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.

1. Beware of homemade parts and accessories.

My airplane’s previous owner was a retired rocket engineer who had it for roughly 40 years. He spent his career working in various facets of aviation and aerospace. His work is literally aboard the Voyager space probes at this very moment.

• READ MORE: The First Lesson in the New Airplane? Overly Eventful

If ever there was a guy who could properly care for a single-engine Cessna, I reasoned, this was the guy. And he did indeed take good care of it…and he also fabricated a few things himself, like custom cowl plugs to prevent birds from nesting in the engine. The plugs were well-made and easily utilized by any reasonably intelligent individual.

However, the cowl plugs were not idiot-proof. More specifically, they lacked any obvious visual indication that they were in place. I learned this during my very first lesson in my airplane when I neglected to remove them, overheated the engine, cracked multiple cylinders, and was forced to have a top overhaul done on the engine.

It was entirely my fault. But had I used a mass-produced cowl plug that was designed with idiots in mind, I would almost certainly have spotted the red flags or streamers from the cockpit, removed them prior to engine start, and avoided an embarrassing and costly mistake.

The lesson? Beware of amateur-built items like cowl plugs, wheel chocks, gust locks, and similar accessories. Determine what makes them different from mass-produced versions, and consider whether these differences could be the first link in a chain of events leading toward an unfortunate incident.

2. A good engine monitor is an extremely worthwhile investment.

Prior to the panel upgrade I made last year, my airplane had a variety of antiquated engine gauges, including a digital cylinder head temperature (CHT) readout that only ever displayed the temperature of one of my six cylinders. The other gauges were all positioned on the far side of my panel, well outside the normal field of vision. When I installed a Garmin GI 275 EIS engine monitoring display, this single unit replaced nine individual gauges while bringing far more engine information into my field of view. It also logs and stores engine data to help mechanics diagnose tricky engine issues.

Now, having flown with the GI 275 for about six months, I can say I’ve never paid more attention to the state and health of my engine. For example, just as I refer to a target rpm and airspeed on takeoff, I now also use a target CHT during climb out. This ensures I’m not inadvertently subjecting the engine to unnecessarily high temperatures, and it makes me wonder whether such an upgrade would have alerted me to high CHTs earlier and prevented the engine damage I incurred during the unfortunate cowl plug incident.

3. A good mechanic is an effortless solution to annoying problems.

Over the past few years, I’ve come to realize something related to aircraft ownership and finances—any problem that requires a total investment of only three figures to remedy is an absolute no-brainer, worthy of your immediate attention. 

I’m fortunate to have the means to say this, and it makes my scrimping and saving in other areas of life a bit less painful. But it took me a while to understand. For example, I spent the better part of a year putting up with a stubbornly tight fuel sump. Every time I’d pull a sample out of the left tank before a flight, I’d have to position my fuel strainer just so and then put muscle into pushing it upward. Half the time, the strainer would slip, and I’d end up with a fuel-covered hand. It was annoying.

It was similarly annoying to deal with my 170’s original mixture knob. It was the old kind that resembled a carb heat knob. It had about 2 inches of stiff travel, and precise adjustment was simply not possible. I hated it from the get-go.

I eventually made each of these annoyances disappear forever with the wave of a credit card and a call to my mechanic, who, conveniently, is willing to drive to my airplane. A new fuel sump was only around $20, a new McFarlane vernier mixture control was a few hundred, and each required only a small amount of time for him to fix. Had I realized just how quick and easy it was to clear my mind of annoyances that distract me from flying duties, I would have addressed them far earlier than I did.

4. Don’t put up with poor checklists just because the previous owner did.

The checklists that came with my airplane were absolutely terrible. For some reason, the run-up checks were included in one massive “Before Takeoff” checklist. This meant that when hammering out landing after landing with full-stop taxi-backs, I had to sift through and omit the various steps of the runup when running through the lengthy before-takeoff checklist. 

It wasn’t long before I missed an important item.

On perhaps my sixth or seventh takeoff of the day, I applied power and was surprised when the airplane leaped off the runway far earlier than usual. I was similarly surprised when, after getting into ground effect, it stubbornly refused to accelerate. Within seconds, I put two and two together and realized the flaps were still set at 40 degrees. Gingerly retracting the first couple of notches to avoid settling, I cleaned up and cleared the departure-end trees with a healthy margin.

