Episode Four… The Big 'n Nasty

Due to the graphic nature of this post, it is not suitable to children and those with weak stomachs. Reader discretion is advised.

_________________________________

Being a pilot, you have all kinds of emergency procedures; emergency engine out, engine fire, icing, spins, stalls, and the list goes on. During flight training, a good portion of time goes into learning what to do in an emergency situation, so that should the need arise, as a pilot, the plane can be landed safely without harm to anyone on the ground or in the air.

However, there are some emergency procedures which are never mentioned in flight training. Either because they are so rare, and it is impossible and impractical to practice everything that COULD go wrong, or because no one really thought about it. This is my story of one of those obscure events.

On the morning of March 27, 2002 I was at home in Memphis, TN during spring break from my first semester at Middle Tennessee State University. While there my Federal Student Aid refund check was deposited into my bank account. That morning I called my bank and found to my surprise, I had a substantial amount of cash in my account compared to the day before.

Now having some money, I was eager to fly again. Being a newly licensed pilot for only 6 months, I was eager to show off my flying abilities to my parents. Although I was aware that my dad did not like flying, I didn’t really realize that he HATED flying. Even so, I managed to convince him to fly with me in a Cessna 152, N48400. The flight would be my dad’s first flight with me to his friend’s property to fly around and get some pictures, and then back to the airport.

We left the house bound for the airport. On our way we stopped at McDonald’s to have a “light” lunch before the flight. I ordered a regular hamburger, fries, and a coke. My dad on the other hand ordered the Big ‘N Tasty meal, which included a large burger, large fries, and a large coke. We ate and enjoyed the visit before our flight. During lunch I reassured him that I was a safe pilot.

We got to the airport, and I rented my dad a headset so that he and I would be able to talk to each other without having to yell over the noise of the engine. I went and preflighted the airplane and briefed my dad on what we were going to do. We got into the airplane and buckled up.

I should have realized this was a mistake at that moment. My dad is not small like I am. Instead, he is the exact opposite. A 152 is roomy for me, which is saying a lot. For my dad on the other hand, he immediately felt cramped. He found himself leaning against the door and trying not to get in my way of the controls. He looked almost like a Great Dane that has been shoved into a cat’s kennel. However eager to show my dad my abilities, I over looked it and continued on.

The winds were from the North which meant runway 36 would be the departure runway. I taxied the airplane onto the runway and eased the throttle to full. That’s when I noticed that my takeoff roll was exceptionally long compared to my takeoff roll when I first soloed! I rolled what seemed like halfway down the runway before I was airborne.

Careful not to make my dad sick, I climbed to 500 feet and made a slow gradual turn to the Southeast. It was a few minutes later when I announced clear the traffic pattern when my dad asked me when I was going to turn onto course. A little confused, I asked what he meant. He then questioned me again, saying that we were still flying the runway heading. It was then I realized he didn’t notice the turn. With my spirits soaring now that I had made a turn without him realizing, I explained to him that we were already on course and almost to his friend’s property.

As we approached the property, I pointed it out to my dad. With the camera in hand, he turned to take some pictures of it. That’s when I noticed what was happening. Being strapped into the seat, he was not able to pivot his body and use both hands to take the picture. Frustrated with this, he declared he wasn’t able to get the pictures and we should just return to the airport. Not keen on giving up so easily, I said I would take the pictures.

I leveled the plane out and flew away from the property so that I could make a smooth turn to place the land off my right side for a view for me to get pictures. After making my approach I was in a prime position to take pictures.

I had taken my camera with me on several occasions. Small enough to use one hand, I was able to fly and snap a few shots without any serious loss or gain of altitude. This was going to be simple. Just like turns around a point. With my left hand on the yoke, and my right hand holding the camera, I shot of a few frames of the property. Starting to circle I got a few more shots from a different angle.

It was at this moment my dad said something to me, which I knew was urgent. “Mac, I need to get back to the airport.” I had done it. I had made my dad airsick by flying around the property. Realizing the urgency of the situation I immediately leveled the wings and headed straight to the airport. I applied full throttle so not to loose any time. I was determined not to have him get sick in the airplane!

Being a nice spring day, the air was somewhat choppy. It wasn’t a terribly bumpy flight, but it was turbulent enough to make you know you were flying. Trying to ease my dad’s comfort, I suggested he open the window to get fresh air. I can only assume he misinterpreted this as being, “If you puke, puke out the window.” Thus he refused to open the window to get fresh air.

Inbound from the East for Olive Branch, I knew we would have to land on runway 36. This would mean flying a modified traffic pattern. I made my announcement, “Olive Branch Traffic, Cessna 48400 is 8 miles to the East, inbound runway 36. Will cross at midfield at 1700 feet [MSL] and enter the teardrop entry for downwind. Any traffic in the area please advice. Olive Branch.” Hearing my announcement, my dad questioned me, “So we’re going to fly over the airport, make a loop, then make another loop to land?” Not having the time to really explain what I was going to be doing, and seeing that he was halfway right, I just simply said, “Yeah, pretty much.” At that his eyes widened. I had to hurry.

