how I learned about flying (part 6)
' the spoiled shot'
the fact that I had a problem - did not came as a particular surprise - it had happened once before and was an 'occupational' risk in my sport of racing light aircraft. If I had stuck to the engine manufacturer's instruction handbook - to the published limitations for the engine, it would not have happened. If - if - if life was perfect and folk were not competitive and did not take risks and push the boundaries of what was prudent
but my younger self was not like that I had this flaw this addiction to winning - and at times it cost me not only in monetary terms but also the limits to which I was prepared to go
My tampering with the control unit limiting the number of revolutions the poor engine would turn at was to blame
Three hundred revs - ten percent over the red line gave more power than the engine was rated to do giving me considerable extra speed when I raced. Running at this extra engine speed meant more wear on the unit and therefore greater risk of expensive failure.
I had been low over the treetops when it failed well over two hundred miles per hour - practicing for a forthcoming handicap race. The change in the note from the 160 horse power motor, the few little specks of black on the windshield were hints
but the horrendous vibration from losing the power of one of the four cylinders heralded the true story
I had been flying over very low terrain - Cambridgeshire, not far from the east Anglican fens, an area blessed with many disused airfields left from World War Two and so had a choice of where to go. The nearest, Bassingbourn, seemed the best bet although now disused, I knew the former United States Bomber base still had serviceable runways as they were used for sporting activities such as land yachts and I had recently flown there in my Beagle Pup to take cadets up on air experience flights
and runways one good enough for B17's were good enough for me
Immediately after the engine problem I had pulled the stick back converting my flat out speed into height simultaneously throttling back to relieve the damaged engine. Now I could see Bassingbourn, and without much change of direction was lined up for the longest runway but something seemed different - much of the grass was covered with vehicles. As I neared the airfield I could see they were military vehicles, mainly light lorries but appearing much older than ones used today also men - men in military uniform lying on the grass aiming rifles
fortunately not particularly in my direction.
Something was happening I know the base had been abandoned as an active airfield and was now an army barracks but they did not seem to me to be British soldiers
however I was too busy to waste time speculating, as I did a gentle curving descent towards the clear runway clear until as I was descending through two hundred feet a large man in civilian clothes ran onto my selected runway stood facing me, frantically waving both arms in an unmistakeable gesture for me to go away
Now - descending lower, both gear and flaps down and engine spluttering erratically on three cylinders - to a good runway unobstructed except for this stranger - I was not about to go anywhere but if I gave it full throttle to go-around - the sick engine might have resented it
one flash on my landing light and he dived onto the grass
As I taxied gingerly to the apron I noticed that a convoy of vintage army lorries was following me. I foolishly thought they were intending to help in some way but was astonished that after I had stopped they encircled my Falco like covered wagons protecting settlers from Indians in a Western film.
'The director ordered it' said the first man I asked; 'You spoiled his shot he'll probably bill you for it'
Stanley Kubrick might have been a celebrity director shooting 'Full Metal Jacket' - a film about the Vietnam War but
'Tell him to bugger off' I replied, as I speculated on what my engine rebuild was likely to cost me
Peter Hunter 2013
from Peter Hunter's too many miles