tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140012152024-03-13T10:18:13.514-04:00The PapaGolf ChroniclesDaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.comBlogger682125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-46885538849971780512011-04-06T20:45:00.002-04:002011-04-07T13:14:30.876-04:00It's all about the windThe annual is finally done, and after an epic struggle, the engine cowls are back on the airplane. What with the shiny, tight new hinges, it was a bit of a chore to get the pins to go in. It had to be done, though: I had a flight scheduled that I didn't want to miss. We're going through an ISO certification at the paying job and the corporate office experts are in town to help me muddle my way through the explanations of the somewhat quirky processes that result from the small size of our business unit and the heavy dependence we have on IT in-house services (i.e. me). <br />
<br />
One of the corporate specialists is Jen, who just had her first flying lesson this past weekend. She's flying out of Oakland, and if nothing else, the scenery is spectacular.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5tbBlpZWNt4/TZ2nCdfuVWI/AAAAAAAAN88/yxRWSTik4Wc/s1600/P1010384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5tbBlpZWNt4/TZ2nCdfuVWI/AAAAAAAAN88/yxRWSTik4Wc/s400/P1010384.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
As spectacular as her training environment will/would be, there will be costs above and beyond the rental charges to consider, though. It's a forty-five minute trip to the airport, and the Bay Area is notorious for winds and fog. She's still on the fence about whether she will continue with the lessons or not, but one way or the other she has developed a taste for flight.<br />
<br />
Me? As you've seen in these pages before, I've developed a taste for flying with pretty women. <br />
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We scheduled our flight for Wednesday night as that night offered the best opportunity to break away from the group. Unfortunately, the winds did not want to cooperate. As Jen will eventually learn in her training, the wind is always, always, <i>always</i> a consideration in flying. High winds need to be considered in all aspects of any given flight. With a light plane, the pilot has to be aware of the direction of the wind even when taxiing out to the runway. A strong enough wind from the side could, for example, lift a wing or even flip over the airplane. The same strong wind will affect the directional control on takeoff, ground speed (and thus projected fuel requirements) while enroute, and all manner of things while approaching to land. A crosswind will factor in the pilot's approach and landing pattern as it attempts to move the plane closer to or further from the optimum downwind and base leg paths. It will certainly have an affect on the final approach and landing, even if it is right down the runway.<br />
<br />
Even light winds need to be considered, albeit not quite as heavily. A light wind on takeoff will require more runway to reach a flyable airspeed. The landing roll out will be longer as well without a good headwind to slow the airplane. Light winds also have an affect at uncontrolled airports where each individual pilot gets to determine which runway direction is "active" and the wind isn't providing a clear choice.<br />
<br />
The forecast for our flight was winds out of the southwest at 18 knots, gusting to the high 20's. That's too much wind for my comfort. Later in the day, the forecast showed the winds tapering off to 10 knots at or around 7:00 pm. That's more like it! At the end of the workday, the winds were still too high but we decided to make the trip across town anyway in the hopes that the forecast for lower winds would come true and we'd be able to fly.<br />
<br />
By the time we got there, the forecast had been amended: 25 knots gusting to 37.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
Not today, then.<br />
<br />
Having made the trip, though, we decided we might as well go over to the hangar for a tour. I got to show off my half-completed RV-12, up to and including a quick demonstration of the always impressive pneumatic rivet puller and the often intriguing concept of clecos. After about a half hour of expostulating on the benefits of the RV-12, I figured it was about time we give up and go get some dinner instead. But... it seemed less windy. I called the AWOS phone number and sure enough, the winds has dropped to 17 gusting 22. Right down the runway.<br />
<br />
That was more like it! Just another couple of knots...<br />
<br />
By the time we got into the plane, the tower was reporting 15 gusting 20-ish. It's a go!<br />
<br />
The takeoff was a breeze (so to speak) and we were soon climbing towards the setting sun. At 3,000' I let Jen take the controls. Her first lesson having been primarily on the topics of straight & level flight and sightseeing, she demonstrated her acquired skills in each. After a few minutes of that, I showed her how to determine our compass direction (well, ground track to be perfectly precise) from the GPS and how to turn to a given heading. North being my first choice, my aging eyes having quickly tired of squinting into the later afternoon sun.<br />
<br />
After a series of gentle turns, I took over and demonstrated some of the more aggressive maneuvers available in the repertoire of an RV-6 pilot. I think above all of the great things about flying with neophytes is the kick I get from spontaneous delighted laughs. Or squeals, as the case may be.<br />
<br />
I can only do so much of that without risking the onset of nausea in both pilot and passenger, so we then climbed up to sufficient altitude to overfly Columbus without invoking the dreadful ire of Columbus Approach, and by extension, should my luck run that way, the FAA. <br />
<br />
By the time we got back to Bolton, the winds were down to 13 gusting 21, still right down the runway. We were well positioned for an entry to right base, although with the twenty degrees of crab I needed to hold us close to the runway, it was a very ill-defined base leg. Crawling down final gave me plenty of time to assess the slight crosswind component and set up for a flare right over the numbers. The touchdown wasn't bad at all, but the roll out had my feet moving fast enough to qualify for a spot on Dancing with the Stars. With the extra wind over the nose, the tail stayed up longer than normal which meant that most of my steering was with the rudder rather than the tailwheel. That can be tricky as the airflow across the rudder decreases and I have to start stabbing at the brakes. By the time the tail finally dropped, we were almost at a crawl.<br />
<br />
We turned off at Alpha 3 and I congratulated myself on a "good enough" landing.<br />
<br />
We ran into a little problem while heading back to the hangar. A pair of geese have built a nest by one of the hangars and one of them was standing right in the middle of the taxiway. You don't dare hit one of them; that would qualify as a prop strike and required a federally-mandated tear down of the engine to check for damage to the crankshaft. In other words, thousands of dollars. I finally encouraged the goose to move out of the way, but he wasn't at all happy about it. As with any entitlement-minded member of a government-protected identity class, he got very vocal about any perceived encroachment on his rights. As we went by, he was at full neck extension, honking his fool head off. I expect he and the missus will be camping in a capital rotunda somewhere soon.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-11204592860891518222011-03-04T16:41:00.000-05:002011-03-04T16:41:20.571-05:00The final chapter<a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/classified_525979_RV-6.html">Now showing</a> on Barnstormers.com:<br />
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<div align="left" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/classified_525979_RV-6.html" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;"><b>RV-6</b></a> • $56,500 • <span style="color: red;"><b>FOR SALE</b></span> • </span>Beautiful and eye-catching low time RV-6 must go to make room for RV-12. 400 TT. Lyc. O-320 A2D 150 hp 400 TTS Factory Reman., Sensenich FP prop 400 since new. Garmin 396 GPS, Dynon D-6, ICOM A200, Intercom, KLN-89B GPS, strobes, nav lights, sump pre-heat, electric flaps. Nice interior. Always hangared. Annuals performed by a trusted A&P. This is a simple, reliable, low-maintenance RV-6 built in the spirit Van intended. Emails preferred. • Contact <a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/contact_seller.php?to=44275&id=525979&title=RV-6&return=%2Fad_manager%2Fmy_ads.php" style="color: blue;">Dave Gamble</a>, Owner - located Grove City, OH USA • Telephone: 614 277-1269 • Posted March 4, 2011 <span style="display: inline; font-size: 8pt;">• <a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/listing.php?mode=usersearch&user=44275" style="color: blue;">Show all Ads posted by this Advertiser</a> •<a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/recommend.php?id=525979&title=RV-6" style="color: blue;">Recommend This Ad to a Friend</a> • <a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/contact_seller.php?to=44275&id=525979&title=RV-6&return=%2Fad_manager%2Fmy_ads.php" style="color: blue;">Email Advertiser</a> • <a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/ad_manager/watchlist.php?ADD=525979" style="color: blue;">Save to Watchlist</a> • <a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/report_ad.php?id=525979&title=RV-6" style="color: blue;">Report This Ad</a> • <a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/ad_detail.php?ID=525979&go_to_images=1" style="color: blue;">View Larger Pictures</a> •<a href="http://www.barnstormers.com/bac_loan_calc/bac_loanCalc.html" style="color: blue;" target="_blank">Finance</a></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="4" src="http://www.barnstormers.com/images/1x1.gif" width="1" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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I have to confess that posting the ad hurt a lot more than I thought it would. I knew the day was coming when I first pulled a rivet on the RV-12, but....<br />
<br />
...it still hurts.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-67808154205101365122011-02-15T19:08:00.001-05:002011-02-16T08:05:03.608-05:00Learning to FlyWell, that's what it felt like, anyway. I was aghast when I looked at my flight log and saw that I had not flown since November someteenth, 2010. I knew it had been awhile, but I had no idea that for the first time in twenty years I had let my VFR currency lapse.<br />
<br />
Wait, what? Well, I think the FAA can say it better than I can:<br />
<blockquote><h5>§ 61.57 Recent flight experience: Pilot in command.</h5>(a) <i>General experience. </i>(1) Except as provided in paragraph (e) of this section, no person may act as a pilot in command of an aircraft carrying passengers or of an aircraft certificated for more than one pilot flight crewmember unless that person has made at least three takeoffs and three landings within the preceding 90 days, and—<br />
(i) The person acted as the sole manipulator of the flight controls; and<br />
(ii) The required takeoffs and landings were performed in an aircraft of the same category, class, and type (if a type rating is required), and, if the aircraft to be flown is an airplane with a tailwheel, the takeoffs and landings must have been made to a full stop in an airplane with a tailwheel.</blockquote>Clear as mud, right? Basically it means that the FAA thinks I will forget how to fly an airplane on the 91st day of not doing so. It also says that they're fine with me going out alone and teaching myself how to fly all over again, but they'd prefer that I not risk anyone else's bacon. There's a little wrinkle in there for tailwheel airplanes like mine: the landings have to be to a full stop on the runway. This is as opposed to nosewheel airplanes which are, when compared to tailwheel airplanes, so easy to fly that you only have to show the ability to find the runway and smack into it with two out of the three wheels.<br />
<br />
And to some degree, I think they're right. It had been 94 days since I had last flown and I definitely felt something akin to trepidation as I was driving home from work marveling at the fact that it's still the middle of February and the car thermometer was indicating 44 degrees outside. The winds were light out of the south-southeast and there was only a thin layer of clouds at the 10,000' level, far above any altitude that I would be likely to reach if I were to go out and practice a few landings. The tingling of nerves came from the inescapable fact that this was good flying weather and that I really, <i>really</i> needed to get back into the air, whether I felt perfectly secure in my ability to do so or not.<br />
<br />
It was, however, by no means a given that Papa would share my desire to fly. Having endured three months of inactivity and bitter cold, there was a chance that I wouldn't even be able to get the engine to start. Although brand new, it was possible that the battery would have lost sufficient charge to crank the engine after sitting idle in the cold weather. There was also a question of logistics: would I be able to even get the plane out, what with all of the RV-12 construction going on?<br />
<br />
The latter question was answered first: I was able to navigate Papa out of the hangar without knocking anything over or dinging any parts on either airplane. This begged a follow-on question: would I be able to do the same thing in reverse when I got back?<br />
<br />
After the kind of extensive preflight that I do when I haven't flown for awhile (which has more to do with delaying the moment when I will have to bet the farm on my retained ability to actually fly an airplane than it does on distrust of the equipment) I climbed in and settled into the now unfamiliar cockpit environment. Geez, the two open holes where I yanked out the gyros are still there. I haven't installed that Dynon yet?? I spent a few moments reviewing the engine start procedures in my mind, proceeded with them once I was sure I had the order correct, applied just a titch more fuel prime than I would normally, and engaged the starter.<br />
<br />
I had worried needlessly.<br />
<br />
A strong, hearty crank of two blades and the engine sprang to something passably like life. Like a bedridden patient that's taking his first steps after months of inactivity, there was a little limping and complaining, but within a minute or two everything had smoothed out. I wanted to let the engine loaf along at a low idle for a few minutes anyway, so my usual angst at the delay caused by the GPS having been lobotomized to the degree that it couldn't even tell what day it was didn't lead to the normal hurling of derogatory insults at the smug little box.<br />
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While the engine was shaking off the deleterious effects of months-long neglect, I rehearsed my pending communications with the control tower. I've found that it pays to slow my radio tempo down considerably when talking to ATC after any significant gap in my recent experience. If I were to try going from zero-to-sixty like I would normally do, I end up tripping over my words like a lying five year old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or a Congressman presented with photographic evidence of marital malfeasance. Either way, it's embarrassing, so I try to avoid it.<br />
<br />
All went well, although I was a little curious as to why I would be taxiing to runway 4. Both wind socks were indicating that the prevailing breeze would slightly favor runway 22. I suppose the ultra-sophisticated and high-calibrated electronic gadgetry in the control tower was presenting a more accurate representation of the conditions than the extraordinarily low-tech windsocks. Who ya gonna believe? At a wind speed of four knots and a difference in wind direction wavering between ten to twenty degrees, I figured it wasn't worth making a fuss over, particularly since there was an inbound on the ILS 4 approach. I wasn't going to win that argument, I figured, so why start it?<br />
<br />
I spent a little longer on the engine run-up than I normally would, mostly because I wanted the engine to have every opportunity to forfeit the game while we were still safely on the ground, but also because I knew I was going to have to wait for the ILS arrival to either land or go off on the missed approach. All of the cylinders were showing heat on the EGT and the mag drop on both sides was nominal, and the ILS arrival broke off the approach a mile out. There were no more excuses; it was time to try to fly!<br />
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The takeoff was a breeze, given the minimal impact of, well, the breeze. We were soon climbing out to the west with Papa screaming skyward at an impressive 1,500 feet per minute and me struggling to get my head around the fact that we weren't still rolling down the runway. Experience quickly kicked in and I went through the transition from takeoff to flying which is simply fuel pump off, lean the mixture, and start paying attention to where we're going. We toodled along at 3,500' at nearly full throttle for the fifteen or twenty minutes that I figured it would take to get the oil heated up enough to burn out any moisture that may have gathered in it and, to be honest, delay the moment when I'd have to again bet the farm on my retained ability to land an airplane. <br />
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The moment when the rubber meets the road, if you will.<br />
<br />
There's not much to say about the ensuing landings. We were right traffic to runway 4 which meant that I had to be careful not to let the wind get me pushed in too close to the runway or let it push me too far out on the base leg. It took a couple of landings to get over my ground shyness and let the plane descend on the base leg, and it also took those two landings to get over the feeling of the plane traveling very fast in the flare. It also takes a few landings to get used to the RV-6's pitch sensitivity in the flare. With all that said, I thought all four of the landings were acceptable. None were great, but all were satisfactory.<br />
<br />
While carefully pushing the Papa back into the hangar, I couldn't helping thinking about how nice it was to feel like a pilot again.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-64765950849786510722011-02-05T13:53:00.000-05:002011-02-05T13:53:57.719-05:00I remember when...... I used to be a pilot.<br />
<br />
This has to have been one of the worst winters ever for bad flying weather, although I do recognize that I probably say that every year. It has been gray, gray, gray.<br />
<br />
It looked like Friday afternoon might be nice enough for a set of touch & goes, but that idea was mooted by the sheet of ice in front of the hangar. The airport maintenance folks had been up and down the taxiway in front of the hangar with one of the big brush trucks they use on the runway, but that had the not-so-great result of simply burnishing the ice to a rink-quality sheen.<br />
<br />
Except, of course, for the ice wall. That was still there and every bit as insurmountable as ever. It doesn't look like much, but you have to remember that I'd have to push the airplane over it with only the grip my feet could get in the shiny ice to act as a fulcrum.<br />
<br />
Not likely to work, that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TU2coUXeR8I/AAAAAAAANyc/G5H4dlc_o4c/s1600/P2049262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TU2coUXeR8I/AAAAAAAANyc/G5H4dlc_o4c/s400/P2049262.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TU2co_mVHCI/AAAAAAAANyg/13_ZM2BNles/s1600/P2049265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TU2co_mVHCI/AAAAAAAANyg/13_ZM2BNles/s400/P2049265.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-50060600459731029842011-02-02T17:22:00.001-05:002011-02-02T17:22:52.652-05:00Arriving today via UPS, weather permittingWe're in the clutches of an ice storm, and while that's better than the pummeling that the rest of the midwest is getting, it's still playing havoc on transportation and commerce. But should the UPS truck manage to slip/slide its way to my driveway, I should be receiving one of these today:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TUnYVZw7MyI/AAAAAAAANwo/S6JGxICRoQU/s1600/1-Step+Lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TUnYVZw7MyI/AAAAAAAANwo/S6JGxICRoQU/s400/1-Step+Lg.jpg" width="376" /></a></div><br />
