|
How & Why I chose my Experimental Airplane
2009
“Come on, Don, rake this area then weed the flower bed.”
Slave drivers, that’s what they were. Every time I stopped to take a quick break they were on me faster then a tattoo on a Hell’s Angel.
Tattoo: Body Art
Putting a tattoo on one’s body is like smearing cow dung on a painting; but what do I know, I’m not a teenager.
Hells Angels: Motorcycle Club
Founded in 1948 in
San Bernardino,
California. The club has chapters in twenty-four countries in the world. Who in the hell called them angels, anyway?
It was getting to me; I had been working steadily for a good six or seven minutes when mom and grandma started in on me. Didn’t they realize I had to watch the planes on final for one-five? After all, I didn’t make the decision to bury Grandpa and two of my uncles directly under the glide path of one of the runways at
Detroit
City
Airport. And at seventeen, why would I rather be raking leaves than checking to make sure each pilot had his wings level and was descending on the proper glide slope? The planes were so close overhead I could see the tread on the tires, the rivets in the wings and the scared look on the CFI’s face while the student pilot was attempting to land on the numbers.
CFI: Certified Flight Instructor
One who tells you what you are doing wrong while he’s building hours so he can take advanced lessons from someone else who will then tell him what he’s doing wrong.
“Don!” ordered mom with the authority of a traffic controller telling me to go around. “Grandpa’s down here,” she said, pointing to the headstone.
“No, mom, he’s up there,” I replied, looking skyward just in time to see a Cessna 172 with its prop motionless gliding overhead on an apparent dead stick landing.
I felt like an Orkin man cornering a cockroach because on that day I got the bug. And like many other things in my life, when I get the urge I act upon it immediately. After all, it only took me two decades to start my pilot’s training. Not bad for one who hasn’t gotten around to filling out the application form for the “Procrastinator’s Club.”
Two years later, at nineteen, I was a counselor at a boys’ camp in northern
Wisconsin when a floatplane was circling above the lake. It landed and taxied to the camp’s swimming dock where I walked out to meet it. The pilot stepped off the plane, handed me his son’s tennis racquet and asked me to give it to him.
“No problem,” I answered, eyeing the plane with the envy of a small crocodile watching a much larger one devouring a wildebeest crossing the watering hole on its annual migration across the
Serengeti
National Forest.
Serengeti
National Forest
Over a million wildebeest flow south from the northern hills to the southern plains. So strong is the ancient instinct to move that no drought, gorge or crocodile infested river can hold them back. More than 90,000 tourists visit the
African
Serengeti
Forest annually; I bet they don’t attempt to cross the watering hole.
Sixteen years laterI went soaring in northern
Michigan with a friend and also took a demo ride in a Cessna 172. This time I was older, had a few bucks and, at long last, a determination to get my pilot’s license. Of course I proceeded much quicker than before and within two years started my training.
That’s my normal MO: gather the information, make a decision and move decisively; just like a turtle with an arthritic hip.
M O: Modus Operandi (Latin)
A distinct method of operation that is performed the same way in more than one circumstance to establish a specific pattern.
A few years later I took a forty-five minute sightseeing helicopter tour of
San Francisco. The pilot and I sat in the front, as a young, newly wed couple wanted the back seat to themselves. I enjoyed the view as well as the ride. I was now determined to buy my own airplane.
Five years ago I did my due diligence (whatever that means) and investigated which airplane to buy. If I had known my diligence was due I would have paid it sooner. I called SeaRey, headquartered near
Orlando, and made an appointment for a demo ride. Kerry, the designer of the plane and one of the two owners, met me. We drove to the airstrip, discussed the plane and enjoyed a demo ride and with dual controls I got to fly the plane. This convinced me that an amphibian was my plane of choice. My heart was beating so loud I thought a drum and bugle corps set up camp in my chest.
Trying to find the right plane, engine and avionics was a major task. I decided to take the bull bythe horns: I joined the AOPA, EAA, and the SPA; I subscribed to Kit Planes, Plane and Pilot, Private Pilot, and Flying Magazine; and also bought EAA’s CD ROM listing all the homebuilt and ultra lights available. Throughout the next six months I spent many hours checking out the myriad of planes on the CD. In addition, I talked with as many aviation people I could about my impending decision.
Take the bull by the horns
Unlike the Spanish-style bullfights, the Portuguese spare the bull’s blood. Instead of slaying the bull at the end, the matador executes a symbolic death by bringing the charging animal to a standstill with his hands; honestly, I wouldn’t give you a bum steer.
By joining, reading and talking, it helped me to learn both directly and by osmosis.
Osmosis
A process of absorption or assimilation, usually effortlessly, in an unconscious or unintentional manner. I guess “reverse osmosis” is forgetting everything deliberately.
I met Jim, an ultra light and homebuilt dealer, who sells five different planes, is a certified Rotax mechanic and is an Internet airplane parts supplier. He worked for an amphibious company building planes prior to starting his own business. He built more than fifty planes. Jim quizzed me as to my flying ability, destinations and intent (speed vs sport). After listening without interrupting, he suggested the SeaRey and gave me four reasons why. Respecting his background, experience, and knowledge I agreed. With the interest rates at an all time low, I refinanced my condo, found a place to build my plane and gave Jim, my dealer, a down payment on the SeaRey before the upcoming Sun N Fun convention in
Lakeland
Florida. Bill Canino from Waterbirds was also a very big help; however, I had a condo in
Florida giving me easy access to both Jim, the dealer, and Progressive Aerodyne, the factory.
