FIRST SOLO – Born to Fly

by John Chmiel

I knew I was going to solo. I just didn’t know when. I was going to be a pilot someday, and I don’t have any recollection to the contrary since birth. My first word was “airplane.”

Playing airport on my bed with plastic airplanes and a shoebox as a hangar, was my first conscious memory of being human. Flying was my manifest destiny. Growing up my summers were spent at whatever airport my dad was working at, namely Merrill, Wisconsin, then Rhinelander. I was one of the airport kids. After work, my dad would take me flying. When I was young, it was a J-3 in Merrill with the door open. Once it was a Cherokee and he let me fly the airplane. The yoke came up to my forehead, but I was the one flying. Later my dad got a Citabria and he showed me my first loop. Then he got a Cessna 172 (N3666L) as I got old enough for him to teach me some stick and rudder flying. Those flights happened at the end of the day, and I just remember on return to Earth, the endorphins were popping on the ride home because everything felt like it was going in slow motion. I knew I wanted that feeling for the rest of my life. I knew I would solo someday.

After summers ended, I returned to school in Hayward, California. That’s right, “California,” not “Wisconsin.”

During elementary, junior high and high school, I would ride my bike 7 miles to the airport and 7 miles back home to get my aviation fix. I begged for rides from any pilot that would listen. I read all the airplane books, built all kinds of model airplanes, and worked as an aircraft hygienist all through high school. I dreamt of being a flight instructor, running an FBO, and a small airport. That’s how I took ownership of my job, by imagining that the airplane I was cleaning, the customer I was helping, and the FBO I was working for, was mine!

My mother had a different dream for me, and that was “college.” She thought I was too airplane crazy and encouraged me to pursue other interests. College was going to be expensive. So instead of flying lessons, I saved up for college. I was obedient and disappointed simultaneously. I secretly got some lessons when I was in high school in California. The thing I remember the most was that on my first lesson, my CFI was so impressed with the skills taught by my father, that he decided to demonstrate a spin. It was fun and it didn’t bother me, but with the experience I’ve since earned as an instructor, I now realize that probably wasn’t the thing to do on a first lesson. I think I only flew a couple more times until my mom found out.

I tried college and was miserable. I quit and convinced my parents that wasn’t the career path for me. Then I pursued what I really wanted to do when I returned to Rhinelander.

I got a job at Rhinelander Flying Service and began pursuing my private pilot certificate. My instructor was Tim Ashe… a Special Forces pilot who flew DC3s in Vietnam. Tim had the greatest work ethic I’ve ever seen, was unflappable, and had the kind of wit I liked. He seemed to take a shine to me and we hit it off. Flight lessons with Tim were great and I progressed as quickly as I could afford to. In those days, not much time was spent with ground instruction, so that was up to me. Tim wasn’t a man of many words in the cockpit. But this was before intercoms too, so I understand why few words were spoken. (I think intercoms can make it too easy to talk nowadays, which can interfere with the teaching/learning process as well.)

Now I want to say something I’ve noticed over the years. There are a couple problems with growing up an airport kid. The first one is that since you’ve been hanging around airports so long, everyone just assumes that over those years you’ve learned a lot more than the people off the street. There’s truth in that but, they also don’t know what you don’t know. And you don’t know what you don’t know.

When I would ask for a critique of my flying, Tim didn’t have much to say, except that I was one the best students he ever had, and my dad had done a good job with me. Because these debrief conversations were short and brief, I always felt like there had to be something I had to be missing. I just had to figure out what.

The second problem is that airport kids are under a lot more pressure to succeed in aviation than kids off the street. The pressure is mostly self-induced, but it comes from the airport regulars too. Questions like, “how many hours do you have now?” and “have you soloed yet?” unintentionally apply that pressure each time they are uttered, even though they are meant as encouragement.

As I got closer to the fateful day, that pressure was building. I was still in the single digits in my official logbook when I realized what was about to happen… That I was really going to have to do this by myself pretty soon. And that’s when I started getting nervous and thinking about it every night before bed. Stomach aches and diarrhea from a nervous stomach occurred daily from the pressure I was putting on myself.

We were training in a Cessna 152 (N6111Q) and things went well until one day I came out to fly and my poor little trainer had just run off the runway with a fellow student and hit a runway light. It was going to be down for repairs for a while. I was devastated, but Tim said “No big deal… Let’s just start flying N5251E.” 51E was a Cessna 172 with a 180 hp conversion. A lot more airplane than I was used to with my experience. But Tim was convinced it wouldn’t be a problem.

The first time I got in that airplane, I thought I was flying a fighter! Way more power, the controls were stiffer and the climb angles were steeper, and it flew faster. So much so that I felt like I was hanging onto the tail for most of the flight. It was also February, so performance was at its greatest with the low-density altitude. So, for the next couple hours, we reviewed how to do the same maneuvers, like stalls, slow flight, and steep turns in the larger C172. It was cool flying the bigger airplane, but I was looking forward to returning to the comfort of the C152 and getting on with my solo plans.

Then it was time to stay in the pattern and figure out take-offs and landings in the Skyhawk, but Tim was saying much less than usual. I didn’t understand why and wondered what I might be doing wrong. After the third landing, Tim said it was time to taxi in. It felt like the lesson was ending early. When we got to the FBO, Tim didn’t let me shut off the engine. He got out and as he stowed the seatbelts on his side, and said, “Take it around three times and have fun!”

I just remember thinking, “What?!” This isn’t the C152! This is the Skyhawk! “Are you sure?” I never had any inkling that that was the day I was going to solo. I tentatively added power to taxi to the end of Runway 9, a mile away, and as I did, my knees started shaking. For real! The day I had planned for my whole life was here and I couldn’t believe it and I never thought it would be that day in a Skyhawk.

The shaky knees never stopped as I rolled onto the runway and lined up. I just remember that the moment I pushed in the throttle for that first take-off, my knees immediately stopped shaking, and a calm came over me. The moment I had waited for my entire lifetime was finally here.

When I turned onto the downwind leg, I couldn’t even believe it was happening as I soaked in the scene, but I knew I could do it. I had “chair flown” it and rehearsed it a million times in my head. The picture of Runway 9 on downwind during that first solo will be etched in my memory forever! Everything happened the way it should have and my training kicked in. The rest of the flight went well, and as I taxied in, I relished that moment of a lifetime. I had finally joined the club and was on my way to the future.

I passed my checkride a few months later with Wisconsin Aviation Hall of Fame inductee, Duffy Gaier of Marshfield, Wis. Even though Designated Pilot Examiners (DPEs) are told not to teach, I still remember almost everything Duffy taught me on checkrides. He also gave me the highest compliment you can give to a pilot, “John, I’d let you fly my kids.”

As soon as I could, I got my commercial certificate so I could tow banners that I had bought to earn flying money. That’s a whole separate article to be written.

I’m one of the few people on earth blessed enough to live the dream I had for my life as a kid. I am a CFI. I co-own Wausau Flying Service, and I manage Wausau Downtown Airport. I thank God for that every morning, plus I am proud to say that my son is now a professional pilot! 

And I still teach the same lessons taught to me by my dad, Tim Ashe, Terry Hill, Dave Hanson, Duffy, Keith Myers and all the other CFIs I’ve ever flown with, often in their own words. That journey began the day of my first solo and the day I was truly born to aviation.

Editor’s Note: Share your story about your “First Solo” by emailing midwestflyer.com@gmail.com. This series was started January 1, 2026, you can view more articles like this by clicking here.