When do I get my pilot's license?

I love pilot experiments. Love as in luuurrrrrrrve.

What's not to love? You have a brainy idea, you scour out an unusual reagent or two, you sit down at your bench/other, you give it a whirl, and perhaps achieve the magical N = 1 that calls for further investigation. If not, perhaps you've wasted as little as an afternoon.

I was thinking about this in context of PhysioProf's discussion about what PIs are best at. (There's the linkluuuurrrrve return.) He made a good argument that he is the best person in the lab for writing grants, interpreting projects, etc, and therefore his time is best spent doing those things, rather than hands-on experiments. This seems eminently sensible.

A few months ago, I had dinner with another PI, who had a different take on things. He said that (up until quite recently, when other demands on his time had finally won out) his preferred MO in the lab was to do pilot experiments, based on his deep and rich knowledge of the literature. When said experiments looked promising, he'd hand them off to a grad student or postdoc to pursue. When experiments tanked, no big loss--he'd just go back to writing grants that week.

Given the constraints of experimental needs, plus the demands on new PIs, I imagine that I am more likely to follow PhysioProf's model of training up people, then letting them run. However, this other PI (who is not the same person I described in yesterday's post) sure sounded as though he lived in my idea of paradise.

A year or two ago, a PI visited our lab to get some pilot data for a grant he was submitting. We had a transgenic critter he thought would be useful, but the time required to transfer said critter to his lab would have been too long for him to get useful pilot data by the grant deadline. So he visited to try some experiments with us for two days.

I hung out with him as he did, partly because I wanted to learn more about his science, partly because he was using my stuff. Late into Day Two, he was still struggling to get his pilot N=1, because of all the unfamiliar materials at hand. I eagerly (like, salivating....) jumped at the chance to help him out. We got the N=1, he was delighted, and I had crazy fun. I should note that these data had nothing to do with my research. Aside from perhaps impressing Visiting Guy with my batshit craziness, this interlude did nothing to advance my career. Still, pilot N=1 data....that's my scientific Eden.