With a lengthy lifespan comes a colorful history. And while we are able to peruse our aircraft logbooks for clues or even easily access decades of ownership and registration records from the FAA, gaps abound. So we’re often left without much background or context regarding their past lives. The grand adventures, close calls, and colorful circumstances through which our airplanes endured typically elude us as we daydream about their past lives. 

I considered myself fortunate when, from out of the blue, an individual from my airplane’s past contacted me via email. Her name was Phyllis, and when browsing this column, she recognized my Cessna 170 as the airplane she and her husband, Al, used to own between 1970 and 1981. She explained that although Al had passed away in 2017, she still kept in touch with Dick, the gentleman to whom they had sold to and from whom I had purchased the airplane.

• READ MORE: Navigating the Aircraft Ownership Learning Curve Through Type Clubs

It was a pleasure to make contact with Phyllis. I learned a few things about the 170 and told her the whole story about meeting Dick and buying it from him. Recognizing it was a long shot, I asked her if she happened to have any old photos from the days she owned it. She said she did, and a couple of weeks later, I received some color photocopies of my airplane, wearing a different tail number and frolicking among the beaches of the Pacific Northwest. 

As someone with a soft spot for bygone eras and forgotten times, I was immensely grateful to receive these glimpses into my airplane’s history. I shared them with Dick, as well. He was able to provide some additional context to the photos, explaining what beach was likely visible in one of the photos and pointing out how Al chose the former tail number (N170AL) to display his initials. 

Last month, I had the unexpected opportunity to give my friend Jim a glimpse into his own airplane’s history. While aimlessly scrolling through eBay listings for old airplane slides and scanning for any particularly interesting slices of aviation history, I spotted a Cessna 170 with a paint scheme that looked familiar. The listing was for a set of 10 old slides taken at an unnamed fly-in sometime in the early 1980s, and the 170 pictured appeared to have the exact same paint scheme as Jim’s 170.

• READ MORE: Going to the Birds, And How Not To

This was quite the coincidence. Jim’s airplane had been repainted in its original factory paint scheme but with nonstandard colors. In place of the standard primary reds, yellows, or blues, his plane sports a color palette nearly identical to that of the A&W burger chain, a tasteful pairing of orange and brown. The likelihood that these slides showed a doppelganger was miniscule…but I had to be sure.

Of course, the tail number was inconveniently cut off in every photo, making a positive identification impossible. But a closer look and some methodical detective work eventually resulted in certainty beyond a reasonable doubt. The airplane in the slides sported the exact same Horton STOL kit and the same engine modification, but the deciding factor was the presence of a unique decal on one wingtip but not on the other. It had to be Jim’s plane.

I went ahead and spent the $12 for the set of slides. When they arrived, I had them professionally scanned and printed, and I placed the two best shots in a small frame for Jim to hang on the wall of his hangar. Sure, they were relatively unremarkable photos in the grand scheme of things, but they captured a scene showing his airplane in a time well before he bought it. Best of all, it showed his airplane wearing a set of wheel pants. Having only ever known his airplane with a big set of Alaskan Bushwheel tundra tires, it was both amusing and comical to see.

• READ MORE: When It’s Better to Have It and Not Need It

Since making this aviation-related archeological discovery, I now keep an eagle eye out for any old photos or articles featuring any of my friends’ airplanes. I even went so far as to enter a handful of their tail numbers as “saved searches” in eBay so that I’ll be alerted if and when any items, such as photos, slides, or logbooks, are listed for sale with those tail numbers in the descriptions. 

In this way, I hope to once again pair forgotten memories with the present day, filling in vacant gaps in history with context that would otherwise be lost forever. I think anyone who considers themselves to be caretakers of aviation history, rather than just owners, would greatly appreciate the effort.

The post Seeking Out Ghosts of Your Airplane’s Past appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Knowing that I was fortunate to have a car at all and understanding that complaining would in no way reduce the frequency of breakdowns, I rolled with it, ultimately developing a creative solution. I’d simply remove both of my bike’s wheels and keep it stored in the trunk. It was better to have it and not need it than the other way around, I reasoned. And sure enough, about once a week, I’d leave the dead Oldsmobile on the shoulder of the road and deploy my auxiliary bicycle to reach my destination more or less on time. As I recall, the car would magically start back up after sitting for most of the day.

• READ MORE: 5 Things I Wish I Had Known Before Buying My First Airplane

Since then, that “better to have it and not need it” philosophy has served me well, even extending to aircraft ownership. It first emerged early in my shopping process when I was narrowing my choices to just a few models.

After earning my tailwheel endorsement in an old Cessna 140, I initially decided that it or its flapless twin, the 120, would be the type for me. The familiar Cessna yoke and handling put me at ease, as did the docile yet engaging takeoff and landing qualities. Parts and qualified service were easily sourced, and the small C85, C90, and O-200 engines all promised low fuel burns and economical operation. Best of all, the acquisition cost of these types was among the lowest out there. The choice seemed obvious, with few, if any, drawbacks.

