Today I flew the Fairchild.
The last time I printed the word "Fairchild" it was in glowing context. The antique-classic airplane had just undergone an extensive ground-up rejuvenation. After 14 months and a small fortune, the airplane was deemed flight worthy, test-flown, signed off, and even piloted by yours truly.
But then, beginning in July of 2012, I got a rather intimate look at why it is very few people have the patience to mess with antique machinery.
First, I had an engine blow up. No joke - on takeoff one day the Fairchild threw a piston, punching three neat holes through the crankcase. Fortunately we were directly above an airport and were thus able to limp back without further drama.
Okay, chalk it up to bad luck. Over the course of a week, Mike Weeden and I swapped engines, removing the blown Ranger and replacing it with one newly rebuilt. A new engine ought to provide years of trouble-free service; I was told to change the oil "after about 20 hours" of flight.
Erring on the side of caution I changed the oil after just three hours of service. It oozed out of the engine like mucus. Metal fragments were so prevalent, that the oil was barely liquid. There was obviously something wrong. Having just installed the engine, it had to be removed from the airplane and disassembled.
As it turned out, engine no. 2 was not assembled properly following its recent overhaul. In just three hours of use the main bearings were shot, and the crankshaft was beginning to score. Had I flown the airplane for just "45 minutes more," I would have ruined the entire engine. If there was a silver lining, it was most of the parts were salvageable.
Following another rebuild, engine no. 3 was ready to be installed. It was now autumn, by the way. After three solid days of work, the airplane was ready to fly. Or was it? I climbed in and engaged the starter. The engine fired and ran smoothly, but the tachometer did not work, of all the stupid things to go wrong.
Mike and I checked the cable, the most obvious solution. Of course, the cable was not broken. To our dismay we discovered that the tachometer is actually electronic; behind the dash is a grapefruit-sized generator. The engine-driven cable turns the generator, which provides power to the gauge via a short electric cord. Mike looked at the 1930s-era generator and exclaimed, "I don't even know where to get that thing serviced" - not a good thing to hear from your mechanic.
On a whim, I removed the electric cable. Freakishly, one of the terminals had disconnected and was shorting against the other. One minute of soldering solved the problem, except by then we were nearly out of daylight.
I am not going to lie - I was nervous. I was about to fly with an untested engine for the first time since experiencing a catastrophic failure and with dusk fast approaching. Despite this, I gunned the throttle and took off.
Everything seemed well, until 15 minutes into the flight I noticed that I was losing oil pressure. I think my heart stopped beating. I watched the pressure gauge sink to zero as I brought the aircraft around and set her down. Curiously, at idle, the oil pressure climbed back to its normal range. Exasperated, I once again removed the cowl and discovered the problem: an air lock in the pressure line.
Still, trouble persisted. On a particularly mild December day I decided to take the Fairchild up, in order to break in the new engine. Fifteen minutes into the flight I couldn't help but notice: one of the cylinders was misfiring.
I landed, removed the cowling and pulled the spark plugs. Sure enough, one of the cylinders had completely fouled. The plugs were coated with a thick oily residue. It could only be one thing: a broken oil ring. Three times the charm, the engine had to be removed.
By now Mike and I were so experienced at removing the engine from the airplane that I joked I could do it with my eyes closed, upside down, and in the dark. It now only took one day to completely disassemble, remove, and crate the Ranger engine from the Fairchild. For the third time the engine was shipped out for an overhaul.
It was not joke when I remarked to my friends, "It's a good thing aviation is only a hobby of mine. If I was trying to make money at it I would be screwed."
Christmas 2012 brought me yet another new engine for my airplane. This would technically be the fourth Ranger engine installed in the Fairchild since July. When it came time to make yet another test flight - I was nervous.
My hand visibly shook as I reached down to grip the throttle. After two run-ups I gritted my teeth, swallowed hard and, expecting the worst committed to the runway. We climbed. The engine did not falter; it did not even cough. Gauges registered and then stabilized. All parameters were in normal range.
Having logged a few more flights - including the one today - it is with only a small amount of trepidation that I announce that I am having fun. In fact, I will once again remark that despite the setbacks, it was all worth it.
