Quandary: noun. A state of uncertainty or indecision as to what to do in a particular situation. Used in a sentence: Having just bought and restored an airplane that I was not qualified to fly, I found myself in a quandary. See also dilemma, jam, Catch-22, sticky situation, and my favorite - pickle.
This sounds silly because it is, in a way. I had been so wrapped up, so focused, and so committed to the Fairchild restoration, that I had not taken the time to obtain the qualifications needed, in order to fly it. Thus, in early June, 2012 the airplane was deemed airworthy and signed off. And all I could do was sit and look at it.
Let's consider the world of automobiles. Say you learned how to drive on a midsize sedan. One day you decide that you would like a full-size pickup truck, with a manual transmission. A few years later you move up in the world, and purchase a convertible sports car.
No problem - once you get your driver's license, an endorsement is not required to operate a manual-transmission pickup truck, or high-performance sports car. Not true in the aviation world: obtaining endorsements, check rides, and biannual flight reviews are as necessary as filling up with fuel.
Practically every contemporary aircraft is tricycle-gear, from the Cessna 152 in which I trained, to massive passenger airliners like the Boeing 787. In this configuration two mains, and one forward landing gear support the aircraft. Upon landing, the front of the airplane settles down onto a nosewheel, since the aircraft center of gravity is located forward of the main gear.
Conversely, most antique airplanes have conventional gear - everything from the Tiger Moth biplane, to the P-51 Mustang, to the B-17 heavy bombers of World War II. These, like the Fairchild, are called "taildraggers." Two mains carry the airplane, but since the center of gravity is located aft, the tail settles onto the ground and is supported by a tailwheel or skid.
So then, what's better, tricycle-gear or taildragger? To answer the question is like trying to determine whether a car with a manual transmission is better or worse than an automatic. In the case of airplanes, they both have advantages. Tailwheel aircraft can operate more effectively from rough terrain, and can cruise at a higher speed than the same airplane with a nose gear. Plus, it must be said - taildraggers, like stick shifts, are more fun.
However, there is a reason airplanes have switched away from tailwheels. A tricycle-gear aircraft, due to its forward center of gravity, is more stable on the ground and in high winds than a taildragger. Having a nosewheel prevents the aircraft from flipping over, should the brakes be applied too aggressively. In addition, it simply takes less time for a student to master a tricycle-gear aircraft.
Most pilots, myself included, learn to fly in a tricycle-gear airplane and then transition to a taildragger. I had more than 100 hours logged in various tricycle-gear aircraft, but before climbing aboard and taking the tailwheel-configured Fairchild for a flight, I would need an endorsement. And, I'll admit - given the time and small fortune invested, some flight time before being turned loose in my baby.
Meet Glenn Hake, of GrassRoot Flyers, Inc. Glenn is a flight instructor based out of Mt. Morris, Ill. who specializes in tailwheel endorsements. With its wide, grass runway and uncontrolled airspace, Ogle County Airport was just the place to obtain proficiency.
I walked into the hangar, and was a bit surprised when I finally met Glenn. Based on our phone conversations I had pictured someone about my age. As it turns out, Glenn has logged thousands of hours as a corporate pilot, and is closer in age to my father. It has to be said - pilots seem to age very, very well.
"Pleasure to meet you, Dan - how 'bout some coffee?" He spoke with what I would peg a distinct Brooklyn, or New York City accent. Another surprise - turns out Glenn is originally from Texas. I hoped my flying was better than my judgment.
Coffee mugs in hand, we went over the airplane. My tailwheel endorsement would come at the controls of an Aeronca Champ, a lightweight two-seat aircraft perfect for training. The idea was to start out small. I would become proficient in the Champ and then learn how to fly the heavier, more powerful, and more complex Fairchild.
We spent an hour or so going over the Champ before pushing her out of the hangar. Just like teaching someone how to drive stick, there is only so much talking - eventually you just have to get in and do it.
To save weight, some airplanes do not have an electric starter and must be hand-propped. I'll admit that hand-propping an airplane makes me nervous. It's kind of like reaching underneath a lawnmower and spinning the blades.
On the second pull, the little Champ sputtered to life. I climbed in, Glenn sitting copilot. Visibility was excellent; I had a nice view out the front windshield. There was absolutely nothing intimidating about the airplane; I just had to go learn how to fly it.
