Heel and Attitude

Heel went first, and showed the bank.

[HEEL, smooth]: My part is the lean. I tilt the wings — bank them — and the lift, which always points straight out of the wings, now points partly sideways. That sideways pull is what curves the plane around. Bank is what makes a turn a turn.

She threw a banked plane, and it curved — but as it curved, its nose dropped, and it spiraled downward toward the floor.

[HEEL, rueful]: But watch. Bank alone does this. When I borrow some of the up-lift to make the turn, there's less holding the plane against gravity — so it sinks, nose-first, into a spiral. My lean, by itself, is a turn that falls out of the sky.

Then Attitude showed the other half.

[ATTITUDE, precise]: That is where I come in. My part is the nose. As Heel banks, I raise the nose a touch with the elevator — just enough to make back the lift she borrowed for the turn. Pitch up, exactly as much as the bank costs.

She threw a plane with the nose raised but wings level, and it simply climbed away, straight ahead, no turn at all.

[ATTITUDE, wry]: But my move alone is just as useless. Raise the nose with no bank, and you only climb in a straight line. A lifted nose doesn't turn anything. It just holds height — and there's no turn to hold.

Then they threw one together — Heel banking, Attitude lifting the nose at the very same instant.

[HEEL, satisfied]: Bank the wings— [ATTITUDE, in time]: —and lift the nose, together— [NARRATOR, warm]: —and the plane carved around clean, curving smoothly and holding its height the whole way, instead of spiraling toward the floor. One motion, made of two.

The young flyers asked why it had to be both, at once.

[HEEL, teaching]: Because each of us fixes exactly what the other breaks. My bank makes the turn but costs height. Attitude's raised nose makes back the height but can't turn. Neither alone is a good turn.