CHAPTER 17 / TAXIING & WIND—TAILWHEEL WISDOM: KEEP ONE EYE ON THE COWS.

Taildraggers are—much like your vengeful ex who never deleted your number—inherently unstable on the ground. Why? Because someone, somewhere in the 1930s thought it was a great idea to put the centre of gravity behind the main gear. You are now operating a machine that, by design, wants to pivot into chaos at the slightest provocation. Unlike the benevolent nose-wheel in your cheerful little trainer—always there to hold your hand, whisper affirmations, and yank your overconfident head out of a sling—this tailwheel is not your friend.

It’s not even a frenemy.

It’s your stalker. It lurks behind you like a sentient regret on casters—waiting for weakness, waiting for pride, waiting for you to mutter, “Eh, it’s just a light breeze.”

As long as you stay twitchy and paranoid—like a Cold War spy in a trench coat made of unpaid bills—you might survive.

But the second you relax…
The instant you taxi with the smug swagger of a man who thinks wind is a suggestion?

Boom.

You're in a full custody battle with Newton, unmedicated wind gods, and every questionable life choice you’ve ever filed under “character building.”
Kalli doesn’t speak.
He just watches from the hangar—expression unreadable, cigarette burning—like a man observing the first crack form in a nuclear reactor he built himself out of boredom.

The Cub spins.
The tires scream.
The livestock scatter like they’ve seen this movie before.

And the nose?
It dips forward in betrayal.
While your face is lovingly exfoliated across the apron like expired deli meat being ejected from an airport sandwich press—with extra gravel.

This isn’t theory.
This is Hell—paved with broken windsocks and funded by insurance claims.

So yes—be alert.
Not relaxed. Not confident.
Alert.

Because taxiing in wind isn’t just tricky.
It’s an ambush with paperwork.

WIND: FRIEND, FOE, OR JUST A VERY LOUD OPINION?

Let’s face it:
Unless you plan on becoming one of those hangar-bound philosophers who only taxi when the wind is under 2 knots and the goats are napping, you’re eventually going to have to face wind like an adult.

And that means your first real task of the day—before you head out into that turbulent, godforsaken air and get blown sideways like a weather balloon tied to a lawn chair—is simple:

KNOW. YOUR. LIMITS.

Tattoo it on your forehead if necessary.

Because here’s the truth:
Good flying is about the decisions you don’t make.
Until you’ve mastered the one-wheel landing—and don’t worry, we’ll get to that flaming circus act later—you have no business being on the taxiway, let alone near the runway, and absolutely not in the air.

So. Let’s proceed like someone who wants to survive.
Start by asking yourself a few deeply uncomfortable questions:

❓ Where’s the wind coming from?

Think spaghetti western tumbleweeds.
Think livestock flying past your windshield like it's trying to warn you.
Think Mother Nature holding up a middle finger.

❓ How strong is it?

Are the cows standing sideways at a weird angle?
Have they started flocking like penguins behind the hangar?
Are the birds looking nervous?
Are there any birds left at all?
Is the FBO staff already placing bets?

❓ Can I actually handle this?

Not in your dreams.
Not because you binge-watched Top Gun: Maverick with tears in your eyes and a beer in your hand.
Can you handle this crosswind with your actual feet and your current insurance plan?

❓ And finally:

How do I get through this without earning this year’s Darwin Award for General Aviation, a shattered aircraft, and the full wrath of Kalli, who’s already eyeing the parts catalogue?

🧨 STEP ONE: CONSULT THE WINDSOCK

The sacred, sagging prophet of wind-based regret.

If your airport is halfway civilised—and the windsock wasn’t sewn together from your grandmother’s underwear drawer—then there’s a good chance it follows an actual aviation standard.

Here’s the breakdown:

• If it’s limp: You're probably good.
• If it's halfway up: Start paying attention.
• If it’s standing fully horizontal like a marine on inspection day—
  Congratulations.
  You’re dealing with ~20 knots of crosswind, and the sock is saluting your impending humiliation.

This is not the moment to improvise.
This is not your chance to be Maverick, Goose, or any other character that didn’t die halfway through the film.

This is the moment to check your rudder discipline, respect your brake sensitivity, acknowledge your center-of-gravity betrayal, and ask yourself one final question:

Have your passengers signed anything legally binding?

Because the wind doesn’t care.
The Cub doesn’t care.
And Kalli has already lit his cigarette.