A New Rating

4:45 AM, Unit #301, ATP Airport Housing Complex
This just in: the only people who should be allowed to be awake at this hour include hobos, fast food employees slogging their way through the night shift, and, on checkride days, pilots. My eyes are still glued shut as I meander towards the refrigerator, where an already-prepared PB&J sandwich serves as my breakfast. As I wolf down the all-to-familiar taste of strawberry jam, Skippy, and wheat bread, I lament briefly on the significance of today and attempt to calm myself before the storm. I am rested and eager to tackle the monumental challenge of proving myself worthy of an instrument rating.

4:57 AM, Unit #301, Kitchen, ATP Airport Housing Complex
All efforts to avoid waking my comatose roommate have been for naught as I unconsciously slam into a pre-arranged pile of dirty Tupperware, cups, eating utensils, and dishes, knocking them 4 feet downward, creating a series of loud crashes and causing him to groan like an agitated walrus. I love checkride days.

5:05 AM, Pilot's Lounge, ATP Housing Complex, ESPN.com
During the NFL season, no day should ever start without the obligatory check of the latest Enjoy Sack Lunch trade news, statistics update, and waiver wire transactions. Even on mornings when my time might be better spent elsewhere. It's only 10 minutes, right?

6:30 AM, Instrument Training Classroom, ATP Training Center
Prior to the examiner's arrival, I spend a quick thirty minutes calculating my takeoff distance, estimated single-engine climb performance, and creating a weight/balance chart for today's flight. To make the numbers fit, I have to intentionally miscalculate my weight at 190. It's the grueling and monotonous kind of paperwork that's necessary to demonstrate that I am a competent planner in any weather condition. The CFI checks over my math and gives the stamp of approval, and now the waiting game begins. It'll be at least an hour before the FAA designated examiner shows up, giving me ample time to review everything I've been studying for the past month. More than anything else, however, this is really just an intense time of heightened anxiety and paranoia.

7:15 AM, Main Offices, ATP Training Center
Like a heavyweight boxer entering the ring, the examiner walks through the front door, briefcase in hand, ready for battle. I would have felt less intimidated if had left behind his executioner's axe, but oh well. My instructor greets him as I retreat out of sight, hoping to avoid his menacing stare for a few moments longer. He grabs my prepared folder of the necessary paperwork, identification forms, and heads to his office alcove to dissect what I've prepared. More waiting, more uneasiness.

7:30 AM, FAA Examiner's Office, ATP Training Center
The absence of a gorgeous nurse notwithstanding, the initial entry to the examiner's office has the exact same feel to visiting a doctor. You wait. You read magazines. Finally, the sound of a door opening is heard, your name is called, and the moment is upon you. Hoping to impress, I shake his hand Adrian Peterson-style, and begin to lay out the required materials: logbook, FAR-AIM, appropriate charts, passport, and, most importantly, four crisp, fresh-off-the-press $100 bills. It never fails: he always makes the standard joke about his wife needing 'to go shopping', but in reality, the sting of handing over such a tangible amount of cash never is easy. He inquiries as to the weather back in International Falls, spends a few moments looking over my records for accuracy, then begins lobbing verbal grenades at me: What are standard alternate minimums? What equipment is required for IFR flight? How do I determine if my aircraft as had the required inspections? When can I descend beyond my Minimum Descent Altitude? With each fastball thrown my way, I grow more relaxed and begin to settle in. A few minutes later, and he's out of ammo. The easy part is over.

8:20 AM, 2,500 feet, Dallas Executive Airport, ILS Approach
The unique aspect to this checkride, when compared the previous ones, is that for the entire duration, I will be wearing foggles, or what's better known as a view limiting device. The examiner will serve as my real life eyes, leaving me to navigate based solely on what the dashboard instrument panel indicates. I'm comforted in the fact that if we slam inadvertently into another aircraft, it'll be entirely his fault. Upon my initial climbout after takeoff, the examiner immediately vectors me east towards a nearby airport and tells me to expect the ILS approach into Runway 31. I know now what's coming, and almost immediately after notifying air traffic control of our plans, he reaches for the left throttle and closes it, simulating a failed engine. The Seminole yaws briefly to the left, but my reactions are swift, and I'm able to stay on the correct glideslope all the way down to minimums. The first hurdle has been cleared.

8:45 AM, 2,500 feet, Cockpit of N6816A
About halfway back from Dallas Executive Airport, the examiner tells me to put my head down, remove my feet from the rudder pedals, and close my eyes: it's time to demonstrate my ability to recover from unusual attitudes. I've done this before, and not just in my aviation career: in 7th grade Art class, my attitude towards ceramic sculpturing was deemed unusual, and I successfully recovered from that by posting a solid C-. As the examiner grabs the yoke and immediately slams the plane forward, my sense of balance and position are immediately thrown off-I have no idea what's going on. His next words to me command action: "Recover!" I have only an instant to determine my next move. Instinctively, I reach for the throttles and scale back to near idle, level my wings, and slowly begin to pitch up. Exhale. I don't think I took a single breath in the last 30 seconds.

