Plane Fun
By lex, on October 17th, 2009
Snuck out of work a half an hour early to head to the airport for a bit of a round robin in Cardinal 217AF, which has recently received a paint job that has given an old girl a new grace.
The interior still looks like it comes from a 70′s era Dodge, and the panel is straightforward six-pack with none of your modern innovations such as GPS, TAWS or weather so to my mind it’s a day flyer only on a VFR flight plan, especially here out west where mountains exist even where they cannot be seen. Still, I’ve flown a lot of night time over the years, and am quite content to see the earth – and any potential off airport landing sites that may be required should the spinner stop – unfold beneath me.
Had a couple of hours before sunset on what I’d planned for a 1.5 hour flight: Up the coast to Oceanside under flight following, the HOMLY transition * to the ILS at Palomar, downwind departure heading 100 or so to Ramona for some trips around the landing pattern, then a crosswind departure to the south for the ILS approach to a full stop back at Montgomery.
Saw a gent traipse out to the aircraft – my aircraft, according to Schedule Master – just as I was getting to her myself. An awkward moment, but it turned out that he had come just to give the cockpit a once over prior to his first fam in the machine Saturday. I invited him to take his time while I performed my preflight, an invitation he took all too literally to my carefully disguised but growing impatience.
I’m all about professional courtesy and the fraternity of the air, but it’s one thing to go over a pre-start checklist and the general knobology * while the man who has scheduled the machine is regretfully watching the sun tic down towards the horizon. Quite another thing to manipulate Every. Single. Switch. While pedantically theorizing over their uses aloud. Throttle, prop, mixture – yes, yes, yes. But no, I do not know what the “Tel” button does on the comm panel, it probably has something to do with a telephone hook-up but I have never used it and do not intend to. Yes that’s the LORAN box, I haven’t used a LORAN since I was lobstering in the 90s and I don’t think it even works. Marker sensitivity, I’m sure you’re right – high for high altitude overflight, low for an approach. Why on God’s green earth I’d want to hear the chime of a marker beacon from an airport I’m overflying on the way to somewhere else I cannot quite work out, but yes, you apparently have the option. Pull that knob to listen to the Morse code series that positively identifies the navigational aid, that’s what you do on a check ride. Another backward look over my shoulder at the setting sun, the gnawing eagerness to get off the ground and just. Fly. The man before me an impediment.
“Well, I’d better get going,” I said, as lightly as I could.
“You’d better get going,” he said ruminatively, as though trying to divine the hidden meaning behind this Delphic formulation. “Get going,” he repeated, searchingly. “Better get going.” What could it all mean?
“Yup, I’ll have her back by six,” mentally adding that he’d be welcome to continue with his microscopic examination of minutia until the cows came in, if that’s what fired his cracker while feeling a momentary stab of pity for his instructor on Saturday’s flight. Times are hard in the general aviation market, and CFIs don’t get to choose their students these days.
I got my ATIS on the battery before firing her up – Hobbs time is almost two dollars a minute – and was so nonplussed at the unwelcome intrusion into my personal moment with the airplane that I nearly closed the pilot’s side door without kicking out the wheel chocks. I had felt a little like some trembling gentleman who’d stolen away to spend carefully arranged time with a high class courtesan, only to find that another man had stopped by to exhaustively categorize her advantages for a potential liaison of his own, some time in the impossibly distant future, like tomorrow.
The Cardinal can be a bit tricky to start, you begin with the mixture in idle/cut-off, prop full forward and throttle cracked a quarter inch. Being fuel injected you turn the electric boost pump on prior to cranking for a cold start, run the mixture forward until you get a needle tick on the fuel flow gauge to prime the engine and then swiftly back to cut-off again. Any more priming than that and you’ll flood the engine, requiring a half-open throttle, mixture fully closed and seemingly endless amounts of propeller cranking while the 12-volt battery drains down.
She started on the third blade, mixture full forward and then leaned about an inch and a half, throttle back to a 1000 RPM. Off you go.