I crossed midfield, and made what I thought was the most gentle teardrop entry to downwind. We were almost there! We would soon be on the ground laughing about the situation. But I still had base leg, and final to contend with. I began to slow the airplane down and gave my first 10 degrees of flaps. I turned onto base and still slowing the plane down, I gave another notch of flaps. I was almost there.

I turned to final and gave full flaps. I was on short final when what has happened to me dozens of times before, happened to me again. An arrogant pilot of a King Air, who didn’t want to wait for me to land, taxied onto the runway for “immediate departure.” I had no other choice. I had to go around.

“Olive Branch traffic, Cessna 400 is going around.” I said in my most annoyed and pissed off tone of voice. My dad promptly responded, “GOING AROUND? WHAT?!” I pointed out the plane who decided to takeoff while we were on final. Looking over at him I noticed he looked even greener. By now, the King Air was airborne, and ahead of me. I was now flying to the right of the runway, and another Cessna had taken position on the runway for takeoff.

Monitoring the two other aircraft, I looked over at my dad since he was grabbing for the “barf bag”. His headset was still on his head, with the microphone hanging only an inch from his mouth. Suddenly time slowed down. I seemed to have stopped in midair. All I could see was the headset which I was renting. Before I knew what was happening I reached over and grabbed the headset off his head.

I refocused my attention to the traffic, so that I could ease the plane back into the pattern and make attempt number two for landing. That’s when it happened; suddenly the smell of McDonald’s Big ‘N Tasty filled the cockpit. I didn’t have the heart to look over.

The smell was making me nauseous. I tried concentrating on flying the plane and the traffic around me, and not concentrate on the smell. I kept thinking to myself, “I cannot get sick. If I get sick, no one else will be able to fly the plane.” I almost declared an emergency just so I could get us on the ground faster. I promptly decided against that because I didn’t know what sort of ramifications would be involved.

I made it back into the pattern. I turned to downwind, and kept focusing all my attention on flying. I could not do anything for my dad at that moment except make the misery end. So I ignored him completely to focus on getting us safely to the ground. I turned base, and then final. I was on short final, and determined now, if someone was going to pull out in front of me, I was going to declare an emergency and land! The smell was really getting to me.

I came over the numbers just like any other flight. I touched down, and instead of making the first turn, I allowed the plane to “taxi” on the runway faster than normal. This way I would be able to exit the runway closer to the terminal, and not be in the airplane as long. As soon as we exited the runway, I told my dad to open the window. It was at this moment, I saw just how sad he looked.

My whole life, my dad has been the anchor. Larger than life, and undaunted by anything, he was always a rock. However this time I saw him, he looked like a baby strapped into the seat. He did not look like he felt good at all.

The “barf bag” that he had carried out his business in was resting on his stomach. Filled to the brim, I told him to throw it out. I had to get the smell out of the plane. It was at this moment, he picked the bag up when the bag, now soaked, burst, spreading the contents all over him. I looked away, now even more nauseous. He proceeded to scoop up the slimy substance, and throw it out the window. This “barf bag” was no real barf bag. Instead, it was an envelope where the real barf bag was supposed to be placed. It wasn’t until later that we realized this.

Once we arrived at the tie down spot, he went in to get cleaned up. I sat down on the tire for a minute to catch my breath and stop myself from puking. After a few minutes I got up and finished securing the airplane and cleaning up what I could. My dad came back out and also began helping me clean up.

Finished with the airplane, we headed inside. He did not want to go into the office with me to pay; instead, he elected to go to the car. I went in to pay for the flight, when the club secretary asked me how my dad enjoyed the flight. It was a bit awkward for me to say that I had gotten my own dad sick!

When we got home, my dad immediately got a shower and changed. He laid down for a nap to “recover” from the flight. When my mom got home, she asked me how it went. I think she could see the look of how it went on my face. “He got sick didn’t he?” she said. I explained to her the short version of what happened. To my amazement, instead of feeling sorry for him, she began laughing. She started laughing so much, I began laughing.

She ran inside and immediately leapt onto the bed. “How was your flight?” she said. “DON’T MOVE THE BED!” was his response. This of course sent us both into a fit of laughter.

We finally convinced him to get up and have something to eat that would help settle his stomach. For dinner he had tomato soup. When I saw him sitting there at the kitchen table in his jogging pants and shirt, hunched over his bowl of soup, I did not see the man I knew as my father. I did not see the baby in the airplane. Now I saw an old man, who I had just tortured in the air.

After a few days, my dad was back to normal. Again he was the same man I knew from before the flight. He later explained to me the worst part was not the puking, but being completely helpless and at complete mercy to me. He knew that his life was in my hands and if I had let the situation get to me, then things could have turned out very different. He also said that he saw that I handled this “emergency” very well, and, if he weren’t susceptible to airsickness, he would feel comfortable flying with me anytime.

My logbook entry from March 27th simply reads, “Flew to Keith’s, Dad’s first flight. Emergency Puke Procedures.” Although I have had many adventures while flying, this one sticks out as one of my favorite and grossest memories of all. Today we look back and laugh at the situation we were in. My dad now loves to recount his story of his first and last flight with me.