The Dealer
A phrase commonly used when referring to drugs, Blackjack or, in my case, the seller of airplanes. In my opinion, if you use drugs, then “Twenty-one” is not a game but your IQ. Remember, flying is a natural high.
The characteristics I wanted in the plane were an amphibious, high wing, pusher (less noise), side-by-side seating, wide cabin, useful payload (enough for two full bodied adults), three-axis control, a stick (not a yoke), sizeable gas tank, the protection of a composite hull combined with the enjoyment of an open cockpit. SeaRey not only met all my requirements but they have been building single and two seaters for twenty years.
Amphibious
An airplane designed to take off from & land on either land or water, hopefully, with the landing gear in the proper position.
Great, now I have decided on the plane but which Rotax engine was right for me and why? I asked Kerry, the designer, which engine they were using on their demos. They have experimented with all the Rotax engines and are now using the 914 Turbo on the factory models. Good enough for me.
I equipped the plane with the standard “six pack” of gauges to help me to fly safely. I did not go with a glass panel as that was new to me.
Gauges
When a plane is low on fuel, the hero usually taps the gas gauge as if that will help. For example, Tom Cruise in Top Gun taps the gas gauge of a sixty million dollar F-14 Tomcat like it was a 1.1L ’86 Yugo.
I spent five to six hours looking for either a “7-11” or “007” as I wanted something distinctive and easy to remember. I like the Bond movies and I also enjoy playing craps. This was the last “007” available.
N Numbers
The first two tail numbers of a non-governmental plane cannot start with 0 or 00 as those numbers are reserved for the government. The way I saw one particular pilot fly, his tail number should have been GOOFY.
A while ago, I flew solo from my local airport (
Pontiac
MI / KPTK) to
Traverse City in northern MI (
Cherry
Capitol
Airport / KTVC) which was my first stop of a seventeen hour round trip to
Duluth
MN /
Superior
WI and back for a family reunion. A friend of mine called and asked how my landing was at
Traverse City. I said, “I do not want to say I bounced but I landed at 12:30, 12:31, and 12:32.”
Inside the terminal, I overheard an elderly gentleman talking to a friend of his about flying. When the friend left, I asked the man how many hours he had in his in log book. When he said thirty thousand, I replied, “You have more hours in a left turn than I have in my entire log book.”
The plane is for leisure flying and the avionics make flying easier and safer. My intent is fly from MI to Fl, from MI to Las Vegas, to casinos in MI with an airport within a short distance; and to fly the Lewis and Clark expedition, and the entire length of the Mississippi River from St. Paul MN to New Orleans LA and to follow Route 66 from Illinois to CA, puddle jumping around Michigan and Florida with their scenic and abundant lakes. With all these tentative trips anticipated, I knew the SeaRey would be much sturdier than an ultra light and using panel mounted, sophisticated equipment would be the ticket.
Lewis and Clark
President Jefferson instructed Lewis and Clark to map a new route to the
Pacific Ocean. They started at the mouth of the OH River (border of OH & PA) and in a span of 28 months and 8,000 miles the expedition ended at the border of OR & WA state. The group developed friendships with the Native Americans and learned how to survive in some of
America's most beautiful and treacherous territories. On a trip like this, they may have started with AAA but probably ended up in AA. I’ll drink to that.
Upon completion of the SeaRey, Jim tested it and then flew with me until I was familiar and comfortable with the plane. Staying overnight in GA and a total of twelve and one-half hours flown, I flew from FL to MI with a CFII. Once home I took my first solo flight.
First solo flight. Remember the pounding of your heart after your first kiss, the freedom you felt the first time you drove the car alone, and the pride of accomplishment you felt after you opened your first paycheck?
Add those together, multiple by the square root of one hundred, and just for good measure, visualize the sensation your stomach experienced as you plunged to earth from the first hill on the highest roller coaster you ever rode.
Combining all those experiences together explains why Jim remarked to a mutual friend, “The grin on Don’s face made the
Grand Canyon look like a small pot hole. His smile was not just from ear to ear but from coast to coast as I rotated 83-007 off runway ‘niner-left’ from
Melbourne
International
Airport.”
The winds were one seven zero at four and my smile was clearly visible seventy-five miles away at
Cape Canaveral. It was so large and bright that NASA thought that a UFO had invaded the area. Oh, wait. The big bright shinny area that showed up on radar was not my grin but my bald spot; so I got confused.
Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but what a feeling I got after two years of building a plane that ended up exactly as I would have designed it if I had the ability.
Rules of the Air
•Every takeoff is optional. Every landing is mandatory.
•A “Good Landing” is one from which you can walk away. A “Great Landing” is one after
which the plane can be used again.
•You know you’ve landed with the wheels up if it takes full power to taxi to the ramp.
•The ONLY time you have too much fuel is when you’re on fire.
•The propeller is just a big fan on the plane used to keep the pilot cool. When it stops you can
actually watch the pilot start sweating.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Don was formerly a disc jockey, high school teacher, party store owner and an
amateur magician--just watch him perform and you’ll spell amateur with a Capital “A”.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Three ways to reach him: If you are within three feet use your hand; otherwise,
e-mail: donbee@comcast.net, or cell 248 / 212-2142
A student became lost during a solo cross-country flight.
While attempting to locate the aircraft on radar, ATC asked, "What was your last known position?"
Student: "When I was number one for takeoff."
Tower: "Delta 351, you have traffic at 10 o'clock, 6 miles!"
Delta 351: "Give us another hint! We have digital watches!"
|
