Saturday noon, September 23rd, El Mirage. Gary Longmore had flown with Joe
Souza earlier and had been introduced to the effects of thin air.
Joe pronounced him ready for taxiing, so Gary
took advantage of the calm for a run down the lakebed.
The nosewheel rose; Mighty Mouse balanced on the mains.
"He's flying!" came a cheer. "Oh no," groaned Joe, deep in instructor-worry.
Sure enough. Mains floated above the mirage. Mighty Mouse settled
smoothly and gently, pretending it was nothing special. Gary said he
didn't plan to take off; he just wanted to balance till tailwheel
contact. "But all of my machines can fly away without touching
the tailwheel," said Joe. "I noticed. The rattle and vibration stopped,
and there I was ..." Yeah, right, calm air, unplanned solo. Sounds like
Douglas Corrigan,
who received a ticker-tape parade for his slip.
At last! The September weekend we've long been planning. Thursday 21st the trailering contingent of Chapter Five started early. I encountered heavy crosswind on I-5, and I'm new to the trailer; it stayed windy the last 300 miles to El Mirage. The access road still tried its best to shake loose our machines and our teeth. A Chapter Five camp formed on the camperline, but nobody felt like unloading gyros in the wind. Nor was there any excitement with our fly-in contingent, who had judged the weather unsuitable and postponed departure. Jerry and I departed for the motel in nearby Adelanto.
The wind abated a bit during the night. Ken Brock sounded reveille with his melodious mac as he circled the encampment, inviting all to prepare for flight. Gradually we bestirred ourselves, unloaded the machines, and strung blades. I set out on a test excursion and enjoyed the luxury of electric pre-rotation; last year there'd been lots of back-and-forth to bring the rotor up to speed. Flying at low level reminded me to work the throttle to maintain airspeed; upon rising to fifty feet, the ride became adventurous; differential winds brought sudden excursions in roll; unpleasant enough to wait for nicer conditions. The wind increased. Jerry has video of a gyro rolling away -- his own. After retrieval, every machine on the line acquired substantial chocks. Meanwhile, the fly-in contingent scrubbed their flight altogether; Mark Givans drove instead. Very little flying, but plenty of visiting. Friday evening most fly-in participants foregathered at the Brock spread for Chapter One's welcoming corn roast and jaw-wag, and a chance to view the new gyro video in the hangar.
Saturday was an altogether beautiful day. Aloft before dawn (but not as early as Ken Brock), several gyroplanes patrolled the lakebed, looking for mischief. I was glad to have a strobe; gyros are damn hard to see, and easy to lose track of; better to be seen. I tried a second flight after breakfast, but the engine remained mute, despite efforts of various shade-tree mechanics. Eventually Joe walked up with a reproachful surely-you-know-by-now look, and suggested adjusting valves. Sure enough. Problem fixed. By now it was warm enough for a shirtsleeves flight, and a survey of activity around the lakebed. Along the southern edge, two separate groups of model airplane builders flew their creations. At the eastern end, a flock of four-wheeled ATVs was being circled by a pack of dirt bikes. Along the northern edge, a single figure signaled passing gyros and pointed emphatically away from the airborne kites. Should've been here yesterday.
The increased gyro traffic presented no real problems, for the pilots were fairly disciplined. Even the cowboy who had flown helmetless the day before had toned down his envelope-pushing. But presently two stiffwing ultralights stirred up traffic with daredevil stunts: quick pull-ups right outside the no-spin line opposite traffic flow, daring fly-bys between the trailers, and near-scraping wingtips during tight turns. The swarm of gyros just moved elsewhere.
It wasn't one of the hooligans that came to grief. Scott McKee's prize-winning gyro disintegrated upon contact with the lakebed. A control-linkage bolt had departed. Scott was attended by Mark till taken to hospital by medevac. He faces long recuperation.
Then a KB-3 fell from the sky. Someone gave the alarm: "Gyro going in!" To the NW an expanding cloud of dust marked the impact. Arriving rescuers found vivid reminder that from a few hundred feet you hit really hard: the pilot was beyond rescue. I shuddered in the heat. Stupidity or happenstance can take us any one. Could've been me; my own stupid acts have strangely gone unpunished. Joe and Gary stayed on to help inventory body parts. My help didn't seem needed. Few folks flew again that day.
Saturday evening the population of the camper line dwindled as the gyroheads carpooled to Brock's. After the bring-your-own-meat barbecue, the entire group assembled in the hangar for awards presentation and birthday celebration (there seem always to be several birthdays close enough to provide an excuse for distributing cake).
On Sunday the early-morning calm was irresistable: mine was the second gyro aloft. I flew along the edge of the lakebed, reminding campers without alarm clocks that a splendid sunrise was on the way. At the far end I swung round, and aimed at the arc of sunlight coming out of the west. The terminator rushed past, and suddenly my gyroshadow stretched out in front clear across the lake. It shrank, and the edges sharpened. The shadow magnified the altitude and helped fine-tune cyclic and throttle. But ten chill minutes were enough, and back to the roost for coffee.
Today was for teardown and packing. I didn't want to trailer over old bonerattler with a full load of fuel in the tanks, so I flew forth to burn off a few pounds. I skimmed along just above ground effect into a stiffening east wind when three dirt bikes pulled alongside at a respectful distance. They signalled a wish to cavort, and raced on ahead. With wind came turbulence, and my competition was half-hearted as I didn't care to subject Boa to harsh kicks. The three scurried triumphantly before when I disengaged to rise over the power line at the end of the lakebed. [I make it a rule never to fly under wires.] We rejoined for a return run; this time it was hard not to outrun them -- wide S-turns allowed them to stay in sight and me to maintain airspeed.
It's hard to stop after such sport, but we had to make ready for travel. Jerry had left that morning, nursing a leaking water pump. Joe, Georgi, Gary, and George convoyed off about noon. Georgi's car quit in Fresno; Gary had water pump hemorrhage past Sacramento; Mark had a trailer hitch with no trailer, and rescued everyone. We all took home a thorough coating of El Mirage dust as souvenir.
George
If you are on-line, but don't know Avweb (http://www.avweb.com), check 'em out. Included in their extensive offering of aviation-related material entertaining pieces such as the
You can read the entire piece here.
- HAMMER:
- Originally employed as a weapon of war, the hammer is used as a kind of divining rod to locate expensive parts not far from the object we are trying to hit.
- ELECTRIC DRILL:
- Normally used for spinning rivets in their holes until you die of old age, but it also works well for drilling mounting holes just above a fuel line.
- VISE-GRIPS:
- Used to round off bolt heads if nothing else is available, they can also be used to transfer intense welding heat to the palm of your hand.
PRA Chapter 5 Newsletters are also available on-line at:
http://www.quiknet.com/~twitham/gyro/pra5/