Today was the last day of the Instruments section of flight school. I therefore had to take a check ride: a flight with an alternate instructor pilot whose sole job in the flight was to evaluate my performance. The weather was perfect for an instrument check ride: overcast and hazy; just above the minimum weather required for instrument flight at all. I did all right.
The Army has implemented strict key controls for all its helicopters since that one time during Vietnam when someone walked onto a stage field, and just got into a Huey and crashed it on the White House lawn. Flight Commanders are required to keep a strict inventory of the keys checked out to members of their flight and ensure that all are returned; nobody wants a flight student to go rogue, steal a TH-67, and sell it to the highest bidder.
About half an hour ago, my stick buddy–the other student with whom I share an instructor pilot–and I were eating a celebratory dinner out for having completed instruments. As he reached into his pocket for his wallet, his eyes went wide with horror as he pulled out today’s helicopter’s key. He rushed out of the restaurant talking about speeding the entire way back to return it. He texted me just now: after removing the rank and nametape from his uniform and hiding them, he drove back to the stagefield and successfully dropped the key off with the gate guard. His only intention was to do the right thing; he just didn’t want anyone to know it was he who forgot to return it in the first place.
Life, as always, is replete with little entertainments like this.
This weekend promises to be very full; I won’t be able to post another story. Maybe next weekend will be less busy.
Congratulations for passing! That’s great.