Took the runway after checking the mags, cycling the prop, aligning the heading indicator with the wet compass and setting flaps 10. Cowl flaps open, smooth acceleration on the power up, lightened the nose at 55 knots and we were airborne at 65, accelerating to 85kts for the initial climb. Tapped the brakes to stop the tires’ rotation, gear handle up, flaps up and we were off. Throttle wide-open for the climb, prop to a more tolerable 2300 RPM, mixture back to 13 gallons per hour. The throb of the Lycoming IO-360 pleasantly attenuated by active noise reducing headphones. But these are the mere mechanics of flight, they do not take into account the strangely liberating spirit of the thing. The earth falling below you, along with its cares. The snaking lines of traffic on the interstate arteries a cause more for pity than consternation. The ocean before you, mysteriously beckoning, with the golden coastline stretching to the north like a supine lover singing a siren’s song of its own – follow me, see where I go. Alone in an airplane, you only communicate with air traffic control and God, not always in that order.
Cruising up the coast, engine nicely leaned 25° rich of peak – I wish we had four cylinder EGT probes and a digital fuel flow indicator to toy with lean of peak operations – cowl flaps closed.
There’s a stern kind of pleasure in precision; well-ordered communications that convey precise intent with minimal excess verbiage, the altimeter needle resting exactly on its assigned place, the course deviation indicator which deviates only slightly until a wind-corrected heading is determined. A well-flown approach to a passable landing – just a bit of a hop from coming in a trifle hot. We’ll work on that at Ramona.
The Cardinal is a stately aircraft compared to the Cessna 172. The latter flies a bit like Volkswagen Jetta drives, competently if not luxuriously, while the former is more like your father’s Buick. It cannot be compared to flying a fighter, all raw, self-contained power always trembling at the leash, begging to be released. But the Cardinal goes where you point her and does so with a deliberate authority that stops well this side of ponderousness. She can carry 60 gallons of gas, cruises at 130-140kts indicated on less than 9 gallons per hour and can be had for under a $100k. Careful with the CG.
Unlike a 172, you cannot force her down. When you flare the Cardinal for landing, you are well-advised to be patient with her; she will land when she is good and ready. Trying to force the nose down from a hot bounce with a bunt on the yoke like you might in a Skyhawk will result in the dreaded “Cardinal crow hop,” and pitch oscillations that have the potential for a prop strike or worse. Hold what you’ve got, and as she starts to feel for the runway again a little more back pressure on the yoke will set her down gently. Mind your drift.
A pair of good landings at Ramona – flaps 20 seems to work best – as the sun was groping for the horizon. It’s a little busy on the runway after landing for a touch and go: Flaps back to 10 degrees, cowl flaps open, full throttle. Brakes tapped airborne, gear up, flaps up, 13gph, 25 squared, turn to downwind. Gear down, flaps 10 at midfield, cowl flaps closed again as manifold pressure is reduced. Significant pitch trim changes during the deceleration and flap deployment. Prop and mixture full forward again. She takes a bit of careful minding.
A crosswind departure to the south, checked in with SoCal at San Vicente Island on 125.3 for flight following and clearance in the Class B. The setting sun throwing the western hills into a shadowed relief that seemed carefully crafted, deliberate. A soft, flecked gold tapestry that moved gently beneath me. Picked up ATIS for Montgomery, information Delta was in effect at the airport, sky clear, winds 280 at five, runway 28 right/28 left in use, ILS approach to runway 28. The controller’s voice on the recorded transmission was feminine, almost sensual, her words seemingly shared in a kind of confidence.
Or perhaps, stirred by other things, I was reading into it.
A good approach to the runway, the ILS needles on the rails. The same controller on the tower frequency asking in a businesslike way if I could sidestep to the left runway for landing traffic on the right. Anything for you, my dear, after all the things we’ve shared.
Flaps up, cowl flaps open, IFF to standby, mixture lean. Clear at the intersecting runway, taxi to Gibbs, the temptation to prolong the moment at war with the spinning of the dollar sign Hobbs meter, and anyway, compared to flying, taxiing is a rude chore. Best to get it over with.
Ground check the mags, avionics master off, mixture idle/cut-off. Push her back into her spot – the hardest part of the flight – tie her down, put her to bed with a lingering glance. If I was a smoker, it’d be time for a cigarette.
Back in the car, back on the road, back in traffic, heading home.
Merely mortal.
* 09-15-2018 Link Gone; no replacements found – Ed.