What in the world is that?? Well, a picture is worth a thousand words, so a YouTube must be worth 30,000 words per second:<br />
<br />
<iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3Lkcpha_hlk" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen></iframe><br />
<br />
That's probably to most boring video on YouTube, at least after the first minute, but it certainly shows what a Trius 1-Step is and how it works. Not how it should be used, though. He really ought to be pressing it with his left foot. Still, you get the idea.<br />
<br />
The idea is simple: it is to allow me to practice my shooting on off weeks from sporting clays. Now I just need to find a big, open field...DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-16861383673041488072011-01-31T06:04:00.000-05:002011-01-31T06:04:08.076-05:00Another round of sporting claysWhen you consider that my first full 10-station round with a 12 gauge was two weeks ago, and that it came right on the heels of my first time shooting a shotgun in my life, today was a resounding success. That round last week when I first tried a 12 gauge?<br />
<br />
I shot 7 out of 50.<br />
<br />
Today, with my new (to me) shotgun and two rounds of experience under my belt? <br />
<br />
Missed 'em all!<br />
<br />
No, just kidding! I can't believe how much better I did. Out of the first two pairs, I nailed three birds. It went on like that for the rest of the round. I finished with a total of 22 out of 50! Out of the five of us in the group, that was second best. The new gun worked great, but a big part of the improvement came from a suggestion from one of the guys I was shooting with. He's pretty new at it too, and he was also having the same problem I was having with trying to aim like you would with a rifle. They say with the shotgun you should shoot with both eyes open rather than with one closed as you would with a rifle. His advice was to ignore those guys and go ahead and just use one eye. It made all the difference!<br />
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I took my little camcorder with me today and while I'm a little disappointed in the jerkiness of some of the video, at least you can get an idea of what it's like.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4uxS8GaQtxE" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="640"></p><p></iframe>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-64852232966700370362011-01-31T06:03:00.000-05:002011-01-31T06:03:19.125-05:00Crossposting just to keep this blog aliveI haven't been flying at all this winter. Just the other day I was thinking about how fun it used to be to be a pilot. I've been busy on the RV-12, but even that project has its delays. As we can see here:<br />
<br />
The down side of winter projects is....<br />
<br />
...winter is cold!!<br />
<br />
The reason I need winter projects so badly is that I get cabin fever something fierce. I have to have something to keep myself occupied. In fact, February is the worst month of my life because it is so hard to find something to do that doesn't involve being outside. When I started on the RV-12, my hope was that I would consistently have work that I could do down in the basement, but for the second year in a row that hasn't worked out. Last year I was forced to move to the hangar to build the tail cone. I started the fuselage in the spring and was able to spend some days in the basement that would have been nicer spent outside. This year it's the wings.<br />
<br />
It's 6 degrees Fahrenheit outside today.<br />
<br />
I'm inside, and I'm staying there. At least there's football on TV!<br />
<br />
I did go out for awhile this morning, and I'll share the details of that with you since I told you about shooting Sporting Clays last weekend. I might have mentioned that I'd be wanting to get my own shotgun rather than being dependent on borrowing a gun. To that end I did some research to try to find a reasonably priced gun that offered reasonable quality in return. From what I've seen in retail stores, there is exactly one low-cost over/under shotgun, and web reviews were not favorable. That gun costs $450 new. The next one up in price (and I was assured that this was a <i>terrific</i> deal by the guy at the counter) was $899. Marked down from $1,200, I think. Didn't matter. You could mark down the Hope diamond from $12,000,000 to $5,000,000 - I still can't afford it.<br />
<br />
I started looking for used guns. That's not as easy as you might think. Craig's List won't sell them, nor will eBay. I finally came across Gunlistings.com (which for some reason I keep reading as 'GunSlingers.com' - a strange mental tick, that) which is kind of a Craig's List for guns. I spent a week perusing the listings and finally found one that I was interested in. It was a Remington 310 over/under (made in Russia) for $400. It took a week for the seller to get back to me, and that was just to tell me that it was already sold. <br />
<br />
I decided to expand my search from Columbus to all of Ohio and BAM!, I found a Verona LX-502 (Italian made) for an asking price of $525. That was a pretty good price, but somewhat over my budget. The seller accepted an offer of $460. That was only $10 over budget, and he was kind enough to meet me in Washington Court House, thus saving me a couple of hours of driving. We had a nice breakfast at McDs and chatted about guns, work, taxes, and wives. He seemed a decent and likable sort; that has been my experience with everything that I've bought or sold on Craig's List, as well as everyone I've met in shooting and gun shows.<br />
<br />
So, here's my new sporting equipment:<br />
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I also found a few videos on YouTube that someone from the place I went last weekend has been uploading for the last couple of weeks. I suspect that it's hard to do Sporting Clays justice with a handheld camcorder, but you can kind of get the idea:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/zpKPdfxFWyw" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="640"></iframe><br />
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(20 gauge shells are yellow - that's why there was surprise over them being red)DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-70883759627061679292010-12-14T17:06:00.000-05:002010-12-14T17:06:36.859-05:00New Stearman pixRed Stewart Airfield is one of those quaint old airports where people will just go hang around watching (and apparently photographing) airplanes. One of my blogging buddies, Steve DiLullo who <a href="http://amileofrunway.blogspot.com/">chronicles his flying activities</a> out of his home airport at Red Stewart, came across some pictures that had been taken of my momentous flight in the Stearman. He was kind enough to pick them up and send them to me, and here they are:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TQfqSdGpppI/AAAAAAAANf8/_BZvvmtdEL0/s1600/scan0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TQfqSdGpppI/AAAAAAAANf8/_BZvvmtdEL0/s400/scan0001.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TQfqXXNoc9I/AAAAAAAANgI/i4WNxHhIDDM/s1600/scan0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TQfqXXNoc9I/AAAAAAAANgI/i4WNxHhIDDM/s400/scan0004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-21290306595346988462010-11-17T18:44:00.000-05:002010-11-17T18:44:57.840-05:0050,000!The PapaGolf Chronicles had its 50,000th visit today. According to the SiteMeter, the link came from Doylestown, PA and was a redirect from a Bing.com search for "old photos of power plants."<br />
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This blog is nothing if not esoteric!DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-82129217587504751712010-11-13T21:46:00.006-05:002010-11-18T09:21:08.952-05:00My Dukakis momentNOTE: For those arriving from the Van's Airforce web site, I need to clarify that I am not an RV-6 <i>builder</i>. I am an RV-12 builder, but I bought my RV-6 already flying.<br />
<br />
Who remembers this:<br />
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Some say this picture cost Mr. Dukakis the presidency of the United States. Me? I hope that's not true or my own chance to occupy the big chair is ruined for, as luck would have it, I now have a picture of your's truly that's even worse. But we'll get to that...<br />
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Here we are in the middle of November and I was presented with a completely unexpected quandary. After all, no one expected the terrific weather we've had all week, and even less expected was that it would continue into at least one day of the weekend. But there it was in all its glory: a forecast for clear-ish skies and reasonable temperatures. I would simply <i>have</i> to fly somewhere. I checked the schedules of the usual suspects that accompany me, but it looked like I'd either have to go somewhere alone or see if I could still fit my ever-expanding puppy pal Cabot into the plane. <br />
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Nagging at the back of my brain has been the idea that I'd really like to get out to Red Stewart airport and get a ride in their Stearman. Having failed to find an open spot on the schedule last time I tried, I didn't think it was very likely that I'd be any more successful when calling on a Friday afternoon with the very public promise of good weather on Saturday to entice others into the same idea. I called anyway. The woman that answered the phone sounded as if she didn't expect to find any openings as she asked me to wait while she consulted the schedule, and actually sounded apologetic when she told me that the only opening was at 3:30 PM. I leapt at it! I figured that would probably be the warmest part of the day and that seemed to me to be a quite desirable detail when booking a ride in an open cockpit biplane. In November.<br />
<br />
Still, that left most of Saturday for me to pace about in barely contained excitement. I finally gave up and headed for the airport a little after 1:00. Red Stewart is only 50 miles away and I knew I'd be horribly early, but I just needed to go. I took one last look at the forecast and spent a few moments pondering the warning of 14G20 winds before deciding that those winds, while close up against my personal maximum, were still within the bounds of flyable. The were pretty much out of the southwest, too, so I'd only be dealing with a fractional crosswind component of them anyway. <br />
<br />
The winds hadn't yet picked up as I climbed out of Bolton Field and headed towards the southwest, but it wasn't long until we started bumping through a light but frenetic chop. It was the kind of sky that just won't allow the plane to settle into any kind of relaxed, hands-free flying. I had to keep a tight hand on the reins for the entire trip. Dialing in the frequencies of some of the automated weather reporting systems in the vicinity of my destination proved what I already knew: the promise of 14G20 winds had been kept. Well, at least I knew that it was going to be an interesting arrival!<br />
<br />
I had no idea how interesting! Red Stewart has a grass runway and those are notoriously difficult to pick out of the surrounding farm fields, but that's what GPS is for. With only three miles remaining before the GPS would start counting how many miles the field was <i>behind</i> me rather than in front of me, I caught sight of it. It was the field with a high-powered plane doing aerobatics just to the north of it. Or, in other words, right where I was headed. The radio was mostly quiet with the exception of a couple of planes entering the pattern at Waynesville, wherever <i>that</i> was. Oddly enough, though, there were also a couple of planes entering the pattern at Red Stewart. An idea started to tug at what little attention I had remaining as I concentrated on not being speared by an aerobatic plane descending straight down out of a hammerhead stall. Oh, and there was also what looked like a Piper Cub rolling down the runway on takeoff. <br />
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Not counting the aerobatic guy, there were four airplanes in the general vicinity of the runway. One was not talking on the radio at all; he was on final and thus not much of a factor. One was on left base, but he, as with the third guy who was busy making a right 360 degree turn out of the downwind leg to increase his spacing behind the guy on base, was reporting his activity as being at Waynesville.<br />
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BING! The light came on.<br />
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Oh! I get it now! "Waynesville" is the name of the airport, not "Red Stewart!" Or they're synonymous. Whatever. It was time to cast aside all of the nagging details and get busy with landing my plane. I slowed down and dropped flaps to keep myself behind the guy that had finished his 360 degree turn and was back to flying a normal pattern. I extended my downwind to give him a little more room. I could feel the crosswind from the left as I came down final and compensated for it by keeping my left wing low. I made a fairly decent touchdown but fell victim to the oldest grass runway trick in the book: if you don't make a full stall landing, the humps and bumps in the runway will bounce you right back into the air. There's only one result to that: an embarrassingly bumpy arrival. Which, after having very publicly embarrassed oneself, leaves only a single path of recourse: park <i>far</i> away from the spectators.<br />
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Unfortunately, I parked with the gusty wind at my back. The wind was strong enough that it was slapping the rudder from stop to stop, a situation that I simply cannot tolerate. It's horribly hard on the hinges and can even result in small dents in the skin of the rudder if it bangs hard enough to contact one of the screw heads protruding through the fiberglass fairings. I had to dig around in my just-in-case kit to find the rudder lock that I use to immobilize the rudder in situations like this. I don't like to use it because I'm afraid I'll forget to remove it before trying to taxi out to the runway. I'd know if I had forgotten it pretty quickly since I wouldn't be able to turn the airplane, but it would be terribly embarrassing to have to shut down and go back out to remove it. Worse, even, than forgetting to remove a chock. And, well, my local reputation as a competent pilot wasn't all that great anyway, what with the preceding landing and all.<br />
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With an hour and a half to kill, I entertained myself by walking around soaking up the ambiance of the rustic airport. I even managed to talk to a few folks with none of them making any mention at all of my landing. Maybe it wasn't all that bad after all. Or maybe they were just being polite. Either is fine with me. <br />
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At about 3:15 I was approached by a guy that asked if I was Dave. "Well, yes I am!" I replied. "I'm Dave too. Are you here for the Stearman ride?" Ah, early! What a stroke of luck! I was more than a little afraid that they might be running late and that I'd run into a shortage of daylight at the other end of this little adventure. We walked over to a pair of hangars, between which the Stearman was hiding.<br />
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Dave went through the preparations for starting the big radial engine. It was apparent that pilot/cadets of the late 30's were horribly spoiled because the airplane had obviously been designed for an external crewman to start. Note from Dave's efforts that the engine is primed from <i>outside</i> the cockpit. And if that's not evidence enough, note that right next to the primer knob is a slotted orifice that a crank handle inserts into. After priming the engine, the poor crewman would be forced to turn that crank in order to spin up a massive flywheel under the cowl. When the pilot/cadet hollered out that the magnetos were live, the crewman would pull a knob that would transfer the rotational energy of the flywheel to crank the engine over. If he was lucky, the engine would start on the first or second try. <br />
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Dave didn't make me do that, although he did relate the story of an aspiring Stearman pilot that had wanted to try it himself, ostensibly for the "authenticity" that's in it. <br />
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He only asked once.<br />
<br />
With those preparations out of the way, I was invited to alight. And given my status as a pilot (Dave had been up flying when I arrived, and who was I to disabuse him of the notion that I had done it well?) he insisted that I sit in the back seat. Oddly enough, that's considered to be the pilot's seat. It probably has something to do with weight and balance when flying solo. In any event, I jumped at the chance. He gave me a quick description of the contortions I'd have to go through to climb all the way up there and into the seat before heading on up to the front seat himself. Luckily he was still facing to the front as I clumsily crawled over the side coaming and ignominiously plopped down into the seat. <br />
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As I was in the official pilot's seat, I'd have some duties not normally entrusted to uncredentialed goundlings. First, once he was belted in and ready to start the engine I'd have to flip the battery switch to "on." Once the engine had started, I'd have to flip the radio switch to "on." That particular operation seemed kind of gratuitous because I could quite plainly see the void where the radio <i>used</i> to be installed, but I suppose it had something to do with the intercom. <br />
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All that was left to do was to fasten and snug down the safety belts which, considering the complete lack of any overhead structure to keep me in the airplane, was a task that I paid particularly rapt attention to. Oh, and I had to put on the cloth helmet/headset thingy. And it was at that precise moment that any thoughts and dreams about attaining high political office were dashed forever.<br />
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As surely as Napoleon had his Waterloo, I had finally had my long-dreaded Dukakis moment.<br />
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And you know what? Within just a couple of minutes I wouldn't care! Not in the least!<br />
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Radial engines don't seem to roar into life all at once like the little four cylinder bangers that I'm accustomed to. Rather, they bang and splutter and spit out flames and noxious clouds of smoke as they seemingly reluctantly come to life. Frankly, that is a great deal of their appeal. As I've often said, the primary function of airplanes like the Stearman is to convert large quantities of expensive petroleum products into noise. Sweet, wonderful noise, of course, but noise nonetheless. And I'm here to tell you, it sounds just as nice from inside the airplane as it does from the outside.<br />
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I sat there for a couple if seconds in awe of the momentous moment. This was, after all, the very first time I had ever even sat in a venerable classic like a Stearman, and now here I was getting ready to fly in one! Surprisingly, I even remembered to turn on the second switch!<br />
