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Neglect not thy rudder on take-off for lo the Laws of Physics shall smite thee full sore.
A week ago, Sunday, I let my RV-9A make an unintended left exit from runway 25R at Livermore. On takeoff. I’m as dumb as a bagful of hammers.
Most VAF pilots will probably learn little from my story. But confession is good for the soul, and humble pilots may still, I pray, become better pilots. If they work for it….
The What
Winds were calm, visibility 5 miles, mid-morning temperature 86 F, altimeter 29.98, DA 2200 ft. Held the brakes and pushed in full throttle to verify static rpm and fuel flow: both normal. Released brakes, began tracking the centerline, and as always, input a touch of up elevator to relieve nose gear loading as soon as possible.
I was heading slightly left of centerline as the airplane started feeling light on its feet, then it turned even more left just as the wheels left the ground. I started rolling to the right, then immediately back level as I was a few feet AGL at most.
Now I was past the left edge of the runway, and the airplane didn’t feel like it was at flying speed. Deciding that “saving” the horrible situation would likely make it worse, so I chopped the throttle and the mains were on the (desiccated) grass in short order. I held the nose up and didn’t apply brakes until she came off the grass onto taxiway Charlie. I overran its centerline. The right main apparently left the pavement briefly as I turned back and stopped, past the hold short line for runway 25L.
Tower called, “Eight Papa Kilo, do you need assistance?” The roll felt normal as I came to a stop, so I replied, “Eight Papa Kilo, let me taxi off 25L to the south hangar’s west ramp,” which lay straight ahead.
As I pulled off the alleyway and shut down, I tried to take stock. No physical injuries to the pilot. Walk-around found no bent or dented metal, no dings or scratches on the prop, but both main gear wheel pants were completely FUBAR. One must have clipped the destroyed 25R runway light that airport maintenance found along the—ahem—path of unintended flight, as shown in the glorious Google Earth KML.
Meanwhile, airport maintenance swept away the FOD I dragged onto taxiway Charlie, and normal ops on both runways resumed. The maintenance tech was then dispatched to make sure I stayed put pending notification of the powers that be. He put his smart phone on speaker: it was humbling, to say the very least, recounting the story to airport staff and NTSB officials on duty over the holiday weekend. It was blinking obvious what I did wrong, but I struggled to understand why I let it happen.
There being no injuries or substantial damage, the morning’s follies were classified: Incident. NTSB would have no further involvement. I started up again, sheepishly asked Ground for taxi to the north hangars, and began a self-imposed safety stand down.