It spooked me, though. And like the aforementioned small annoyances that continually pestered me on every flight, I realized I’d been needlessly putting up with this checklist annoyance for too long. I ultimately created new and better checklists, and I supplemented them with a five-item pre-takeoff flow that I perform after lining up in position and immediately prior to advancing throttle for takeoff (fuel selector, trim, flaps, mixture, and carb heat). Since making these two changes, I’ve never missed an item before takeoff.

5. It’s OK to not be adventurous or to not fly at all.

Airplane ownership has been a lifelong goal for me. The flying I’d do in my head, sitting in seventh-grade social studies or, later, in aviation law or advanced meteorology, was downright majestic. I envisioned myself setting off on adventures every weekend, exploring new airfields, and meeting new challenges as though I were starring in my own weekly Indiana Jones-inspired miniseries. 

Reality has proven to be far less grandiose. Grappling with the daily challenges of a demanding full-time job, an additional part-time job, and all the other duties that weave their way into saving for a house and retirement leaves me mentally exhausted more often than not. Accordingly, simple, unremarkable flying has proven to be the most enjoyable over the past few years, and it’s not uncommon to want to unplug and relax even when presented with a picture-perfect day.

For a long time, I felt pretty guilty about this. Here I am, having finally obtained the airplane of my dreams, one that’s equipped with all the necessary mods to set off on epic backcountry trips, and I’ve only been using it to hone my tailwheel skills on mundane grass strips. And here I am, often opting not to fly at all on many days with beautiful flying weather. 

Eventually, I realized that there was plenty of time to tackle the more exciting kinds of flying I’ve always envisioned. It took me decades to achieve airplane ownership, after all, and if taking a relaxed approach to my flying hits the spot for the time being, that’s OK. It’s both comforting and intriguing to know that by saving up and buying a more capable airplane, I’ve got one I can grow into rather than out of, abilitywise. And it feels good to know that plenty of adventures lie ahead.

The post 5 Things I Wish I Had Known Before Buying My First Airplane appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

One aspect that few people take into consideration—early in the process, anyway—is ergonomics. This is primarily only a concern with particularly large and small pilots, but it’s an important one nonetheless. Certain aircraft types are simply incompatible with people of certain sizes, and these are pilot/machine combinations to avoid. 

As a larger person who tends to require more shoulder room than most, I learned early on that I’m not suited to certain types. Paired with an instructor of similar size during my primary training in a Cessna 152, I assumed it was customary for both occupants to have to inhale deeply to enable both doors to close. And I assumed it was normal to then have very little (comfortable) range of motion after being squished inside. 

While these uncomfortable realities are perhaps not terribly uncommon, they’re not entirely necessary, especially when buying your own airplane. So, when I fell in love with the flying characteristics of the Cessna 140, I ultimately decided to save my money for another couple of years so I could afford the larger and decidedly less cramped Cessna 170. It was money well spent. Although I would never describe the 170 as a roomy airplane, it improves greatly upon the discomfort of the 140.

But a more interesting question is what types are especially well suited to particularly large or small pilots. Some dedicated investigation can reveal some compelling types that your size, large or small, can unlock. These might be types that you’d never have otherwise considered.

The North American/Ryan Navion was a pleasant surprise when I reviewed it for an upcoming installment of FLYING’s “Air Compare” feature in the print edition. With a cabin that’s spacious enough to enable passengers to move between the front and back seats and a number of controls that require a good reach to access, larger pilots will feel as though the airplane was made just for them.

Similarly, the Cessna 180, 182, and 185 all have quite tall instrument panels and heavy controls, particularly the elevator in the flare with full flaps. They have ample cabin space and enough useful load that baggage and a second sizable occupant is rarely a factor. Like the Navion, these airplanes are entirely flyable by people of all sizes, but larger pilots will likely find them a comfortable, natural fit.

Most large pilots don’t even consider smaller machines like the Luscombe for good reason. The tiny side-by-side cabin is only 39 inches wide. But there’s a sneaky way into Luscombe ownership for larger folks, and it comes in the form of the rare T8F “Observer.” Equipped with tandem (one seat in front of the other) seating, this placement provides twice the shoulder room as a standard Luscombe. A relatively limited useful load remains a restriction, however, and larger pilots generally have it worse than smaller ones because of this.

Speaking from experience, larger pilots look at our bantamweight colleagues with a healthy dose of envy. How nice it would be to instantly have an extra hundred pounds of useful load, or alternatively, less weight with correspondingly better performance. Our abilities to manage heavy control forces and move airplanes around on the ramp with ease are quickly forgotten as we observe departure-end obstacles looming ever closer during one of our luxuriously ponderous climbs.

