadly for him, he chose to smile at me from another glider, 3000 feet up. He flew within ten feet of me, just showing off to a beginning student.

As he slowly came to, Molly, the FAA designee who gives checkrides, looked at me to see if there was anything else I might swing at. "No, I'm done." She had seen Joe buzzing me and had heard previous complaints. Up until that moment, Joe was a flight instructor at the soaring school. By the time he picked himself up, he was unemployed. He talked to Molly about calling the police on me but she assured him that she would report him to the FAA and he would never fly anything again. Joe gathered his things, climbed in his car and drove away. Justice had been served among three people while four others looked on. I returned to my rented sailplane, leaned against the wing root and rubbed my sore hand.