My flight adventures get wierder and wierder. Today, running a little late, xmurf, eeyorerin, and I arrived at the ferry terminal just in time to be pointed at the wrong ferry by the ticket seller. Bainbridge/Bremerton, what's the difference? Bainbridge island, by the way, smells wonderful. Sea salt smell upon the tongue, forest scent, and the air clean enough one expected it to squeak in the lungs. We caught a bus from Bainbridge to Poulsbo, traveled a narrow tree-lined highway, past purple foxglove and crazy-yellow scotch broom and tiny white flowers hidden amoungst the long nodding purplegray seed heads of the grass. Bus from Poulsbo to a mall in (?) Silverdale, where our usual partner-in-crime, Matt, picked us up and drove us to Bremerton.
We were rather late, so Ryan preflighted the plane for eeyorerin and me himself. Not my usual plane; xmurf and I had gotten confused about which that was. I found this particular plane very difficult to handle. One had to stomp on the pedals to get any turns at all, and turning the yoke had a result of approximately zero, and (according to my instructor) it climbed terribly. Obviously, I need to learn how to handle such a plane, but I am not yet nearly good enough to fly it distracted and hurried in very turbulent skies, and I gave up after one rough landing. Flying a plane should not resemble breaking a horse to saddle (and yes, I'm allowed to make this comparison. I've done it).