In addition to enjoying better performance and load-carrying ability, smaller pilots enjoy a backstage pass into a number of correspondingly small aircraft types. The achingly cool Culver Cadet, for example, with its beautiful elliptical wing and retractable gear, offers only about 35 inches of cabin width to its two occupants seated side by side. Even average-sized pilots find this to be cramped, so to be able to fly one around comfortably is a privilege indeed.

The single-seat Mooney M-18 Mite is a type that similarly only accommodates smaller people. An extreme example is the Quickie, an even tinier single-seat—and experimental—aircraft that, with an 18 hp engine, boasts a max cruise speed of 115 mph (100 knots) and can achieve 100 miles per gallon. While either of these can carry a slightly heavier pilot, the cramped cabin limits access to smaller ones.

Not all is fun and games for our smaller friends, however. Fighting an old, stiff fuel hose while climbing up onto a high-wing aircraft isn’t fun for anyone and may be nearly impossible. Getting into and out of a taildragger with big Alaskan Bushwheels can feel like it requires crampons and a rope. And simply moving an airplane around on the ramp or into and out of a hangar, particularly in slippery winter conditions, can become futile. 

The biggest opportunity for the prospective airplane buyer is to take these sorts of concerns into account early in the shopping process. Talk to others of similar size in online forums. Better yet, attend as many fly-ins as possible. There, you can try airplanes on for size and chat with owners of similar size to make a decision you’ll be happy with for the long term.

The post Sizing Up Your New Aircraft 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.

But when opportunity knocks, you take notice. And when that knocking comes in the form of an ambassador partnership with Garmin, you answer the door. This opportunity (separate from my work with FLYING) is what motivated me to take the plunge and spend tens of thousands of dollars on a full instrument panel upgrade on my 1953 Cessna 170B, and it is finally complete.

The project began back in May, and my friend Jessica Voruda at NewView Technologies in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, began teaching me the intricacies of instrument panels right away. I dove into the project bursting with enthusiasm but ready and willing to face complex, unforeseen, and expensive challenges. Fortunately, Jessica’s expertise and patience kept these to a minimum, and we were able to focus on some of the more fun and less easily anticipated aspects of the panel redesign.

After addressing a few of those items, we were able to dig into the part I was most looking forward to—the aesthetics and visual design. Although my plane has seen various updates over the years, some authentic 1950s-era visual elements remain. For example, it had an extraordinarily cool vintage blue diamond pattern surrounding the throttle quadrant, and I decided early on that I wanted to retain that element at all costs.

Similarly, I’ve always appreciated the retro look of the panel itself. Unlike modern panels that tend to be squared off on top with a horizontal glareshield, mine is curved on top. It looks cool and opens up some decent-sized peripheral vision chunks that might otherwise be blocked by a larger, squared-off design.

• READ MORE: Making an Old Panel New Again

So I knew I liked the original, vintage aesthetic. But looking at modern avionics, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of installing what amounts to big rectangular computer monitors smack dab in the middle of my panel. This is a 1953 Cessna, after all—not a Tesla Model S. I may be upgrading to modern avionics, but I still wanted it to look like a cool vintage airplane.  

Looking around at other modernized panels, I spotted another popular trend—emptying a panel of every extraneous gauge and installing just one or two modern digital screens in their place. While this is beneficial in terms of weight savings and simplicity, I just couldn’t get behind the look of a massive, blank wall in front of me punctuated by just two or three small screens. To me, it looks incomplete. It felt akin to hopping into a base-model rental car and spotting all the blank spots reserved for options that were left behind at the factory.

Salvation came in the form of two things—Garmin’s GI 275 flight instruments and Jessica’s Tetris-like skill at shoehorning a large volume of avionics into a tiny, irregularly shaped space.

• READ MORE: The Adventures of a Panel Redesign

The GI 275 instruments were new to me. I was familiar with and had, in other aircraft, used Garmin’s square-screened G5 instruments in the form of an attitude indicator and DG/HSI. But for a 1950s-inspired retromod panel, the television screen looked out of place. 

The beauty of the GI 275s is that they’re round and, thus, closely resemble vintage gauges. When in operation, they illuminate brightly and display everything from an attitude indicator to an engine indication system…but even when displaying moving maps and colorful bar graphs, they still blend in with old gauges. I decided they’d be the perfect solution for blending modern capability with a vintage aesthetic.

To avoid the aforementioned “empty panel” look, I opted to retain a few legacy analog gauges, namely the turn indicator, airspeed indicator, and altimeter. I did this for two reasons. First, because I appreciate having a physical ball and needles that sweep across part of my field of vision. But also to create a curved line of gauges that follows the curve of the glareshield like the panels of earlier 140s and 170s. With Voruda’s help, I arranged and rearranged the gauges into my desired positions.

