However, I realise that I need to practice them, to convince Bob that I can add them to my solo repertoire. To be fair they don’t scare me anymore, they don’t cause me the degree of anxiety that they used to, but I still don’t like them.I did one, loudly complaining about the stupidly extreme nose up attitude. “Hanging by the prop” is how Bob describes it. He’s not far wrong. We got a bit of a wing drop, it took me a few moments to realise what was going on. I used opposite rudder to pick up the wing and initiated the rest of the recovery.
We did another, almost had it nailed. Another and another. Still not quite there. Close but not 100%, not good enough to add them to my solo skill set.“Let’s try another,” encourages Bob. It is at this point I have to admit “one more and I’m going to puke.”
I’ve never suffered from air sickness before, I’ve felt anxiety related sickness in the pit of my stomach, but nowhere near the “I’m about to revisit my breakfast” stage that I reached today.I don’t know if it was the extreme nose up attitude, the wing drop, the doing so many in quick succession, the fact that I haven’t been 100% well this week, the new brand of breakfast yoghurt or a combination of any of the previously mentioned factors but I was definitely feeling a more than a little queasy.
Both Bob and I were a little disappointed that I didn’t quite nail them. “Just one more and I really think you would have got it, “he said.“Just one more and you definitely would have got it. All over you.” I retort.