[ed. From the 4/16/2020 edition of www.VansAirForce.net (#5,063) v/r,dr]
I went out to the airport Wednesday morning with the best of RV intentions. But having passed a few motionless flags on the way, and seeing 00000KT on the phone when I looked, that plan went out the window. The RV isn't buttoned back up, but the Cub is, and it has been a few weeks since it has been off the surface.
The stock ponds were mirrors and dew covered bright green fields fighting for spring sunlight exploded in the morning light out to the horizon. Almost fluorescent. What you don't realize about 52F is that five minutes to the NW in a Cub at 100' AGL over farmland, you could pretty easily convince yourself it was 1946. No houses, just creeks and farmland. A little inattention and the ball is out again - stick and rudder skills matter with this one. The joys of simple, uncomplicated flight with no radio - there's only one knob (baro) and one switch (mag). You don't really need the baro. The checklist is short.
After .6 of restorative therapy, I taxied up to the hangar and began planning the morning's original task of putting back on access covers, fairings, cowlings and wheel pants on the amazing RV-6. An RV is the polar opposite of a Cub. It so beautifully masters fast and high and acro and technology, and rewards well practiced skill sets. I miss going fast, and need to get that thing put back together this week, but 00000KT demands Cub if you have access to one, and plodding along at 40mph in ground effect a foot or so above the growing wheat touches the soul in a way that few things can. If you've never done this you'll just have to trust me. A Cub-shaped shadow on a field of blurred, wet green in red-shifted morning light can set things right in your head. Email and accounting software are easier to face with recent memories like these.
Fourteen deer and three turkeys in the memo line.
But even the new plan didn't go as expected. I sat on the couch jotting down a few thoughts for this piece here, with the clicking and ticking of the 65 h.p. engine cooling down in front of me, and my train of thought kept getting distracted by all the RV activity. It turns out RVators like 00000KT too. There's Allen in his -14 taking off. Now Danny in his -8, and Ross in his -6. And Matt (-6), and John (-8), and Kay (-8A), and Randy (-8) and James (-4) and Rod (-8). They too saw the windsock, and changed their plans to take advantage of the CAVU with their own RV version of social distancing. I'd guess they didn't see the turkeys.
What a Blessing it is to get to enjoy these. High and fast in the amazing RV, and low and slow in a worn, tattered, dusty, dripping J-3 that reminds me of both simpler times and why I'm also attracted to this different type of flying. These two aircraft, and their wildly different flight envelopes, realign my mental gyros like nothing else. Blessed and Grateful are the words that keep coming to the front.
I'll get the RV in the air here in a few days, but I'm glad the plan changed on the fly. Formation practice is calling me and that is all RV. But lazily exploring a creek for fish and beavers from a hundred feet will be up front here again before too long. Anyone standing outside around N. TX Wednesday would understand. Aviators get all goofy-eyed when the METARs are all zeros.
It's our catnip.
We are beautifully flawed.
The stock ponds were mirrors and dew covered bright green fields fighting for spring sunlight exploded in the morning light out to the horizon. Almost fluorescent. What you don't realize about 52F is that five minutes to the NW in a Cub at 100' AGL over farmland, you could pretty easily convince yourself it was 1946. No houses, just creeks and farmland. A little inattention and the ball is out again - stick and rudder skills matter with this one. The joys of simple, uncomplicated flight with no radio - there's only one knob (baro) and one switch (mag). You don't really need the baro. The checklist is short.
After .6 of restorative therapy, I taxied up to the hangar and began planning the morning's original task of putting back on access covers, fairings, cowlings and wheel pants on the amazing RV-6. An RV is the polar opposite of a Cub. It so beautifully masters fast and high and acro and technology, and rewards well practiced skill sets. I miss going fast, and need to get that thing put back together this week, but 00000KT demands Cub if you have access to one, and plodding along at 40mph in ground effect a foot or so above the growing wheat touches the soul in a way that few things can. If you've never done this you'll just have to trust me. A Cub-shaped shadow on a field of blurred, wet green in red-shifted morning light can set things right in your head. Email and accounting software are easier to face with recent memories like these.
Fourteen deer and three turkeys in the memo line.
But even the new plan didn't go as expected. I sat on the couch jotting down a few thoughts for this piece here, with the clicking and ticking of the 65 h.p. engine cooling down in front of me, and my train of thought kept getting distracted by all the RV activity. It turns out RVators like 00000KT too. There's Allen in his -14 taking off. Now Danny in his -8, and Ross in his -6. And Matt (-6), and John (-8), and Kay (-8A), and Randy (-8) and James (-4) and Rod (-8). They too saw the windsock, and changed their plans to take advantage of the CAVU with their own RV version of social distancing. I'd guess they didn't see the turkeys.
What a Blessing it is to get to enjoy these. High and fast in the amazing RV, and low and slow in a worn, tattered, dusty, dripping J-3 that reminds me of both simpler times and why I'm also attracted to this different type of flying. These two aircraft, and their wildly different flight envelopes, realign my mental gyros like nothing else. Blessed and Grateful are the words that keep coming to the front.
I'll get the RV in the air here in a few days, but I'm glad the plan changed on the fly. Formation practice is calling me and that is all RV. But lazily exploring a creek for fish and beavers from a hundred feet will be up front here again before too long. Anyone standing outside around N. TX Wednesday would understand. Aviators get all goofy-eyed when the METARs are all zeros.
It's our catnip.
We are beautifully flawed.