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What? Did I hear him right? It seemed that Dave had just said that he would taxi us out from between the hangars and then I could take over. Really?? That was not what I had expected at all! And I was completely unprepared for it; I had cameras spread out all over the place back in my little cubbyhole, ready to record every moment of the ride. I started trying to find places to put all of the cameras where I'd still be able to get at them later. That proved challenging since in my zeal to <i>not</i> fall out of the airplane I had snugged myself down very, very tightly. I couldn't get to any of my pockets!<br />
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I managed to get everything tucked away through the simple expedient of sitting on whatever I could get under my thighs and tucking one of the thinner cameras underneath one of the shoulder straps. As I took over the steering of the plane (and asking Dave to make sure that if I was going to hit anything to please make sure it was anything <i>other</i> than the little gray airplane over there by the runway) I quickly realized one very critical difference between sitting in the back seat of a Stearman versus sitting in an RV-6: you can't see a blooming thing from the back seat of a Stearman. It steers pretty well, although I don't think the tailwheel does anything other than freely swivel around. It seemed that I could make gentle turns by using full rudder throw (and man, do those pedal travel a long way!) and could encourage tighter turns by stabbing at the brakes. It was actually pretty easy to taxi once I got in the habit of making frequent S-turns in order to see what was out in front of us.<br />
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I managed to get us to the end of the runway without running over anything, although I did exhibit a tendency to taxi faster than Dave was comfortable with. The problem is that my airplane is very small and light compared to a behemoth like the Stearman and I'm therefore used to being able to stop quickly. The Stearman, on the other hand, weighs 3,000 pounds. It doesn't do anything quickly. There are a lot of people and little bitty airplanes moving around at Red Stewart, so a walking pace while taxiing is the way to go.<br />
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When we reached the end of the runway, Dave had me point the plane into the wind and do the engine run-up. That was performed in a similar manner to the way I do it in the RV-6 with one notable exception: the tach rotates counter-clockwise, as opposed to just about every other tach in the world. With the run-up done, Dave had me position the plane on the runway. He then told me we'd do the takeoff together - he'd man the rudders while I did the rest. He asked me to be gentle with the throttle until reaching 1,500 rpm since there is a notable burble right around 1,300. "Notable" is a generous description. "Startlingly abrupt" seems more apt in the event.<br />
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I actually did pretty well with the takeoff, although I was surprised at how long it took to get up to flying speed. This is, by the way, another area in which grass runways try to trip you up. The same humps and bumps that kept me from landing smoothly also try to throw the plane into the air before its truly ready to fly. After a few false takeoffs with resultant bouncy returns to the runway, I got us into the air and climbing out at a sedate 60 mph.<br />
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Did I say "sedate?" Well, when viewed from a distance I'm sure it looked that way. When sitting in an open cockpit biplane, though, no speed over 10 mph can be described as anything other than "unremittingly loud." The first thing I remember is the wind getting under the lip of the cloth helmet/headset thingy and making it feel like a hat that's getting ready to blow right off of your head. It took a couple of frantic grabs at it before I fully internalized that it wasn't going anywhere. As we accelerated to a blistering 75 mph for our excruciatingly slow climb to 1,500' AGL, I started to notice that the buffeting from the air was getting more than a little abusive. It only took a couple of minutes to realize that my eyebrows were going to hurt for the rest of the day from my eyelids flapping up and slapping them. I'm not complaining here, mind you, but I have to say it: a pair of goggles would have been nice!<br />
<br />
I was desperate to take some pictures but I couldn't bring myself to relinquish the controls. Years of practice in the RV-6 came to my rescue, though. If there's one thing I can do, it's fly with one hand and take pictures with the other.<br />
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We eventually reached our desired altitude and I put the camera away. I don't know how long it took to get to altitude since there's no vertical speed gauge in the panel. I suspect they had it removed because they considered it to do nothing but taunt them as they struggled for altitude. And really, who needs an instrument to tell you that your exact rate of climb is "lethargic." Actually, I'm not sure why they even have an airspeed indicator either. With the wind buffeting my eyelids, I cast a glance down to the panel to see how fast we were going, fully expecting to see 120 or 130 mph. Nope.<br />
<br />
80 mph. <br />
<br />
It seems like no matter what I did with the throttle, no matter what position I put the airplane in, every time I looked at the airspeed indicator we were doing 80 mph. It is truly the one-airspeed airplane! Climb at 80, cruise at 80, land at 80. I have yet to figure out why it has a throttle at all - it seems like an on/off switch would suffice.<br />
<br />
Anyway, once at altitude Dave told me I could play around with the plane if I'd like to. He only had to offer once! I started with some shallow banked turns to get a feel for it, eventually working my way up to wingovers and steep turns. I found the plane to be responsive in the things you need it to do such as normal, routine flying, but very heavy if you asked it to hurry things along. In other words, it would willingly roll into a turn with very little stick force, but you could heave as hard as you wanted to move the stick further over and still have very little effect on the rate of the roll. The rudder was the same way - it was much lighter than I had expected it to be, right up until I asked it to force the nose down while we were in a steep bank at the top of a wingover. <br />
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I also discovered that the Stearman will not pick up speed willingly, but it will gladly shed it like a Husky dropping coat in August. When I toss the RV-6 around I have to be very careful to keep it from picking up great gobs of speed; with the Stearman I had no such worries, but I had to make sure I didn't lose too much. I also noticed that I started to learn a few moves that I could use to avoid the worst of the air blast. For example, I soon learned that you can duck your head into the inside of a steep turn to avoid the blast of hard air you get if you haven't coordinated the rudder and ailerons correctly. Still, even with the ability to score a few brief calm moments I wouldn't want to fly a long cross-country in one of these things. <br />
<br />
Right around the time I had had enough of flinging the plane around (to the degree that a plane that heavy can be flung, anyway), Dave asked me to climb higher. It was his turn to fly! We had briefly discussed my appetite for advanced maneuvers like loops before takeoff and I had blithely answered in the affirmative. Yes, please, let's have some! What I hadn't fully considered was the difference between me <i>doing</i> loops and me riding with <i>someone else</i> doing loops, particularly in an airplane with no top! It was too late to back out, though, what with the enormous investment that had been required to put another thousand feet between us and the cold, hard earth. I pinched the seat cushion just a little tighter and gave him the go-ahead.<br />
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In the RV-6, I can pull a loop from straight and level cruise. And I can make them big and lazy, too, since the engine doesn't have to fight a bunch of drag to get us up to the top of the loop. Not so with the Stearman. It took a long (well, it seemed long. It was probably no more than five seconds) steep dive followed by an abrupt pull-up to get us through to the other side. It was fun, though. Dave followed that up by slowing us into a stall and kicking the rudder over to drop us into a spin. We made a two or three turn spin and pulled out when we got back down to our original 1,500' altitude.<br />
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Our half hour was just about up so he asked me if I'd like to try landing. I shared that I thought that was asking a bit much since I had completely lost track of the airport in the spin and simply couldn't see it anywhere. That should have been a clue - there's only one blind spot in a Stearman: straight ahead. It's the definitive "he never knew what hit him" airplane; you could hide a mountain out in front of one of these planes. With that navigational problem solved, I agreed to give it a try. <br />
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We entered the pattern directly over the center of the runway and heading for a left downwind. I timed the turn to downwind well enough, but every time I tried to start bringing the plane down lower, Dave stopped me. We ended up on what I thought was short final at 600' AGL. I say that I "thought" we were on short final because the entire airport was blocked by the front of the airplane. That's when I found out why Dave had wanted to keep all of the altitude in the bank; he rolled us into a left-wing-low forward slip and voilà, there was the airport.<br />
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I'd like to be able to say I made the landing, but I have to confess that after the first bounce I was just along for the ride. Once Dave had gotten us settled onto the runway, I took over and got us slowed down to taxi speed. I taxied us back to park right by Papa. Shutting down the engine was the same as in most piston engine planes: mixture to cut-off and magnetos off. The only difference was the abject relief that the noise and wind had stopped.<br />
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And that was it. All done.<br />
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I'm going to do it again next year, I think. <br />
<br />
We had done pretty good on time and I didn't have to worry about getting back before dark after all. Still, it was nice to sit in relative quiet and calm of my own plane while cooking along at a more reasonable speed, even if I did suddenly have a disconcerting tendency to over-control it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TN9H8A00y6I/AAAAAAAANT8/PtfCXl_TZT4/s1600/DSC01171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TN9H8A00y6I/AAAAAAAANT8/PtfCXl_TZT4/s400/DSC01171.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-89128589729924168672010-10-31T17:48:00.010-04:002010-10-31T17:59:39.663-04:00It's a Blustery YearYep, it's that time of year again. Late fall is when the bluster is at its worst, although there are some years that are certainly worse than others. 2008 was horrible and 2012 will likely be far worse, but the campaign season of 2008 has been plenty bad enough. Oh, you thought I meant blustery weather? Well, we've had that too. I had hoped to give a ride to a co-worker last week but the 23G30 winds were clearly too much; we had to postpone. That's the kind of wind that I only land in if I'm returning from a trip and I'm met with conditions far worse than forecast. I can do it if I have to, but if I have a choice? Nope, I stay home.<br />
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Today was better, but not entirely perfect. We had a reported steady 9 knots from the northwest, but one look at the sky was enough to tell that there was probably more than that going on at altitude. It was clearly blowing pretty hard up in the flight levels where the jets ply their trade; you can always tell it's windy when the clouds look like they've been applied to the sky with a brush. There's nothing wrong with a local hop with 9 knot winds, though. No reason to postpone this time, but I did suggest dressing warmly. It can be pretty chilly between the hangars when the wind forces its way between them and I knew we'd have to spend some time talking before getting into the plane.<br />
<br />
The passenger, a future winner of the Caldecott Medal for her as-yet-unwritten children's book <i>Everyone Knows a Dog Named Molly,</i> asked if she could bring her family along with her in order to take some pictures of her daughter in the airplane. I could hardly refuse, what with some of my absolutely favorite pictures of Co-pilot Egg being those taken in one airplane or another. Egg, herself always eager to befriend younger kids, volunteered to brave the chill and go to the airport with us to help with the logistics of the photo taking.<br />
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She was quite happy in the plane until Egg tried putting headsets on her. That wasn't very popular at all!<br />
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To be fair, those ear cups are mighty cold when there's a chill in the air. I don't much like putting them on either!<br />
<br />
While Egg was entertaining her guest, I did the preflight and explained a few of the things that I've learned to point out to passengers. Chief amongst those are things like:<br />
<br />
1) The engine vibrates a lot more than what you're used to in a car and is quite loud. It also sometimes burbles when I throttle back to land.<br />
<br />
2) I'm going to be pretty active on the rudder pedals during takeoff and landing. It's best if they're not being used as foot rests. This is especially important when it's windy.<br />
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3) And most importantly when flying with females: I will be reaching for the trim knob now and then, and any contact with your leg is purely incidental. In fact, I was thinking that one nice thing about the RV-12 will be that the trim is electric and actuated by a switch on the control panel, thus alleviating me of the concern that something might be misconstrued. My relief was short-lived, however, as I soon remembered that I'm going to have to brief the use of the crotch strap in the RV-12, something I don't have to do in the -6. That's going to require a level of delicacy that, simply put, I'm not exactly known for.<br />
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Not that it was an issue with Molly, but one of the benefits of explaining these kinds of things as we go through the process is to alleviate some of the nervousness someone might have when flying in a small plane for the first time. Confidence and competence, even if feigned, go along way towards calming jangled nerves. I remember one of my earliest flights in a small plane when I grew increasingly trepid as the pilot struggled to get the engine started. That's no problem with Papa, of course, since he always starts after pulling just one or two blades through. Such was the case today, although I just couldn't seem to keep the engine running after its normally easy start. I think it was the third or fourth time I had tried before I realized that I still had the mixture in idle cut-off. Oops! But, as I've always said, there are two people you never want to hear say "Oops!": pilots and brain surgeons. I put on my best meant-to-do-that voice and said, "Ah, I had it set a little lean." <br />
<br />
Technically true, that, albeit in a somewhat Clintonian sense. It all depends on what the meaning of "a little lean" is.<br />
<br />
Being early yet, we woke up the tower controller with our request to taxi but eventually managed to wrangle a clearance to runway 4 out of him. On the way out I explained that we'd have a left crosswind on takeoff which, combined with the normal right turning tendency from the torque of the engine, would ensure that there would be at least a few swerves as we accelerated down the runway. I also briefed my normal runway 4 takeoff method of accelerating to 120 knots over the runway before making a climbing turn-out towards the wide open farm fields just west of the airport. Doing it that way results in us being at 500' above the ground with best glide speed already showing on the airspeed indicator should anything happen that would require an un-powered, off-airport landing, but it's not the type of takeoff one would expect after hundreds of hours flying in airliners. <br />
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All went as planned and we were soon climbing towards the west. I had debated on the question of making my normal takeoff or foregoing that and climbing out straight ahead, the two choices pretty much differing mostly by how they would affect the passenger, but in the event my final decision to go with the more abrupt and potentially scary method was proven satisfactory by the gleeful laughing bubbling out from the right seat. That was a relief! If she enjoyed the takeoff, chances were that I wouldn't have to be ultra careful about banks and turns. <br />
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Once we got up to a safe altitude, I let her take the controls. My early impression proved correct. After just a few mild exploratory turns, she loosened up and rolled us into 30- to 40 degree banks quite readily. We were lucky to have a few scattered target clouds to play around with too. It's somewhat rare to have those bite-sized clouds lounging around at a convenient altitude, and when I do find them I like to play around with them a bit. As there was one just below and to the left of us and Molly was obviously getting more comfortable with controlling the plane, I had her put us in a descending left turn straight towards it. We brushed across the top of it at a good 175 mph. That's a great way for someone new to flying to see just how fast it is that we're going. It's hard to tell when you're a few thousand feet above the ground, but the close-up reference to a stationary cloud shows it very well. <br />
<br />
She then flew us over another little cloud just behind the first and I took over as we zoomed on past it. I pulled us up into a left wing-over and dove back down towards the cloud we had just brushed over. After three or four of those, we had both had enough fun to last us the day. Which is to say, well, there was a little queasiness afoot. Pulling G's like that is an acquired taste and something you have to do pretty routinely to stay acclimated to it. She'd never done it, and I hadn't done it for a long time. It was time to move on to something more sedate.<br />
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I headed us back towards the east, the plan being to fly over The Ohio $tate University campus and downtown Columbus. Unfortunately we were over a pretty thick haze layer. While the sky was beautiful at 5,500', the view of campus and the downtown waterfront wasn't that great. I turned us back to the west and we descended back down towards Bolton. I called the tower as we crossed over Darby Dan and got the expected "report mid-field left downwind runway 4" in response. <br />
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As we crossed over my neighborhood, I made a continuous curving approach from downwind to final. We still had quite a bit of altitude, but with the throttle to idle and a good headwind component we had no problem losing the excess height by the time we reached the runway. I had covered my bases in preparation for a bad landing during the briefing, but it proved unnecessary. The touch down was smooth, and had it not been for a gust of wind that caused a little swerving and bouncing on the roll-out, it would have been a very good landing for a blustery 9 knot day.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-41649466882032827662010-10-24T13:55:00.004-04:002010-10-24T18:02:21.406-04:00There's no such thing as a routine flightI'm not the first to say that there is no such thing as a routine flight, nor is it an idea that I've but recently pondered. It's just that it was proven to me again yesterday as I made a trip that I have made more often than any other, if I exclude shorter hops like MadCo and Urbana. I'll modify the criteria by defining "trip" as a flight upon which I spend more than an hour on the ground and actually leave the airport itself. I make plenty of those, but none as often as I make the trip to The Farm. If anything in my aerial <i>repertoire</i> could be counted as a routine flight, that would be it.<br />