Then I looked into useful load. 

As a resident of Wisconsin, where cheese is as much a lifestyle as a food item and where the long winters make a convincing argument for staying indoors and enjoying said cheese, I, unfortunately, adopted certain physical attributes championed by the general population. Namely, width and weight. Neither is very compatible with 1940s-era light aircraft.

If Cessna had converted the 140 into a mini-Bird Dog, with tandem seating in place of the side-by-side bench seat, things would be significantly more comfy. Luscombe did precisely this with its T8F Observer. But, firmly sold on the early Cessnas, I was faced with the decision of cramming myself into either the small 120 or 140 or saving my pennies for years to enable an upgrade to the larger and more capable 170.

• READ MORE: The Pros and Cons of Aircraft Towing Solutions

It wasn’t an easy choice. I anticipated the vast majority of my flying to be solo, simply bopping into and out of rural grass strips in nice weather. For this, the smallest Cessnas would fit the bill perfectly. But they’d also limit me to doing only that.

Looking further ahead, I anticipated the occasional camping trip. Certainly to EAA AirVenture in Oshkosh, but also to other destinations, with one friend at a time. And I anticipated someday attempting to join a local circle of friends as they fly into and out of short, challenging airstrips— something that would be both easier and safer when conducted at a takeoff weight well below the airplane’s maximum.

Going with a 120 or 140 would ensure every departure would take place at or near maximum takeoff weight. Every camping trip would have to be solo. Even then, I’d have to pack sparingly. And operating so heavy would also relegate me to longer runways, devoid of substantial departure-end obstacles, where the airplane’s luxurious climb rate could safely commence.

Would I really need the ability to take friends camping or hang with my STOL buddies at challenging strips? No. But just as in my Oldsmobile days, I decided I’d rather have those capabilities and not need them than the other way around.

When it came time to assess the financial reality of acquiring a substantially more expensive 170, it was simultaneously daunting and reassuring. On one hand, a 170 would likely cost about twice what a 120 or 140 would cost. This seems to hold true today. 

But on the other hand, it could be argued that I’d simply be parking the money. So long as I kept the airplane in good shape, flying it regularly and maintaining it properly, there’s little chance it would go down in value and decades of evidence that the value would go up. Difficult as it might be to save and spend such a vast sum of money, it was nothing like tossing it away on a depreciating asset like a car.

• READ MORE: Managing the Doldrums of Winter

For the following two years, I poured every ounce of effort into saving enough for a 170. I lost track of how many hours of overtime I worked, but 80-hour workweeks were not uncommon. I routed a significant portion of each paycheck directly into the airplane account—something I continue today to cover my airplane’s fuel and operating costs.

Eventually, the stars aligned. I found the perfect 170, and I had just enough in the bank to make it happen. Now, coming up on three years of ownership, I feel good about the years of effort to “buy my last airplane first” and obtain a more permanent solution.

Do I go on camping trips with friends often? No. Do I hang with my local buddies, ducking into and out of 700-foot strips? Also no. But I’ve got an airplane with those capabilities, one that I can grow into rather than out of. And I feel good having those capabilities and not needing them rather than the other way around.

The post When It’s Better to Have It and Not Need It appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1953 Cessna 170B.

Cessna’s 170 is a classic post-World War II design, with four seats, high, strut-braced wing, and conventional (for the time) landing gear with a tailwheel. Early models had fabric-covered wings while the 170A and 170B have all-metal wings. General aviation aircraft structures were advancing, but in some ways the 170 remained old-fashioned.

Aircraft manufacturers had begun to notice that many pilots find aircraft with tricycle-style landing gear are easier to handle on the ground than tailwheel airplanes. Piper, Cessna’s longtime rival, started building the Tri-Pacer, which essentially was a Piper Pacer taildragger modified with a nosewheel. It handled easily and grew in popularity. Piper’s success with the Tri-Pacer convinced designers and engineers at Cessna to test a similarly modified 170, despite opposition from company executives. The result was the Cessna 172, which was destined to become one of the best-selling GA aircraft. 

This 1953 Cessna 170B has a total of 3,477 hours on the airframe and 446 hours on its Continental O-300 engine.

Pilots seeking an economical vintage taildragger with enough cabin space to serve as a family aircraft should consider this 1953 Cessna 170B, which is available for $85,000 on AircraftFor Sale.

You can arrange financing of the aircraft through FLYING Finance. For more information, email info@flyingfinance.com.

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The post This 1953 Cessna 170B Is a Taildragger Fit for Family Travel and an ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

This winter, we received about a foot of snow in one shot, followed by a week of subzero temperatures and high winds. That was about a week and a half of nonflyable weather for those of us still building our tailwheel skills. When the winds finally subsided they were replaced with temperatures in the upper 30s…which resulted in 200-foot ceilings and thick fog. We’re going on week two of these conditions, and it’s now been a full month since I’ve been able to fly at all.