From there, Voruda and the team at NewView got to work fitting everything into the panel and design. It turned out to be a tight balancing game, keeping the radios and GI 275s clear of the large T-shaped bar behind the panel that required ample internal space for elevator control. But she managed to do so, and the radios and GPS/transponder slotted nicely into the left side of the panel, leaving space elsewhere for an iPad and autopilot controls. While an autopilot isn’t in the cards just yet, I had Voruda prepare everything for easy and efficient installation in the future.

With the mechanical layout locked in, we focused on the visual design. Taking her advice, I opted for a cream-colored panel that matched my yokes and switchgear. This was true to the original interior colors, and it would be warmer, with more personality than black or gray. 

When I explained how much I liked the blue diamond pattern, Jessica pointed out that her panel fabrication partner, Superior Aircraft Components, could digitize the original design and extend it to the new overlays that cover most of the lower section of the panel. I loved the idea, so they got to work creating matching surrounds for the radios and circuit breakers. Because we were pressed for time, they also fabricated a separate, removable section of the sub-panel on the lower right, reserved for a future custom glove box. 

As of this writing, the panel is complete, but I have yet to see it in person. My airplane sits up at Oshkosh, awaiting my arrival for AirVenture several days from now. Once there, I’ll be able to take it all in, begin learning how to use it, and then taxi from NewView Technologies on the north side of the field down to the Garmin booth at Boeing Plaza, where it will be on display for all to see. 

On one hand, it has been a leap of faith to spend such a sum of money on something when I am only able to observe the progress through photos. Part of me has wanted to make the 90-minute drive every weekend to check up on things. But from the beginning, I decided to place my trust in Voruda and her team of actual professionals; throughout the process, when she would ask me to make a decision, I would usually ask what she would do if it was her panel and then go with that.

This dedication to trust was partially inspired by some of the more questionable paint schemes I see on privately owned aircraft from time to time. In each case, the owners spent upward of $20,000 for new paint jobs but clearly opted to avoid hiring or trusting a professional to help create a visually pleasing design. Instead, their freshly painted airplanes are visually misshapen and unbalanced, resembling crude renditions of travel trailers from the late 1990s. The paint application and workmanship are impeccable, but less-qualified, amateur decisions hamper the end result.

For my panel, I decided early on not to go it alone. I’m not a professional avionics technician, and while I have some general goals and ideas, I’ve never designed or built an instrument panel. I was hiring a team of professionals to do that, so it only made sense to know my limits and defer to its expertise while providing general overlying goals. 

The end result appears to be perfect. I’ll have an airplane far more IFR capable than me and my instrument skills that lapsed during the Bush administration. I’ll have a lighter, more reliable airplane with avionics that enable me to extend the life of my engine through precise control and temperature management. And multiple moving maps, ADS-B traffic data, weather data, and sophisticated flight instruments, including an angle of attack indicator, will make me safer.

On top of it all, the unique restomod aesthetic will create an entirely new flying experience that gives me yet another reason to look back over my shoulder as I walk away after a flight.

Author’s note:

If you plan to attend EAA AirVenture (Monday through July 30), please stop by the Garmin display to check out the new panel for yourself. Let me know what you think at the FLYING Magazine booth  located in exhibitor spaces 439 and 440, just east of the control tower. I’ll be there from 1-2 pm CDT on Tuesday and July 28 for meet and greets and would love to hear your impressions.

The post Keeping the Vintage Cool During a Panel Upgrade appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Presented with such a noble mission, I dropped the time-critical project I had been focusing on and neglected my responsibilities entirely in favor of helping him out by sharing some tips I’ve learned in my own first trips as a new owner. This adventure would likely create lifelong memories for father and son alike, and I wanted to make sure they were great ones. But rather than simply covering tie-downs, sleeping comfort, and personal electronic charging solutions as I did in the past, I focused on some of the less-obvious lessons I learned and observations I made more recently at last year’s AirVenture.

1. Use Your Airplane as Home Base

In all the years I attended Oshkosh prior to airplane ownership, I’d usually hike into the showgrounds with everything I’d need for a full day of fun. Resembling an out-of-shape and badly sunburned Sherpa, I lashed together dozens of pounds of camera equipment, rain gear, water, snacks, and other supplies. My car was parked 2 miles away, after all, and it didn’t make sense to walk back and forth just to stash or retrieve some gear.

