Not Exactly A Biennial
By Gordon Baxter
June 1995
 I just came in from flying. I don't mean yesterday or last week, I mean only a few minutes ago. I want to write this while I'm still tingling. This was not another trip somewhere; we just came in from a little over an hour of dual instruction out in the practice area. What's an old pelican like me doing taking dual in a 172? Didn't I solo back in 1956, before they had nosewheels or transponders, or even pavement except in the big cities? To know where we were, we swooped down and read the sign on the railroad depot. Then we just followed the tracks to the next place.
In fact that was my problem and I knew it. Wandering around in the new building out at Beaumont Muni I didn't know a soul in there. Fine-looking young kids. All the guys I used to know are now memorialized in bronze plaques up on the walls. And it occurred to me recently that all I knew about flying today was just as museum-worthy. I called Beaumont Wings Inc., the present-day FBO, managed by Mr. Donald S. Lewis whom I never met, and said I need some VFR refresher dual. They put a young woman by the name of Heidi L. DeKoster, CFI, CFII, on the phone. She thought I wanted my biennial and said we'd first need some time to go over the FARs and I'd need a current medical, to come back when I had it. I asked, "What's a biennial?", thus giving Heidi her first inkling of what our starting level would be.
It took me some time to explain that I was not now nor ever would be again a solo pilot with a good medical, but I still flew airplanes as often as I could with other people. That all I needed was an instructor to fly the private pilot syllabus with me to be sure I could still safely do all the things I've always done. I had a sneaky feeling that there was much old stuff I've forgotten, much new stuff I never learned, and I was probably compounding my old mistakes by repeating them over and over again. This proved to be the only thing I was 100 percent right about today. Oh boy, am I glad we did this.
Miss DeKoster and I agreed to meet at the airport at 8 a.m. this morning. I may be out of date as last year's newspaper, but I still knew that the brief time of still morning airs here along the Gulf coast would be the best time for a senior citizen student to be out trying to pay attention. Last night was like trying to go to sleep on Christmas Eve. (I still believe in Santa Claus, he puts toys under our tree for me.) I kept waking up, looking to see what time it was.
Also I had never flown with a woman flight instructor before. Heidi DeKoster--what kind of name is that? What if she turns out to be a Hungarian femme fatale and I fall madly in love with her? A thing like that will spoil your check ride. It turns out that Heidi is from Le Mars, Iowa, a graduate of LeTourneau University, is the type of young lady you would invite over for Thanksgiving dinner to meet the rest of your family. Mr. DeKoster, you should be very proud of your daughter.
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