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The last couple of times I've gone, though, I've dealt with events that are slightly out of the norm. The last time I went, I ended up using the Garmin 396 and its XM-based weather radar display feature to circumnavigate an inconveniently placed storm cloud. This trip too involved dealing with a little bit of weather, but it was much more widespread. We had 11,000' ceilings for most of the day, which were easy enough to stay underneath with adequate visibility, but they unfortunately also produced some light to moderate precipitation. There was nothing all that difficult about it, but it is a stark departure from the days when even a hint of green on the radar was enough to me to just decide to stay home.<br />
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This is what it looked like on the way home. Note the ground speed displayed on the GPS - that's with the engine throttled back to an economical 2,200 rpm. The trip from Bolton to The Farm was also at a 2,200 rpm setting, but resulted in only 115 knots across the ground. So yeah, it was a bit windy at altitude.<br />
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The more interesting event was on the trip out when I saved a minimum of two lives, one (and if I'm honest, the more important) being my own. As I was flying along at 3,500', my normal scan outside the cockpit detected another airplane that was headed on an almost parallel heading, but about 500' higher than me. I say almost parallel because he was slowly converging on me. I watched as he crossed almost directly over me from right to left. Given his obvious fixation on his course, no demonstrable effort to avoid me, and the fact that he was 500' above me, I assumed that he was on an IFR flight plan. This notion was reinforced by the fact that we were just northeast of Dayton International's Class C airspace and he was headed right at it. <br />
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I decided to keep an eye on him. As we continued to the west, I could see him a mile or two off to the south. I kept expecting him to start a descent into Dayton, but his altitude remained constant. He made a couple of steeply banked course corrections, something that would be abnormal in true IFR conditions, but we were still in good visual conditions so there would really be nothing precluding him from an aggressive correction. I kept glancing over every couple of minutes or so until about five minutes later when it appeared that he might be getting closer to me again. I increased the rate of my glances to every 30 seconds; it soon became abundantly apparent that he was, in fact, closing the gap between us. Eventually he got close enough that I had to take evasive action. I descended a few hundred feet to allow him to cross directly over me. He never knew I was there! Had I not kept watching for him, there is a very real chance that he would have flown right into me. How close was he? I could have easily read a one-inch high tail number if it had been painted on the bottom of the fuselage. <br />
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This is why we look out the window!!<br />
<br />
While I was at The Farm, I stopped by my brother's place to see what he's working on. This time around, it was his new race car for next season. The <a href="http://www.schmetterlingaviation.com/">Schmetterling</a> sponsored ride has been stripped of its goodies and relegated to jack stands. Reportedly, the Schmetterling logo will be even larger on next year's car!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TMRuBEUTlqI/AAAAAAAANLg/7lJLJ3i-aX0/s1600/DSC01143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TMRuBEUTlqI/AAAAAAAANLg/7lJLJ3i-aX0/s400/DSC01143.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-20685432975863478062010-10-16T21:45:00.003-04:002010-10-16T21:46:34.063-04:00Simplifying the equation<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Here's the equation that's been bothering me:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">X + Y = ???,<br />
<br />
where X = Will This Airplane Fly and Y = Can I Fly This Airplane?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Granted, it's a year away at least, but it will have to happen eventually. There will inevitably come a day when I have to fly this thing, and it's apparently never to early to start worrying about it. I wouldn't call it butterflies in the stomach at this distant point, but pupae in the belly wouldn't be too far off the mark.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I simplified the equation today. There will still be worries over the fundamental airworthiness of the completed airplane, but at least I will know for a fact that I can fly it. Today I flew a little more than an hour in the left seat of an RV-12 and made a total of three takeoffs and landings. As a bonus, I also made a fourth landing approach and a go-around. For practice, like. Or so I would have you believe.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In what has to me one of the most masterfully created win-win deals of the young century, I offered to assist a sort-of local RV-12 owner with an introduction to the operation of his Garmin 496 GPS in exchange for a little more time riding around and getting familiar with the flying qualities of the -12. He flew up from Lancaster to pick me up at Bolton and while we were chatting on the ramp in front of the tower, he shifted over to the right side and offered me the Captain's position. Yowza!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Before we started the engine, he gave me a quick tour of the Dynon D-180 so I'd know where to look for interesting tidbits of trivia such as our altitude above the ground and our velocity through the cool fall air. Good stuff to know, those things. The increased level of complexity and sophistication over the more pedestrian mechanical equipment in my RV-6 was in stark contrast to the amazing simplicity of engine management. Time to start the engine? Fine, show me the mixture knob. What do you mean, "there isn't one?" How can that be? Okay, fine. Turn the key? Piece of cake. Whoa! I was expecting to click through left mag, right mag, both mags, and then into 'start'. The last thing I expected was to turn the key straight into 'start'. And wow, it sure does start easy, doesn't it?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Taxiing was a little odd too. Rather than the steerable tailwheel I'm used to, there's just a castering wheel out front. Pressing the rudder pedals has no effect whatsoever on steering. No problem, though. I adjusted right quickly to getting turns started with a little jab at the brakes and stopped with a little jab at the other brake. At the end of the runway, I received a briefing on how to perform the takeoff with the least amount of stress on the nose wheel. The idea was to hold the stick back as I fed power in, and not be surprised when the nose lifted almost right away. Once it did, I was to lessen the nose-up stick and let the nose kind of find its own level. The plane would fly away on its own when it was ready. It sounded a little complicated, but in the event it was quite simple. It was a good thing that I had been forewarned that it would feel like I was going to bounce the tail on the runway with the extreme feeling nose up attitude or I would have panicked and plopped the wheel right back down onto the runway.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TLpUk12bvVI/AAAAAAAANH0/plUB20zM3T8/s1600/DSC01106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TLpUk12bvVI/AAAAAAAANH0/plUB20zM3T8/s400/DSC01106.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I fed the throttle in slowly, but even still it was only a matter of a few hundred feet before we were climbing away from the runway. I have no numbers regarding climb performance to share, unfortunately. I sure that data was available on the display somewhere, but as with the rest of the performance data I found it much more difficult to deduce values from a simply glance like I can with my old clock face gauges. I can tell you this: it was slower than in the RV-6. I knew that would be the case going in, though. It was not a surprise.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I was ready for the light aileron forces, having experienced them in my previous ride, but this time around I realized that the -12 is actually lighter in aileron than the -6. It's actually what I would describe as nimble. As we were climbing away from Bolton, I spent a few minutes explaining how to enter a destination into the GPS. With MadCo firmly locked in, I also took the liberty of reconfiguring the GPS screen to what I consider to be a more useful page setup. I like to split the screen between the moving map and the HSI direction indicator. I think it's a more natural way to look at it for old school pilots.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As we approached MadCo, I became increasingly aware of one thing about the RV-12 that I don't like. More specifically, it's something about the Rotax engine. For some reason that I'm sure would make perfect sense to somebody like a trial lawyer, there is a very strong spring on the throttle that is perpetually trying to pull the throttle knob to the full throttle position. That's all well and good for those times when you want to blast around at full bore, but for the rest of the time it's a right bugger. You see, to keep the throttle from working its way forward, you have to lock the friction control on the throttle down as tight as it will go. That makes power changes somewhat of a struggle. Not knowing any better, I loosened the friction and pulled back the throttle for our descent into the landing pattern. Imagine my surprise when I noticed a couple of minutes later that we not only weren't descending, but weren't slowing down either. The throttle had returned to the higher power position of its own volition. I was to be mildly irked by this behavior for the rest of the flight.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We entered a left downwind to runway 27 and were confronted by the challenge of my first landing with a wind that was blowing directly from.... the west. Right down the runway. What could be easier! As I dropped the flaps (accomplished quite quickly in the -12 by virtue of a flap lever rather than the glacially slow electric flaps of my -6) I hardly noticed any nose down movement at all. Lowering the flaps in the -6 has a far more pronounced influence on the trim. In subsequent landings I would notice that there is a pitch trim change required when lowering the flaps in the -12, but it's minimal. What's far more noticeable is how much heavier the ailerons get when the flaps are down. I don't know if that's by design or just a lucky fluke, but it adds a nice feeling of stability in the landing pattern.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I came down final at 65 - 70 knots and entered the flare at 65 knots. I deliberately flew a much shallower glide path than I do in the -6, correctly thinking that the -12 probably wouldn't be able to lose altitude as quick and easily as I can in the -6. I found out later that while it doesn't come down quite as rapidly as the -6, it is still pretty capable of coming down when you need it to. As I flared over the runway, I was pleasantly surprised at how much more feel I had than in the -6. With the -12, I could move the stick quite a bit in pitch with minimal yet predictable changes in the landing attitude of the plane. The -6 is, in comparison, very twitchy in the flare. The least little movement has a tremendous affect on the attitude of the plane, and in consequence can cause all kinds of embarrassing bounces and oscillations. At the end of the day, it came down to this: I greased all three of my landings, at least on the Richter scale that I use for grading landings in the -6.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I mentioned a go-around earlier. After MadCo we headed over to Circleville to try a crosswind landing. Without the wind coming right down the runway to abate our ground speed, I ended up high and fast on short final. I punched in a bootful of right rudder and held the wings level with left aileron and we dropped down like a brick, but I still felt that an awful lot of runway was sliding behind us and the plane wasn't perceptibly slowing. Discretion being the better part of valor (and me not wanting to abuse the generosity of my host), I poured on the coal and took us around for another try. Better attuned to the weather conditions and the performance of the plane, I squeaked on the second attempt. Two for two, if you don't count the go-around. Call that one a mulligan.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">By the time we got back to Bolton, I was completely comfortable in the airplane. While it will take time to adjust to a 110 knot cruise speed, I will quickly learn to love the 5 gallon per hour fuel flow. The benign flight qualities will please, but the bouncing around that comes with the light wing loading will take some adjustment. I was again surprised at how quiet and smooth the engine is and how comfortable the seats are. And the improvement over the already exemplary visibility of the RV-6 is amazing.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TLpUnOPFFcI/AAAAAAAANH8/0ea8q54kHsI/s1600/DSC01109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TLpUnOPFFcI/AAAAAAAANH8/0ea8q54kHsI/s400/DSC01109.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">All in all, I can say in all honesty that the RV grin that I wore for the rest of the afternoon was well earned by that wonderful little airplane.</div>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-62931381111002995082010-10-07T20:20:00.001-04:002010-10-07T20:24:04.528-04:00Biennial Flight Review - FAIL!Well, no, I didn't actually fail a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biennial_flight_review">BFR</a>. I don't think you actually can technically fail. That said, I found a way.<br />
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It all started a few weeks ago when I ran into a CFI at Bolton that was getting ready to do a BFR with the guy two hangars down from me. We had met before and he has actually flown with me in the RV. As we were chatting he asked when my BFR was due. I didn't think it was due until next year some time, but as I was unable to remember the precise date I decided to check my log book.<br />
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Expires: Oct, 2010.<br />
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Well then. I figured I ought to get it done asap. I'm hoping to take the RV down to Parkersburg later this month to have some more repair work done on the cowls (they're definitely showing their age, and it's not work I'm comfortable doing myself) so I needed to get the BFR out of the way. I tried to get it done this past weekend, but the weather was uncooperative. Today was the first day that met the conditions: decent weather, availability of the CFI, and my back is feeling back to normal. What happened to my back? That story is <a href="http://www.schmetterlingaviation.com/2010/10/forced-break.html">here</a>.<br />
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We met at the airport a little before 5:30. As I was preflighting the plane, Tony looked through my log book. As I was pouring in a quart of oil, Tony hollered out at me that my BFR isn't due this month, it's due in May, 2011. I had mistaken the expiration date of the last CFI's certificate for the expiration date of my BFR.<br />
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Fail!<br />
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We decided to go flying anyway. I had been saving the gas for this for close to a week and I was feeling that I needed to get up and practice some landings. I was sure right about that! After working through same practice stalls, we headed over to MadCo. I entered a left downwind for runway 9 and struggled to figure out where the wind was blowing from (while wondering why wind socks are so darn small) with the idea that I could just cross over to the other side if the wind was favoring 27. After studying the itty-bitty windsock for a few moments, I decided that it looked like a direct crosswind and that runway 9 would work just fine.<br />
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I was wrong. I ended up high and close on final, but that's no problem in an RV-6. If there's one thing that wing knows how to do, it's to shed altitude in a hurry. Even after getting down to a landable altitude just over the numbers, it seemed like we were moving awfully fast. I often get that feeling when I haven't flown for awhile so I just shrugged it off as normal rustiness and landed. Well, while "landing" is the correct technical term for what happened, a more accurate description would be "bounced and swerved down the runway like an epileptic kangaroo." Once I finally got the plane slowed down and under control, I took a closer look at the windsock. While it may have been indicating a direct crosswind while we were on downwind, it was quite plainly showing a quartering tailwind from where we were sitting on the runway.<br />
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Good thing it wasn't an official BFR landing!<br />
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We went around again and landed on 27. That one went a lot better. In fact, it would have been a greaser if I hadn't pulled just a bit too much in the final flare. I ended up with a few more little bounces, but nothing near as bad as the first try.<br />
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Then it was back to Bolton where I actually made a good landing. Just in a nick of time, too. I think I was <i>this</i> close to having to find a different CFI to do my BFR in May!DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-19204902280599512492010-09-18T16:56:00.001-04:002010-09-18T17:05:28.928-04:00Miami University - Middletown CampusI'm sure I'm not the first parent to go through this, nor will I be the last. I'm assured in my knowledge that I'm not the first because I put my parents through the same thing. When I was co-pilot Egg's age, I too had no idea where I wanted to go to college, or to be totally honest, whether I wanted to go at all. At that age it seems like you have done nothing <i>but</i> go to school; the prospect of even more doesn't really garner excitement. As with my father and me, I am the one pushing her to start planning for where she will matriculate next and what she wants to do with her life once forcibly ejected from the warm nest of public high school. When pressed, she vacillates between nursing, physical or mental therapy, and going pro on Facebook.<br />
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I think the latter is her preference.<br />
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I figure for at least the first two years of a four year program, there's not much difference between the core classes required for nursing or therapy. Anatomy, ethics, chemistry, and classes in managing third-party or government payers are foundational to both. With that in mind, I've been looking at nursing programs on her behalf. One of the locations I'm looking at is <a href="http://www.miami.muohio.edu/">Miami University</a>. To begin with, it satisfies the number one requirement: it's not THE Ohio $tate University. Egg has what I have taken to calling a Higher Education Donut Hole. Much as with the "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donut_Hole_(Medicare)">donut hole</a>" more commonly referred to in reference to the Medicare Part D program, it refers to areas where coverage is available. It's actually an inverse donut hole: she has to go somewhere outside of Columbus but inside Ohio. Note that when I say "has to" that it's just like when I say she "has to" help mow the lawn; it by no means conveys any type of actual authority on my part to enforce such a command.<br />
