Fire, Metal, Saws, Wood

V

It was a tough core. At one time I'd had three, but I'd sold them for a pittance. The first one I'd disassembled came apart with relative ease, almost as though it had been pulled from a running car for an overhaul. I had reasons:

"I'll never fly again."

"I'll never build a plane."

"I'll be too busy."

I sold the Corvair cores and moved hundreds of miles. I spent 10 years doing other things. I was happily devoted to those other things -- my causes and other people's causes. Family things, motorcycle things, kart racing things. We got horses. We were riding. I loved that. Cantering on a fast horse sets the heart free. So for a birthday present for my wife, we flew to Scotland, to the eastern Highlands. Parts of The Queen and Outlander were filmed there. It was during that ride through the Scottish Highlands -- for 6 days and 135 miles -- where I found myself being again. It just clicked. Nothing had been wasted those 10 years. It was all good. But I needed to focus inward again. I was used up, outwardly. I had to reject the incessant and ruinous buying of shit from Amazon. Reject the consumerism that was rotting the core of my person. Stop drinking every night. It was time to do the work. And I give thanks to my wife, my borrowed highland pony 'Maverick', and 135 miles of walking, trotting, and cantering. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking -- riding past farm, over hill, dale, past castles, barley waving in the wind, through rainstorm chill, whipping winds, distilleries, ruins, through the Queen's own estate of Balmoral; crossing river and stream on horseback, staying the night at The House on the Mark. Sitting in Prince Harry's own chair at dinner. Looking at a red mailbox said to have been used by a prince to beg a woman's forgiveness. Without even realizing, it was a decision made without actually deciding. Back in the US, it was a simple announcement in bed: "I'm going to build my plane."

"No you're not."

Silence.

"Actually, I am."

"No, you're not."

But my wife saw what it meant. She had horses. I supported her horses. I wanted flight -- she could bring herself. Barely. Maybe. Building and flying -- it scared her. One day she just looked over at me and said "Okay, fine. Do it. Build your airplane. But if you get killed I will haunt your ass. I will track you down and make you suffer. God will help me find you."

Suddenly at night dreams were blasting through my brain as if I were 20 years old again. Crazy dreams having nothing to do with flying, building, or sometimes anything I could make any sense out of at all. But I'd wake up feeling like I was going to be able to conquer the world. Fire, metal, saws, wood. And a Corvair engine core:

Pounding in the right places with this stuff:

Leading to this stuff:

Disassembly details for a flight engine conversion can (and should) be found here.

Steady Progress

I love air powered tools. In my little airplane single engine land construction hanger, when I fired up the air wrench, that inimitable sound meant one thing: Making progress toward an ambitious goal of flying the United States. As many States as I could. In an aircraft I had built myself.

Low.

And slow.

Like, 50 MPH slow. That's pretty slow. For comparison a 737 stalls (ie, falls to the ground) at 125 MPH. My plane would fall to the ground at 35 MPH. The top speed of a 737 is more than 500 MPH. My plane was at risk of falling to pieces in midair above 125 MPH.

So ... low and slow. By design and by desire. I want to see every horse snapping its head up, every deer dashing, every coyote running. The trees, the rivers, the lakes, the ponds, the houses and the people glancing up at me. Some mom trying to start her lawn mower. Some dad loading his SUV with groceries. Kids smoking dope in a park.

Flying low and slow in an aircraft is something of a hazard to life and limb. If you have an engine out then there's no space or time to find a clearing to land safely. You're possibly done. That's something to think about. High and fast is the risk mitigating rule. I've never been a rule breaker. I've always been compliant. Well, there's not much time left. One decade? Two? I don't like easy chairs or reclining.

Anyway, it's a bald fact that complete safety and security are an illusion. There is only risk and how you choose to experience it.

But long before those considerations would ever even be remotely relevant there were still many pieces to remove from TZero:

There are parts to save

and parts to toss:

 

TZero was going to take more time to disassemble than some engine cores would. It was stuck and wouldn't rotate. Mad Max, said my wife. Mad freakin' Max! I didn't listen to her because she had no basis to deny the beauty of a rebuilt Corvair flight engine.

Because TZero was intransigent, removing the clutch and the distributor would be non-trivial. First the heads would have to come off, the top cover and magnesium fan -- then lots and LOTS of penetrating oil had to be applied in all the right places. Tapping with wood in the right places to free it up. The exhaust logs were so rusted onto the heads that it took about 3 days of periodic spraying Liquid Wrench and tapping the exhaust logs with mallet and wood block -- then ballpen hammer and cold chisel (very, very carefully) before the exhaust logs (pictured on right above) came free from the heads.

And because I took my time the heads were still 100% intact -- which was an absolute requirement.

Build time: 1.5 hrs, 5.5 hrs total.

Sheetmetal Gone

More progress. Took all that old sheetmetal off except for the 4 pieces I'll eventually reuse. Isn't TZero nice, sitting in the sunset?

Couple other views:

My wife says this looks like something out of Mad Max and that she's going to wave at me from the ground. Also she claims that she's going to increase my life insurance policy. But this is on its way, one way or 'tother:

And on a plane (see article here):

Build time: 1.5 hrs, 4 hrs total

A Quick Wash and a Great Read

This:

To be able to see these:

Which are the case studs and the nuts that the heads are torqued onto the cylinders and case with. Luckily TZero looks in pretty good shape. Disassembly soon.

But what I've been spending my time on mostly is this absolute wonder:

This manual -- the product of intense focus and genius -- is the brilliant work of William Wynne, who's been developing Corvair flight engine conversions since 1989. Not only is it a technical document of extraordinary value, but Mr. Wynne spices it with exhortations, sharp warnings -- and years of A&P wisdom. This book is more than a conversion manual for Corvair engines, though, it's a conversion manual for life. Check this:

"By choosing to build your own plane, accepting and managing the risk, you are making a giant course correction from a life consigned to "the cancerous discipline of security." The next time you tell someone that you are building your own aircraft, and the first thing out of their mouth is how they would never build one nor fly with you, just think of (this): "In the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine -- and before we know it our lives are gone." That is what is going to happen to all the people with a long personal list of things they would never do. If you are persistent in pursuit of your dreams, your place isn't going to be among those who expended their lives relentlessly looking for security."

"Make your choice. If it sounds scary, it's because consumer society has had decades to teach you to doubt yourself, your potential, your dreams and abilities."

"Building a plane and learning to master its maintenance and flight is the rejection of these messages, and the replacement of them with the knowledge that you are the master of your own adventure. This is what building and flying is all about."

Build time: .5 hrs, 2.5 hrs total