Every aircraft owner in this climate must anticipate conditions and nonflying periods like this. But this is doubly important for relatively new owners like me still learning how to best care for their airplanes and refining flying skills. Gone are the days of landing the FBO’s rental airplane, tossing the keys to the person at the front desk, and forgetting about it for a few weeks. Now, as the caretaker of an airframe and engine, there are more responsibilities to consider.

So, as someone new to ownership, what should you consider when facing weeks upon weeks of nonflyable weather? For me, there are two primary areas of focus—the engine’s health and my perishable flying skills. 

It’s fairly common knowledge that the worst thing you can do to an airplane engine is let it sit unused for long periods. This makes every potential window of flyable weather that much more valuable, considering it might be followed by a month of inactivity. This is why, on my last flight, I pushed my limits a bit and ventured out on an extremely slick runway covered in mud and snow. 

That flight amounted to only one trip around the pattern. But with a thoroughly preheated and then warmed-up engine, the engine did, in fact, reach normal operating temperature as I was turning downwind. The ensuing sketchy runway conditions were bad enough to make me call it a day, but having gotten my engine up to temp, I effectively reset its “sitting on the ground” meter, and I felt better about having to leave it parked for the following weeks.

To ease the strain of starting an engine in frigid temperatures, I do a few things. First, I invested in the best engine preheating system money could buy, utilizing my rule that if the cost to upgrade from the cheapest to the best product available is three figures or less, I just do it. Like most systems, my Reiff preheater has a heating element on the oil pan…but it also has a metal band mounted around each cylinder to heat the entire engine evenly. This also prevents the introduction of piping-hot oil into ice-cold cylinders during start-up.

Similarly, I make a point of storing quarts of oil at home in a warm kitchen cabinet. This way, you’re adding nice warm oil into the engine if you need to add a quart. If your significant other complains about 20W-50 next to the corn flakes, simply put the situation into perspective by pointing out how you could be building an entire experimental aircraft at home but choose instead to hangar a prebuilt example at the airport for their convenience.

On the evening before each winter flight, I’ll drive out to the airport to plug in the preheater. Yes, there are devices to remotely activate such systems via a cellphone or Wi-Fi signal, but I take the opportunity to inspect both the airplane and runway. More than once, I’ve discovered an abysmal snow plowing job, mechanical issue, or some other problem that would have resulted in a canceled flight the following morning.

With a properly cared for and warmed-up engine, my next concern is my proficiency, particularly as a relatively new tailwheel pilot. Just as it’s bad to let your engine sit unused for extended periods, the same goes for your skills. With a typical Monday through Friday 9-to-5 schedule, the lack of daylight in the northern states this time of year effectively limits flying to only Saturday and Sunday. From there, low ceilings or high winds only have to occur a few times to thoroughly ruin a month of flying.

It’s a balancing act. On one hand, you want to respect your personal limits when you’re beginning to get rusty. On the other hand, pushing your limits a bit on a less-than-perfect day might give you the mental reset you need to sharpen your skills and regain some confidence. This will better prepare you to get through the next long period of poor weather and no flying.

It’s always good to go up with an instructor from time to time. If faced with a marginal day with, for example, winds outside of your personal limits, it might be a great opportunity to go up for a lesson, giving you the mental and mechanical reboot necessary to get through another few weeks on the ground.

The post Managing the Doldrums of Winter appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1968 Cessna 172 Skyhawk.

Cessna’s 172 Skyhawk is a legend among trainers, having taught more people to fly than any other single airframe. It evolved from the Cessna 170, a 1940s taildragger that was already easy to fly but perceived as tricky to land because of its conventional (for the time) landing gear. Engineers and designers fitted a nosewheel, reshaped the surfaces to make them more angular and modern, and rolled out the new model in 1956. While it never was possible to land the 172 well by “driving” it onto the runway, it was easier to land than a tailwheel aircraft.

More than excelling as a trainer, though, the 172 offered enough power, comfort, and stability to serve as a personal airplane capable of logging business trips and carrying a small family to vacation destinations. When introduced, the 172 set a higher standard for entry-level general aviation aircraft. The airplane for sale here still represents one of the most approachable routes to aircraft ownership.

This 1968 172 Skyhawk has 4,312 hours on the airframe, 1,500 hours on the engine since overhaul, and a basic VFR instrument panel with only an AV-30 ADI standing out as modern equipment from the current decade.

Pilots looking for a straightforward, economical VFR traveler that is more practical than fabric-covered vintage models should consider this 1968 Cessna 172 Skyhawk, which is available for $89,000 on AircraftForSale.

You can arrange financing of the aircraft through FLYING Finance. For more information, email info@flyingfinance.com.

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The post This 1968 Cessna 172 Skyhawk Is an All-Around Capable ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Earlier this week, I went up for my first flight of the year on a cold and overcast New Year’s Day. And while I always make an effort to objectively evaluate my decision making in my still-new-to-me Cessna 170, I didn’t expect to learn three new lessons and enact three new personal rules after one short flight. But that’s precisely what happened as I kicked off a new year of flying.

