The first landing and takeoff were uneventful. The second sequence was another matter. The Robin made a good landing, taxied forward a short distance, and accelerated to take off. A Fleet biplane, one of a highly regarded line of primary trainers powered by a Kinner radial engine, stood directly in my grandfather’s path facing in the same direction.
The pilot indicated with hand gestures that I should taxi out. I held the brakes while we ran a pre-takeoff checklist. Checklist completed, the pilot indicated that I should proceed with the takeoff. After checking for traffic I rolled out on the runway centerline and applied full power and soon we were airborne.
There was no activity in the front seat and the airport was in sight. It was becoming clear that I would have to land the airplane with no advice or coaching from the front cockpit. Of course I had made a number of landings under supervision but this was a bit tricky.
I started with the stick well back. The engine was producing full power. I pushed the stick forward. Right at the point of lift off there was an abrupt swerve to the right. I closed the throttle and held the stick firmly back, planted in my ribs.
The examiner was competent and fair, and he really put me through my paces. The flight was going well, and I was confident. He asked me to set a course for Lost Nation Airport in order to do some pattern work. The flight suddenly become far more interesting. I thought I noticed an odd smell in the cockpit, something unfamiliar in the context of the trusty 152.
Things began to get interesting. I was about to learn a valuable lesson about checkpoints—namely, don’t use railroads or high tension lines. From the air they look exactly alike and as luck would have it I chose the wrong one and begin to get off course.