The Other Woman

I had run out of ideas for the title of this article. Then, as with all independent males, I asked my wife. She came up with a title filled with the heartfelt emotion that goes with the birth of another offspring of my mind. It is a single-seat airplane based on all the knowledge I have gained thus far (in other words, a BASIC ultralight).

I had purchased a motor (money pit) a while back, and with a bunch of work, Stauffer Aero got it running. Tim at the shop is a wealth of information and was never in a hurry to show me the door. He is one of those talented men who can see the problem over the phone. Anyway, the new plane will be powered by an A-65 Continental. That’s why a single-seat model is the choice. I have said in the past that a man should have at least two, if not more airplanes: one for fun, one for travel, and another one so they don’t get bored. This is to be my fun airplane. I hope to jump in it at a moment’s notice and off I go… something that just chugs through the sky so that I can see the sights without a care in the world.

So, the Wittman will wait a year or so. So first things first, I built a great big 16×4 foot table, level, true, and sturdy. The next thing was to do the math for the center of gravity (CG). Since there is no battery, the CG was critical as I did not have the luxury of using it to adjust the CG after initial runs. So, after taking inches and pounds and checking once then twice, I found that I was ready to commit.

First stop was steel tubing and small plywood holders to keep said tubing in place. Some chalk lines, felt pen lines, a few scribbles, and I made my first cut and bend. My first weld was great. However, the rest were strong enough but not as pretty.

I decided to use a carbide burr to shape the ends to get a great fit on the joints. So, after grinding down my fingertips the first few tries, I started to shape the tubing. The thing about using a burr is that the filings are so small that they stick in your skin, and then they itch; as you itch, the scratching of that itch only embeds the filings further, creating a pimply look that I haven’t seen on my face since my grade eight graduation. AHH… grade eight, the best three years of the six I spent in junior high.

So, with my bloodied stumps for fingers and pockmarked face, I am well on my way.

This mistress is demanding, always waiting when I pull into the garage, always calling that I should spend more of my free time with her, and she is not cheap (contrary to what the womenfolk may say of the focus of my attention).

Wishing you Tailwinds and No Bumps