And here we are, right back where we started.
I began this series of articles at the controls of the newly restored 1939 model 24R Fairchild. The actual restoration process took exactly 14 months, to the day. The project began on April 3, 2011, when Mike Weeden performed that initial inspection of the airframe. Fourteen months later - June 3, 2012, the aircraft left the ground on her maiden flight.
And here I find myself, right back where the series began. I am about to fly my airplane solo, for the first time.
I do the standard run-up. I check the brakes, smiling and shaking my head as I recall the frustration in getting them to work. I move the controls, and look out the window to verify that each surface is reacting accordingly. Again I smile - in the back of my mind I can picture a group of friends and Brodhead Airport volunteers lending a hand, hoisting the great wings into place. I notice how shiny the fresh paint appears, and can recall Bill Weeden masking, spraying, and finishing the surfaces.
I coax the engine up to 1500 RPM. The old Ranger roars, and it sounds the same as it did on that sweet, sweet day she came to life. Finally I make a radio call, hesitating only briefly to remember the excruciating job of installing them, the hours spent lying on my back contorted into a human pretzel.
I glance out the window. Glenn Hake is nowhere to be seen, but that's OK. As a flight instructor his job is done; there is nothing else he can teach me, I just need to get out there and do it. His voice still echoes, random tidbits bouncing about in my head: "Get that tail down as soon as you can." "Don't flair so soon." "You're working too hard; just let the airplane fly itself." "For God's sake, smile - this is fun, remember?"
Enough reminiscing. Time to cut the cord and just go.
I am lined up, facing directly down the runway. I can't help but notice - it looks short. I reach down, grip the throttle, and open her up. At full power, several things happen simultaneously. First, that sound - the old girl roars, uncaged and unleashed. It is a unique sound, straight out of World War II. It is a sound that raises the hair on the back of your neck, a sound that stirs emotion, although you cannot comprehend why, exactly.
Second, because of the rotation of the propeller, the airplane pulls hard to the left. An airplane is essentially a big gyroscope, and full power causes the Fairchild to lurch off track. Uncorrected, she will careen off the runway. I apply hard right rudder, keeping her path straight.
The third thing that happens is we start moving. Slowly at first, the machine gathers speed at a geometric rate. It does not seem fast enough - I feel as though the opposite end of the runway is rushing up to greet me.
The engine still roaring, the airplane comes alive as we gather speed. I feel a noticeable change in the controls; less input is required to gain response. We move faster, faster. I ease the stick forward, counter to one's natural instinct. This brings the tail off the ground, lowering the nose as she stands up on her mains - like a ballerina en pointe. This again causes a sharp pull to the left, noticeable enough to take my breath away. More right rudder, and we continue on track.
Halfway down the runway I can feel it - she's light on her mains. The ground is a blur. We're screaming along at over 50 miles per hour as I ease the stick back. There is no transition, hardly a physical indication that our collective weight has been transferred from landing gear to wings as we lift off the ground. I laugh out loud, like a child. Out my side window I watch the earth fall away, sinking beneath the appendage. Liftoff. We are flying.
Micro movements are all that are required to maneuver the great bird. I marvel at the designers and engineers who pieced together this beauty more than 70 years ago. She handles like a dream; stable, secure, rugged and durable. She is nimble, powerful, and flies without a single bad habit. We climb, leisurely gaining altitude at a respectable rate of more than 1,000 feet per minute.
I turn hard left, and then right. She banks 360 degrees steady, requiring no correction. Feeling confident I dip a wing, bringing the airplane nearly on her side. Still, she does not falter. I am smiling the entire time; savoring this perfectly balanced, amazingly correct flying machine. At a safe altitude I even initiate a stall. Despite weighing in at over a ton, the Fairchild simply settles back to straight-and-level. Even with power at idle and full flaps, I could not get her to break into a proper stall.
We head back to earth. Runway approaching, minor corrections, don't flair too soon; we glide over the threshold. I move the stick back, feeling for the runway. We seem to hang, seconds stretched into minutes, until yes - there it is. Once again, Glenn was proven right - landings are fun. I marvel; this thing lands as well as she flies. The Fairchild settles softly onto her mains as we roll out, slowing to a stop.
