When you fly with a copilot, you need to understand this: Anything they do wrong is your fault. Your boss, the FAA, even your wife will ask "Why did you let him do that?" Flying with a copilot is both good and bad. A good copilot (Tom W or Rachel R) makes life better, safer, happier. A bad copilot makes the flight a single pilot operation with a handicap in the right seat. You have to watch those copilots every second. It's exhausting.
August 29, 2016. We're flying the usual route, St Louis to Atlanta, then Charlotte and down to Orlando. We always arrive in Charlotte at the busiest time of the day, so things are typically crazy, like WalMart on Black Friday. Planes are landing and taking off from 36R every couple of minutes, and in the blistering August heat the rubber and grease on the pavement is slick and sticky. My copilot is flying while I work the radio. Speedy isn't the worst, nor is he the best. He's pretty good most of the time. One CRJ takes off just ahead of us, an American Airbus is close behind us and the tower is obviously planning on squeezing out another CRJ right after we land. So the need here is to keep the speed up, then land and make the turnoff right in front of Wilson Jet Center, which is where we're going. This requires some talent to accomplish, but my copilot Speedy has a habit of landing fast. And today is no exception.
On short final he is supposed to pull the power back and slow quickly to landing speed. Not happening. We fly over the threshold as the tower says "Brickyard 4211, line up and wait, be ready, traffic three mile final." As he screws around trying to get a smooth landing I say "Get this thing on the ground, will you?!" He lands it and we're going like a bat, and here comes our turn off. The next one is way down the runway and missing this will completely screw up the tower's plans, cause American to go around, and get us in Dutch with everybody. He starts to bring the engines into reverse and I shout "I got it!", get on the reversers hard and mash on the brakes. A Metroliner brakes are next to worthless, so pushing hard is usually an effort in futility. Today however, the right outboard brake decides to work much better than the rest, the slick runway helps the process, and lo and behold the right outboard wheel locks up. I don't know it because I'm steering onto the exit and the Metro cockpit is LOUD. But the guys on the ramp at Wilson Jet Center hear it. They all look up to the sound of a locked up tire, smoke pouring from the wheel, engines in reverse. They said it was quite an impressive sight indeed. We get slowed to a nice slow speed and taxi in while running the After Landing checklist. As we pull into the parking spot everyone is pointing at the right landing gear. I get out and see this (brand new) tire with a great big hole in it and smell the unmistakable smell of burnt rubber. Ah, crap. So I call it in and we spend the night there while maintenance sends a new tire and wheel assembly to Charlotte overnight. Inside, the girls behind the counter were quite impressed. Took them just a minute to come up with my new nickname: Screech.