Last year, having arrived early with a Cessna 170 that was built in 1953, I managed to weasel my way into an amazingly good spot in the Vintage area. I was in the meadow where you can find the Beech Staggerwings, approximately 50 feet from food and showers and a very short walk to the show center. Accordingly, it was ridiculously easy to pop by the airplane to grab a quick bite to eat, a rain shell, or a fresh change of clothes. It was like having my very own little apartment at the show.

Even with a less exclusive spot in the North or South 40, remember that it’s not necessary to carry everything you expect to need throughout the day. Simply grab the things you anticipate needing for the first part of the day and plan to take a shuttle back to your airplane for a break (and maybe a short nap) later. 

2. Bring and Label Extra Airplane Keys

On the final day of the show last year, my heart skipped a beat while packing my things for departure. My airplane key wasn’t hanging on the altimeter knob like usual. A brief search around the cabin was fruitless, and as I gazed out over the thousands of acres of showgrounds, I wondered how long I’d be stranded while I hired a mechanic to install a new mag switch.

Fortunately, I soon discovered that my keys were in the pocket of some shorts that had been tossed into a duffel bag. Because I had been using my airplane as a locker, I tended to walk around with the key in my pocket during the day. All was well, but the incident taught me a valuable lesson. 

For little money, you could have an extra key or two made just in case the primary one goes missing, and disaster would be averted. If, like me, you prefer to lock valuables up in the airplane when you’re gone, you could give one to a neighboring camper for safekeeping in case you lose yours.

Additionally, I reflected upon the impossibility of finding a key dropped somewhere on the showgrounds. I grabbed a Sharpie marker and quickly wrote my tail number on my keychain. This way, should the key go missing, it would be far more likely to be identified in lost and found and returned.

3. Turn Your Airplane into a Gathering Spot

Anyone who has attended Oshkosh for more than a few years is familiar with a certain phenomenon. While your first trips tend to be primarily about the airplanes, subsequent ones are increasingly about the people. As I had invited several friends to come and see my 170 and catch up, I knew I’d be hosting some pretty enjoyable sessions of hanging out. And having picked up some ideas from previous years, I decided to make a few changes that would improve the space immensely.

First on the list was a set of solar-powered patio lights strung beneath the wing for some ambiance. I brought a few extra folding chairs and set them up around a lightweight, weatherproof area rug. Finally, I brought along a nice Pelican cooler and a few cases of bottled water that I kept on ice, so my friends could always help themselves to a cold drink, whether I was there or not.

It was a great success, and my airplane became something of a front porch. Friends old and new stopped by regularly to take a load off and catch up. Neighboring airplane owners often strolled by to chat, as well. Anyone could kick back, relax, and visit. It was a great experience. 

4. Take Advantage of Storm Shelters

Inevitably, most years at Oshkosh feature at least one night (or day) of strong thunderstorms. As the storm cells approach, they become the talk of the show. Fearing hail damage, airplane owners run out, ravage the city’s inventory of bubble wrap, cardboard, and packing tape, and fortify their airplanes against the approaching meteorological onslaught. 

While the concern for our airplanes is entirely understandable, there seems to be little corresponding regard for our own well-being. Faced with the possibility of lightning, potentially lethal wind gusts, and Ercoupes happily cartwheeling across the grounds, many opt to remain in their tents or under their wings, vulnerable to danger. 

The more prudent course of action would be to heed the warnings from the EAA and take shelter in its more solid facilities. In the past, it has opened the museum to campers, providing shelter from the storm and doubling as an enjoyable way to spend an hour or two. 

5. Pizza Can Save the Day

During AirVenture, fantastic food options abound. Many vendors are local restaurants that specialize in delicious Wisconsin cuisine so thoroughly laden with cholesterol it could likely power large diesel engines. Cheese curds, bratwurst burritos, fish frys…authentic regional fare are well represented, and it’s a good thing EMS is stationed throughout the event.

But what happens if you arrive early before the food vendors are open for business? Or if you become hungry late at night after they all close for the day? If you’re camped out anywhere near an airport perimeter gate, you can simply order a pizza and have it delivered there. 

In my case, I spotted a residence directly across from one of the access gates and noted the address. I requested the delivery driver to use that address for reference but to walk the pizza over to the gate across the street, where I’d be waiting. Shortly thereafter, passing the pizza beneath the fence felt satisfyingly sneaky and covert, and the ensuing pizza party beneath my wing with good friends was truly epic.

If you do this, please make a point to tip well. If the pizzerias institute a policy against AirVenture delivery, we all lose.

The post Lesser-known EAA AirVenture Tips for the New Owner 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.