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Anyway...<br />
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I <a href="http://www.papagolfchronicles.com/2009/06/having-it-both-ways.html">flew out and visited</a> the Miami University campus in Oxford Ohio last year and found it to be quite pleasant. Very collegiate, architecturally appropriate, and a few nice restaurants. I was more or less sold on the idea but further research showed that the nursing program is only offered at two regional campuses, one of which is in Middletown. I initially balked at that idea, thinking that there was no way we would pay that level of tuition only to have her attending classes miles from the town of Oxford. Once I looked a little further into it, though, I discovered that the tuition is commensurately lower at the regional campus.<br />
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Well then. Now you're talking my language!<br />
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Parallel to my thinking that I'd visit the campus this weekend, I was also trying to track down an outfit that offers dual instruction in a Stearman. Having <a href="http://www.papagolfchronicles.com/2010/09/kacy-js.html">lunched with Dr. Stan</a> last week and gotten the idea into my head that I'd like to fly one at some point, I poked around on the internet for awhile trying to see where I'd have to go and what I'd have to pay to try it out. <br />
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At first it looked like I'd have to travel as far as Florida or Maryland and pay over $300 an hour for the experience (and that's not happening!!) but I eventually came across a link to <a href="http://www.stewartsaircraft.net/">Red Stewart</a> airport. They have a Stearman that they offer dual in for around $200 an hour, including the instructor. Better yet, I could get a shorter ride for $80. That seemed perfect! Now I've been around the internet long enough to know that while web pages may last forever, the things offered on them may not. I first had to verify that they still had the Stearman. I happen to know of a flying blogger that does all of his flying out of Red Stewart and figured that surely he would have mentioned that Stearman at some point on his blog if it was still there. He had, <a href="http://amileofrunway.blogspot.com/2010/07/gary-and-rob-flew-out-to-visit.html">and it is</a>.<br />
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Red Stewart Airport is close to Middletown, so I thought I could combine a trip to Red Stewart for a flight in the Stearman with the flight to Middletown to visit the campus. Unfortunately, I had waited too long. When I called to book my flight in the Stearman, I was informed that the schedule was already full. Not to worry - they told me that they will fly on any day when the temps are over 45 degrees. I still have time to get it done.<br />
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Without the Red Stewart stop, I was able to fly direct to Middletown. That meant that I could take a flying buddy with me. There'd be a lot of walking (Google maps reported a walking distance of 2.2 miles each way from the airport to the campus) but I knew just the guy that would be thrilled to take a walk that long.<br />
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Middletown is southwest of Columbus, and our route took us directly over KilKare raceway where my brother races his Nascar Modified.<br />
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It was perfect flying weather. High pressure and reasonably low temperatures make the engine and the wings happy, and the clear, smooth skies and calm air make the pilot happy. These conditions are perfect for flying, but they do present a challenge. With no wind to speak of, uncontrolled airports become difficult to operate in and out of because there is no clear deciding factor regarding which runway to use. That, and they bring out a lot of traffic. <br />
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To make matters worse, Middletown is in a region that I don't much like flying through anyway; there are quite a few airports in the area, both large and small. Traffic becomes a big issue in that area no matter what the weather. Middletown also presents its own unique challenge in that they use left traffic for runway 5, but right traffic for runway 23. What that means is that pilots flying the right downwind for 23 are on the same side of the airport and heading directly at pilots flying the left downwind for runway 5. With the winds being reported as "calm," there is a very real risk of a head on collision on downwind if two pilots choose differently on the question of which runway is preferred.<br />
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And if that's not enough, there is a high-end sky diving outfit that operates there. They're up and down all day in a pair of Cessna Caravans, dropping jumpers right on the middle of the airport. The end result of all this is that Cabot and I would have to be on the lookout for large jets, airplanes headed right at us on downwind (and, by extension, on the runway), and falling human bodies. Wow! That's a lot of responsibility for a nine month old puppy!<br />
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As we were approaching the airport a twin Cessna reported something or the other having to do with runway 23, which was concerning given that we were entering the downwind to runway 5. The Unicom was a nightmare of the high pitched squeals of two radios transmitting at once and a long-winded individual telling his life's story as he worked his way laboriously through a landing at Blue Ash, so the second half of the Cessna's transmission was lost to me. I tried to get the guy to answer my "What did you say???" calls, but he was oblivious. It all worked out and the landing was uneventful other than being a bit bouncy.<br />
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I blame Cabot. He <i>stares</i> at me. It's discomfiting.<br />
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Just after we landed, some of the parachuters did too.<br />
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The walk to the campus had been planned for me by Google Maps, which has a "find a way for me to get there by foot" function.<br />
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I had used the Google StreetView feature to determine that there were sidewalks the entire way. I've often found that what looked like an easy walk on the map is anything but because it ends up being on a narrow, busy road with no sidewalks. This walk was 90% through residential neighborhoods. Cabot was very well behaved on the leash.<br />
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As we walked, I evaluated the neighborhood as a place for Egg to live. The regional campus does not have dorms; if she elected to go to school there, she would have to have a place to live. That might work out well; I saw this well-groomed house for sale.<br />
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They're asking $82,500 for it. Buy it with a 20% downpayment on a 30 year fixed and the payment is $350 per month, plus insurance and the like. A roommate could halve that cost. Four years down the road, sell it. Would that be cheaper that living in an apartment or a dorm at some other school? Maybe. It seemed worth thinking about, and that's exactly what I was doing until I was distracted by this sign.<br />
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Really?? "Your juvenile judge?" We haven't got enough juveniles in government already?<br />
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It was a pretty long walk, so it came as a great relief when I finally saw this sign. Cabot was equally thrilled when I read it to him.<br />
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The walk was up a fairly steep hill at that time, and at the crest of the hill we found our goal.<br />
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Our climb up the hill was wasted; the campus road heads right back down. The first sign of being on a campus was this statue.<br />
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How was that statue an indication that we were on a college campus? Easy, it was there because the subject was a rich man that gave huge amounts of money and/or land to the university. Had we been in a public park, it would have been a politician that had done the same, albeit with someone else's money.<br />
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We worked our way down the hill and past the university buildings. <br />
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When we reached the bottom of the hill, I realized two things. First, in twenty-first century America our civilization has advanced to the degree that we no longer provide publicly-accessible water fountains. Cabot was panting up a storm and seemed very, very thirsty. I had brought a plastic bag with me to fill with water to give him a drink, but had come across no source of water. My second realization was that we had reached a dead end.<br />
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</div>The prospect of retracing our steps to the top of the hill was not pleasant. I decided to keep going on a gravel path that continued on past the end of the paved road and see if it looped back around to where we had come it. Luckily, by doing so I discovered water!<br />
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I ran some water into the bag for Cabot to drink from, but he refused to do it. Nothing but tap water will do for him, I suppose.<br />
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Elitist.<br />
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We kept going and soon found a trail that looked like it headed back up to the road we had climbed earlier.<br />
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It did, and a little more than half an hour later we were back at the airport. I had packed a fabric fold-up water bowl for Cabot and a bottle of tap water to pour into it. He was much more receptive of that! Spoiled rotten, I figure.<br />
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Oh, and I was taunted about my failure to get a ride in a Stearman. For the second time in as many weeks, I was sharing the ramp with one.<br />
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</div>He didn't share the panache that Dr. Stan had. Somehow blue hearing protectors just aren't the same as a leather helmet and jacket. Still, it sure looks like fun!<br />
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Cabot was one tired puppy, but he stayed awake long enough to enjoy the flight home.<br />
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Once we got home, though, there was only one place he wanted to be.<br />
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I soon joined him.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-63703169989529181162010-09-12T16:22:00.003-04:002010-09-15T10:39:06.330-04:00Kacy J'sThe <a href="http://merfi.com/">MERFI</a> fly-in was this weekend over in Urbana. I went <a href="http://www.papagolfchronicles.com/2009/09/papa-golf-meets-his-maker.html">last year</a>, but this year I decided to find something else to do. I'm getting more and more afraid of things that I used to do without a second thought, much like Brave Sir Hogarth is as he too advances in age. For him, the new thing is the child gate that we've been using to restrict the movements of the as yet not-proven-worthy-of-trust <a href="http://dukecabotofglenford.blogspot.com/">Puppy Cabot</a>. Hogarth won't go near it. For me, it's large groups of planes converging on uncontrolled airports. Besides that, there's very little there to attract me. Last year it was nice to go over and meet the guy that built my airplane, and this year it would have been fun to visit Lynda at her <a href="http://girlswithwings.com/">Girls With Wings</a> booth, but it's getting late in the year and I still had not made it to Kacy J's, the new restaurant at the airport in Muncie, Indiana.<br />
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I think the original attempt at Kacy J's was back at the beginning of summer on or around Fathers Day. I was going to land at KVES (Darke Co. - Versailles airport) and pick up my dad for a ride over to Muncie. Airport restaurants have come and gone at Muncie, and the most recently departed of the bunch didn't have a very good reputation, but word-of-mouth had it that the new establishment, <a href="http://www.kacyjs.com/">Kacy J's</a>, was worth the trip. A perusal of their online menu showed that there was something there that would be worth the trip: the Indiana Classic,their name for a breaded pork tenderloin sandwich. I'm not sure where I heard it (maybe <a href="http://www.travelchannel.com/TV_Shows/Man_V_Food">Man Vs. Food</a>, a ridiculous but surprisingly enjoyable show on the Travel Channel) , but the pork tenderloin sandwich is reportedly an Indiana specialty and I wanted to try one.<br />
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The first trip fell through when my preflight planning showed that the Darke Co. airport was closed. A few weeks later after Darke Co. was re-opened and I wanted to try again, Muncie was closed to all traffic except helicopters. One thing led to another and before I knew it was counting the days until the end of the traditional flying season. As it is, today was plan B. I had hoped to fly out on Saturday but the final weather forecast check in the morning showed the strong possibility of rain and low ceilings. Today was better, although the wind was expected to pick up to as high as 15 knots in the afternoon. I'll fly with a forecast for 15 knot winds, but it's right on my borderline. Had the prediction been 15 gusting to anything, I would have probably canceled again.<br />
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The flight out to KVES was okay, but it was already starting to get bumpy. I could tell that it wasn't going to be smooth sailing coming back later in the day - it was only going to get worse. It was the kind of bumpy you get when the sun heating the farm fields and causing updrafts combines with the turmoil of wind-addled air to make it hard to even press buttons and turn knobs on the avionics. You reach for a button just as you hit a bump in the air and your hand goes shooting off in unpredictable directions. It is precisely that type of air that has convinced me that I will never give up my avionics that have real buttons in favor of the ill-advised move to <a href="https://buy.garmin.com/shop/shop.do?cID=156&pID=37817">touch screens</a>. No, no, no, NO! I will NOT GO!<br />
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I tuned into 122.7 as I flew south of Urbana and mentally patted myself on the back for deciding not to get into that mess. There were no less than five planes trying to sort themselves into a reasonable line for the left downwind when some yahoo called that he was planning a straight in approach. Good luck with that, fella. That's rude on a normal Urbana breakfast Sunday. You gotta be kidding if you think that's going to fly during a high attendance event like MERFI. I didn't hang around on frequency long enough to see how that turned out - I wanted to get over to Darke Co's ASOS and see what the winds were doing. 320 at 7. Not bad at all! I made a pretty decent landing, although I didn't get stopped as short as I'd have liked to and rolled about 10 feet past the first taxiway. A quick 180 on the runway fixed that.<br />
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I wanted to get out and stretch a little bit before jumping right back into the plane for the short 40 mile hop over the Muncie. While I was out walking around, I came across the coolest canopy cover I've ever seen.<br />
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While I was taking pictures of the Piper, my dad was approached by one of the uniformed pilots of the big Cessna Citation 7 I had parked next to. He was looking for someplace to get some coffee and donuts for his expected passengers. Unfortunately he hadn't realized that KVES is a very rural airport and there's not much of anything nearby. In fact, that Citation was the largest jet I've ever seen there. The past competition was small for that honor though, as I don't think I have <i>ever </i>seen a jet there. As he wandered off to find the airport manager, my dad told me that the corporate pilot had asked what kind of plane I was flying, and suggested that he thought it might be a trainer of some sort. As if!! I explained to my dad that it's not uncommon for the guys that fly business and commercial jets to not know much about the smaller planes you'll find out in the boonies. They live and fly in a very different world. I think, though, that at least some level they envy us for our type of flying as much as we envy them for theirs. The grass? It's always greener, isn't it?<br />
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The ride over to Muncie was all too short. Before I knew it we were dialing in the ATIS and learning that the moderate winds were pointed right down runway 32. As we were approaching from the east, I figured we'd either get cleared for a pattern entry into a right base for runway 32 or into a right downwind for the same runway. I was hoping for the right base entry so we wouldn't have to fly up north to meet with the midfield downwind or, I suppose, try to negotiate for the entry I wanted. Muncie Tower responded as I had hoped and we were cleared to enter on the right base. Just before we got to the pattern, I heard another plane being cleared to land. It was a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boeing_Stearman">Stearman</a>. That was lucky - I thought my dad would be interested in seeing a venerable old workhorse like that. And an actual trainer, no less! Albeit a trainer for WWII military pilots.<br />
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The landing was accomplished with no more that a light bounce and a gentle scuffing of the tires on the wide, wide runway. I easily made the first turn off to the ramp. And there it was: the beautiful Stearman was right there in front of the restaurant. I parked nearby.<br />