Glenn said it best: "All right, everything looks good - let's go have some fun."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
This sounds silly because it is, in a way. I had been so wrapped up, so focused, and so committed to the Fairchild restoration, that I had not taken the time to obtain the qualifications needed, in order to fly it. Thus, in early June, 2012 the airplane was deemed airworthy and signed off. And all I could do was sit and look at it.
Let's consider the world of automobiles. Say you learned how to drive on a midsize sedan. One day you decide that you would like a full-size pickup truck, with a manual transmission. A few years later you move up in the world, and purchase a convertible sports car.
No problem - once you get your driver's license, an endorsement is not required to operate a manual-transmission pickup truck, or high-performance sports car. Not true in the aviation world: obtaining endorsements, check rides, and biannual flight reviews are as necessary as filling up with fuel.
Practically every contemporary aircraft is tricycle-gear, from the Cessna 152 in which I trained, to massive passenger airliners like the Boeing 787. In this configuration two mains, and one forward landing gear support the aircraft. Upon landing, the front of the airplane settles down onto a nosewheel, since the aircraft center of gravity is located forward of the main gear.
Conversely, most antique airplanes have conventional gear - everything from the Tiger Moth biplane, to the P-51 Mustang, to the B-17 heavy bombers of World War II. These, like the Fairchild, are called "taildraggers." Two mains carry the airplane, but since the center of gravity is located aft, the tail settles onto the ground and is supported by a tailwheel or skid.
So then, what's better, tricycle-gear or taildragger? To answer the question is like trying to determine whether a car with a manual transmission is better or worse than an automatic. In the case of airplanes, they both have advantages. Tailwheel aircraft can operate more effectively from rough terrain, and can cruise at a higher speed than the same airplane with a nose gear. Plus, it must be said - taildraggers, like stick shifts, are more fun.
However, there is a reason airplanes have switched away from tailwheels. A tricycle-gear aircraft, due to its forward center of gravity, is more stable on the ground and in high winds than a taildragger. Having a nosewheel prevents the aircraft from flipping over, should the brakes be applied too aggressively. In addition, it simply takes less time for a student to master a tricycle-gear aircraft.
Most pilots, myself included, learn to fly in a tricycle-gear airplane and then transition to a taildragger. I had more than 100 hours logged in various tricycle-gear aircraft, but before climbing aboard and taking the tailwheel-configured Fairchild for a flight, I would need an endorsement. And, I'll admit - given the time and small fortune invested, some flight time before being turned loose in my baby.
Meet Glenn Hake, of GrassRoot Flyers, Inc. Glenn is a flight instructor based out of Mt. Morris, Ill. who specializes in tailwheel endorsements. With its wide, grass runway and uncontrolled airspace, Ogle County Airport was just the place to obtain proficiency.
I walked into the hangar, and was a bit surprised when I finally met Glenn. Based on our phone conversations I had pictured someone about my age. As it turns out, Glenn has logged thousands of hours as a corporate pilot, and is closer in age to my father. It has to be said - pilots seem to age very, very well.
"Pleasure to meet you, Dan - how 'bout some coffee?" He spoke with what I would peg a distinct Brooklyn, or New York City accent. Another surprise - turns out Glenn is originally from Texas. I hoped my flying was better than my judgment.
Coffee mugs in hand, we went over the airplane. My tailwheel endorsement would come at the controls of an Aeronca Champ, a lightweight two-seat aircraft perfect for training. The idea was to start out small. I would become proficient in the Champ and then learn how to fly the heavier, more powerful, and more complex Fairchild.
We spent an hour or so going over the Champ before pushing her out of the hangar. Just like teaching someone how to drive stick, there is only so much talking - eventually you just have to get in and do it.
To save weight, some airplanes do not have an electric starter and must be hand-propped. I'll admit that hand-propping an airplane makes me nervous. It's kind of like reaching underneath a lawnmower and spinning the blades.
On the second pull, the little Champ sputtered to life. I climbed in, Glenn sitting copilot. Visibility was excellent; I had a nice view out the front windshield. There was absolutely nothing intimidating about the airplane; I just had to go learn how to fly it.
Glenn said it best: "All right, everything looks good - let's go have some fun."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