We were met with example after example of depressing neglect. Over here, a Tri-Pacer with ratty fabric and visible rust on cylinders. Over there, a Luscombe with flat, cracked tires and yellowed windows. Next to the Luscombe, a Cherokee 140 covered in bird droppings and ravaged by harsh Michigan winters.

From the perspective of two private pilots without the means to purchase their own airplanes, it was inconceivable that an owner could simply let their machine rot in such a manner. In our minds’ eyes, we envisioned airplane ownership to involve substantial amounts of time cleaning, polishing, and doting. Pride of ownership mattered, and we felt insulted by the utter neglect standing before us on flat tires. These owners had evidently tossed their once-airworthy machines aside, letting them deteriorate without a care. And it made us angry.

It was shameful, and as we continued our walk, we devised a plan. 

One day, when we both had enough money to purchase politicians and enact legislation to our liking, we’d form our own company. This company would be modeled after Child Protective Services. It would work hand-in-hand with the authorities to identify and confiscate aircraft that have been neglected by their owners. 

More importantly, the company would work with local pilot groups to identify loving homes to which each aircraft could be donated. A robust screening process would ensure the new owners would fit into a specific financial segment—sufficient funds on hand to fly and maintain a small airplane but not enough to purchase one. Through these efforts, airplanes would be saved from ruin, the dreams of countless private pilots would be fulfilled, and GA would be revitalized. 

Sadly, the company never came to fruition. While I could now possibly afford to purchase a local village alderperson, meaningful change through crooked legislation remains out of financial reach. But the dream is still alive in the form of rehoming efforts that I continue to this day, as I take special note of derelict aircraft and keep an eye out for private pilots who could potentially save them from total deterioration. 

My most recent mission came, as most do, by word of mouth. While chatting with my friend Dan about interesting places to fly, I mentioned in passing how I’d like to go visit a private grass strip where I spotted a Cessna 170 that has apparently been put out to pasture. I’ve got a friend in Michigan who is after a 170 and happens to possess sufficient mechanical ability to perform a light restoration, and she would be a great candidate to save the airplane.

Dan perked up. He knew of a similar 170 not too far away, and he was looking for an excuse to fly his 182. A few days later, we were on our way to check it out. But upon arrival, we discovered it was in pretty bad shape. 

It was a shame. The original 1950s-era paint was beautifully weathered to a rat rod-like patina. The panel, although dirty and in need of updating, was in shockingly nice shape. And it happened to be a desirable B model. But the exterior had been exposed to decades of Wisconsin winters, and both rust and corrosion were apparent throughout the airframe.

The airplane rescue mission was, therefore, a bust. Most of them are. But as I visit new airports and encounter unused aircraft, I continue to play matchmaker for friends and acquaintances, attempting to connect the poor airplanes with wishful aircraft owners. This, I think, is something we all should be doing. 

While total restorations are beyond the capability of most first-time owners, light restoration work can be a simple matter of paying a bill. Presented with the opportunity to obtain an old Cessna or Piper for well below market price and then spend several thousand dollars to get it up to speed, a prospective owner just might discover the math checks out. 

The key is to catch these ignored airplanes before they’ve deteriorated beyond the point of no return. If we can collectively intervene and convince the neglectful owners to pass on their machines to people committed to maintaining them, we all benefit. The affordable aircraft population will experience less of a decline, prices will become more stable, and as more people do more flying, GA will become healthier and more popular.

Those of us who own our own aircraft should occasionally be reminded to avoid letting our beloved machines sit idle and deteriorate beyond intervention. If medical issues, financial challenges, or life in general begins to result in cobwebs on our airplanes, we need to proactively get creative and find ways to keep them flying and healthy. Maybe we invite trusted friends to fly them once a month for us. Maybe in exchange for an annual inspection, we allow our A&P to fly the airplane a certain amount of hours per month.

Alternatively, we could sell one or more fractions of it and begin a partnership. This would result in instant cash flow. It would keep the airplane flying, and it would build up a nice emergency maintenance reserve, ensuring it is well cared for. These days, there’s no shortage of wishful pilots who would love to become an owner in such a manner.

With any luck, efforts like this will slow the decline and deterioration of affordable aircraft. Best of all, Matt and I will no longer have to form Airplane Protective Services to confiscate and save them. After all, we’d rather be flying.