The first lesson took place before I’d even completed the preflight. My first clue that something was amiss occurred when I retrieved my tire pressure gauge from the small flight bag I keep in the front passenger seat. I noticed bits of shredded paper towel littering the bag. Making a mental note to continue placing my custom-cut aluminum bands around each tire to keep mice out of the airplane, I continued my preflight. 

A short time later, while carefully inspecting my tailwheel on my hands and knees, I made eye contact with the culprit. There, staring at me in the face from a small access hole at the base of the rudder, was a small brown field mouse.

A few choice selections of profanity scared it back into the fuselage. Fortunately, however, some light drumming on the side of the empennage scared it back out of the hole, and it leaped from the airplane and scurried away. A closer inspection of my flight bag connected the dots—I’d left a couple of energy bars in the bag after my last flight, and the mouse had set up camp, helping itself to the feast.

New rule No. 1: No more leaving energy bars in the airplane.

• READ MORE: Buyer Be Aware: Having Your Own Airplane Is So Worth It

Thoroughly preflighted and apparently mouse-free, I hopped in and started the engine. Because I was the only one at the airfield, I opted to take a shorter route from my hangar to the runway. This route utilizes a dirt driveway that borders a large ditch. And it wasn’t until I advanced the throttle and tested the brakes that I realized there was a gradual slope all the way from my hangar to that ditch.

Brakes locked, the airplane slid toward the ditch at a crawling pace as I willed it to come to a stop. I used every trick my lifetime of winter driving in the Great Lakes region had taught me, including releasing the brakes to obtain some directional traction, but the ditch loomed ever closer. Just as I was creating a plan to pull the mixture and at least save the prop and engine, the right main mercifully encountered a small patch of gravel and the airplane ground to a stop. 

As I only recently moved into my new hangar, I’d never taken this taxi route in the winter. Accordingly, I’d never noticed the gradual slope and treacherous ditch. It was a chilling eye-opener, and I was ultimately able to cling to the hallowed strip of gravel and proceed to the runway safely. 

New rule No. 2: No taking the short taxi route with snow or ice on the ground.

Run-up complete, I trundled my way out onto the 3,100-by-90-foot grass strip and backtaxied to the end. On the way out, I made a mental note of an icy, muddy patch in the center of the runway about 600 feet from the threshold. I’m no stranger to operating on snow at this strip, but the odd combination of 1 to 2 inches of icy snow and muddy, unfrozen soil beneath robbed me of traction and made it challenging to turn around. An old skiplane trick of full forward yoke and some short blasts of power finally brought the tail around, and I was good to go at last.

The brisk temperature rewarded me with a density altitude of around 1,500 feet below sea level. I made a mental note to brag about this to a certain California-based friend who takes every opportunity to boast about his state’s warm winter climate. My beloved McCauley seaplane prop clawed through the thick winter air, making the most of my airplane’s modest 145 hp and clearing the muddy patch with ease. 

The takeoff was uneventful, but the variable wind had developed into a healthy crosswind from the left. I kept this in mind, and on downwind, I took a step back and evaluated the situation. I was barely able to keep the airplane out of the weeds during my taxi out to the runway. Once there, I had difficulty turning around. And now I was setting up to land on a particularly slick surface with a crosswind.

Much as I wanted to spend an hour or two in the air, hammering out landing after landing, I decided not to press my luck. I was handling the hazards successfully thus far and could likely continue my pattern work safely, but doing so would expose me to an element of risk that, while not unmanageable, was not at all necessary. Leaving some power in during the flare, I made sure to bleed off as much energy as possible before touching down and did so safely and with no issues. 

Turning around was a different story. Once again, I struggled to turn around on the runway and skated my way back to the hangar, making sure to take the long route back. I was happy to call it a day and abandon the out-of-kilter risk-reward scenario in favor of some University of Michigan football in the Rose Bowl from the comfort of my couch.

New rule No. 3: No pattern work on snowy runways with a crosswind in excess of 5 knots.

Although I only logged 0.1 hours of flight time, it was a particularly educational flight. Best of all, with the exception of a couple of energy bars and a shredded paper towel, there was no property damage to contend with. That’s a win no matter how you chalk it up, and with that, the day of new rules was more successful than any my sister and I had experienced in our household years ago.

The post Making Personal Rules appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

One of the most difficult decisions for the vast majority of newcomers was determining whether to test the waters or take the plunge. In other words, whether to buy a less expensive “beginner’s” bike to evaluate the sport and see if they fall in love with it or skip a step and buy the more capable setup and more permanent solution right off the bat.

Fast forward a couple of decades, and readers regularly ask me for the same advice regarding airplanes. Commonly, prospective buyers initially debate whether to start out with something less expensive and less capable or make a more significant investment, possibly taking a couple of years to save additional money, and buy a type they anticipate will fit their needs perfectly and for the long term. It’s rarely a cut-and-dried solution.

