Well, I've been asked by many, and I guess I'll make
a stab at it. "It", is to write about what would never happen again.
Flying the Sonerai "I" back to mecca, known as Oshkosh, also the
home of its designer, John Monnett. It seemed that all the obstacles
that could be piled in my way stood firm and ominous. In fact, I
had pretty much surrendered to staying near the house. First,
I had the airplane torn down for its yearly condition inspection for many
months. The prop was in Florida, being trimmed by its maker, Ed Sterba.
Delays to its return placed it on my door step only about 9 days before
departure for Oshkosh. Problems with one of several other irons I like
to keep in the fire, cost me another day or two. A short one hour test
flight was managed, and nothing abnormal was noticed. Then the most
unthinkable happened on top of it all! I had to actually go to work!
I thought they only paid me to be ready to go to work, not to actually
play with the jets!? I spent the last four crucial days before departure
and until 0100 the morning I left, flying, instead of planning, and testing.
Gently stirred from my 4 hours of slumber by a
swift kick from my current wife, (also first wife) I hit the floor running
and packing for the trip. Enough stuff, stuffed into a back pack,
that would be my back rest for the trip. Tie down ropes and augers
were stuffed into the cheek cowling aft of the fire wall. Water, maps,
gps, and ICOM hand held, all within reach while seated, the engine was fired
to life around 0730. This trip, unlike before, will be solo, without
a wing man. Lonely yes, but I will be able to let it cruise at its best.
The cool morning air was enough to cancel out
the weight added for the trip. Cruise climbs were established at
125 mph indicated, until reaching 3500 feet. I'd then allow it to
accelerate to about 140 indicated, and still maintain about 200 fpm climb
to 5500 feet. Early on, I feel a strap from the back pack below me in the
seat, uncomfortable, but nothing on earth I can do about it. Checking
my newly calibrated, fuel sight gauge, I'm disgusted to see I'll be stopping
short of my first planned port to assure I don't have to apply for
a field approved glider rating. Yes, I had plenty. I'll remember
that in the future. Apparently every try I've made to get a dependable
marking system on the sight gauge has evaded useable information. I will
be comfortable with 1 1/2 hour legs from this point out.
I seem to be burning again just over four gallons
per hour turning about 3500 rpm. At this rpm, with the airplane
at gross weight, I indicate about 145 mph. Knowing my history, you
can guess at this point, I do have a head wind. I am still able to maintain
ground speeds of near 140 for the entire day.
It was a pleasant day for cross country flying.
Only things that could have improved it would have been a tail wind,
and better tail padding! Having gotten a late start, I had to resign
to not making OSH before the airport was closed for the daily airshow. I
arrived at Watertown WI about 50 miles south of OSH at about 1530 to top
off and wait for the final stretch. After fueling, I see that there
are probably about 25 or more airplanes, waiting for the same thing. Man,
could this be a mad house if we all fire up at the same time!
At about 1715 I figured I'd better start studying
the arrival papers for Ripon, the veritable flood gate to Oshkosh destined
aircraft. Having flown it many times, I still respect it for the
unknown. That and my visibility is low at best. I've hit bugs
of bigger stature in my jet, than I pose in the Sonerai "I". My
host for the week is Jeff Lange and his wife, Sara. No later than
1730, I got a call from him while inspecting my airplane readiness for the
final segment. Just happening to be near my bird, I started up and
tried to whistle inconspicuously as I headed for the runway, with the 4"
exhaust stubs mocking my attempts at secrecy.
Heading north indicating near 155, I was the first
to reach Ripon from our Watertown ready room. A quick survey revealed
several other aircraft of "spam can" persuasion slowly stalking the gate.
Monitoring the ATIS frequency, until it went silent. The first clue
the lock may be off the gate. A few of us rushed the gate only to
be charged by the bulldog guarding the field. Flying a meandering
pattern near Ripon, showing only the slightest bit of curiosity in the guarded
gate, the bell finally sounded, and a turn, not to exceed 60 degrees, was
initiated in the proper direction. Max manifold pressure set, bulldog
harnessed, shields set at max, and we were invited up the path. I
wonder how many airplanes I'll get to spar with for the runway?
All seems too peaceful for the first miles, and
then I see what looks like a hornet's nest that has just been whacked.
I've got the airplane I'm following at 12' high and see the infiltration
of several birds on the runway taking off. I'm joining final in a
right turn, one mile out, and belly up with a Beech airliner. What!?
This IS normal! If I had fooled myself into believing I was
alone on final, I'd know I was in trouble. It's the things you don't
see, that bite you! Slapping the left aileron to roll 90 degrees in
the opposite direction, to both, get spacing on the Beech, but to also draw
the tower's attention to the situation. As white as my belly is (the
airplanes, too), showing that much area that quickly is like letting a flash
cube go off in the corner of the room. Several barks were made by
the tower, and all was sorted out. Beech went around, I was cleared
to land just beyond on a tomahawk departing from the numbers of runway
9. I, in a deep slip, slid to the right of the hawk, still gaining
on the 310 in front of me. No less than 5 airplanes on the runway
at this time, and we all walked away! This is Oshkosh!
I really didn't want to be here this year, but was
persuaded by friends in the Sonerai clan. In spite of the trouble
of the trip, crossing the end of the runway still brings back many memories
of the trip with my father, to the point where emotions try to distract
from the duties at hand. The landing ain't great, but I taxied away
as proud as a peacock. Met by Jeff, at the tie down area, I gracefully
fell from my cockpit to the ground, to again celebrate a safe crossing,
and while I was there, to get the circulation back to the legs so I could
stand and walk away!
Jeff and I were then shuttled over to his car over
by John Monnett's hanger. After stopping for supper on the way to
Jeff's house, we pretty much put the day to bed. All the flying, adrenaline,
and hustle had pretty well spent all the spare energy this pilot had.
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