Never, ever, ever give up.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
The last time I printed the word "Fairchild" it was in glowing context. The antique-classic airplane had just undergone an extensive ground-up rejuvenation. After 14 months and a small fortune, the airplane was deemed flight worthy, test-flown, signed off, and even piloted by yours truly.
But then, beginning in July of 2012, I got a rather intimate look at why it is very few people have the patience to mess with antique machinery.
First, I had an engine blow up. No joke - on takeoff one day the Fairchild threw a piston, punching three neat holes through the crankcase. Fortunately we were directly above an airport and were thus able to limp back without further drama.
Okay, chalk it up to bad luck. Over the course of a week, Mike Weeden and I swapped engines, removing the blown Ranger and replacing it with one newly rebuilt. A new engine ought to provide years of trouble-free service; I was told to change the oil "after about 20 hours" of flight.
Erring on the side of caution I changed the oil after just three hours of service. It oozed out of the engine like mucus. Metal fragments were so prevalent, that the oil was barely liquid. There was obviously something wrong. Having just installed the engine, it had to be removed from the airplane and disassembled.
As it turned out, engine no. 2 was not assembled properly following its recent overhaul. In just three hours of use the main bearings were shot, and the crankshaft was beginning to score. Had I flown the airplane for just "45 minutes more," I would have ruined the entire engine. If there was a silver lining, it was most of the parts were salvageable.
Following another rebuild, engine no. 3 was ready to be installed. It was now autumn, by the way. After three solid days of work, the airplane was ready to fly. Or was it? I climbed in and engaged the starter. The engine fired and ran smoothly, but the tachometer did not work, of all the stupid things to go wrong.
Mike and I checked the cable, the most obvious solution. Of course, the cable was not broken. To our dismay we discovered that the tachometer is actually electronic; behind the dash is a grapefruit-sized generator. The engine-driven cable turns the generator, which provides power to the gauge via a short electric cord. Mike looked at the 1930s-era generator and exclaimed, "I don't even know where to get that thing serviced" - not a good thing to hear from your mechanic.
On a whim, I removed the electric cable. Freakishly, one of the terminals had disconnected and was shorting against the other. One minute of soldering solved the problem, except by then we were nearly out of daylight.
I am not going to lie - I was nervous. I was about to fly with an untested engine for the first time since experiencing a catastrophic failure and with dusk fast approaching. Despite this, I gunned the throttle and took off.
Everything seemed well, until 15 minutes into the flight I noticed that I was losing oil pressure. I think my heart stopped beating. I watched the pressure gauge sink to zero as I brought the aircraft around and set her down. Curiously, at idle, the oil pressure climbed back to its normal range. Exasperated, I once again removed the cowl and discovered the problem: an air lock in the pressure line.
Still, trouble persisted. On a particularly mild December day I decided to take the Fairchild up, in order to break in the new engine. Fifteen minutes into the flight I couldn't help but notice: one of the cylinders was misfiring.
I landed, removed the cowling and pulled the spark plugs. Sure enough, one of the cylinders had completely fouled. The plugs were coated with a thick oily residue. It could only be one thing: a broken oil ring. Three times the charm, the engine had to be removed.
By now Mike and I were so experienced at removing the engine from the airplane that I joked I could do it with my eyes closed, upside down, and in the dark. It now only took one day to completely disassemble, remove, and crate the Ranger engine from the Fairchild. For the third time the engine was shipped out for an overhaul.
It was not joke when I remarked to my friends, "It's a good thing aviation is only a hobby of mine. If I was trying to make money at it I would be screwed."
Christmas 2012 brought me yet another new engine for my airplane. This would technically be the fourth Ranger engine installed in the Fairchild since July. When it came time to make yet another test flight - I was nervous.
My hand visibly shook as I reached down to grip the throttle. After two run-ups I gritted my teeth, swallowed hard and, expecting the worst committed to the runway. We climbed. The engine did not falter; it did not even cough. Gauges registered and then stabilized. All parameters were in normal range.
Having logged a few more flights - including the one today - it is with only a small amount of trepidation that I announce that I am having fun. In fact, I will once again remark that despite the setbacks, it was all worth it.
Never, ever, ever give up.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
