There is nothing like a good read. I leaned back in my chair, put up my feet, and poured over the pages. It was the last line that got my attention - that concluding sentence that summarized everything with such precision and abridgment:
"I certify this aircraft has been inspected in accordance with procedures required for an annual inspection and determined to be in airworthy condition." Signed, Michael Weeden, followed by his A&P number.
I was reading from the aircraft logbook for the newly restored 1939 Fairchild, which documents every alteration, modification, and all maintenance performed on the airplane throughout her life. For example, I know that on April 1, 1961, the airplane got a new set of tires and an oil change. I know that on July 1, 1974, a new directional gyro was installed in the dash. More recently, in May of 1986, mechanic Richard Weeden installed a new battery.
Finally the most recent entry, made by Mike, is dated May 23, 2012. It is long - four pages summarize the work performed over the preceding 14 months. It is neatly written in clear, concise wording; very matter-of-fact: "Replaced left and right tires and tubes," "Wings reinstalled with new mounting hardware," "Installed new alternator," "Replaced VHF radios," "Fuel tanks flushed and new quantity senders installed." Very innocuous - the entry includes not a hint of the associated frustration or setbacks. Then again, it references none of the joy, either.
I turned in my swivel chair and looked at the old girl. Beneath the florescent shop lights she gleamed. Not a single splattered bug marred the perfect finish; no errant oil leak smeared the paint. Her lines had come together, and they were beautiful in a way that will never go out of style. To me, these classic old World War II-era airplanes are equivalent to the American muscle cars of the late 1960s. Try as they may, engineers will never recreate that lost art.
So then, who's going to fly it for the first time?
The question had been bantered about the hangar for the past several weeks. The only thing remaining in the restoration process was the test flight. Following a major alteration or repair, a test flight is required. As defined by the FAA, a qualified pilot, with no passengers, must execute the test. I guess the logic is, that having just restored an airplane, best not to load it with nuns and small children for that initial flight.
Oh, and insurance coverage would not be instated until after the test flight. When I asked the aviation insurance representative why not, she simply explained, "Because the test flight is when something is most likely to occur." Well, at least they're honest.
Legally I could not do the test flight - I did not have the proper endorsement on my pilot's license to fly tailwheel aircraft. I was out. A test pilot with experience in a Fairchild offered, but he was out of town for the next three months. Technically my dad could do it, but it had been 20 years since he last flew, and I refuse to believe that flying an airplane is analogous to riding a bicycle.
And that, my friends, is how Mike Weeden found himself buckled up and sitting at the controls of the 1939 Fairchild on a sunny Sunday morning in June, 2012. He had essentially drawn the short straw.
Holding my baseball cap atop my head with one hand I fought the prop wash and opened the passenger door. I shook Mike's hand, looked him in the eyes and said; "I'll see you in a few minutes." He was busy familiarizing himself with the controls and gauges, and seemed surprised by my announcement. "Oh, ok - I'm just going to fly it around the pattern for a half-hour or so, and then I'll take you for a ride, if you want." No worries; nothing out of the ordinary for him. Just test-flying an airplane; just another day at the office. I want a job like that.
A small crowd of onlookers gathered as Mike taxied the Fairchild. The old Ranger engine growled sweetly. After one final check of the systems, Mike maneuvered the aircraft onto the runway and opened her up. Instantly a roar saturated the airport as, slowly at first, the Fairchild rolled forward. She gathered speed and lifted her tail. She now rocketed ahead, unleashed and unrestrained. Halfway down the runway she got light on her mains and, undeniably triumphant, lifted off the ground. The sound of the propeller biting the air reverberated across the airfield, and I laughed out loud, grinning ear to ear as I watched her climb. What a perfectly gorgeous sight.
After 45 minutes of flight Mike brought the airplane back to earth. There was nothing to report - everything performed as it should, with no problems. Three simple words on a separate logbook entry thus completed the restoration process. Dated June 3, 2012: "Test Flight OK," signed Michael Weeden. Those three little words will never convey my true excitement or sense of accomplishment on that day.
