Say hello to the latest family member at Andover Flight Academy. It’s a Boeing Stearman, a 1940’s-era biplane, the military trainer of the day. And soon this one will be available for joy rides, aerobatics and taildragger instruction, and generally spreading its sweet radial engine song across the valley around Andover Aeroflex Airport (12N).

The thing is, it’s got no wings at the moment. But that didn’t stop my friend John and the gang over at Andover from pulling the plane out of the hangar and attempting to fire up the engine for the first time since the school took ownership of this project last fall.

And airplane nuts will congregate—with cameras, no less—at the thought of seeing an old fussy engine cough, pop and crackle to life, even if it’s attached to a fuselage with no wings. And I had to drop off my plane for its annual inspection today, so I had a good excuse to fly over there and join this congregation:

That’s my friend John catching the loads of oil that leached out of the old radial as Vic turned the prop; this engine has not run in a while and it was filled with oil. Purge as they might, there was still sure to be more left in there, and so Bill had an idea to affix some hose to the exhaust stack to try and catch some of the oil that would otherwise spray all over the side of the plane. The hose didn’t last long, as the photo shows, but it did manage to catch about a quart of oil. That’s Damian, the plane’s owner, with the fire extinguisher; you never know, you know. (Click any of the photos for larger versions.)

With the great weather we had this weekend, the airport was buzzing with activity, and I had a ball spending the afternoon on the ramp with friends and airplanes. It was a preview of what lies in store for me this July when we all go back to Oshkosh for the biggest general aviation event in the universe. Here’s hoping that the annual inspection goes well on 93F.

I didn’t know it was gonna be a sex flight, but that’s the way it worked out. That’s the cool thing about sex flights, they are like the real thing—you try for it all the time, but usually come up short. When you have a sex flight, you are pleasantly surprised.

I flew to Lancaster, PA (KLNS) today. I’d never been there before, and they supposedly have a great pilot shop: not one, but two excellent reasons to fly there. A little over 80 nautical miles from my home base, I could make it there in about an hour. This would give me time to check out the place and head back before the snow that’s forecast for tonight.

The tower staff there were quite friendly, as was the flight instructor at the helicopter school, who loaned me the keys to his truck so I could drive down to the pilot shop (I had mistakenly taxied to the wrong FBO at the other end of the runway, thinking that was where the pilot shop was). The pilot shop did indeed have a wealth of pilot goodies: books, videos, airplane models, clothing, flight sims—it was like walking through a Sporty’s Catalog, with the added bonus of fair pricing. Picked up a book about a guy who flew around the world in a Beech Starship, and a new carbon monoxide detector.

On the way home, I stopped at Alexandria Airfield, which is this really nice little airport/airpark in western NJ that I not-so-secretly wish I could have a home at. After an uneventful landing at Alexandria, I headed for home.

So what’s this about a sex flight? Oh yeah, that.

Well, there’s not much to tell, really. I throttled back on the downwind leg, flaps ten, trimmed for ninety. Turned base, flaps twenty, settled on 80 MPH, and turned final. Setting flaps to 30 degrees and lining up on the centerline, I noticed there were a lot of airplanes around, planes waiting on both sides of the runway for me to land so they could get on with their own business—I had an audience. I generally don’t perform well with an audience, but…

Here come the numbers, flaps 40, slow power reduction, rounding out, one eye on the sock, it’s limp, the runway’s all mine—no wind…

Pulling back on the yoke, and then a little more, I feel a sensation in my seat. It’s the subtle vibration of the main wheels beginning to roll on the pavement. The aircraft is in the midst of very gracefully converting itself into a land vehicle. No bumps, no chirping sounds, just a teeny-tiny vibration in the seat and then the dull rumble of the wheels over the pavement. The smoothest landing possible.

Sex flight.

Well, I’m back. The pilgrimage has been completed. I have gone to Oshkosh. I’ve been to aviation’s Mecca, and the simplest way to summarize the experience is this: Holy Shit.

If you’ve never been to a local airshow you have absolutely no friggin’ idea what Oshhosh is like. Even if you HAVE been to a local airshow, you have no friggin’ idea what OSH is all about. Airventure, as the EAA prefers to call this spectacle, is an annual event held at Wittman Regional Airport in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. It started over fifty years ago, when the EAA decided to host a “fly-in”, at their headquarters’ home airport, just a gathering of pilots flying in with their home built aviation creations. But it has steadily grown—as has the homebuilding, or experimental aircraft movement—into a huge, huge, deal.

My friend’s friend was generous enough to offer me a seat in his plane, a rather nice Piper Aztec twin-engine plane. I jumped at the chance.

Now that it’s over, I’m still trying to figure out what I feel. I remember the first day, Friday, when I walked onto the field and saw all the old military planes from wars in the history books. Warbirds, they’re called. And there was a quarter of the field littered with them (click images for larger versions).

Usually, you go to an airshow, and you see three or four warbirds and it’s enough to get you excited. Part of the thrill is that you are close to a piece of history. You look at that Mustang, or Corsair, or Flying Fortress, and you go back in time. You remember the sacrifices, the bravery, the skill of the pilots. You try to put yourself in their shoes, and you get goose bumps. But your tunnel to the past is limited to a plane or two. you are forced to adopt a little tunnelvision, as you focus on that Mustang and block out all else. But at OSH, you find yourself surrounded by warbirds. Suddenly you are on a friggin’ flightline of warrbirds, and you are there. I was told that this year’s warbird turnout was disappointing; not for me. If this is a weak year, I can’t wait for a good one.

Now, lots of people will tell you that OSH is cool, lots of planes, etc. What I never knew is that almost all of those magnificent warbirds fire up their big radial engines and join up in the sky overhead for lots and lots of flybys. Even better, similar aircraft types fly formations over the field. Imagination goes out the window, as large formations of T-6 Texans fly overhead; I’m a WWII cadet!

Warbirds, while a highlight for me, are but one part of the fun at Oshkosh. Vintage aircraft and homebuilts flesh out the other main portion of the flightline, and you’d be amazed at the skill level of the restorers and builders on this planet. Someday, I will build my own plane, and this RV-8 is a fine example of what I’d like to build. (Thanks Phil, for snapping the photo.)

The antique aircraft area was full of pretty birds, but the Spartan Executive was always a fave of mine. There were a couple at OSH:

Ernest K. Gann flew these:











Sadly, every year one or more people wreck airplanes flying to or from OSH. The desire to get there in time for the festivities, or home in time for work, sometimes forces people to press on into questionable weather or inhospitable terrain. Sometimes lady luck just deals you a bad hand. Sadly, this year’s first victim was one of the builders of what I thought was the most beautiful airplane at the show, the Hughes H-1B replica. Folks, I am really saddened by this news. Here is a photo of the plane:











And here is the preliminary report. So sad. It was a beautiful plane.

We flew home playing games with old man weather, and had to land at Reading, PA, just 20 minutes short of our destination because the NYC area was ringed with thunderstorms like a medieval castle. We waited a couple hours, then flew IFR into the area, shooting the ILS 24 approach at MMU, which unfolded just like it had all those times on Flight Simulator. What a trip, what a show, what a vacation.

What a country.