Travels with NXXXXX

Old AFSarge likes airplane stories. While I can’t compete with OldNFO,  juvat, and Tuna in flying hours and sophisticated airplanes perhaps some will find my experience with a Cessna 170A amusing. Long blog - you have been warned.

There I was with a fresh Private ticket and the need to build flying hours, as a civilian (out of my pocket, you understand). So off I go to see Dirty Dick Nolan, the used airplane dealer in Greeley, CO. Dick bought and sold airplanes over the telephone (we are talking 1960’s). He would finance anyone with a good enough down payment. Since all of his paper was full recourse, he would repo that plane if you didn’t tote the note. How to staff his business?

Bring in time builders. Pay for the gas and oil and a bus ticket back. If you were a time builder that was way cheaper than renting airplanes.

He liked me for two reasons. I had enough in savings to commit full time. Second, I had far more conventional gear time than his average time builder. He kept me busy.

One day he assigned me a Cessna 182 to take to Newport News and pick up a C 170. Oh yeah, the buyer was on vacation in North Carolina. Go see him, get a check and keys, then take the 182 to Newport News. With a few glitches that went down and I parked his new plane next to the trade.

First thing I noticed were two nearly flat tires. Opening the oil check access revealed an engine compartment filled with bird nests. OK, lets drain a little fuel from the wing sumps. Oh, great, water and crud. Flip on the master. Surprise! Dead battery. The next few hours were spent taking off the cowl (always carried a few simple tools) and letting the sumps drain (here we see the shocked faces of Air Force ramp types aghast that raw gasoline is being dumped on the ground).

 The FBO sent the fuel truck over along with an air tank so the tires were inflated and the tanks filled. By the time I got the cowl back on it was getting dark. Dick Nolan had one inviolate rule – NO flying at night. As was the usual RON procedure, rolled out my down filled Army surplus fart sack in an empty hanger and went to sleep.

Next morning after tying down the tail wheel, propped the 170 to life. Off we went heading North. Funny, the damn road kept going under water then reappearing. Not an inviting forced landing site. What is this Chesapeake Bay everyone is talking about? Well, I’ve nearly enough altitude to glide to shore so onward. Approaching Dover, DE,   the weather is going sour fast. Sat down on a grass strip at Wyoming, DE to wait it out. Two days of sitting it out. The airport operator found some work for me to perform and actually paid me so it wasn’t a total loss. The clouds finally cleared but the wind was hellish. Took off but only made it to the very South end of New Jersey before setting down. Another night in a hanger with the wind howling and the hanger doors banging. Since the hanger was empty, parked the 170 in it and shut the doors.

Next morning with full tanks took off and promptly got lost. The wind was 40+ knots from the West.  Not to worry, to the West is a big river, to the East the Atlantic Ocean. Just keep heading North and someplace you can recognize will turn up. Radio navigation you say? Yep, if you have a OMNI receiver that works. Do you know there are places in New Jersey that are as barren as Wyoming? Eventually a mountain range started showing on the horizon. WTF? A few minutes later the New York City skyline became the mountains or the mountains became the skyline; take your pick.

 My instructions were to pick up two pilots at Roosevelt Field on Long Island. By this time I’d located my ground position and could see on my Sectional map I had a shit load of water to cross. Climbing to 4500 AGL I started across. The ATC people were quite cross with me but, due to an intermittent radio problem I couldn’t understand what they wanted so, being ever helpful, I kept them informed of my position. Seems the transmitter was fine but the receiver had issues. Soon I was able to talk to the Roosevelt Field tower and made my approach to land.

I believe I mentioned wind? 30 knots right down the runway. Over the threshold started reducing power only to see the runway numbers again appear. Needed somewhere around 1600 rpm just to keep from going backwards. Taxing to the tie down area was a challenge as was tying down the bird. Next problem, where are the passengers? Turns out they are in Connecticut. (Never let it be said Nolan Aviation was an organized business). Getting to the runway was again a challenge.

 Once in the air, there was another largish body of water to cross. Damn it, I’m a mountain pilot. What is with all this wet stuff? On the ground in CN, passengers located, but we are running out of daylight. The wusses had already rented a motel room. Next morning we head West. First fuel stop, instructed to pickup another passenger in Jackson, MI. OK, but I’m not flying over any water to get there. On final at Jackson you fly over a prison.  What torture it must be for the inmates to be constantly reminded of other people’s freedom.

Now with four aboard we are aviagating to Colorado. By the by, the cabin heater is inoperable. No problem, extra clothes, wrap sleeping bags around you and keep on going.

Grand Island, NE had an FBO that literally rolled out a red carpet after you parked. They nearly rolled up back up when they saw the four scruffy ruffians climbing out of the 170. Next stop, Greeley.

Two weeks later I had just returned in an Aircoupe from Tennessee when Nolan calls me into his office.

    “Yeah, got that 170 you picked up in Virginia sold to a man        in Anchorage. Want you to deliver it”.