You can find pictures of the Fairchild restoration at the Brodhead EAA Chapter website: www.eaa431.org The website is worth a look - the Fairchild project was but one small slice of the remarkable events that occur on a daily basis at an airfield like Brodhead. One need not be a pilot, or even interested in flying, to be positively affected by the presence and preservation of grassroots aviation.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
"I certify this aircraft has been inspected in accordance with procedures required for an annual inspection and determined to be in airworthy condition." Signed, Michael Weeden, followed by his A&P number.
I was reading from the aircraft logbook for the newly restored 1939 Fairchild, which documents every alteration, modification, and all maintenance performed on the airplane throughout her life. For example, I know that on April 1, 1961, the airplane got a new set of tires and an oil change. I know that on July 1, 1974, a new directional gyro was installed in the dash. More recently, in May of 1986, mechanic Richard Weeden installed a new battery.
Finally the most recent entry, made by Mike, is dated May 23, 2012. It is long - four pages summarize the work performed over the preceding 14 months. It is neatly written in clear, concise wording; very matter-of-fact: "Replaced left and right tires and tubes," "Wings reinstalled with new mounting hardware," "Installed new alternator," "Replaced VHF radios," "Fuel tanks flushed and new quantity senders installed." Very innocuous - the entry includes not a hint of the associated frustration or setbacks. Then again, it references none of the joy, either.
I turned in my swivel chair and looked at the old girl. Beneath the florescent shop lights she gleamed. Not a single splattered bug marred the perfect finish; no errant oil leak smeared the paint. Her lines had come together, and they were beautiful in a way that will never go out of style. To me, these classic old World War II-era airplanes are equivalent to the American muscle cars of the late 1960s. Try as they may, engineers will never recreate that lost art.
So then, who's going to fly it for the first time?
The question had been bantered about the hangar for the past several weeks. The only thing remaining in the restoration process was the test flight. Following a major alteration or repair, a test flight is required. As defined by the FAA, a qualified pilot, with no passengers, must execute the test. I guess the logic is, that having just restored an airplane, best not to load it with nuns and small children for that initial flight.
Oh, and insurance coverage would not be instated until after the test flight. When I asked the aviation insurance representative why not, she simply explained, "Because the test flight is when something is most likely to occur." Well, at least they're honest.
Legally I could not do the test flight - I did not have the proper endorsement on my pilot's license to fly tailwheel aircraft. I was out. A test pilot with experience in a Fairchild offered, but he was out of town for the next three months. Technically my dad could do it, but it had been 20 years since he last flew, and I refuse to believe that flying an airplane is analogous to riding a bicycle.
And that, my friends, is how Mike Weeden found himself buckled up and sitting at the controls of the 1939 Fairchild on a sunny Sunday morning in June, 2012. He had essentially drawn the short straw.
Holding my baseball cap atop my head with one hand I fought the prop wash and opened the passenger door. I shook Mike's hand, looked him in the eyes and said; "I'll see you in a few minutes." He was busy familiarizing himself with the controls and gauges, and seemed surprised by my announcement. "Oh, ok - I'm just going to fly it around the pattern for a half-hour or so, and then I'll take you for a ride, if you want." No worries; nothing out of the ordinary for him. Just test-flying an airplane; just another day at the office. I want a job like that.
A small crowd of onlookers gathered as Mike taxied the Fairchild. The old Ranger engine growled sweetly. After one final check of the systems, Mike maneuvered the aircraft onto the runway and opened her up. Instantly a roar saturated the airport as, slowly at first, the Fairchild rolled forward. She gathered speed and lifted her tail. She now rocketed ahead, unleashed and unrestrained. Halfway down the runway she got light on her mains and, undeniably triumphant, lifted off the ground. The sound of the propeller biting the air reverberated across the airfield, and I laughed out loud, grinning ear to ear as I watched her climb. What a perfectly gorgeous sight.
After 45 minutes of flight Mike brought the airplane back to earth. There was nothing to report - everything performed as it should, with no problems. Three simple words on a separate logbook entry thus completed the restoration process. Dated June 3, 2012: "Test Flight OK," signed Michael Weeden. Those three little words will never convey my true excitement or sense of accomplishment on that day.
You can find pictures of the Fairchild restoration at the Brodhead EAA Chapter website: www.eaa431.org The website is worth a look - the Fairchild project was but one small slice of the remarkable events that occur on a daily basis at an airfield like Brodhead. One need not be a pilot, or even interested in flying, to be positively affected by the presence and preservation of grassroots aviation.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