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My dad wanted to go take a look at it but seemed wary. I told him to go on over - other pilots are usually fine with people walking around and looking at their planes as long as there are no hands or feet involved. Look, but don't touch. They aren't Braille, after all. You can see just fine without climbing all over them or smearing your hands all over the canopy trying to look inside. Can you tell I have a little experience with this? It's another of the reasons I don't do many fly-ins anymore.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Note the lack of a GPS. I think he was flying via pilotage and a sectional chart: old school!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0vT6eDfYI/AAAAAAAAM3U/WKDpjPPC0XM/s1600/DSC00927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0vT6eDfYI/AAAAAAAAM3U/WKDpjPPC0XM/s400/DSC00927.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While I was doing my best to act as a Stearman tour guide, the owner/pilot returned. He was working his way back from someplace down south back up to his home in Wisconsin. That's a pretty long trip in a Stearman! He mentioned over lunch that he usually takes his <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T-6_Texan">T-6</a> (!!!) on the longer trips. A Stearman <i>and</i> a T-6? Wow! As I've always said, when it comes to airplanes you need at least two but no more than five. I often entertain myself on my long drive to and from work trying to decide what my five would be, and a Stearman or a T-6 always make the list. I probably wouldn't do one of each, though. I can tell you this: it would be mighty hard to decide between the two! I love them both.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0q8JXg8GI/AAAAAAAAM2k/jMirqA7lvME/s1600/DSC00908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0q8JXg8GI/AAAAAAAAM2k/jMirqA7lvME/s400/DSC00908.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We headed into the restaurant where we were greeted by the owner(?)/manager. The place was not at all crowded which came as something of a surprise to me. Muncie has a huge GA ramp, big runways, a friendly tower, and very little traffic. It seems perfect for a weekend lunch stop, but there was hardly anyone there. It makes me wonder if they're having trouble getting the word out that there's a new restaurant there and that it's not affiliated with the former place that had gotten such a bad reputation. It's clearly a pilot-friendly outfit - just look at the decorations:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0sfuMjvdI/AAAAAAAAM2s/dfC47EKtrTE/s1600/DSC00915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0sfuMjvdI/AAAAAAAAM2s/dfC47EKtrTE/s400/DSC00915.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">The owner(?)/manager was particularly proud of the light on this corner table. The airport had recently replaced their runway lights with LED models and he was able to get ahold of one of the old lights. He had to find a fixture for it and step the voltage down from what it was expecting (3000 volts, I think he said), and his first choice of bulb, a 100 watt halogen, was far too bright, but he finally got it working. I wish I had thought to ask him if he could build another for me!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0shn7xsRI/AAAAAAAAM20/ma_g0ngCb74/s1600/DSC00913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0shn7xsRI/AAAAAAAAM20/ma_g0ngCb74/s400/DSC00913.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we were working our way through our Indiana Classics (which, by the way, were every bit as enjoyable as the conversation with Dr. Stan)...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0sj77G6XI/AAAAAAAAM28/VbWzWxX1ygc/s1600/DSC00917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0sj77G6XI/AAAAAAAAM28/VbWzWxX1ygc/s400/DSC00917.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
... another military retiree landed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0t_oKiU7I/AAAAAAAAM3E/Epcme4Jikdc/s1600/DSC00921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0t_oKiU7I/AAAAAAAAM3E/Epcme4Jikdc/s400/DSC00921.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
That one is a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T-34_Mentor">T-34 Mentor</a>.<br />
<br />
Dr. Stan hasn't got one of those.<br />
<br />
Yet.<br />
<br />
Awww, come on. I'm allowed to be just a little bit jealous, aren't I?<br />
<br />
Kidding aside, I'll bet he's tempted. They're wonderful airplanes, despite their <a href="http://www.aopa.org/whatsnew/regulatory/regt34.html">AD history</a>. Use them appropriately and they're fine.<br />
<br />
After lunch we headed to our respective planes. I suggested to my dad that we stick around long enough to hear the Stearman's engine start. They make a wonderful sound and I can't get enough of them. They kind of stumble into life, as opposed to the immediate blast of noise from something like my Lycoming. The restaurant owner(?)/manager, himself a pilot and owner of two airplanes (what is it with these guys???!? I had no idea that I wasn't alone in my "at least two" thinking, Harrison Ford notwithstanding) apparently agreed since he too came out for the show.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0vRsh8qWI/AAAAAAAAM3M/VvaGfcWsi08/s1600/DSC00931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TI0vRsh8qWI/AAAAAAAAM3M/VvaGfcWsi08/s400/DSC00931.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
By the time we hopped into Papa for the short flight back to KVES, the wind had whipped itself into the type of frenzy normally associated with Puppy Cabot when he hears bacon coming out of the fridge. If the flight to Muncie had seemed short, the flight back was going to be no more than a chip shot. The ASOS at KVES unemotionally shared the bad news: winds were 320 at 15 gusting 18. That was going to be a treat! We hit the left downwind with 120 knots showing on the speedo, but 145 showing on the GPS. Nothing for it but to man up and work my way through it. It actually didn't turn out too badly, although I must have looked like I was simultaneously trying to churn butter and squash grapes while I wrestled our way through the landing flare and touchdown. One decent bounce and a lot of aileron and rudder work had us down and rolling on the runway, but there was no hope of making the first turn off this time.<br />
<br />
I didn't mind. I was just happy to have it over with.<br />
<br />
The trip back to Bolton was equally brief, at least relative to the normal ride. I was cruising at an indicated 140 knots, but the GPS was showing 168 knots across the ground. As I called Bolton Tower over Lilly Chapel (a reporting point 8 miles west of the airport), I was again showing 120 on the airspeed and 145 on the GPS. Now I've heard a lot of real whoppers this year ("<i>It'll bend the cost curve down.</i>" and "<i>Gee Dad, I don't know how that dent got in my car.</i>" and "<i>He'll calm down once he's neutered.</i>") but none of them hold a candle to this:<br />
<br />
"<i>Four six six papa golf, report two mile left base runway four, winds three zero zero at five.</i>"<br />
<br />
Five? As in five knots?? Are you serious??? When I'm doing 145 knots across the ground and showing 120 knots on the speedometer, there is no way I'm facing 5 knot winds on the runway. It had to be at least 12 to 14 knots.<br />
<br />
It was. Gusty, too. But again, it wasn't a horrible landing. Practice seems to be helping!<br />
<br />
There was quite a bit of clean up to do in the hangar. It's late in the summer and the bugs are fat. I think the updrafts help to carry them up high enough for me to hit them, too. There were at least three smears on the windshield that had to come from bugs close to the size of sparrows. I wonder what happens when a bug like that hits an open cockpit Stearman. I shudder to think....DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-16566880924252244332010-09-05T20:55:00.000-04:002010-09-05T20:55:47.803-04:00Worst. Landing. Ever!Well, with you having heard the punchline already I don't suppose there's any reason to tell the story, but I will anyway.<br />
<br />
I've spent the last few days working on both of the airplanes. The RV-12 is ready for interior paint and the fuselage and will soon be joined with the ever-patient tail cone that has spent the better part of the year lying fallow in the back of the hangar. The RV-6 also needs some work. Last week it was reluctant to turn more than one blade when starting because the resistance at the top of the first compression stroke was more than the old battery could overcome. I've been putting off buying a new battery for months, mostly as a matter of cost rather than hassle of installation. They're $183 plus shipping; installation takes 15 minutes. I needed to order some parts for the installation of the Dynon, though, so I glommed it all together into a big Aircraft Spruce order.<br />
<br />
Finding the battery that I needed was easy, but finding the fittings needed to plumb the Dynon into the existing pitot/static system on Spruce's massive web catalog was a real chore. It didn't help that I've never done any work with the plastic hoses and fittings that comprise such a system, of course. I didn't even know what the parts are called. I eventually tracked everything down by starting with the hose. In the description of the hose, the web site said something like "and you'll probably need some of this other krep too." That helped.<br />
<br />
I elected to have the stuff delivered by a herd of FedEx hump back turtles, that being the cheapest method and me not being in any particular hurry. The package arrived in two days. Good on ya, FedEx!<br />
<br />
I installed the battery right away. I had no idea if new batteries come with a charge on them or not and I wanted some time to get the thing charged up if it needed it - good weather was in the offing and I didn't want to go out to the airport all primed and ready to fly only to be shot down by a flat battery. I need not have worried. That new battery has so much oooomph that I think I could taxi the plane just by running the starter.<br />
<br />
With the pitot/static fittings and a partially built (funny how they didn't mention that I would need to assemble on of the connectors my self - grrr!) wiring harness in hand, I finally have to take some time to figure out how to install it. I know that I'm going to have to install a 'T' fitting in the both the pitot and the lines. I also know that there's not a great deal of room to do it in. The pitot line is the one that already has a 'T' fitting in it:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TIQy1HesemI/AAAAAAAAMzk/20nmukcK244/s1600/P9038310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TIQy1HesemI/AAAAAAAAMzk/20nmukcK244/s400/P9038310.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I'll have to find a spot a little lower in the line. The static line is way back behind the panel where you can't see it in the picture. The Vertical Speed Indicator has an elbow fitting for the static line going into it - it should be relatively easy to replace it with a 'T'.<br />
<br />
The actual physical installation of the Dynon unit will be a breeze.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TIQy4R8MLSI/AAAAAAAAMzs/_igqYYsmonE/s1600/P9038309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TIQy4R8MLSI/AAAAAAAAMzs/_igqYYsmonE/s400/P9038309.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The D-6 has a remote compass module that has to be mounted somewhere. I still haven't figured out where I'm going to put it. It has to be in an area where it won't be exposed to stray magnetic forces, so the most convenient place (behind the panel) is out of the question, as is another very attractive location on top of the battery box.<br />
<br />
That will have to wait, though. With a new battery and unbelievably great weather today, I couldn't sit around in the hangar scratching my head figuring out where to mount the remote compass. I had to fly! I called <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ab_Initio" style="color: #a9501b; text-decoration: none;">ab initio</a> </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">co-pilot trainee John</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"> to see if he'd like to ride down to Portsmouth for brunch, and then hop a few miles east to visit the <a href="http://www.unicom12.blogspot.com/">Jackson Two</a>. Naturally, he was ready to go! The morning was perfect for flying, so I did exactly that. Co-pilot training was pushed aside in my own self-interest. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">The winds were light out of the south, so it looked like a great opportunity to use the new left traffic pattern at Portsmouth. Left traffic is standard at almost all airports , but for some reason Portsmouth had elected to use a right traffic pattern for runway 18. True to the story of my life, I had finally gotten over not being able to remember that when they changed it. Now I have to remember <i>not </i>to remember that it's not left traffic to 18. We were set up for a nice overhead break into a left downwind, but there was another RV approaching from the south east. He was perfectly positioned for an entry into the left downwind too, so I told him to proceed and we would extend down the centerline of the runway and fall in behind him. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">That would have worked perfectly, but just as I was yanking and banking into a nice trail position behind him, he called that he was entering a crosswind leg while he turned directly across the runway. That confused me. We then ended up parallel to each other on our respective downwind legs with him over on the west side and me on the east (and correct, I might add) side. He called that he was turning base.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Me: "Hey, are you flying right traffic?"</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Him: "Of course."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Me: "Oh, Portsmouth uses left traffic on 18 now."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Him: "Oh, ok." After which he called right base again and proceeded to land in front of me.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Me, in a little mini-snit at being relegated to landing #2 behind the guy that's on the wrong side of the runway, but not showing it in my voice: "six papa golf, left base, number two."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">No use getting in an air rage incident over it, and it's not like I could feel all morally superior about it - I only know about the change because Wingman Ted mentioned it to me. I also saw it in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NOTAM">NOTAMs</a> before I left, but only because I was looking for it. If Ted had told me about it, chances are excellent that I would have flown right traffic too.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">We had a nice breakfast, bought gas (and I learned that the special Sunday fuel discount is a cash-only deal - good thing </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">co-pilot trainee John</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"> had a couple of twenties he could loan me!) and headed for Jackson. Sitting at the end of the runway waiting for takeoff, a Cessna Skylane called in from the south. He was planning right traffic to runway 18. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Sigh.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TIQ53WNaQqI/AAAAAAAAMz0/kLgDKQsdsp4/s1600/P9058360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TIQ53WNaQqI/AAAAAAAAMz0/kLgDKQsdsp4/s400/P9058360.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">The visit with the Jackson Two was fun. It was interesting to see where they're at on their RV-12. They started months after me, but they're at almost exactly the same stage as I am on the fuselage. The big difference is that they already have their wings done. They'll be done long before me at the rate they're going.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">This biplane landed while we were getting ready to head back. Is this the Worst. Landing. Ever?? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Nope, we're getting to that.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TIQ59TokZ_I/AAAAAAAAMz8/YAvpwoC5JqU/s1600/P9058362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TIQ59TokZ_I/AAAAAAAAMz8/YAvpwoC5JqU/s400/P9058362.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">The flight back was a little bumpy as we passed through the various up- and down-drafts you get on a warm sunny day. In fact, I could feel a big updraft as we were left base on runway 22 back at Bolton. The bottom fell out of it as we were coming down the final approach. Over the runway and in the middle of the landing flare, I felt another lifting surge, almost as if the hot air rising off of the sun-baked runway was keeping the plane from settling. I eventually ran out of airspeed and dropped the plane ignominiously onto the runway from a foot or two in the air. The bounce was predictably horrendous. It was bad enough that we porpoised down the runway for a good half a dozen bounces. It was, by far, the worst landing I've made in years.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Now here's the interesting thing about a nice Sunday afternoon at Bolton: there are scads of people sitting at JP's BBQ watching the planes land. In other words, there were dozens of witnesses. And there was no option left to me by the tower's taxi clearance; I'd have to taxi right by the crowd. There was only one thing I could do as we went by.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">I pointed at </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">co-pilot trainee John.</span>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-26787721090208526262010-08-28T22:29:00.000-04:002010-08-28T22:29:48.152-04:00The Furey Fly-inI don't do fly-ins that much anymore. Truth be told, using this year as a reference I don't even do much flying at all anymore! Between the periods of inclement weather and an ever-growing collection of competing demands and distractions, I just haven't done much more than proficiency flights for most of the year. Having been blessed with a few wonderful days of eminently flyable weather, though, I made sure that I had everything arranged to attend the Furey Fly-in. This one in particular is one I hate to miss; it's held at John Furey's private airstrip out east near Canton, OH and is my clear favorite.<br />
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There are some things to note in the chart above. First, just to the west of the airport (the circle with the 'R' in it) there is a waypoint named MINER. That's important because it is the nearest navigatable spot to the airport that I'd be trying to find. Just to the east of the airport, there is a blue teepee with the number 1549 next to it.<br />
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You can't tell from the teepee-shaped rune, but there is a big hill there with a very unfriendly (to airplanes) tower on top of it. The 1549 indicates its height in feet. The hill is right in line with the runway. Inconvenient, that. It necessitates a somewhat non-standard approach in which the pilot kind of slides around the side of the hill to get lined up with the runway. One wants to get down onto the runway as close to the end of it as possible to leave plenty of distance to get stopped before the end, keeping in mind that tires don't have nearly the braking action on grass that they do on pavement. Let's just say that it's a somewhat more complicated operation than landing on 5,000+ feet of smooth, 75' wide pavement at Bolton.<br />
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I would be taking Sailor Jack with me on this trip. Jack is considering building an RV-12, and the only thing stopping him is that he is equally passionate about sailing as he is about flying. Yeah, so? Why can't he just do both? Sad as it is to say, the reason is that sometimes in life you simply have to choose one. He's torn between getting himself a nice sailboat and building an airplane. Until he decides, though, I'm doing my utmost to score another player on our team, and what better argument could I make than taking him along out to Furey's and letting him soak in some of the true RV experience? To really seal the deal, I'd let him fly us out there and save the bumpier return leg for myself. Uncharacteristically generous, you might say, and you'd be right!<br />
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There were no balloons crowding up against the edge of the airport like there had been the previous evening so the departure was non-eventful. I got us turned onto course and climbed up past 2,000' before handing the reins to Jack. He hasn't flown in twenty years or so, but it really doesn't show. While he held a steady heading and altitude, I did a little sight seeing.<br />
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The MINER waypoint is only a mile or two from Furey Field, so the GPS was able to get us well and truly into the correct neighborhood, but when it comes to grass fields, that's not always enough. They can be real buggers to find. Looking out the windshield, we had two candidates for the airport - both we open areas surrounded by trees. Odds were pretty good that one of them was the field we were looking for. I noticed a bright orange spot on one of them, and mistaking it for a windsock, declared that field to the one we wanted.<br />
