BACKTRACKING
Aria in the Air
by
Terry Hogan
Galesburg
was once again blessed with the arrival of the beautiful Stearman. Shades of blue and yellow with the
occasional red or gray for variety.
The sound of the engines is unmistakable. As they cross the vision in ones, pairs or groups of four
they are poetry in motion. They
are a bit of living history, lovingly restored, maintained, and operated for
the pleasure of their owners and the rest of us.
I
was only able to view these magnificent plans on Saturday morning. At that point, the numbers on the
ground were in the 40Õs, I suppose.
It was hot even in the morning, and the crowd was small. It allowed for
easy viewing and for those who wanted to, for talking with the pilots.
I
have no way of knowing, but IÕm guessing the economy and price of fuel for both
the planes and those who were going to travel by car to Galesburg to see them
may have influenced attendance. Gas for the planes at Galesburg was in excess
of $3.60 a gallon. And in level
flight and reasonable weather, a Stearman get about 5 minutes of flight on a
gallon of gas. That makes about 12 gallons an hour or over $40/hour for
fuel. This, I learned from a pilot
as we watch his plane being topped over with about 22 gallons of gas.
He
had traveled from New Jersey to attend the Galesburg event. He talked almost
poetically about the fun and thrill of flying his Stearman. He had recently returned from the
Saturday morning dawn flight and described the fog seen below, hanging closely
to the corn fields below. He recalled the pleasure of diving down into the fog
and circling, watching the path cut by the propeller as he climbed back about
the level of gray. He said he was
surprised that there wasnÕt a law against having so much fun. All in all, I donÕt think he felt too
bad about the increasing fuel cost.
He
recalled trying to repeat an old ÒbarnstormerÓ trick called a ÒDelsey
DiveÓ. A roll of toilet paper is
tossed over the side of the Stearman and then as the paper unrolls, the
Stearman through a series of maneuvers, cuts back and forth through the paper
streamer, cutting it off in sections with its wings. Delsey was apparently the name of a brand of toilet
paper when the dive became popular. He and his copilot gave it a try. They toss the roll of paper over the side and began the
maneuver. The toiler paper was
nowhere to be seen. Apparently it
had failed to unroll into a streamer.
It undoubtedly hit the ground with a paper-soft thud. It probably wasnÕt
Delsey paper.
Walking
around, I watch another pilot cleaning a Stearman upper wing with a telescoping
handle and a curved, C-shaped soft brush on the end. He was removing those pesky bug remains. I asked if that was a commercial tool or
whether he made it himself. The
brush started out as a circular brush, not a C-shaped brush and it was intended
to dust ceiling fans. He merely
bent it into a C-shape fitting the curve of the wing and giving a double width.
He was in business. Pretty
clever. It made that upper wing
easy to clean. He then showed that
the brush detached easily allowing hand cleaning of the lower wing. He must be
the ÒMartha StewartÓ of the Stearman pilots. There is clearly more to being a Stearman pilot than just
flying the plane.
Unfortunately,
there was a crash of a Stearman on the way home from the fly-in. Apparently some sort of engine problem
brought the Stearman down into a bean field near Canton. Despite flipping upside down, there
were no injuries to the crew, but some damage to the plane. The plane is now resting with a
sympathetic farmer until arrangements can be made to truck the plane back home
for repairs.
And
yes, Stefano, the singing, romantic Italian pilot with Blue Sky Aero was back
again, giving rides in a Stearman for those who had a little spare disposable
income. Perhaps you were lucky enough to hear the roar of the Stearman engine,
accompanied by the strains of an Italian aria overhead. He had been in Galesburg all week. For those who were able to take a ride
with Stefano, IÕm sure that they will remember the thrill of the take off with
the roar of the engine strapped to the little canvas-covered plane. Perhaps as
the plane lifted off, there was a passing thought of, ÒDoes he really know how
to fly this?Ó or ÒDo I really have enough life insurance?Ó But it is a flight experience
like no other. It is both
experiencing living history and making (personal) history all in one flight.
The
pilot was right. It really ought
to be illegal.
It
is just too much fun.