After a few hours of effort aimed at remedying the neglect of late, I finally made it with a flyable model aircraft out to Champaign County Radio Control Club (CCRCC) flying field. I had no idea who or what would await as I turned off SR 150 past the open gate and tacked up the gravel drive to the clubhouse. At least I didn’t have to stop and try my key. It’s been about three years since my last visit. I had tapered off after moving out to Rantoul, after getting nicked in the arm by an out of control Grey Eagle (a person, not a plane, though it was the plane that bit me), after that one last late afternoon flight when I smacked that old indestructible plastic Beechcraft Bonanza so hard on the chin that the whole airframe sagged and then I just kept flying it until I tore it apart. My thumbs were pretty good at that point. My confidence has dwindled meanwhile.
There was a respectable crowd of Eagles (read geezers) sitting in the shade of the clubhouse. No one was in the air. The wind was dead calm, only fitfully attaining a 2 mph breeze from time to time. Temperature: 70F. Perfect. I unloaded the car, took the frequency pin in trade for my crisp new 2011 AMA card. Not a word from the geezers. That one with the poodle…is that Bill Worra? We’re all older and fatter. I’m sure I’m unrecognizable, even as I fail to recognize.
There’s a younger dude fooling with the engine on his giant scale aerobat. His mixture is too rich, and he keeps sputtering out as he gets ready to taxi out. I’m keeping my mouth shut. I hate that endless motorhead advice that guys tend to do.
I strapped on my wing, did my range check, fueled up, powered up (she caught and ran fine on the second try – this was the real result of my preflight work), and taxied out. Although what breeze there was was sort of cross wind, more from the north than south, the one jittery four-stroke trainer flight that got underway while I was doing the above went downwind – north to south. I followed suit. I was at the leftmost station, so I had to taxi all the way down the runway and turn. A respectable takeoff roll, nothing here to embarrass me…my Aerostar 40 was airborne under full power in short order. My first turn was to the right, out over the trees in the direction of the little memorial park. I had to claw back the throttle to one third, since the Aerostar is light and a good climber. It’s a bit strange and hard to describe; after so long an absence, I have to think about so much. Where is the throttle? (Left stick, forward-back.) Where is the rudder? (Left stick, side-side.) How much aileron is enough in a quarter turn? Can the Eagles see my hand shaking in the attitude of my plane? The one thing I didn’t do was go find the transmitter manual, so I was afraid to deep cycle the transmitter battery for fear of losing my programming. My fear is transmitter battery failure, so I can’t just stand out there flying my tank dry. I circled twice, I reversed directions, I circled tight and set up a downwind approach (north-south). I came down fast and wide of the runway, bouncing on the grass, killing my power, and coming to an unceremonious halt. I had to go out on to the field to get my model.
In the meanwhile, my neighbor in the pits has gotten his plane out on the runway and is fooling with the needle again. At last he’s leaned it out enough that he can try a takeoff. Off he goes. His climbout is good, but he’s no expert. (The expert aerobats always do something dramatic on the climbout like some sort of barrel roll a foot off the deck.) His first circle is shaky. I sit down to watch. I’ve learned that a defensive attitude is handy when sharing the field with a novice pilot, particularly one airborne with more aircraft than he’s ready for. On his second circle, he’s trying to set up his approach. His right wing dips in a tip stall as his airspeed falls off. He’s hollering for help. An old pro runs out and takes the transmitter. Now there’s a bit of an airshow. It’s just a sort of aerobat tester: a barrel roll, an inverted circle, a four point roll, and then an upwind approach and perfect landing. The pro shrugs as he runs back to the shelter of the clubhouse bench.
I’m taxiing out for my second flight while the dude is taildragging is plane off the field. This time, I’m more relaxed. I come in and bounce, but I’m on the tarmac so I just gun it and go around again. I’m in too hot on my second try at landing, and I’m off the end of the tarmac and in the grass. I muscle the plane back and take off again upwind. Now that I’m going in the right direction for the wind situation, I do two nice touch and goes in a row. On the third one, I taxi in. I’m done. My transmitter has now gotten below 9.6 volts.
Returning the pin, I say, “let the battery cycling begin!”
Wan smiles from the Eagles and dude. As I dump the remaining fuel, which is older than should be, the dude comes over and offers to charge me up. I say, “I haven’t flown in awhile. I need to deep cycle.” I comment on my way out that I really like the new internet weather station they’ve got set up. It’s true. I do really like it: