Back from my trip, I spent as much time in the basement as I could applying the finishing touches on the Eindecker. The aircraft is covered in a material that is nearly as shear and see through as Victoria Secrets fine line of women's exotic undergarments. I know this to be true as I have logged an extensive amount of time in their monthly mailed research material. By looking at the covering material it's hard to grasp how it could support an aircraft in flight. You would think that a well-placed bug strike could rip the fabric from the plane sending one to a fate of massive deceleration trauma. But once the process has been applied, the end result is a strong and beautiful finished product.
To attach the covering, one starts by prepping the surface of the structure and then glue the fabric to the perimeter which is then laid freely over the rest of the inner structure. After the fabric was glued around the edges it was ironed out and shrunk over the entire surface of the airframe. Once this process had been accomplished there were parts of the airplane that require the fabric to be sewn to the structure and the process is known as rib stitching. Oh, what a tedious job this can be. By the time I was finished hand stitching all the ribs on the wing and tail, I had to have tourniquets to my fingers and transfusions to stem the blood loss. I had so many Band-Aids on my fingers that I only needed an orange leather jacket to complete the full Michael Jackson fashion ensemble. Once the rib stitching was completed reinforcement tapes were added to there proper locations and the covering was final sealed and ready for paint.
In honor of the movie that set my dreams aloft, I painted the Eindecker to resemble the German Dr1 aircraft that had tangled with Waldo Pepper and his Sopwith Camel. Although the two aircraft differ quite a bit, mine being a monoplane, or Eindecker (German for one wing), I painted the tail section in the same yellow and black checkerboard that the Dr1, a tri-plane or Dri-Decker (German for three wings), had in the movie. The movie plane also had the name Lola printed on the side of the fuselage to honor the pilot's first wife, and it just so happens that my first and, so far, only wife's name is of German origin and now decorates the upper fuselage of my Eindecker as well. In contrast to the Dr1, I used silver instead of a black base coat to help reflect some of the Georgia heat from the underlying fabric but I did paint typical WW1 era iron crosses onto white backgrounds for the same period insignia.
I installed wheel covers and painted them with a late war scheme that I preferred over the early design. During my model building days I kept an honest eye toward scale realism in both color scheme and aesthetic design. Eindeckers were fairly bland with very little paint used to save the much-dreaded weight that plagued early aviation. As engines became more powerful, pilots could afford to personalize their mounts with more outlandish designs. Unfortunately the Eindecker was outclassed by then and never saw these colorful schemes. Since this was going to be my only airplane, I decided to break the scale modelers' code I long possessed and ventured toward the side of flamboyant personal preference. On occasion I get the avid model builder who will inform me of my errors and I can usually spot them right away as they scurry to point out the obvious flaws in my historical accuracy. It's amazing to sit back and listen to these guys spill their full wealth of knowledge as though the sky just opened in a deluge of biblical proportions. Even though I am sometimes verbally admonished by the most dedicated aviation history buffs, I honestly never get tired of hearing their views on WWI aviation. If I only knew that it would come to me for free, I never would have bothered to spend the time, money and effort on the research myself.
Soon after I painted and re-rigged the Eindecker, I had it sitting on the runway ready for the first flight. It was a day of seriously high tensions, emotions and down right fear. I spent two days ground testing with low and high-speed taxi tests. Nearing the end of the testing I felt I could lift the plane into the air and fly it down the runway just a few feet off the ground. I would slowly advance the throttle and raise the tail off the ground. As the speed built I could pull back slightly on the power and let the Eindecker gently lift off the runway. It followed my commands with ease and was outstanding in its ground handling chacteristics upon landing. After quite a few taxi runs I was fairly sure it would hold together so I positioned at the end of the runway and surrendered my fate to my Lord and savior.
It was a truly surreal feeling to think that I would soon be pushing the throttle forward hoping that my four years of work wouldn't end in a balled up mess with a dummy in the middle. Although it may be hard to fully explain the emotions involved, I'll try to bring you along, on the day of our first flight.
Flight of the Fokker Eindecker
It's September 29th 2003 and I'm lazily mulling around my little Fokker wondering if the wind is going to settle down and allow me to test fly my finally completed project. Every inch of the plane has been checked and rechecked for any discrepancies that might prove hazardous in flight. The plane is fueled, the sky clear and the wind is blowing like mad in the wake of a recent cold front. As I sit and anxiously await a break in the wind I can't help but wonder if this was how the First World War aviators felt before their flight to the front lines in search of a fight.
After waiting what seamed like an eternity, I decide that I just can't sit still any longer. I figure that if I can't get airborne I can at least taxi up and down the runway getting a little more familiar with the ground handling characteristics of this little cloth covered beast. I coolly strap on my flying helmet and slip my right foot into the stirrup located on the left hand side of the aircraft. With one swift pull I send my left foot over into the cockpit seat and slide gently into the cramped compartment below. As I tighten my safety harness I flash a quick grin to my wife attempting to show my false confidence for success. With my attention now diverted to the instrument panel I begin the process of bringing the massive and earth shattering horsepower of the Rotax power plant to life. I switch the ignition switches to the "on" position followed by the fuel valve. A few shots of prime and the choke lever moved to the closed position complete the highly technical chain of events required to fire off the two-cylinder behemoth tucked neatly under the nose cowl. With a quick, confident "CONTACT" and a macho cool, feminine lust inducing, clockwise spinning motion of my right hand, I signal my crewman to swing the prop instigating the tiny little explosions within the engine. The engine soon belches to life and as it smoothes to idle speed and the gauges settle to their operating temperatures, I slowly advance the throttle starting a long taxi to the end of the 2200-foot grass strip.