The post Pride of Ownership and the Insult of Neglect appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

At no point could I even begin to justify the Olympic-caliber race setups I then proceeded to build. With a physique and athleticism that bore a stronger resemblance to Bobby Hill than to any notable athlete, the discrepancy between bicycle quality and actual physical capability was both stark and embarrassing. But I was fueled by enthusiasm, and my love for evaluating beautiful engineering more than made up for the humiliation that occurred on every hill climb. 

Thirty years later, the bicycle situation and general fitness level have remained unchanged, and the disease has now spread to aviation. One by one, I’ve been strategically upgrading various parts on my Cessna 170, from the propeller to lighting to wheels and tires. Now, thanks to a social media sponsorship unrelated to my work with FLYING, I’ve finally decided to take a major step and upgrade the instrument panel.

Despite being part of a sponsorship, the upgrade will still involve a substantial price tag to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars. The sum is massive in my world, and it took much calculation to determine what benefits would justify such an expenditure. I ultimately identified four that, when combined, do so handily.

1. Vacuum-ectomy

Sometime in the 1960s, a previous owner of my airplane opted to remove the venturi system that originally powered the gyro instruments and replace it with an engine-driven vacuum system. The vacuum system was so massive and cumbersome, a larger engine cowl had to be installed for it to fit.

The resulting setup presents a few frustrations. It adds weight at the far end of the airplane. It positions the pump pulley millimeters away from the back face of the propeller. It provides relatively little benefit for the VFR flying I do. It introduces multiple points of mechanical failure. And although appearance is low on my list of concerns, it’s ugly.

Upgrading to a modern panel enables this entire assembly of the pump, gyros, and hoses to be removed from the airplane like a problematic appendix. New solid-state avionics will save weight and provide far better reliability and functionality. 

2. Safety

It’s been nearly two years since I ruined multiple cylinders in a tragic and stupid cowl plug incident. Since then, my engine-related PTSD seems to have kicked up its feet, settled in, and taken up permanent residence in my head. These days, I watch my cylinder head temperature like a hawk and constantly monitor every engine gauge with trepidation.

As part of the Garmin setup I plan to install, the engine monitor is the element I’m most excited about. With one glance at one instrument, I’ll be able to evaluate the information presently spread across no fewer than eight separate steam gauges. I’ll be able to monitor the CHTs (cylinder heat temperatures) and EGTs (exhaust gas temperatures) of individual cylinders easily, and I’ll feel much better about identifying any abnormal trends quickly and early.

The engine monitor will also display accurate fuel quantity indications. Rather than judging remaining fuel on board by time and refueling every 2.5 to 3 hours of flight in an abundance of caution, I’ll be able to stretch the airplane’s legs with more confidence. This ability to fly with somewhat lower fuel levels can translate into a nice performance boost when desired, enabling shorter takeoff distances at challenging strips.

The ADS-B transponder is another huge benefit. Seamlessly integrating with GPS and depicting traffic on the panel as well as on my iPad, I’ll feel a lot more knowledgeable of the traffic around me. It’s also a more robust and permanent solution than some of the less-expensive alternatives.

3. Room to Grow

One of the reasons I opted to save additional funds and buy a Cessna 170 instead of a smaller 120 or 140 is that I wanted an airplane I’d grow into, ability-wise, rather than out of. The 170’s additional room and payload enable me to go camping with friends, unlock better performance when light, and feel less cramped on longer flights. The 170 is a more permanent solution, and I will enjoy the extra capability long after I forget about the higher price.

To a similar extent, a modern and fully capable panel will enable me to get current and utilize my instrument rating should I wish. Doing so could increase the number of flyable days in the year, and it could make the airplane a more reliable and consistent means of travel. I may want to get current solely to refine another set of skills.  

Regardless, a modernized panel opens up all of these possibilities and unlocks an entirely new world of flying that is inaccessible with the current display.

4. Fun

Back in my bike shop days, I’d regularly advise people on their bike purchases and custom builds. I didn’t work on commission and was therefore motivated not by the money they spent but rather by their enjoyment of riding. One point I’d make in earnest was that it’s OK to upgrade to a newer bike or component, even if all it does is make them happier and more enthusiastic about their favorite hobby. 

Ultimately, this made me feel better about spending new car money on a new panel. Rather than splurging on a bass boat, paying for years upon years of green fees, or simply buying drinks at the bar every weekend, I decided to design and build a panel that enhances my enjoyment of my favorite pastime and hobby.

Can I justify the upgrade with financial benefits and a return on investment that can be illustrated on a spreadsheet? No. Does the flying I do demand the functionality offered by such a panel? Also no. Are my flying skills such that I am significantly limited by my current panel? Definitely not.

