We had eaten up a lot of the 6,600’ runway by the time the airplane was ready to fly, so I rotated and up we went. Barely. The tach bounced between 2100 and 2200rpm, barely into the green arc. I watched the last bit of runway disappear under us at 200 feet per minute.
We were happily, and smoothly, cruising along in the clouds at 7,000 ft. when ATC issued me a climb to 9,000. I remember reading the instruction back and initiating the climb while thinking to myself this is a bad idea. I had it in my head that I’d filed for 7, so we were going to stay at 7, but I climbed anyway.
“And this time, go to at least one airport you’ve never been to before. Make it a towered field.” What’s the word for being excited and scared at the same time? Anxious? Yeah. That’s what I was. Six days later, I was off again.
My second passenger, and my first cross-country as a private pilot, was Garin, a lifelong friend with whom I grew up. He and his family came up to Clover to spend the weekend with us so I reserved my favorite 172 for Saturday morning. The weather was beautiful, if a little bit warm, with some showers moving in later in the day as normal. I decided we’d make the short, scenic hop from EQY up to HKY to get some grub at the airport café.