It's now just before dark and the wind has settled enough for my attempt at flight. I had played with the plane enough to feel fairly confident on the ground so with the plane positioned at the end of the runway I go through the checklist again, sub-consciously prolonging the inevitable attempt at a takeoff. Controls free and clear, dual ignition check, fuel valve on, pucker factor high, all that is left is to check pattern clear and give it all it's worth. I remove my shaky, sweating hands from the controls and dry them on my jeans in anticipation of the upcoming event.
Slowly, I aim the Eindecker down the runway and with one smooth motion I force the throttle lever to the stop. The Rotax screams with authority as the plane starts it's acceleration to takeoff speed. I'm pushing full fwd on the stick, which unseats the tail wheel from the earth as I apply light pressure on the rudder pedals to keep her guided in the right direction. As the airspeed builds I relax fwd pressure on the stick and a quick glance at the airspeed and tachometer assure me that the engine is putting out enough power to get the job done. With a slight and gentle pull on the stick I feel the little Fokker overcome gravity and start its climb into the cool September evening.
From my peripheral view I can see the ground quickly slipping away beneath me as the plane is climbing with surprising authority given that the wings are so short. The sun, once hidden behind trees, becomes visible as it spreads yellow translucent fingers of light from behind an orange glowing spray of clouds that melt into a golden skyline. I glance back into the cockpit, my eyes quickly scanning the assorted instruments looking for any abnormalities. Satisfied that the engine was performing within its designed limitations, I turn my attention back outside and onto a world that is rapidly shrinking away.
The wind is now whipping around the windscreen creating so much noise that I can hardly hear the engine screaming its high pitch two-stroke tune. I am maintaining a 50 MPH climb speed with little effort on the controls. The elevator and rudder are extremely sensitive as compared to the ailerons, which feel as though they are firmly seated in cement. She is flying straight and true so I try to relax a little and let her build some altitude before my first turn. I loosen the crushing grip that I had been subjecting to my control stick as I'm beginning to feel a little more confident about completing this test flight with success. There are varying degrees of success however, and at this point I'd be willing to settle for anything above a disaster. With the plane leveled out and all gauges operating in the green, I decide it's time to once again tighten up my grip and see how the airplane is going to act in a turn. The pattern at this particular field is a right hand pattern so I slowly start to feed in some right stick and wait for a positive response. She slowly rolls into a shallow bank and I'm instantly hit with a massive volume of air on the left side of my head. In the few seconds it takes for me to realize what's happening, my mind starts to slowly process the information.
"OK. Wind left side, hum what's happening here? Let's see, right aileron. Aileron, isn't that a French word? Hey, I'm in a German (Or is it Dutch?) designed aircraft with French ailerons built in America now flown by an idiot. Oh wait, I know. I'm feeling the effects of an uncoordinated turn."
Snapping back to reality I am suddenly aware of how much more of an attention getter the wind is over the ball (or turn coordinator). This wind, whipping against my head, is about as subtle as the proverbial Louisville Slugger swung by the force of an angry gorilla. The rudder is so sensitive that merely the thought of applying pressure on the pedals seams to be too much, forcing the Fokker in a skid around the turn. I relax my right foot a little and the plane falls back in coordination returning my head to a comfortable position within the vacuum of the forward windscreen.
With the first turn completed, I start my down wind run to setup for an approach to the field. While cruising down wind, and performing a quick blood pressure check, I decide to fly out farther and try a left hand turn only to find that again the plane slips into an uncoordinated turn with incredible ease. This is not anything light rudder pressure doesn't cure, but it tends to get into a slip or skid very quickly.
I maneuver the plane in on a high and long decent for landing and pull the power back to 5000 RPM. The Eindecker settles into a smooth and shallow decent and provides a very good view of the runway ahead. From my point of view, the runway looks like a thin strip of light green, well-manicured grass set within a forest of shadowy dark green 50 foot pines. As I descend and continue to slow the plane, the runway appears to grow in width and distinguishing features start to immerge in full view through the windscreen. Nearing the trees I get a few light bumps from the wind, and I instinctively revert to crushing my controls again, hoping the plane will stay steady and firm in flight. Thankfully, the plane settles back to smooth flight as I clear the trees and I reduce power a little more as I break over the threshold. I opt to keep the airspeed high and just feel for the ground in a wheel landing. As the plane descends into ground effect, I start to feed in the minute adjustments required to keep her pointed straight down the runway. I can almost feel the blades of grass whipping along the bottom of the wheels as the earth struggles to reclaim her recently lost possession. With a slight and gentle bump, the Fokker settles in lightly on the mains and the tail settles slowly to the ground.
How could I ever explain the feeling of that first flight? There were four years of dreams poured into that ten-minute flight. I once read that 20% of all fatal accidents occur on the first flight. Whether this is true or not, I was completely aware of the dangers involved with test flying the plane but I just couldn't push aside my dreams and give in to the fear of failure. As it turned out, there would be a positive outcome to this event and it would inspire another poem.
