It dawns on me this morning that even though I've been flying around this area for 10 days and more than 20 hours, I really have no idea what it looks like from the air. To me, Bedford and its environs look a lot like the dashboard of a Cherokee 140, with a few VORs and NDBs scattered here and there. I take a few minutes over breakfast to look over this area on the sectional. But then again, today is shaping up as an honest IMC day.
John arrives, and its back into the belly of the beast. I file a flight plan for Manchester, and another back to Bedford. Its a dreary, rainy day, 1500 scattered, 3000 overcast, 7 miles visibility in light rain and fog. Looks like hell, but legally speaking, its VFR out. We launch; I stumble tracking Manchester, but catch it. Two ILSs there; the first crummy, the second better, but still not great. Then a VORapproach, somewhat better. We head back to Bedford, and I stumble intercepting the NDB approach, but manage to recover, barely. As we park, I notice that the numbers on the stopwatch are flickering on and off - how thankful I was that it didn't pick the middle of the approach to flake out.
We land and debrief. John goes over my mistakes, then says I've passed his sign-off ride, but it was close. He feels I have a 60- 75% chance of passing the flight exam. By this point, we both know I'm not a natural. I've got the maneuvers, and if I can avoid stupid mistakes I might even pass the exam. I suppose I could work at it for another day or so, and postpone the exam again, but tomorrow is my last vacation day, and I have to get back to my 'normal' life. Besides, I think I'm at the point I was at when I took my private: there is a great deal of learning to be done but I have to do the next big chunk of it myself. There's a parallel here to when an adolescent leaves home to strike out on his own; he's woefully ill-equipped for life outside the nest, but its Time to Leave. John instinctively knows this: he seems to be distancing himself, or perhaps its just my imagination. We fill out my application, pack up the simulator, and spend a few moments chatting about the experience of the last 11 days and my thoughts, good and bad. There's an interesting dichotomy here: for John the experience is over. For me, it is anything but. What's more, he's advised me to not break my neck studying tonight, but instead to '...go out and have good time'. This runs completely against my grain; when I'm not sure of a win, its my nature to fight the battle to the very end. Besides, where would I go?. I snack on the last of my breakfast cereal with the last of my milk. Later, after I drink the last of my soda, there'll no longer be any reason to refill the ice in the styrofoam cooler I bought last week, and plan to leave behind. Its time to start disassembling this little world I've built myself here over the last week or so, but even before I do so, it seems to be dissolving on its own. I've got some packing to do, as I will be checking out tomorrow morning. What is conspicuously lacking is a sense of closure: Brigadoon is disappearing into the mists, but *my* story isn't over yet. I take no solace in the fact that by this time tomorrow, it will be. Tonight promises to be a very lonely night.
After a short bicycle ride, a pizza, and a call home to my wife, I'm in decidedly better spirits, perhaps even bordering on optimism. I've arranged transportation to the airport and packed the last of my belongings - should be able to make a quick exit tomorrow. The weather for tomorrow is VFR under low ceilings - windier than I'd have preferred (16kts, gusting to 21), but otherwise not unmanageable. I anticipate large quantities of turbulence - so what else is new? I hit the sack early in anticipation of a busy day.