Dream Wacos Collection

Today it was raining cats and dogs….and a lot of water. I gave up trying to get drive-in chicken and just had a protein bar in the hangar. My plan was to see if the Fairchild was hydro-locked. Not with water, despite the weather, but with oil. It seems like if I don’t fly it for a couple of weeks the head pressure overwhelms the valve between the oil tank and engine and there you are. I have a shut-off valve to install but my first installer has given up. It’s been six weeks since the Fairchild flew and so I figured I was in for a lengthy session of spark plug removal, followed by cleaning oil from the plane’s exterior after a messy start.

But! No lock. A bit stiff perhaps but the world and the prop turns! I’ll be hornswoggled…But, I knew there was still a mess coming. I’ve seen this film before. By now the precipitation had subsided but its continued threat meant no possibility of anyone from the flying club next door showing up to demand I get out of the way on the ramp. So, I pulled the UPF 7 out and put the Fairchild behind it. I added another gallon of oil to the tank to replace what had dripped out on the floor, and what might be in the exhaust and case. After some coaxing and encouragement, followed by a couple of unprintable expressions, the old remnant from a Sherman tank coughed, sputtered, and finally roared to life belching copious amounts of smoke from the oil collected in the exhaust.

Immediately the windscreen became well-lubricated with oil and I shut down just to make sure I wasn’t on fire. I wasn’t but the old engine rewarded my caution with even more trouble starting the second time. I ran it until I got some movement in the laggardly oil temp needle and shut it down. Am I good for a couple more weeks or not?

It depends. It seems it’s all luck and to some degree dependent on how much time I have for oil wiping on every exposed surface as to whether it will lock up again. As I thought about that I noticed the flags at the FBO had assumed the posture of a conservative in Portland, and the sun seemed to be trying to make an appearance. Maybe I can go fly?

Now would be a good time to remind you that it’s never a good idea to start and “run up” an airplane engine without flying it and bringing it up to operating temperature. Many well-meaning pilots, who perhaps are afraid or unable to fly for some reason think that’s helpful to the engine. It’s not. It just fills it with moisture which is not a good thing. As I thought about that, guiltily, since I’d just done that very thing I decided to go fly. I cleaned the windscreen, closed the door, and tested my luck starting the motor for a third time.

After taxiing I took off. April 21st was the last time I had flown the F24, filling my logbook with Waco biplanes and Piaggio entries in the intervening period. But it’s such a simple plane, it’s not hard to remember what to do – keep your hand on the throttle, feed in the right rudder as you relax the stick, let it levitate when ready, and off you go!

What a delightful plane to fly! The Turn & Bank doesn’t work and the Air Speed Indicator, driven by a venturi, is only an approximation of relative speed information. So, you fly by the seat of your pants mostly. Climbing turns followed by a wingover and nothing fell off. I decided to try my luck at some landings. It’s an easy plane to land. Wide gear, flaps that give no lift but do make you feel like you’re doing something, and it just squeaks on in a three-point attitude with practically no forward motion. It will bite you though – as it reminded me when I got a little too aggressive with the ailerons once when the wind died. Just me and a helicopter in the pattern I went around and around. Each time the wind shifted a bit more to the east to just up the challenge a tad.

Eventually, I headed back home where the pilot mill had the pattern full. Before I got there, I remembered how pleasant it is to put the thing on autopilot with feet on the floor and hands off the stick. I did just that, fished my phone out of the glove box and took some photos. Oops! There is no autopilot! But the darned thing was right where I left it (as I knew it would be). As I relaxed in my easy chair, my feet out in front of me propped up on the pedals and the panel far, far away, I thought of a friend who thinks he’s too big to fly antiques. Even big guys find this old bird comfy!

When I called the tower, they wanted me to go north for a long time to give the kiddos time to get organized (well that’s not what they said but it is what they meant). Fine by me.  When they finally turned me on a five-mile base leg I pulled the power back and slowed to somewhere between 70 and 100 (the ASI said 80 which I know works but I don’t believe it for a second). If flying by the numbers is your thing antique airplanes are just not for you.

They gave me the little runway which was fine. It’s twice as wide, and twice as long, as Sonoma Skypark (my California home field), and there are no trees on both ends either. No big deal. Let the kids have the easy strip! After landing, I was just moseying to the turn-off. That’s what you do in a tail dragger if you’re smart. I heard the controller tell the kid behind me to do a 360 for spacing. Good practice for him, and more money for his instructor, but I’m not speeding up!

After I got the plane back in the hangar, I decided not to wipe the oil off. I’m pretty anal about this sort of thing and it’s hard to walk away. But I’m headed out of town for two or three weeks, and maybe like cosmoline it will keep things preserved and ready to go for next time. And I’m quite sure next time is going to involve throwing lots of oil around before I can go fly anyway. It’s hard to be a neat freak with round motors…