   “Dick, I’m in no way qualified to do that.”

   “Nah, you will be fine”.

   “What about customs”.

   “Fuck’em. You go to Oroville (WA). Take off at first light, stay low. Lots of mountains around there. We will plot you a route. Do not, I repeat, do not leave the highways even if it is a shorter distance. You should make it with two fuel stops”.

“Do our credit numbers work there?”

“For this trip we will give you some cash, both Canadian and American. And, we will pay for your meals and an airline ticket back from Alaska”.

   “Is the heater fixed?”

   “Hell yes, and the radio, and a new battery”.

The trip went just as he described it until I got to Northway. There I started asking questions about the route to Anchorage. The locals told me in no uncertain terms that there was only one way, it was hard to spot, and many a pilot hadn’t made it. I believed them. Called the customer in Anchorage (damn expensive phone call, by the by). He told me to stay put and he would come over the next day. So it was and I was quite content to be a passenger on that leg. Awesome geography and I had the luxury to enjoy it instead of sweating buckets.

Back to Seattle, a bus ride to Ellensburg where I picked up a TriPacer and brought it back to Greeley.

I built up enough time with Nolan to qualify for a Commercial ticket. Eventually he started paying me when I did repos. Got to fly a lot of single engine fixed gear. Dick was picky about who flew retractable but had me deliver a couple of Mooneys and reposses a Navion. Flew most of the high wing Pipers, a few of the Indians, Taylorcraft, Lucombe, Eurcoupe and Aircoupe, C120, 140, 170 172, 182, a couple of Stinsons, and probably others I’ve forgotten. One of the carefree moments in my workaholic life. Finally ran out of money and had to find a real job then start college.

Hope you weren’t too bored. By far the longest flying story I’ve put on this blog.

My favorite airplane of those I’ve flown? A simple two control Eurcoupe/Aircoupe on a warm spring or summer day. An airplane without any vices I ever found excepting one with bad maintenance. Had a rubber fuel line break in the cockpit and pour an eight gallon tank’s worth of avgas on my left leg. Shallow climb, let the fuel drain out the condensation holes in the tail and not touch anything electrical. Interesting hour that was. For something with 75-90 hp, it is an eager performer. You actually drive it off and back on the runway. If I ever get a ton of money (hey, it could happen) I will get one and go the LSA route, pacemaker be damned.

Adventure in a Piper J-4

Received a request for a flying story. What follows was an adventure by my late father.

Back story. Steamboat Springs, CO airport has a North- South runway built on a small bluff. Taking off to the South you immediately have 200' of altitude.

My father took a co-worker for a ride. My father, with a full belly, maybe weighed 165 lbs. His co-worker was more like 400 lbs.

They took off to the South. Per my father, the takeoff roll was longer than usual  but he got airborne (ground effect probably helped). Off the end of the runway, he immediately started losing altitude. Turning West, he followed the Yampa River towards many hay fields. After about an hour, he had gained enough altitude to return to the airport (barely).

His co-worker thanked him for a great ride; thought everything was normal. My father soon upgraded to a C-182 but was very careful thereafter about who rode with him in the Puddy Four. 7,000 altitude and 85 hp on a balmy 60 degree day doesn't leave much of a performance margin.

We both learned to fly in that J-4. What a fun, forgiving airplane. Our first instructor was a missionary pilot six months a year in Central America. Probably didn't follow the FAA prescribed syllabus, but what we learned was valuable. How many students actually do off airport landings?

Building Flying Hours

Another flying story was requested. The picture is for Murphy’s Law. That’s Frank Tillman in that twin Beech.

Building flying hours when you don’t have a lot of money is always a challenge. In the late 1960’s, my solution was to live off my savings and become a pilot for Dick Nolan in Greeley, CO. He advertised in Trade-A-Plane, “Dick Nolan has $2,000,000, buys airplanes”. He sold, and financed, airplanes over the telephone. He used a Michigan bank and would finance anyone with a down payment as he guaranteed the “paper” to the bank. He needed airplanes delivered, picked up, and repossessed. His deal with his pilots was he paid for fuel, oil, and a bus ticket back. His restrictions were VFR only and no night flying. What an education as I built a few hundred hours with him. There were many nights in some hanger in a sleeping bag. I learned to fly in a conventional gear airplane (Piper J-4) and did most of his single engine conventional gear trips. I didn’t have much retractable gear time so I rarely flew them unless he didn’t have anyone else.

I hated flying with him. He was the most careless pilot I ever met. Once saw him takeoff in a Cessna 150 with a rudder gust lock in place. Another time I picked him up in Kansas in a Luscombe 8E. Two big men are “snug” in a Luscombe. We headed West with me flying and him reading. Occasionally, he would glance up and motion me to go lower to lessen the effect of a headwind. He wasn’t satisfied until we were at crop duster level. 