• READ MORE: Love the One You’re With

Having bought my airplane only two short years ago, I can identify with the concerns these owners-to-be describe. Starting out, many of us struggle to accurately define our mission since we’ve never really had one. As renters, one of the primary missions on most flights is to return the airplane in time so the next renter can use it. Thoroughly evaluating things like long-distance travel, long-term ownership, and off-airport capability was often not practicable or even permitted, given the scheduling and insurance restrictions inherent in rental fleets. 

As first-time owners, we want something easy to own. One with few pitfalls that could unexpectedly bankrupt us or ground the airplane. But at the same time, we don’t want a “disposable” airplane that we’ll be trying to sell in the first few years to fund the purchase of a more capable machine.

So, which option is the best way to go? Testing the waters or diving in headfirst? Let’s explore each option.

Testing The Waters Of Ownership With A Simple, Inexpensive Airplane

Initially, it might seem as though the basic, bare-bones two-seat option would be an inherently better value. But it’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, most “beginner” airplanes like Aeroncas, Ercoupes, and the like are indeed less expensive to purchase. It’s not uncommon (though admittedly becoming less common) to find examples in the mid $20,000 range. 

But a low purchase price doesn’t necessarily make an airplane a good value. If an owner begins to outgrow such an airplane after only a year or two of ownership, discovering that it comes up short in metrics like range, payload, and speed, the long, often arduous process of listing, selling, shopping, and buying again requires a tremendous amount of time and effort. This should not be overlooked or brushed aside. A year or two slogging through this process is a year or two not flying or enjoying airplane ownership.

On the other hand, provided they maintain the airplane in as good or better condition as when they purchased it, the owner is effectively parking their money and can count on recouping it when they sell. Because airplanes tend to maintain their value or appreciate over time, a short ownership stint with proper care and maintenance should, in theory, present little financial risk. Sure, they’ll never recoup the money spent on fuel, insurance, and hangar rent, but the purchase price of the airplane is a different story.

Because most of us approach ownership with some experience as renters, however, few go into it blind. We generally have an idea of what we like and don’t like in an airplane. Additionally, we can join others for rides and obtain instruction in new and unfamiliar types to broaden our horizons. In the grand financial scheme of ownership, it would be inconsequential to travel across the country for a weekend and take an interesting model up with an instructor for an evaluation flight.

Chances are, a pilot with some experience like this can make a pretty accurate prediction of what they will and won’t enjoy in an owned airplane. For pilots with this context and understanding, it’s likely a “beginner” airplane will ultimately serve as an unnecessary stepping stone to what they ultimately want.

Diving In Headfirst And Buying Your Last Airplane First

Provided the financial aspect of a step up to a more capable type can be managed, there seem to be few instances of pilots buying “too much” airplane and later regretting their decision. Whether they splurged on something with a fast cruise speed, additional passenger seats, or off-airport capability, most owners seem to appreciate having capability even if they don’t use it all the time. While it’s wise to buy a type that fits 90 percent of your mission and rent for the remaining 10 percent, there’s also something to be said for owning and enjoying an airplane simply for what it is. 

• READ MORE: Buyer Be Aware: Having Your Own Airplane Is So Worth It

There’s also the peace of mind that comes from knowing there’s room to grow into an airplane when it comes to capability. I’m a textbook example of this. My Cessna 170 is outfitted with 29-inch Alaskan Bushwheels, massive handmade tires designed to conquer cantaloupe-sized rocks in the tundra. I also have a brand-new McCauley seaplane prop for additional thrust on takeoff. But despite the backcountry mods, my typical missions involve grass strips in the Wisconsin countryside, easily accessible in a Cessna 140 or 150.

So, while I may indeed define the term “poseur,” I legitimately intend to expand my limits as my experience and skill allow. I treat virtually every flight as a training session, learning my airplane inside and out while carefully pushing my limits in an effort to someday tackle more challenging destinations. In the meantime, I’m really enjoying the process, and there’s little chance I’ll become bored with my airplane anytime soon.

Perhaps the most significant challenge with tackling a more capable type is the steeper learning curve inherent in learning and mastering it. While this is a legitimate concern, it’s one that, in most cases, can be adequately addressed with good, high-quality training. One must simply get involved with the type group, do some networking, and locate an experienced instructor to provide the transition training. 

Usually, after exploring all of these issues, a buyer is left with sufficient motivation to skip the “beginner” step and buy their last airplane first. Budget tends to be the last remaining roadblock to this plan. If the buyer is fortunate enough to have a trusted friend or colleague with similar taste, a partnership might be the way to go. A well-structured partnership will provide all the benefits of owning the perfect airplane at half the price and few scheduling conflicts—and the airplane will be flown more regularly, to boot.

In Summary

The question of whether to start with an entry-level airplane is one that will be debated endlessly. Buyers who only ever dream of bouncing around the patterns at nearby rural strips are fortunate that, for them, an “entry-level” airplane happens to be the perfect long-term solution. But for the rest of us, our long-term goals tend to exceed the capabilities of the most basic aircraft.

