Not going to post a different flight every day, but I figured i'd get this one out of the way, since it was the second lesson before I actually started logging my flight time...
July 1994
1946 Piper J-3 "Cub"
3N6-Local-just a few minutes (stick time during
joy ride)
About 9 months after my intro flight in the Tomahawk, having still not gathered the resources needed to begin lessons in earnest, I got the itch one day to go flying.
I didn't have much money, so I figured I'd go to 2N8 for another ride in their Cub. Better off setting that $25 aside towards real lessons, but I thought I'd be earning a little more soon enough, and it was a damn fine day... and I just had to go flying. couldn't stand it anymore...
Arriving at Marlboro, I was surprised to find that Biplane Adventure Tours had moved- to Old Bridge Airport, about twenty minutes away by car. Not knowing exactly how to get there, I almost turned back, but decided to try to find it.
Somehow I did, and after purchasing another budget Cub ride ticket, I was escorted to the plane, which was now residing in a big clean T-hangar at this somewhat more-developed airport. My escort lifted its tail with ease and started pushing it out onto the smooth pavement between the rows of hangars.
"Need a hand?" I asked.
"Nope," he replied, easily swinging the tail around so that the Piper was now facing the runway, ready to taxi. He told me to go ahead and climb in the front seat; the pilot would be along shortly. He checked my seat belt and wandered off. leaving me alone for a few minutes with the little yellow ragwing.
A gentle breeze caressed her wings, and she stirred, just a little. I could see splotches of bright new paint where the canvas had been expertly patched recently, here and there... I examined the funky but sturdy-looking old instruments again and wiggled the stick a little, savoring the nice old-airplane smells. I silently chided myself for having judged this old gal harshly when we first met... she was not even 50, and clearly still in her prime.
Soon the man returned, with another fellow who appeared to be the pilot. He wasn't the same gentleman who'd taken me for my very first Cub ride on that blustery day some months ago. He slid effortlessly into the rear seat, and prepped the 4-cylinder engine for start-up. This time I paid careful attention to the whole process. His assistant stood before the prop, keeping his distance, and asked "How's she running today?"
The pilot's voice answered from behind me, rather absently. "Not so good today... but we'll see how it goes..."
The helper almost but not quite cracked a smile.
"Got enough fuel?"
" Yep," the pilot replied, "Exactly fifteen minutes' worth, plus a thirty-second reserve."
"Check!"
They both then started laughing out loud, and I joined them, shaking my head.
A quick hand-propping, and the J3 was sputtering very happily, ready to taxi. The engine didn't seem so loud to me this time... I noticed that the pilot manipulated the airplane as if part of his body as he taxiied... he was obviously very much at home back there.
Yelling above the idling engine, he began to recite a sort of "spiel" about how the Cub was "the Model T of airplanes", etc.... I nodded politely, but wished he'd just get on with it- I had read up on my Cub history quite a bit since that first little hop out of Marlboro. As we lined up for takeoff, I wished I'd mentioned something beforehand about my Tomahawk lesson, or my ambitions... perhaps this could have been a lesson and not just a joyride... oh well, I though- I'm going up in a Cub again; should be fun in any case!
Takeoff was uneventful, and after about a minute of choogling around in that perfect blue July sky, the pilot shouted to me that he would demonstrate the effect of an engine failure, if I was okay with that. I nodded vigorously.
He pulled the throttle back, and as the engine's braying diminished and the prop's disc became a series of blurred blades, the Cub dropped her nose a little and started sliding downstairs, all very slowly.
Having done a little research, I knew that were this a real engine failure, the next step would be to find a suitable place to land. The runway was already too far behind, as far as I could tell, but I could see atl east a dozen inviting clearings nearby.
But there was no need to think about that- he throttled up again, and we climbed back up to about 1500 feet. He turned first one way and then the other, then announced he would demonstrate a stall, with my permission. I nodded like a spastic
puppet, eager to experience this phenomenon unique to flying machines.
Power back again, and as the airplane slowed, he pulled back on the stick. the Cub's nose lifted heavenward, but instead of climbing, she just sort of... stopped. I'm sure we were making some headway, but I could hardly tell. It was so quiet now, with the engine just purring,and the slipstream reduced to a faint breeze. Without any fuss, the trusty old sky flivver then simple dropped her nose, diving on her own to regain flying speed. It was, I admit, a little unsettling at first, but after a few more, I was really enjoying it!
Next: flight 2 part 2 (last)
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