It is Just You the Buzz of the Engine, and the Sun

BY HARVEY MINNICK PHOTOS BY HARVEY MINNICK

When people learn I was a pilot and used to own and fly a reproduction fighter from World War One, they usually ask what was it like to fly it?

The first thing you notice is how small it is. Getting in a Cessna or any other general aviation light aircraft is like getting into one of those little British sports cars. A little cramped but comfortable. Climbing into my SPAD was like putting on a snowsuit. You were basically wearing the plane. I guess it is like that with all fighter planes, new or old. I can’t say it was uncomfortable. Every time I got in, I was so full of adrenalin and could have sat on a bed of nails and not noticed.

Being an open cockpit plane, a helmet and goggles were called for, and there was a three-point harness. The long silk scarf was optional. But at least I didn’t have two machine guns in my face. The divots were there for them, but my plane was unarmed, which made it lighter and more maneuverable. It flew like a dream and could climb faster than a modern Cessna., which is not bad for a 100+-year-old design.

There were a few modern concessions for safety. The wings weren’t covered with linen but with a modern, mylar-like plastic film. I had a handheld radio and ear bud that sometimes worked. I also had an electric starter motor installed with the battery tucked in the back of the seat. Starting an airplane motor by spinning the prop is a lost and dangerous art. I heard that one of my flight instructors in Iowa was killed by accidentally pulling on a pro that turned over and struck him in the head.

The other modern concession was bicycle breaks. SPADs in WWI didn’t have them. Normally, the breaks are on the rudder pedals, but to keep things simple, they were rigged to the gun trigger on the joystick. Oh, that’s right. No steering wheel or yoke, just a joystick. It was very easy to get accustomed to.

Once strapped in, I would make a call on the radio and go through the short checklist. When the engine came to life, the noise drowned everything out. You would throttle back to allow things to warm up before heading out. A SPAD has louvers that can be opened or closed to control engine heating.

My SPAD, like virtually every other airplane from before 1945, was a taildragger. In that, it had two big wheels in front and a small wheel (or skid) in back under the tail. Virtually all modern aircraft have tricycle landing gear with one wheel under the nose and two wheels in back under the wings.

Taildraggers handle differently on the ground and during taking off and landing, and you must be specially trained to fly them. I got my training in Hagerstown, Maryland.

The biggest and most alarming difference is while taking off. The tail on a taildragger comes up off the ground as you are rolling down the runway. Once you have left the ground, most of the vibrations stop, and there is only the sound of the engine and the sun and wind on your face.

You could navigate using a Garmin GPS or just drop down and read the road signs. I could look down at the cars and trucks whizzing along on the interstate and some of them were going faster than me, but I was going in style and could cut miles off the distance by rounding off the corners.

I had a magnetic campus and an altimeter. There was an artificial horizon and bank indicator that was nothing more than a carpenter’s level. A few other gages to monitor the engine temperate and oil pressure.

The airspeed indicator was a small L-shaped glass tube that was tied to a wing strut outside of the prop wash. The wind would blow into it and push a pea up or down, depending on wind speed.

There was a window in the fuel line to see fuel flow and a cork floating in the fuel tank with a rod sticking out of it. You could see the tip of the rod go up and down with the fuel level. Always problematic in flight. A clock was also used to keep track of them and how long the engine had been running. After 90 minutes, it was time to look for a place to land as you only had another 30 minutes of reserve fuel, assuming you took off with a full-fuel load.

The landing gear was fixed down and consisted of two bicycle wheels and a small trolly wheel in the rear, no skid, as would be historically correct. Bungee cords were wrapped around the exiles to act as shock absorbers.

Being a single-seat open cockpit airplane, it is just you, the buzz of the engine, and the sun. People talk of the wind in the wires (the bracing wires that crisscrossed between the wings and struts), but I never heard them. The propeller was invisible in flight unless the sun was at your back. Then you could see the sheen dancing along the propeller blades.

Once, I nearly hit a turkey vulture while coming in on approach. That was one big bird. That was the only time I wasn’t alone with Vicky in the air.

I never flew her in bad weather or high enough to need oxygen. I say her because my SPAD’s name was Vicky short for Victoria. I had the likeness of a blonde angel in a mini toga brandishing the swift sword of God painted on her side. Vicky’s likeness was surrounded by this inscription, “CARUS DOMINUS ANGELUS MITTERE

VIGILUS MEUS”. Meaning, “Dear Lord, please send one of your angels to watch over me.” Or that’s what it was supposed to say. My SPAD was the prettiest thing in the air, with her red and white stripes and blue nose and tail with stars like an American flag and US roundels on the wings.

After the victory in WWI, the American Army Air Service went on a victory tour and had their planes painted to celebrate. My plane was a copy of the SPAD XIII flown by Captain Reed Chambers of the 94th Aero Squadron, the Hat in. Ring Squadron.

Owning and flying Vicky was utterly joyful, but totally impractical and was probably a mid-life crisis kind of thing. Every time I landed, which was always an occasion to celebrate, Vicky would be the center of attention. In 2000, I moved from Iowa and continued flying Vicky until I had a landing mishap in 2003. No one would work on her and there was a limit to what I could do, so I had to sell her. I later heard that her new owner tore her up on the ground. Such a sad ending for a beautiful flying machine.