He did pay us when we repossessed an airplane. One trip saw us in the South, his “chief pilot”, and two dummies. We would find the plane, grab it, and stash it at a Mississippi Delta airport. One we found hidden  on a farm in Georgia. Bob, the chief pilot, rented a car and we drove to the farm. No one was home. The plane, a Piper Pacer, was out of fuel with a dead battery. Off we went to the nearest gas station for ten gallons of gas. Back at the farm, we “proped” the plane and let it warm up. There was no runway, only a field planted in, kid you not, peas. A true “pea patch” story. The field was about 500’ wide with a downhill slope. The peas were about to the top of the wheels. “No problem.” Bob said, and sent me off. The takeoff roll was rough but was going well until I saw the fence we couldn’t see from the top of the hill. Managed to bounce the Piper over the fence without stalling it and staggered along in ground effect until the airspeed got in front of the power curve. Landed the Piper in Tullahoma, TN for fuel. The entire underside was green. Bob told me later there was a green cloud behind me. Then he said, “Yah, maybe we should have pulled it out to the road.”    

In the industry, Nolan was known as, “Dirty Dick, the junk dealer.” Some of the stuff we flew should have been in a junk yard. Still, it was one hell of an education, mainly in what not to do. Ah, youth, testosterone, ambition, and determination; how did we survive it? For me, it was a grand adventure, and I’m glad I had (and survived) the experiences.

Who knew, back then, a television series would be made called Airplane Repo?

http://dsc.discovery.com/tv-shows/airplane-repo

Helicopter Flying Story

A friend requested another flying story. This goes back to my few hours of bootleg dual helicopter lessons.

First, a bit of background. The Engineer Group I was part of had an Aviation Section. One of the pilots, a Captain, had serious career aspirations. He was embarrassed by his rifle qualification, Marksman, and was eager to qualify as Expert. He offered to give me unauthorized helicopter lessons for shooting instruction.

In every unit I served in, I was always one of the top three shooters. In one of the units, there was a Camp Perry champion. I couldn’t best him, but could hold my own. In high school, was in the NRA Junior program, and a state champion. My weakness was the near total inability the detect camouflage. Hell on paper.

We had Sunday access to a range and access to inexpensive, often free, ammo. Started the Captain on a .22 and started on his problems. His mechanics were all wrong, he had a serious flinch, and no grasp of “squeezing” the trigger. Took four sessions before he was ready for center fire. He used my personal rifle, a Model 39A Mannlicher Schoenauer .308, with a very thick butt pad. Four more sessions and he was ready for a M-14.
Two sessions with that and he was ready for qualification where he shot Expert. Not by much, but he made it.

My lessons were in an H-13. Ignorance is bliss. His first lesson was one power off autorotation after another. I didn‘t know their purpose was to scare me. In total, he was able to give me five lessons. I flat couldn’t master hovering; couldn’t even come close, and never got any better. I’m glad I had the opportunity. Later, I was encouraged to apply for the Warrant Officer program but was then a “short timer” and they couldn’t guarantee me fixed wing training.

Hope this wasn’t too boring. A word about the M-14. Whatever that weapon is today, the first ones the Army received were crappy. The balance was wrong. The stocks would break at the pistol grip. When they got hot in sustained fire, they jammed. Never fired a full auto M-14A. We weren’t issued the neat stuff, being Engineers.

Military Flying Story

Old NFO has some great military flying stories. Us mud dabbers can only read them and be amused. http://oldnfo.blogspot.com/

An Army flying story circa 1965 involves the rude comeuppance of a certain Captain of Aviation, T, by a Private First Class of Engineers, O.

Said PFC was a two year draftee from Texas who grew up in a crop duster family. By the time the Army called, he had many hours of low level flying experience. In typical Army fashion, he became a combat engineer while the Army was spending $18,000 or so to teach people to fly.

The PFC had a medical problem that involved a long wait for an exam. When there was an exam opening in Frankfurt, our unit was in the field, hours away. A decision was made to fly him to Frankfurt in a L-19/O-1.

Captain T was assigned the mission. His favorite diversion was scaring his passanger by pulling back on the mixture control until the engine ran rough. He would then put on a panic act until the aircraft was about 200’ AGL. Turning his head, he would say, “I’ve done everything I can think of. Can you do something”? He did this in the vicinity of the Main River, which PFC O knew went past Frankfurt.

The L-19/O-1 was soon about two feet above the Main River. PFC O stayed at that altitude all the way to Frankfurt, lifting over barges, and going under bridges.

PFC O said there was some initial struggle over the controls but most of the trip was made with Captain T’s hands in his lap. He said there was a large amount of vocalization over the intercom, orders being issued, and so forth, which he ignored, wanting to concentrate on his navigation.

Some veterans may remember the “Overseas Weekly“. PFC O was the subject of an article. The incident as reported involved alcohol, public urination in downtown Munich while totally nude, and his clothing being found in some civilian’s automobile. While he was a willing worker, some of the unit officers and NCOs believed PFC O had an “attitude” problem. Perhaps this is what confounded Captain T.