The start-up goes as expected. Blades are turning, we’ve completed the pre-takeoff checks, the gauges are all in the green with warning lights extinguished. We pull pitch, gently lifting the helicopter into the air, and perform our hover check. All is well and we continue the takeoff. Still climbing, we glance at the gauges and see the engine oil temperature needle moving from the green toward the red limitation line. The needle crosses into the red—the engine oil temperature is now over the limit.
Many moons ago, a new-hire pilot told me about a flight he had on his most recent shift. This flight was outside of our normal local operating area, and would certainly involve a fuel stop for the return with our normal fuel loadout. After giving me the general details of the flight, he told me that the low fuel warning light illuminated on short approach into the primary destination: a rooftop helipad in a major city. After shutting down and dropping off the passengers, he elected to start up and depart the pad to the nearest fuel source: a towered airport approximately seven minutes away by air. That’s right: he departed with the low fuel warning light still illuminated.
You’ve been stuck teaching primary maneuvers to new students in a Robinson helicopter for the past three months. Next week, you finally have an initial night cross country flight with a student pilot, but you also realize that you won’t have met the night passenger carrying requirements of 14 CFR 61.57(b). Do you need to get current before you fly with the student? Is the student a “passenger”?
It’s 0200 and the phone ringing wakes you out of a deep sleep. You’ve got a scene request 10 miles south with one patient. Your final destination will be the trauma center at a hospital 20 miles east of the scene. The weather has been marginal all night. Can you take the flight? The clock is ticking.
The header photo for this final part is the only one I can find (I never intended on writing about this) directly from living in my office: the workout mat I tried to sleep on with my pillow and blanket. Now, my office location was about to change. This was not part of the original plan. Changing my office potentially changed the ability to keep this office-living experiment up. But, I needed to be smart about this and not jump into living in an office I haven’t evaluated. I was going to have to experiment with vandwelling (truck-dwelling, in my case) to give me time to safely assess the new office area for living.
I had discovered extreme minimalism, one-bagging, vandwelling, and office-living. I had chosen to attempt an experiment with office-living and had reduced my possessions to two bags. It was time to move into the office… Continue reading about my journey into these minimalist lifestyles with a look at the first 100 days of my office-living experiment.