8:55 AM, Grand Prairie Municipal Airport, GPS Approach
My hand is firmly grasping the yoke now as my brain tells me to ready for what's coming: at any minute, the examiner is going to cover half of my instrument panel, simulating a real life vacuum pump failure. This was the exact scenario that, a mere three weeks ago, caused me to nearly destroy the flight simulator with a deadly crash. Moreover, the last two instrument rating applicants busted at this precise interval. Today, I negotiate the strong tailwind by reducing throttles drastically, allowing myself more time to focus on the GPS readout. I carefully correct my course to the west, note my position, and make the proper radio calls. Since I've practiced this exact approach countless times in the past week, everything seems like it's in slow motion. When I hit the missed approach point, my hand automatically pushes the throttles full forward while the other applies back pressure, and sooner than I can even think, I'm already through the hardest part of the checkride. The examiner gives me instructions on where he'd like me to enter a holding pattern, and as I brief the hold aloud, I remind myself to stay focused and finish what I've started.

9:20AM, 5 miles from BROUZ, VOR Approach to Arlington Municipal Airport
One of the weirdest things about aviation are the names of GPS waypoints and intersections found on our Low-Altitude En Route charts. While they look bizarre on paper, the are extremely fun to say over the radios. In a different world, I would have been the one to name these points. One can only imagine the logic behind some of the decisions that were made. Apparently the only prerequisite is that each 'place' must have 5 letters and be only marginally coherent. So while I may have never been to the DUMPY, SEXXY, or RDNEK junctions, I have spent plenty of time hanging out near BROUZ. BROUZ is the final approach fix on the VOR approach back into Arlington, and today, it serves as my final potential pitfall for the checkride. Descending even a foot below 2,000 prior to reaching BROUZ means automatic failure. With the two previous approaches and holds behind me, my confidence is like a tidal wave now, and before extending my landing gear and adding flaps, I make a mental note to keep enough power in to keep my altitude. As I clear BROUZ and make my final inbound communication, a feeling of relief sets in: if the examiner hasn't said anything to the contrary by now, I'm the proud owner of an instrument rating. A few seconds later, he tells me to remove me view limiting device, and as my wheels touch down on the runway, I can hardly contain my smile. It's over.

10:00 AM, Pilot's Counge, ATP Housing Complex
Because I was scheduled for the early checkride today, I'm forced to wait until the examiner returns from his 2nd flight of the day. But in reality, this waiting is substantially more pleasurable now that the exam is over. For the first time in several days, I relax on the couch and read non-aviation material. While I'm reasonably certain of the outcome, I decide to hold off on the phone calls until I have the actual instrument rating in hand.

11:45 AM, FAA Examiner's Office, ATP Training Center
The moment of truth. Once again, my name is called, and I knock gently on his door. It's just a formality, but he requests to see my logbook again, and this time endorses his name with the desired 'Satisfactory' label next to his name. It's official: I am an instrument pilot. He hands me my temporary certificate, shakes my hand, and offers congratulations. I'll be seeing him again in three weeks, and believe me, I'm sure he's already looking forward to the $400.

1:45 PM, Unit #301, ATP Housing Complex
The CFI comes ambling into the room to offer congratulations, and for the first time I now feel equal to him. He shares in my pride today, as me passing is a positive reflection on him as well. Knowing he's no longer my instructor is a relief: I've never dealt with as much relentless negativity as he brought to the table, not as a college athlete, not in any of my restaurant jobs, nothing. But I must admit: through it all, he's made me a better pilot. The red-eye simulator sessions, his Stalin-esque standards of preflighting, and the endless assigning of navigation logs have all served a purpose. Motivation comes from many different directions, but for awhile I thank him genuinely for his efforts, patience, and wish him good luck with his next batch of students. For him, the instrument process starts all over with two new students. As I lament the past month, one thing stands out above all: I never once gave up.

The next three weeks are chock-full of flying for me. Starting tomorrow, my training partner and I are unleashed, flying on assignment to pre-determined locations throughout the country. Each morning, we'll call company headquarters in Jacksonville, FL, and receive our flight destination. With no CFI on board, it will be a good litmus test of everything we've learned so far. Designed to simulate airline life, it should be a fun adventure no matter how many times they try to send us to San Angelo. Past students claim this is by far the most enjoyable and rewarding phase of the program. My goal is to build up enough goodwill with dispatch so that they'll trust us enough for a lengthy cross-country trip to Florida. Our first assignment: flying to Houston. I'll try to post as many updates as possible over the next few weeks, including the occasional picture from our trips, so stay tuned.

PB&J Sandwiches Consumed (to date): 112