Blindfold on Landings

Instruments, old and new, VOR radio shown above the Garmin 796.

iPhone 3 photo.

     Quite a while passed since I last flew one soul on board, namely me. My flight started out in good company, MyMrMallory. We headed into Shawnee for MyMrMallory to retrieve his helicopter, Mark having repaired it and finished its annual inspection.
     On our short flight, we wondered where all the turbulence went; the air felt smooth as silk, having to do with the cooler temperatures of October. The entire flight went smoothly.
     We spoke to several control centers, Sheppard three times, Fort Sill, Fort Worth, and Oke City before switching frequencies to Shawnee traffic. Talking on the radio is so much fun. Talking on the radio used to intimidate me, way back long ago, two years now since I started flying around North Texas; but I've grown to appreciate the assistance by the controllers. And the entertainment, too, provided by other doofus pilots saying comical things, or un-professional things. Lo to the un-professional pilot on the radio. Our cockpit drips with snide remarks and giggles. We chuckle because we say the same doofus things sometimes.
      Our arrival into Shawnee surprised me for its lack of traffic. Usually we maneuver between helicopters or streams of Civil Air Patrol planes in training. We had the runway all to ourselves.
      My landing was not too bad. I struggled a bit trying to make up my mind which rudder to push, and which aeleron to lift, when I finally allowed the plane to fly. On the runway, my wheels squeaked a bit, left one first, then right one, and then the nose came down. I missed a couple of taxiways, but that's because I did not want to press the brakes too hard.
      "What?" I said to MyMrMallory, my greatest critic of landings, everyone else's, and most particular his own, as a perfectionist who demands the best from himself.
      "Nuh-uh," he said, followed by what sounded like a growl. I might blindfold him next time before I land my Scissortail with him in the right seat.
     Out hopped MyMrMallory and went friskily towards Mark's hangar, where the helicopter waited for its flight back home.
     As I taxied to runway 17, my radio began to cackle. I stopped, pushed, turned, and pulled buttons, until I figured out the squelch was set too high. Thank God it was a simple solution. I began to taxi again when again I had to stop, for the GPS went blank. Oh, well, I thought, I still have my radios, one of which was set for my destination. I pushed and fiddled and messed with the Garmin, and finally it started up again. Then, doggone, the VOR radio went blank. Maybe my iPhone works at 4,500 feet, but then again, maybe not. Their new map is very bad, I read recently. I thought of looking at my sectional to see which highway or river I could follow home, when, thankfully, the radio came back up.
     And there you have it, the thing about flying: Flying provides a joy puntuated with moments of anxiety. The seriousness and complexities of flying make it imperative to develop the discipline to employ the added adrenaline to solve problems. It is discipline that helps you maintain your settings, follow lists, and a level head. The joy of flying far exceeds the difficulty in training for discipline, and that is one destination I would love to reach.