Back in my bike shop days, I had a favorite piece of advice I would offer to new buyers who were wrestling with these issues. I observed that the benefits of a particular machine don’t have to be quantifiable on a spreadsheet, nor are they required to be perfectly logical to be legitimate and real. If there’s some undefinable element that boosts enthusiasm and motivates the owner to get out and enjoy the hobby more often, then it should be pursued and not ignored. 

And so, once again, the parallels between the bicycle and the airplane remain strong. I suppose Orville and Wilbur would be proud.

The post Is It Better to Buy Your Last Airplane First? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Last week, I decided to risk all of this happiness, satisfaction, and contentment by going up for a flight with my friend Marty in his newly purchased Cessna 180. 

Every technical aspect of the 180 is objectively better than my 170. It has nearly 100 additional horsepower, harnessed by a constant-speed propeller. While the two have similar useful loads, the 180 shrugs off a heavy payload and continues to perform well at maximum takeoff weight. The 180 cruises 40 mph faster with a far greater range.

Translating these advantages to everyday benefits, a 180 owner can laugh at density altitudes, departure-end obstacles, and cargo manifests that would stop a 170 owner in their tracks. The additional power and lifting capacity more easily enables the installation of floats. Multiple friends can join you for flights, and once inside, they’ll enjoy more space. 
All of these things swirled around my mind as we drove to the airport for a crisp autumn morning of taking in the changing colors. Would this be a massive mistake? Would the 180 ruin me, relegating my beloved 170 to the halls of aviation inferiority? Would I soon be listing my airplane on Aircraft For Sale and scouring the listings for a 180 of my own?

It was a dangerous thing to do. But the fall colors were bursting in western Michigan, and I’d been looking forward to flying with Marty for months. I’d just have to risk whatever effects the 180 might produce in my mind.

Marty got very lucky when he found it. Based out west and owned by the same people for decades, it had been babied for its entire life. It may have been built in 1955, but its condition made it feel like a brand-new airplane. 

Climbing up into the passenger seat, it was at once different and familiar. Forward visibility was more restricted than my 170, but almost no taildraggers can top the 170 in that regard. The cabin was a touch roomier. And although the panel was immaculate, it was also dated and couldn’t hold a candle to my newly updated Garmin panel. The panel comparison is perhaps unfair, however, and I’m sure Marty will close that gap soon enough with some upgrades.

The real comparison would occur when the engine was turning—and when it did, the additional size and power were apparent even at idle. After a quick run-up and short taxi, Marty explained his takeoff procedure. After lining up on the runway, he advances the throttle to 1,500 rpm, lets the airplane stabilize during mild acceleration, and then smoothly advances the throttle the rest of the way while adding the necessary right rudder to maintain centerline.

Marty is no stranger to taildraggers. He’s flown multiple types and has, for the past several years, owned a Piper Colt taildragger. That little airplane lacked power nearly to the degree that it lacked stability during takeoff and landing. The short-coupled airframe demanded lightning-quick reflexes to keep the tail in line and never allowed you to relax, even in calm winds. 

Nevertheless, Marty explained, the massive left-turning tendencies from the big 180’s engine and prop were significant and altogether different. He exercised appropriate caution and assertiveness on the controls, and before I knew it, we were off the ground—in roughly half the distance required by my 170. The departure end trees that would, in my airplane, have commanded my undivided attention were falling away comically.

Just a few moments after takeoff, Marty did something entirely foreign to my 145-horsepower world. He reduced power during the climb. I’ve done this in other types, but it still caused a small fuse to blow somewhere in my brain. In my airplane, one wrings out every last bit of thrust possible until it’s time to level off. 

The flight itself was fantastic. Mid-October in Michigan is a sight to behold, the vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows below igniting like a massive bed of flames. There was even an occasional whiff of wood smoke wafting up from chimneys below. It was a day to be seized, and we were doing just that.

When Marty throttled further back for cruise, I found myself wishing he had a good engine monitor. From what I could tell, we were cruising at around 120 mph at a very low power setting and rpm. Later, some research confirmed that, provided one can exercise the necessary restraint, a 180 throttled back can return the same speeds and fuel burns as a 170. It’s like owning two airplanes in one.

We gamboled about the countryside, popping into a few grass strips and ogling palatial hangar homes. Despite having been flying the airplane for several months, Marty remained smitten with the performance of his new machine. He and I both laughed at the absurdly short ground roll and impressive rate of climb during every takeoff.

Marty flew the final approach at about the same speed I use for my 170. A later examination of the manual revealed that the 180’s stall speed is only 54 mph—just 2 mph higher than mine. And although I didn’t land the 180, the sight picture and feel of the main gear seemed very similar from the passenger seat. 

On the way back, we made a game of spotting uncharted grass strips and noting their precise location for future reference. The phone numbers of the airstrip owners are easy to find, after all. Some of the lovely strips perhaps warrant a friendly call to ascertain whether visitors might be welcome in the future. 