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Then the windsock started moving. Now I don't mean it was moving around as the wind shifted. No, I mean it was <i>moving. </i> As we approached the field, I could see that not only was it not a windsock, it was also not alone. There were two or three of them, and they were buzzing around in circles and cavorting up and down the runway. I was finally able to discern that they were powered parachutes. I called on the radio a couple of times to see if I could get them to move away from the runway, but no joy. All I could do was orbit the field and hope they'd eventually notice us. After only a couple of times around the field, someone below took pity on my dwindling fuel budget and told us it was okay to land. The parachutists (that's probably not what they're called, but I'm at a loss as to what the correct term might be) were aware that we'd be landing and would stay clear of the runway.<br />
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That left only one big problem: making the approach around the side of the hill, getting the plane onto the runway close enough to the approach end to leave room to stop, and making a smooth enough landing to not be embarrassing. It was a few moments of very intense concentration and to be perfectly honest I can't remember most of it. My general feeling is that it went pretty well. My starkest memory is maneuvering the plane to get it lined up with the runway and thinking <b>air speed, air speed, air speed!</b> Being down low like that, struggling with a little tailwind/crosswind that threatened to tempt me into over-banking to get lined up with the runway, seemed like the perfect recipe for a stall-spin wreck. The most critical function in a situation like that is to be very careful not to exceed the stalling angle-of-attack. I don't have an angle-of-attack gauge, though, so I had to rely on its idiot-savant cousin, the airspeed indicator. As I'm sitting here writing this, it seems the case that the airspeed indicator was sufficient to the task.<br />
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The remainder of the day was spent socializing and watching other pilots make their landings.<br />
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Some didn't land - they just made low passes:<br />
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That thing was FAST!<br />
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There was plenty of food and flying talk to be found. You can always tell by the hands that they're talking flying, although sometimes those motions can also be about food. He was either describing his landing around the hill or sharing some of the finer points on how to make toast.<br />
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I didn't get an accurate count of planes that landed, but it was close to two dozen at least.<br />
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The takeoff to leave was, thankfully, back towards the hill. It's slightly uphill going that way, but by mid-afternoon there was a nice breeze from that direction to help get some air across the wings. The flight back to Bolton was a lot smoother than I had expected it to be. As I was pushing the plane back into the hangar, Jack busied himself with digging something out of the saddle bags of his motorcycle.<br />
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Hey, a couple of beers! I think he's got this flying thing pretty well figured out.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-76769742197849082332010-08-28T21:24:00.001-04:002010-08-28T21:28:52.950-04:00Hazards to aerial navigationIt's completely unfair and almost entirely unwarranted, but ever since I almost busted my private pilot check ride by getting too close to a hot air balloon I have referred to them as hazards to aerial navigation. What can I say? I just hold a grudge, I guess. They're slow, expensive, and offend my delicate sensitivities with their innate and irreconcilable uselessness. For crying out loud, those guys hanging helplessly underneath the balloon in a wicker basket even have the temerity to refer to themselves as pilots! Pilots!!! When the only thing they have any control over whatsoever is the expulsion of hot air!<br />
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No, the irony of making that last statement after bloviating about balloons, the beautiful flowers of the sky, does not escape me. Expulsion of hot air indeed!<br />
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So what brought on this diatribe, you ask? Well, after busting my hump after work yesterday to get the lawn mowed, having failed to do so on Thursday, I thought I'd reward myself with a little flying. I arranged to have <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ab_Initio">ab initio</a> </i>co-pilot trainee John ride along, the plan being to teach him how to act as my autopilot and voice-activated GPS destination enterer. If I remember correctly, John has only ever been in an airplane three times in his life, and all three have been with me. Without any other basis of comparison, I think the poor guy is convinced that the only way to land an airplane is to bounce it down the runway like it's on a trampoline. He's also a self-admitted addict of the Discovery and History channels, or any other channel that has shows about airplanes. I love flying with people that, like me, have been fascinated with airplanes for as long as they can remember.<br />
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The weather was great for it, too. The very light winds and clear blue sky would practically guarantee a smooth ride, and that would be beneficial for John's first experience with controlling the airplane. I had planned out a round robin flight that would give him good experience in plugging in a waypoint in the GPS and flying to it. I was a little over optimistic on the issue of how much evening light we get these days, though. I planned six different airports; we made it to three.<br />
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But I'm getting ahead of myself. For awhile I thought we might be thwarted from even getting off of the ground. As we were driving out to the hangar, it was hard to miss the fact that the sky just to the east of the runway was cluttered with the aforementioned hazards.<br />
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I wasn't sure that we'd even be able to take off. Thankfully, the wind, such as it was, was blowing them away from the airport.<br />
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The flight went off without a hitch. I made the takeoff and did the initial stage of our climb to 3,500', handing control over to John at the 2,500' level. He finished the climb and picked up the GPS course, then proceeded to fly us directly to the first airport on our list. He took to it like a fish to water. Of course, with it being his first time he had to concentrate pretty hard on not fixating on any one thing, but that's normal. It takes awhile to develop a good scan of the instruments, the GPS, and the situation outside the windshield. The temptation is to stare at the altimeter, or the GPS, or at whatever it is that you're trying to manage at any given moment. The trick is to internalize the fact that these things all change relatively slowly, and that you have plenty of time to take glances at other stuff to make sure all is well in those realms too. You can read a bit more on the topic of instrument scans <a href="http://www.flightsimbooks.com/foi/chapter2.php">here.</a> While we weren't flying instruments, the concept is the same: you have to split your time and attention between a number of different things, and it takes awhile to learn how to do that.<br />
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It was starting to get late when we finally arrived at Circleville (KCYO), our only real destination of the flight. Papa needed gas, and Circleville is the cheapest within easy range. While I pumped the gas, John chatted with a student pilot that had found herself stranded at KCYO while on her long cross country. I didn't catch her entire story, but I think something had gone wrong with her navigation radio and she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to find her way back to West Virginia without it. I wish we had had more time to chat with her, but we were in a bit of a race with the sun. We had to be back to Bolton by sunset, and it was starting to look like it might be a near thing.<br />
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I had John fly us back while I fiddled with the camera. Here he is enjoying the coolest sunset of his life (as far as I'm concerned, but I confess to being quite biased).<br />
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You can't see it very well in the picture, but those sunglasses are awesome. I'm going to have to try to find some for myself. They have little reading glass type lenses embedded in the lower part of the sunglass lenses, almost like bifocals. That would be extraordinarily useful for me, Capt. <a href="http://www.bing.com/health/article/mayo-126277/Presbyopia?q=presbyopia&qpvt=Prespeopia">Presbyopia.</a> <br />
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The balloons were gone by the time we got back to Bolton and there was very little traffic to deal with. It was an easy approach and it culminated in what to John was a normal landing. <br />
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In other words, I bounced it.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-40034499482735644792010-08-26T20:52:00.001-04:002010-08-26T20:54:32.462-04:00A Fall PreviewIt's been an odd year weather-wise, and this August has followed that trend. I can usually count on a break from mowing in August as it gets hot and dry, conditions unfavorable to grass and in turn welcomed by those that need to mow it. Not this year. We're still mowing at least once a week. It needs it now, in fact. Mowing was one of my three choices for what to do after work today, the others being work on the RV-12 or go flying. I picked flying. I don't feel guilty about it at all. Here it is almost Labor Day and I have hardly flown all year. It's depressing.<br />
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Tonight I invited Co-pilot Egg to ride along on a short hop around the neighborhood. We didn't get a particularly early start; it was 7:23 when we called Bolton ground for taxi clearance.<br />
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No reply.<br />
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I never know what to do when that happens. They could be busy on another frequency or on the phone. How long should I wait before trying again? I have to balance between a reasonable wait versus being a pest and getting snapped at. After waiting what I considered to be a suitably long time, I tried again. No reply. It was 7:25 by this time and the tower is scheduled to close at 7:30. They're usually very precise about the timing, so I wasn't comfortable with just heading out on my own.<br />
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Then the rotating beacon came on. That can mean either that we are under IFR conditions, it's night, or the tower is closed. Two out of three of those were absolutely out of the question. Still, it wasn't yet 7:30. And I recently had occasion to ask them why it was on in the middle of a sunny afternoon. I just couldn't chance it.<br />
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What to do, what to do. I pulled over onto a ramp off of the main taxiway and waited. At precisely 7:30-ish (close enough to an indicated 7:30 to be within the bounds of believability should I be accused to leaving too early) I headed for the runway. A Cessna 172 was just departing on runway 22 for touch & goes, but the wind sock seemed to indicate that runway 4 would be preferred. A Cherokee coming down the ILS to runway 4 tacitly agreed. I figured I'd taxi to runway 4 and wait until the Cessna was somewhere on downwind before departing on 4. At the end of the runway, the 172 was turning base and the Cherokee was still three or four miles out. The 172 made a full stop and was off on taxiway Alpha 3 while the Piper was still a couple of miles out. Off we went!<br />
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We climbed up to 5,000 and headed for downtown Columbus. Egg flew for a little while, but soon reported that her nutritious meal of Kraft Cheese & Macaroni wasn't sitting too well. I figured we'd better head back before anything untoward of a gastrointestinal nature occurred. An explosive decompression, in the vernacular.<br />
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Descending from 5,000 down to pattern altitude over Bolton, there was a 172 coming in from the southwest repeatedly calling the tower. I guess I could have told him the tower was closed, but it was a rental from Bolton - the dude ought to know when the tower closes. A Cherokee on left downwind clued him in. The 172 acknowledged that the tower was closed and reported that he'd enter a right base for runway 4. That's not kosher, really. It's left traffic when the tower is closed.<br />
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Renters.<br />
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We overflew the Cherokee on downwind a couple of thousand feet above and made a lazy left turn in a fast descent to fall in line behind it on left base. We were set up for a good landing. Didn't get one. Bounced it. Luckily not hard enough to jar loose the Cheese & Macroni, though, so there is that.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-31370174939761863072010-08-21T17:33:00.002-04:002010-08-21T17:33:52.417-04:00Follow-on article from OshkoshOddly, almost completely unrelated to airplanes.<br />
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<a href="http://www.gamingnexus.com/Article/Apex-Racing-Simulator/Item2745.aspx">http://www.gamingnexus.com/Article/Apex-Racing-Simulator/Item2745.aspx</a>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-27122165688147389102010-08-18T20:42:00.001-04:002010-08-19T08:03:30.866-04:00Sailing on Lake FiascoI alluded to the challenges encountered in acquiring a simple little sailboat in my last post. Here's the whole sordid story.<br />
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It started yesterday when the seller of the boat called me and changed our scheduled 4:00 meeting time to 11:50. She thought (rightly!) that we ought to meet at the BMV in order to get the registration of the trailer transferred over to me. The BMV is typically much more complicated to deal with than the Ohio Division of Watercraft. The latter have been nothing but pleasantly helpful in my past dealings with them, and small boats are very easy to buy and sell because there is no title to them. The BMV, though. Shudder!<br />
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Meeting a total stranger at the BMV was pretty much what you'd expect. Is that her? Or how about that one? It didn't help that she was late (I later found out that she had gone back home because she had forgotten to bring the life preservers that she wanted to give me), giving me plenty of time to approach women that weren't the woman I was looking for. They were all probably left wondering how anyone could expect such an incredibly lame pick-up line like "are you the lady that's selling me her boat?" to ever work.<br />
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The non-commercial trailer registration process in Ohio is completely messed up. If you don't have a slip of paper providing an officially recorded weight, you have to pay the fee for a 3,000 lb. trailer. That fee is a hefty $43. If I had a weight slip to prove that my under 500 lb. trailer was officially certified to be under 500 lbs, with said certification being provided by an official called a "weight master," the fee would be $16. So why didn't I get the trailer weighed by a weight master? Two reasons: it had expired plates on it and thus couldn't be taken on the road, and because weight masters are only located at the weigh stations on the freeways way out in the boonies. Besides the impracticality of driving out to a weigh station, ask yourself this: have you <i>ever</i> seen one of those open?<br />
<br />
The $43 was cash or check only. I had $33 on me. Luckily I was standing right next to a woman that I had just handed a few hundred dollars to. I hit her up for a $10 loan.<br />
<br />
After work, I went to pick up the boat. Task one was, of course, to put the new plate on. Naturally the seller had dropped by earlier to retrieve the old expired plate. Sentimental value, I suppose. I can't figure out any other reason for her wanting it. Nor can I fathom why she took the nuts and bolts that were holding it on, leaving me with no way to attach the new one. The way I figure it is she just bought them from me for $10, she just doesn't know it yet.<br />
<br />
The drive home was stressful. Not only was I towing an unknown trailer for the first time, I was towing it with a trailer hitch that had yet to be tested in action. And the masts were bouncing around in a most disconcerting way, looking every bit like they were going to fly off and impale someone. If that wasn't stressful enough, I felt that I had to limit my highway speed to the posted speed limit. At rush hour. Talk about stress! I don't know how you slow drivers handle it! You know who passed me while I was crawling along?<br />
<br />
Everyone!<br />
<br />
With the trailer licensed and the boat safely in the hangar, all that was left to do was to get the boat itself registered. I knew it was going to be tricky. I based that supposition on the fact that the seller had gone out of her way to gather up the entire paperwork history of the boat, including the letters she had exchanged with the Division of Watercraft explaining that a 12 number Hull Identification Number (HIN) simply was not available. She had provided pencil drawings of the factory identity plate in response to their request for a pencil <i>tracing</i>, to which they replied "Thanks, but no thanks." Well, they couched it in more formal language, but that was the gist of it.<br />
<br />
She apparently had eventually worn them down because there was the registration card, resplendent with its four digit HIN. Unique in Ohio, that. I decided that it would be prudent to take a picture of the identity plate with me rather than try to re-convince them that four digit HINs were all the craze these days. Oh, and I brought cash, too. There wouldn't be anyone there to sell license plate bolts to. <br />
<br />
It actually ended up being relatively painless, at least from a process point-of-view. They made copies of this, that, and the other, banged around in the computer files, ruffled through the paper files, and eventually decided that they could register the boat for me. Where they managed to scare up the requisite twelve digits from, I do not know and I do not care.<br />
<br />
It cost $38. A power boat would have only been $33. Why the $5 difference? Sailboats pay a $5 "conservation fee." Which I suppose is to offset the additional damage they do to the eco-system by harnessing the wind rather than burning pollution-laden fossil fuels. It seems completely backwards, doesn't it?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGxx-CgHh9I/AAAAAAAAMmQ/fW9t-fxa3lk/s1600/IMG00085-20100818-1202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGxx-CgHh9I/AAAAAAAAMmQ/fW9t-fxa3lk/s400/IMG00085-20100818-1202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
With everything registered and paid for (I see a lot of bumper stickers and T-shirts these days that say "Freedom Isn't Free"; I think I can see their point), there was nothing keeping me from making my maiden voyage this afternoon. I rushed home from work and got ready to go. In my haste, I somehow managed to lose the key to the airport gate, but it was eventually found. I couldn't find my good life jacket and the waterproof box attached to it that I use to hold the boat registration card and my car key, but it was eventually found hiding in the trunk of the Miata. I had left it there on the day that I went to look at The Boat That Leaked. I was finally ready to go!<br />
