FIRST FLIGHT

FROM BEHIND THE SUNGLASSES

       Monday.  September 19, 1988.  After an aborted attempt to fly last Saturday, I was ready to give it another go.  Plug fouling while taxiing had been severe enough to keep the engine from developing takeoff power.  Getting all psyched up to go, then having to abort in front of my group of observers had been disappointing.  After a laborious session of retuning the POSA carburetor and cleaning the plugs, I felt I had licked the problem.

       Carol was prepared with the video camera, Bill was to remain in radio contact with his hand held transceiver during the flight and Don was to fly chase in his Taylor Monoplane.

       As I went through the walk- around inspection, my heart began to pound and I noticed my palms were moist.  I was careful to maintain an air of nonchalance and not leave any sweaty palm prints on the airplane for the world to see ( I had convinced Carol  that this would be a piece of cake).  I briefed Don, Bill and Carol on my intention to take off to the north in spite of a three to five m.p.h. breeze out of the southwest.  This would make more expanses of pasture available in case of engine failure after takeoff.  Don  was to take off just ahead of me and join up as 1 climbed out.

       While Don and I were starting the airplanes, Carol and Bill drove to the other side of the strip and positioned themselves beside the runway at midfield.  They left the truck engine idling in case they needed to reach me in a hurry and had a wrecking bar, sledge  hammer and heavy- duty lopping shears in the back.  Bill's wife was charged with the task of dialing 911 if necessary ( they lived on the strip).

       The engine started easily and I tossed the chocks in the direction of the hanger door and climbed into the airplane.  While I snapped myself into the 'chute harness and fastened the seat belt and shoulder harness, Don cranked the Taylor and climbed aboard.  A quick check with Bill on 122.9 and I gave Don a thumbs up.  As he taxied by, I cracked the throttle and the Sportfire began to move.  My pulse rate jumped another notch.  The engine sounded good and the temperatures and oil pressure were beginning to climb.

       Don led the way to the south end of the runway, passing the group of observers where Carol had the camera rolling.  Bill and his wife gave a thumbs up and smiled.  At the end of the runway, Don was going through his mag. check.  I swung around and paused to check everything once more.  My mood had passed from apprehension through anxiety and panic into that region of cool resignation where you've accepted the likelihood of a terrible accident within the next few minutes or seconds but it no longer matters.

       With the stick back and brakes locked, I applied full throttle.  The Volkswagon engine bellowed through the short stacks and the Sportfire vibrated and surged against the brakes.  It seemed more eager to be off than I was.  The r.p.m. peaked at 2900.  Good  enough!  A quick prayer, a last glance at the panel.  Decision time; DO IT!  While closing and locking the canopy I wondered if my guardian angel was on duty or had she abandoned me as a hopeless fool after sweating me through 130 hours in my Knight Twister. I called Bill, " we're going to do it".  This brought a somber "God speed, Bob." Man, that sounded so terminal!  I gave Don a thumbs up, he nodded, lined up with the runway and blasted off in a cloud of dust and dead grass clippings.

       No way out now.  I lined up, said another prayer and punched the throttle in.  The engine screamed and we were on our way!  As the airplane accelerated I was pleased to see the r.p.m. creep up to 3000.  That was good!  We broke ground and initiated a gentle climb, wrist braced against the inside of my knee and moving the stick with thumb and two fingers as I had done in the Twister.  A glance at the air speed indicator showed it stuck at 50 m.p.h. indicated.  That was NOT good!  A glance at the yarn tufts previously taped to the upper surface of the wings showed them all smooth.  I decided to go" by the seat of my pants".  "Keep on churnin', baby!" I yelled at the engine as we passed over a stand of pine forest on the end of the runway.  The pasture areas came into reach and I relaxed the tiniest bit.  Bill called to see how things were going.  I spotted the Taylor off to the southwest and started a gentle turn to intercept. The controls were really touchy, especially the rudder.  Much more than the Twister.  Jiggle the rudder pedals a little and your head was like the clapper in a bell inside the canopy.

       The engine hadn't missed a beat and bellowed an almost musical note." God bless you, John Monnett!  " was running through my mind.  My back was sticky wet and sweat was running down behind my ears.  The outside air temperature was 90 degrees and it was 

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