After arriving back home, Marty took up a neighbor for a ride, and I had some time to reflect on the experience. As expected, the 180 was indeed objectively better in just about every measure of performance. And with the ability to throttle back to 170 levels of speed and fuel burn, it was truly two airplanes in one.

But as is so often the case, taking a step back and looking at the whole picture properly calibrates one’s perspective. Unseen from the cockpit are the 180’s 200 to 300 percent higher purchase price and steeper insurance premiums, which amount to an additional $100 to 150 per month above my own. It might be possible to throttle back to save fuel, but there’s just no getting around certain expenses.

Then, there are my favorite factors to consider—the ones that don’t show up on a spreadsheet. To me, the most notable pro in this category was the complete freedom to comfortably get out of almost any airstrip out there. And the most notable cons were the far heavier weight of the controls and the reduced over-the-nose visibility on the ground. While not easily quantifiable, these sorts of factors are entirely worthy of consideration when evaluating an airplane.

In the end, I arrived at the same conclusion that I tend to in my head-to-head aircraft reviews. It’s not really about identifying a winner and a loser. It’s about matching one’s personal preferences and situation to the airplane that best matches them. And, in my case, the benefits of my 170 easily make up for the areas in which it falls short in comparison to the mighty 180. 

As mentioned earlier, I love the fingertip control forces of my airplane. I love its forward visibility and docile nature. And I love that its lower acquisition and fixed costs enable me to own it at all. Much as I admire Marty’s new 180, I recognize that it’s a far better fit for his particular mission requirements than it would be for mine. 

And with that, I made my way back home not with envy for the technically superior airplane but with gratitude for my own. 

The post Love the One You’re With appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

At the very bottom of this list of concerns is the selection of a custom registration number. The airplane you’re purchasing almost certainly has one already, and unless it is difficult to enunciate with several “niners” in a row, it probably works just fine. Some argue that changing it to one of your own choosing is a trivial endeavor not worthy of the required time or effort.

But we pilots are nothing if not fussy, and we work with trivial details with the same passion and dedication as artists with clays or oils. To us, there’s some benefit to having a tail number that easily rolls off the tongue and is easy to pick out from a busy, garbled frequency. And if we can choose one that adds some personal meaning to our pride and joy, why not reserve and register a custom tail number?

I asked a number of friends about this, and the No. 1 argument they provided against changing a tail number is, by far, the desire to keep an airplane paired with the number it was originally assigned. Their reasoning is mostly sentimental and partially rooted in preserving historical authenticity. Production runs of the Cessna 170, for example, used registrations ordered numerically along the production line, corresponding in order with the serial numbers. 

My own 170 was originally assigned N1908C, serial number 26053. My friend’s 170 was assigned N1963C, serial number 26108. Both numbers are 55 apart, and there’s a certain satisfaction in keeping things as neat and tidy as they were when our machines emerged from the factory.

Beyond historical accuracy, the only reason I’ve heard against changing a tail number is the cost. This is a legitimate argument, as altering a paint scheme to display the new number can reach thousands of dollars. It’s certainly not as straightforward or cheap as replacing the license plate on a car.

However, those two reasons might be outweighed by those in favor of selecting a new number. Having personally flown a Beechcraft Debonair with the truly unfortunate registration of N8999M, the aforementioned ease of enunciation comes to mind. A shorter tail number can be both quick to convey and easy to remember.

Additionally, provided the selection of letters and numbers complies with the FAA’s formatting rules, we can select tail numbers that appear to spell out a word of our choosing. Most famously, Nike Inc. uses N1KE on its Gulfstream, making it appear as though the jet is simply adorned with the company name. Similarly, N155AN appears to belong to the Nissan Motor Co.

Many owners select tail numbers with personal meaning. The individual from whom I bought my 170 had the registration changed to N170RK, the letters symbolizing Richard and Kara—he and his daughter. A friend of mine just registered N170H in preparation for an extended, multiyear adventure he has planned in which he will fly his 170 around the country and live out of it like a mobile flying hotel.  

Some tail numbers are appropriately assigned to the aircraft types they display. N8RV belongs to a Van’s RV-8, and N172H is fittingly assigned to a Cessna 172H. But frustratingly, N182Q is assigned not to a 1977-1980 Cessna Skylane but to a Beechcraft Bonanza. This is simply wrong, and should the FAA ever form a tail number police force, I’ll inform it of the flagrant violation immediately.

So desirable are certain N-numbers, people have formed businesses that reserve all the most desirable examples immediately upon release and then offer them for resale at a profit. A quick search reveals several such companies, and the pricing reflects just how enticing certain tail numbers can be. Prices range from around $8,000 for registrations with only three digits up to a staggering $100,000 or more for ultra-rare, two-digit registrations like N3M—which, appropriately, belongs to the 3M corporation. 

Clearly, the target customers for such numbers are the owners and operators of private jets with correspondingly deep pockets. Aircraft owners of more modest means are therefore excluded, and many have expressed their frustration to the FAA. It appears their complaining has not been in vain.