<br />
As I was driving out to the lake, my most fervent desire was that there wouldn't be anyone else out there. Knowing that the probability of fiasco was somewhere on the order of 90%, I thought it would be nice to not have any witnesses. And, given that I had not practiced backing up with the trailer, I thought it would be nice to be able to back down the boat ramp without having to deal with the pressure of people waiting for me to get out of the way. When I pulled into the boat ramp lot, I was greeted with exactly what I had hoped for: absolute solitude.<br />
<br />
I got busy rigging the boat. That went pretty well considering that I had just practiced it the night before. I was just about ready to try backing the boat down the boat ramp when two pickup trucks pulled in.<br />
<br />
Great.<br />
<br />
The first truck contained a shaved-headed man carrying a six pack and a woman with a purple mohawk hair cut. The second truck was driving by a guy that looked like he could have been cast as lead for any biker movie ever made.<br />
<br />
Beer guy: "Hey! I thought that was chew!"<br />
<br />
Biker guy: "Yup. It's me!"<br />
<br />
Mohawk girl: "When'd jew get out?"<br />
<br />
Oh, great. Yeah, yeah, I know. He paid his debt to society and all that. But still.... great.<br />
<br />
I went about my business, albeit quite a bit self-consciously. All was going well, though. I was having no trouble at all backing down the ramp. Until, that is, I heard a tremendous "THWACK!" and leaves fell through the open sun roof. The mast had brushed against an overhanging tree branch. Everything seemed okay, though, so I backed the trailer on down into the water. The rear end of the boat floated off of the trailer, so I stopped and got out. I floated the boat the rest of the way off of the trailer and started looking for something to tie it to so I could move the car up to the parking lot. There was nothing to be found.<br />
<br />
Great. No help from the witnesses - I think they were comparing the relative merits of probation vs. house arrest.<br />
<br />
I ended up pulling the boat around to the other side of the pier and yanking it up onto the bank. I didn't want to have to do that - that side of the pier was filthy with yucky green algae and floating trash, and it smelled horrible. There was no choice, though.<br />
<br />
I went and parked the car ("How long was you in fer this time," I heard as I walked by the happily disinterested witnesses) and went back to retrieve the boat. I thought I'd go ahead and get my life jacket on and put my car key in the water proof box before putting the boat in the water. As I was trying to snap the buckle on the life jacket, I heard "PLOP," and looked down just in time to see my car key sinking below the algae.<br />
<br />
Great. Just great.<br />
<br />
If you think I was reluctant to pull the boat through that crud, how do you think I felt about reaching down into it to fish around looking for my car key?<br />
<br />
Once I found it and rinsed everything off on the other side of the pier, it was time to launch the boat and finally do some sailing! I carefully climbed aboard and pushed away from the pier. And....<br />
<br />
Just sat there. I had launched into absolutely no wind at all. Not even a light breeze. Completely dead air.<br />
<br />
I suddenly missed my kayak.<br />
<br />
I wobbled the rudder back and forth in an attempt to propel myself out away from the inlet, hoping that there would be some breeze further out on the lake. With no wind to fill the sail, there was nothing to hold the boom out. I had to push it out to keep it from flopping over on me. I tried moving to the other side of the boat, but it just followed me. The boat tips towards whichever side I sit on, so the boom just falls over to that side. There still wasn't even the whisper of a rumor of a breeze.<br />
<br />
We were moving, though. I don't know if it was the current or if the boat was simply just falling forwards into the ever-increasing depth of my despair and frustration, but we were moving forward. Very, very slowly, but forward none the less.<br />
<br />
Captain Bligh made better time in his lifeboat.<br />
<br />
An interminable eon later as I approached the far bank of the lake, I was becoming concerned that I wouldn't be able to get back. I turned around and got the boat pointed back towards where I had launched. Very, very slowly we made our way back. As I finally approached the pier, I saw a small eye bolt that I had missed before. I'd be able to tie the boat to it while I got the sail down and readied myself for debarkation. I finally got close enough to tie the bow line to the eye bolt and busied myself with dropping the sail. Once I had it down, I looked up to see that a breeze had <i>finally </i>kicked up while I wasn't paying attention and pushed the boat away from the pier. The line I had loosely tied to the eye bolt had come loose. The witnesses, having finally finished their impromptu reunion with biker guy, were sitting there fishing. And, I have to say, looking quite amused.<br />
<br />
I wasn't about to raise the sail again, so I had to ignominiously wobble the rudder back and forth in an attempt to push the boat back up to the pier. Once I managed to do that, I wasted no time at all getting out of the damned thing. I dragged it back around to the other side of the pier and beached it while I went to get the car. Backing down the ramp went fine again, and it wasn't very hard to get the boat back onto the trailer. I pulled the trailer out of the water until the mast was just shy of the overhanging tree branch and got out to bring the mast down. All that was left to do was pull the trailer the rest of the way up the ramp and over to the parking area so I could get everything taken apart and put away. Then I'd just need to strap the boat down and the whole fiasco would finally be over. That's when I heard a combination of "WHUUMP!!" and "CLANG!!"<br />
<br />
The boat had fallen off of the trailer. It was at this point that I decided that I needed to take a picture.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGx5-RnrbTI/AAAAAAAAMmU/OotfFRyoCZk/s1600/IMG00086-20100818-1809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGx5-RnrbTI/AAAAAAAAMmU/OotfFRyoCZk/s400/IMG00086-20100818-1809.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Great.<br />
<br />
I swear, I was sorely tempted to just leave it there.<br />
<br />
I decided instead to just busy myself with getting the sail and the other various pieces-parts put away. Once I had calmed down a little, I'd deal with getting the boat back onto the trailer. It's not actually all that heavy and I was able to get it back up there without having to resort to asking for a hand from the witnesses, so there is that. A small shining victory.<br />
<br />
The boat's back in the hangar now and I'm looking forward to trying again on a day with a wee bit more wind and a lot less fiasco.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-86305632847233040602010-08-17T19:08:00.001-04:002010-08-17T19:10:53.868-04:00DistractionsTo the untrained eye it may seem like I haven't been flying much. Those with a more discerning eye for this kind of thing will realize that the truth is, well, I haven't been flying much. Lately it's been short hops in the local area when the afternoon heat abates and I don't have a competing interest getting in the way. Last night was such a night; beautiful beyond description, although the broad brush stroke picture would be blue skies, light winds, and tolerable heat. The flying was for the most part unremarkable, although I hurry to add that being unremarkable should not be confused with being unenjoyable. Nothing could be further from the truth. Well, nothing but a New York Times editorial, but that's beside the point. It was a fun, relaxing flight, and it culminated in what had to be the closest that I've ever gotten to a perfect three-point landing.<br />
<br />
If I could land like that every time, Chuck Yeager would be reading books about <i>me</i>.<br />
<br />
The latest distraction has been the selling of stuff on Craig's List to fund the purchase of a small sailboat. I realized that it was mid-July and I had not yet had the kayaks on the water. That prompted me to sell one of them and start looking for a small, simple, affordable sailboat that I could launch, sail, and recover by myself. It had to be small enough to store in the corner of the hanger where I'm <i>not </i>storing or building an airplane. That constraint ruled out roughly 99% of the international fleet. I had the search narrowed down to a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Force_5">Force 5</a> or a <a href="http://www.torresen.com/sailboats/Zuma">Zuma</a>. Both were somewhat beyond the budget that I has set for myself, although I did find one Force 5 in my price range. It was, unfortunately, a bit of a fixer-upper. Okay, I'll be blunt: it <a href="http://www.schmetterlingaviation.com/2010/08/culminations-and-beginnings.html">leaked</a>.<br />
<br />
I kept up the search and finally came across a boat that I had never heard of. It's a British import called a <a href="http://www.toppersailboats.com/topper.aspx">Topper</a>. It was in good condition, it was on a trailer (essential for being able to launch and retrieve by myself), and it was in my budget. The only downside was the name, but being as I know very few Brits, it's unlikely that I will have to endure taunts of being a floating <a href="http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/tosser">tosser</a>.<br />
<br />
Feeling secure in the knowledge that few Americans know that expression (well, until now, anyway), I picked it up tonight.<br />
<br />
It fits perfectly in the hangar.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGsUhYP68RI/AAAAAAAAMlM/-cOd7XdF_vA/s1600/P8177957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGsUhYP68RI/AAAAAAAAMlM/-cOd7XdF_vA/s400/P8177957.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The secret to which is that the mast is in two parts. It's simple to rig, taking no more than ten minutes. The parts are simple, which is important should replacements be necessary - coming from England, they would not be cheap.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGsUjBim8aI/AAAAAAAAMlU/icIEB9pNeHc/s1600/P8177961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGsUjBim8aI/AAAAAAAAMlU/icIEB9pNeHc/s400/P8177961.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">It has a clever kick-up rudder design.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGsUk144YzI/AAAAAAAAMlc/AwwmL3QiCUc/s1600/P8177966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGsUk144YzI/AAAAAAAAMlc/AwwmL3QiCUc/s400/P8177966.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Unlike the Force 5, it has a halyard for raising and lowering the sail. It seems like a good idea to be able to drop the sail if it gets super windy or whatever.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGsUm0Nu6WI/AAAAAAAAMlk/cpwaaITfgog/s1600/P8177968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TGsUm0Nu6WI/AAAAAAAAMlk/cpwaaITfgog/s400/P8177968.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">It also has a clever way of holding the mast. It just locks in there. That removes the need for stays (cables that hold the mast in place and take awhile to set up every time you want to rig the boat) so it's super easy for one person to step the mast.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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Nothing is ever completely easy, of course. There's been quite a bit of preparation and negotiating to slog through, and I still need to get it registered. Hopefully, though, I'll get her on the water soon.DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-91874278170104169192010-08-01T15:37:00.000-04:002010-08-01T15:37:18.499-04:00Back in the air post-OshkoshNothing makes me want to fly like seeing thousands of other people doing it. We got up at 0130 local for our drive back on Saturday, the net result of which being that we got home at a reasonable time but I was far too tired to consider flying. This morning dawned bright and clear and that could only mean one thing: I had to get the mowing done. After that, though, I could finally get back into the air. As always, I need some form of justification to make the fuel cost worthwhile, no matter how thin of an excuse it is. Today it was that I needed to fill the tanks over at MadCo. And, as long as I was going on such a short flight, to introduce Cabot to his Mutt Muffs.<br />
<br />
We grabbed his harness, the muffs, and a camera. I also still had four cases of oil in the car that needed to be delivered to the hangar. All in all, it was looking like a wonderful confluence of reasons to go to the airport. As is often the case, Cabot was ready and willing with no more than the rattle of his leash to tell him we were heading somewhere.<br />
<br />
Once at the hangar, I put him in his harness and lifted him into the plane. He isn't particularly fond of being picked up, but with the harness it's just like picking up a brief case. Grab him by the "handle" and up he goes. I strapped him in, gave him a treat, and let him sit there while I pulled the plane out and did the preflight. Once we were just about ready to go, I put on the Mutt Muffs (No, not on myself. On him, silly) for the first time. I gave him another treat in hopes that he will equate having those things on his head with getting dog treats. I climbed aboard and brought down the canopy. I started the engine and we sat there for a few minutes while he got comfortable. I had the harness belted in tight enough that he really couldn't move around much. Once he was happily situated, I called the tower for taxi clearance.<br />
<br />
At the end of the runway I did my normal last-chance-to-back-out run-up of the engine, and Cabot seemed fine with it. I tried to get a picture of him but my preflight inspection hadn't gone far enough; someone had left the camera on and the battery was dead. No problem - I'd just make do with the camera in my cell phone.<br />
<br />
I couldn't pay much attention to him during the takeoff, but once we were climbing away from the airport I was able to look to see how he was doing. He was just looking out the window, more than likely thinking that the animals below looked just like chew toys.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFXLFvhfd8I/AAAAAAAAMd0/eS39iikHWSc/s1600/IMG00070-20100801-1038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFXLFvhfd8I/AAAAAAAAMd0/eS39iikHWSc/s400/IMG00070-20100801-1038.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was surprised to see that he hadn't knocked the Mutt Muffs off. Good boy! He does, however, have a somewhat awkwardly shaped head and the muffs have an annoying tendency to slide off the back. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFXLaGzFRRI/AAAAAAAAMd8/TzBCuX5B2Ys/s1600/IMG00071-20100801-1038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFXLaGzFRRI/AAAAAAAAMd8/TzBCuX5B2Ys/s400/IMG00071-20100801-1038.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It's only a few minutes over to MadCo and he was calm the entire way. In fact, the whole thing was kind of anticlimactic. I thought for sure that he would need attention and comforting, but he was calm as could be. Calmer, as it turns out, than a lot of humans who have flown with me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We landed for gas and Cabot experienced his first of my style of landing. It was a surprisingly good landing considering that I haven't flown for a couple of weeks, but the air was very calm and that usually helps. Still, it was one of those very rare landings where it is so smooth that you can feel the wheels start to spin as they scuff on the runway. How nice to make a good first impression!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We re-arranged his muffs while we were on the ground and got him turned around the other way so he'd be more comfortable. The takeoff was a little less sprightly now that we had another 120 pounds worth of fuel on board, but none of that mattered to Cabot. He was having a great time!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><br />
He snuggled up against me and enjoyed our ride back to Bolton where, against all odds, I made another landing as good as the first one.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFXMttHqS0I/AAAAAAAAMeM/TfSa7l4jplQ/s1600/IMG00082-20100801-1105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFXMttHqS0I/AAAAAAAAMeM/TfSa7l4jplQ/s400/IMG00082-20100801-1105.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14001215.post-1701416387117610312010-07-30T20:42:00.000-04:002010-07-30T20:42:42.915-04:00Oshkosh 2010 - Day 5Well, it's all over except for the drive home. Egg had her last day in the booth and I walked around looking at war birds before heading over to hangar B to finish my interview with the guy at the SimCraft booth. I'll be putting together an article about their product when I get back home - it's a fascinating gadget they've got and I'm going to enjoy writing it up.<br />
<br />
We're back in the hotel room now resting up for our drive home. We'll hit the road at about 3 am - the secret to Chicago traffic is to get through there at 5:30 am.<br />
<br />
There's not much else to say, so it's just going to be pictures today.<br />
<br />
First, the Spitfire. I waited and waited to get that picture; there was a guy leaning into the cockpit either memorizing each and every knob or having a prolonged Walter Mitty moment. You won't believe this, but I just stood there patiently waiting while he did whatever he was doing. I wasn't in any hurry; by the fifth day at Oshkosh I've done pretty much everything I can think of to do.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNuP-jKDkI/AAAAAAAAMcc/nC_LZb4tX_g/s1600/P7307780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNuP-jKDkI/AAAAAAAAMcc/nC_LZb4tX_g/s400/P7307780.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Next is a TBM:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNwXL_YHOI/AAAAAAAAMck/YRnA-S7LXuc/s1600/P7307804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNwXL_YHOI/AAAAAAAAMck/YRnA-S7LXuc/s400/P7307804.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNwbZeYiaI/AAAAAAAAMcs/cCpMdLPfkWY/s1600/P7307797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNwbZeYiaI/AAAAAAAAMcs/cCpMdLPfkWY/s400/P7307797.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNwfiXPCII/AAAAAAAAMc0/hjur3Dl2spc/s1600/P7307813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNwfiXPCII/AAAAAAAAMc0/hjur3Dl2spc/s400/P7307813.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And a Tiger Moth:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNw0y-w3fI/AAAAAAAAMc8/K7M_XXefiWc/s1600/P7307868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNw0y-w3fI/AAAAAAAAMc8/K7M_XXefiWc/s400/P7307868.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNw5qvXEjI/AAAAAAAAMdE/gi-gB0Hpur4/s1600/P7307859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNw5qvXEjI/AAAAAAAAMdE/gi-gB0Hpur4/s400/P7307859.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNw9dNDXcI/AAAAAAAAMdM/MVAepFIYS1Y/s1600/P7307861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNw9dNDXcI/AAAAAAAAMdM/MVAepFIYS1Y/s400/P7307861.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNxCKWpUOI/AAAAAAAAMdU/dp-qfFIE9Mw/s1600/P7307862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNxCKWpUOI/AAAAAAAAMdU/dp-qfFIE9Mw/s400/P7307862.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNxGm40VTI/AAAAAAAAMdc/IR6dsWWo58M/s1600/P7307864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ofEAmMNJY70/TFNxGm40VTI/AAAAAAAAMdc/IR6dsWWo58M/s400/P7307864.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>DaveGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16015349658680998609noreply@blogger.com0