As we taxi back I think once again of the past 14 months. I can only conclude that it was all absolutely, positively, worth it.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
I began this series of articles at the controls of the newly restored 1939 model 24R Fairchild. The actual restoration process took exactly 14 months, to the day. The project began on April 3, 2011, when Mike Weeden performed that initial inspection of the airframe. Fourteen months later - June 3, 2012, the aircraft left the ground on her maiden flight.
And here I find myself, right back where the series began. I am about to fly my airplane solo, for the first time.
I do the standard run-up. I check the brakes, smiling and shaking my head as I recall the frustration in getting them to work. I move the controls, and look out the window to verify that each surface is reacting accordingly. Again I smile - in the back of my mind I can picture a group of friends and Brodhead Airport volunteers lending a hand, hoisting the great wings into place. I notice how shiny the fresh paint appears, and can recall Bill Weeden masking, spraying, and finishing the surfaces.
I coax the engine up to 1500 RPM. The old Ranger roars, and it sounds the same as it did on that sweet, sweet day she came to life. Finally I make a radio call, hesitating only briefly to remember the excruciating job of installing them, the hours spent lying on my back contorted into a human pretzel.
I glance out the window. Glenn Hake is nowhere to be seen, but that's OK. As a flight instructor his job is done; there is nothing else he can teach me, I just need to get out there and do it. His voice still echoes, random tidbits bouncing about in my head: "Get that tail down as soon as you can." "Don't flair so soon." "You're working too hard; just let the airplane fly itself." "For God's sake, smile - this is fun, remember?"
Enough reminiscing. Time to cut the cord and just go.
I am lined up, facing directly down the runway. I can't help but notice - it looks short. I reach down, grip the throttle, and open her up. At full power, several things happen simultaneously. First, that sound - the old girl roars, uncaged and unleashed. It is a unique sound, straight out of World War II. It is a sound that raises the hair on the back of your neck, a sound that stirs emotion, although you cannot comprehend why, exactly.
Second, because of the rotation of the propeller, the airplane pulls hard to the left. An airplane is essentially a big gyroscope, and full power causes the Fairchild to lurch off track. Uncorrected, she will careen off the runway. I apply hard right rudder, keeping her path straight.
The third thing that happens is we start moving. Slowly at first, the machine gathers speed at a geometric rate. It does not seem fast enough - I feel as though the opposite end of the runway is rushing up to greet me.
The engine still roaring, the airplane comes alive as we gather speed. I feel a noticeable change in the controls; less input is required to gain response. We move faster, faster. I ease the stick forward, counter to one's natural instinct. This brings the tail off the ground, lowering the nose as she stands up on her mains - like a ballerina en pointe. This again causes a sharp pull to the left, noticeable enough to take my breath away. More right rudder, and we continue on track.
Halfway down the runway I can feel it - she's light on her mains. The ground is a blur. We're screaming along at over 50 miles per hour as I ease the stick back. There is no transition, hardly a physical indication that our collective weight has been transferred from landing gear to wings as we lift off the ground. I laugh out loud, like a child. Out my side window I watch the earth fall away, sinking beneath the appendage. Liftoff. We are flying.
Micro movements are all that are required to maneuver the great bird. I marvel at the designers and engineers who pieced together this beauty more than 70 years ago. She handles like a dream; stable, secure, rugged and durable. She is nimble, powerful, and flies without a single bad habit. We climb, leisurely gaining altitude at a respectable rate of more than 1,000 feet per minute.
I turn hard left, and then right. She banks 360 degrees steady, requiring no correction. Feeling confident I dip a wing, bringing the airplane nearly on her side. Still, she does not falter. I am smiling the entire time; savoring this perfectly balanced, amazingly correct flying machine. At a safe altitude I even initiate a stall. Despite weighing in at over a ton, the Fairchild simply settles back to straight-and-level. Even with power at idle and full flaps, I could not get her to break into a proper stall.
We head back to earth. Runway approaching, minor corrections, don't flair too soon; we glide over the threshold. I move the stick back, feeling for the runway. We seem to hang, seconds stretched into minutes, until yes - there it is. Once again, Glenn was proven right - landings are fun. I marvel; this thing lands as well as she flies. The Fairchild settles softly onto her mains as we roll out, slowing to a stop.
As we taxi back I think once again of the past 14 months. I can only conclude that it was all absolutely, positively, worth it.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