But just as I worked massive amounts of overtime to afford my Litespeed Obed titanium mountain bike with a Chris King wheelset, Marinovative brakes, and mystical Magic Motorcycle crankset, I’ve been socking away money every month to afford the ultimate panel. And just as that cool gear introduced an element of fun that easily made up for my utter lack of fitness and riding ability, I anticipate the panel upgrade to similarly enhance my day-to-day enjoyment of my airplane. 

These benefits may not show up on a spreadsheet, but they sure leave a smile on your face. And I’m looking forward to it.

The post The Calculus Behind the Ultimate Panel Modernization appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

As long and as frustrating as the hunt for the perfect airplane can be, it’s important to remain disciplined. On the one hand, it would be a mistake to remain a perpetual shopper, endlessly waiting for the perfect airplane to appear at the perfect price. But on the other hand, one must exercise patience to ensure their first airplane purchase is smart.

Among all the first-time buying advice I see and hear, many of the same items pop up regularly. Ensure the airplane doesn’t have a corrosion problem. Ensure the engine has been operated somewhat regularly and has not been sitting. Ensure the logs are complete, with no surprises. Obtain a thorough pre-purchase inspection from someone intimately familiar with the type. It’s all great advice that should certainly be followed.

But how can one look beyond the usual pre-purchase checklist and peer into a figurative crystal ball to predict what future maladies may surface? How can one anticipate and prepare for issues that might not reveal themselves for another two years…or five? To gain this level of knowledge, one must become something of an amateur detective. Fortunately, doing so is both simple and fun.

The easiest way is to join an airplane’s type club and engage with current owners. A phone call here or an email there can easily evolve into an enjoyable, hour-long micro-education about an aircraft type, providing a thorough understanding of the concerns and intricacies specific to it. In a matter of hours, one can learn from the expensive and extensive mistakes of others, all for an annual membership fee that’s typically around $50. That’s less than dinner for two at Olive Garden.

Over the years, I’ve only ever met one airplane owner that wasn’t completely enthusiastic about educating me about his airplane. It wasn’t entirely his fault, however, considering I ignored multiple “No Trespassing” signs, proceeded to trespass upon his property, and knocked on his back door on an otherwise peaceful Sunday afternoon. He was a good sport, however, and I received none of the gunshot wounds promised by the aforementioned signs.

Virtually every other airplane owner will happily indulge a prospective owner-to-be in the hopes of bringing them into the fold. While investigating the Beechcraft Musketeer, for example, I learned that many are equipped with the Continental IO-346. This is widely regarded as a great engine, but as it was only ever produced for the Musketeer, it is an orphan engine. Parts are extraordinarily difficult to source, and further investigation revealed that multiple engine shops simply refuse to work on them.

More than one owner with whom I spoke expressed regret that they hadn’t investigated this concern more thoroughly. While they love their engine and airplane, they dread the day when they are forced to find parts and maintenance for major work. In the meantime, they actively scour eBay, Craigslist, and other sources to proactively find and stockpile parts.

Similarly, researching the Mooney M20 series for a recent installment of Air Compare (coming up in FLYING’s April 2023 print edition) taught me things I would never have learned without picking up the phone and engaging with current owners. For this particular article, I was comparing ownership of the M20 with the Grumman AA-5 series. I knew going into it that the retractable-gear Mooney was more expensive to insure than the fixed-gear Grumman, but I vastly underestimated just how much more expensive it is. 

After interviewing several owners of each type and learning how much they pay every year for insurance, I reached out to a broker to conduct a theoretical apples-to-apples comparison. I asked the broker to create quotes for a 40-year-old private pilot with no instrument rating, 250 hours total time, and 5 hours in type. For a Grumman and a Mooney with the same horsepower and hull value, that pilot could expect to pay a premium of $341 per month to insure the Mooney. Adding an instrument rating, total time, and time in type still resulted in an additional premium of more than $200 per month above the cost to own a Grumman AA-5 series.

That’s a significant expense that can easily remain hidden until after the purchase, particularly if the first-time buyer simply accepts that retractable-gear airplanes are generally more expensive to insure without digging deeper for specific numbers. Going into it with a nebulous idea that some increased expense will be there starts to prepare a prospective buyer, but conducting these sorts of investigations fully prepares them.

As more airplanes emerge from their hangars and as more small airports resume hosting their wonderful Saturday pancake breakfast fly-ins, a wise buyer will take just a bit more time to play detective. This way, they will learn the hard lessons as well as the success stories experienced by those whose footsteps they follow.

The post Looking Beyond a Pre-Purchase Checklist appeared first on FLYING Magazine.