Just a few months ago, the agency responded to these complaints by including a provision in its 2023 House reauthorization bill (Section 206: Prohibition on N–Number Profiteering) forbidding the reservation and sale of N-numbers for profit. If the Senate passes the bill and keeps this section intact, aircraft owners of all income levels will have access to the most desirable N-numbers. An owner of a modest Luscombe 8C could finally be able to obtain and use N8C.

For now, new owners wishing to add some fun personalization to their airplanes just have to get creative with the FAA’s formatting rules. For example, I learned that as long as an airplane is at least 30 years old and flying under a standard airworthiness certificate, it may display an “NC” number. Accordingly, I’ve reserved 355NA in anticipation of someday using it for my vintage Cessna.

The post Registering a Custom N-Number for Your New Airplane appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In between, some more subtle problems emerge. If you’re fortunate enough to have selected an experienced avionics shop that patiently educates you along the way, you can work together to transform these frustrating problems into interesting opportunities. This made me explore and freshen up some of my panel’s less flashy and more functional aspects.

• READ MORE: The Adventures of a Panel Redesign

My friend and avionics sorceress, Jessica Voruda at NewView Technologies, first brought some of these opportunities to my attention. Voruda pointed out that the pull knobs that control things, such as my lighting and cabin climate controls, had lived a hard life and looked pretty well used. It wouldn’t be too terribly expensive, she said, to upgrade them along with new throttle and mixture control knobs.

This was music to my ears. I’ve always hated my Cessna 170’s massive, original throttle knob that felt to be the size of a tennis ball. And I especially hate the 170’s original mixture control, which feels identical to the carb heat knob. The entire travel of the mixture knob was little more than a couple of inches, making accurate leaning a wildly inaccurate guessing game. 

As many older Continental engines seem to foul their spark plugs with massive enthusiasm, this has long been a concern of mine. I typically lean the mixture immediately following a landing to prevent this, and on one occasion last summer I pulled that little mixture knob just a bit too far and caused the engine to stumble. While I was happy to have been on the ground when it happened, it was nevertheless annoying to have such a small window of mixture adjustment.

Faced with the opportunity to upgrade these items, I fondly recalled my time flying Mooney M-20R Ovations. Like many newer types, the Ovation was equipped with vernier throttle and mixture controls, enabling the pilot to twist either knob, slowly screwing it inward or outward to provide precise adjustment. 

The idea of adding such precision to my 170 was irresistible. Voruda recommended going with McFarlane Aviation’s vernier throttle and mixture controls, and when they arrived at the shop, I could see why. Their travel was long and smooth, and they felt solidly built. And unlike some vernier knobs that require the end button to be depressed for quick movement, the throttle control she picked out enables you to freely push and pull the knob while enabling the aforementioned twisting for fine-tuning.

For the smaller knobs that control lighting, carb heat, cabin air, etc., I was surprised to learn that McFarlane stocks them all in ivory. Having just uncovered my yokes for the first time to discover that they  also are ivory colored beneath the ancient, ratty grip tape, I was happy to learn that I could retain the airplane’s original 1953 interior palette.

One of the last concerns in the category of subtle opportunities disguised as problems was my altimeters—yes, plural. For reasons lost to history, some previous owner had decided to add a second altimeter to the panel. While I liked the vintage look of one of them, Voruda tested each and learned that neither could pass a leak test.

Accuracy wasn’t the main concern here—for that, I’ll rely on a modern Garmin GI-275 attitude indicator and a second GI-275 backup for my primary altitude sources. The concern had to do with the old, worn altimeters introducing a leak to the entire pitot-static system, and the problem had to be addressed. Wanting to maintain a vintage look and keep an analog backup to the advanced Garmin avionics for entirely sentimental reasons, Voruda turned me to the Century Instrument Corp. in Wichita, Kansas, a small company that restores old instruments.

I liked this solution, and I doubt I would have thought of it on my own. By freshening up the internal parts that tend to deteriorate with time, Century brings older avionics and gauges up to snuff. This enabled me to purchase a restored turn indicator and altimeter to maintain my panel’s vintage look without any of the vintage reliability concerns. 

The refurbished altimeter, with its 1950s appearance, will be certified for use as an IFR backup to the modern GI-275s should I wish to do any instrument flying in the future. Best of all, the markings will be a light military yellow as opposed to the bright white that comes on factory new gauges—another subtle vintage aesthetic touch.

Each of these cases initially emerged as a problem. But with careful investigation and experienced advice, each turned into a not-too-terribly expensive opportunity to upgrade, adding functionality and reliability to my panel. These items aren’t the most glamorous or flashy upgrades one can make to a panel, but they are each legitimate concerns that ultimately proved to be blessings in disguise.

With the initial compatibility trials out of the way and some of the more minor concerns addressed, I could move on to my favorite part of the project—the visual design. 

The post Making an Old Panel New Again appeared first on FLYING Magazine.