Charged up and inspected (a post-buy I guess you could call it), I enjoyed flying this airplane for five years. I cruised at 110 knots and I got to fly fast eastbound and slow westbound. One flight from Chicago’s Meigs Field to St. Louis took over three hours at an average ground speed of 78 knots. At some point traffic on the interstate below appeared to outrun us. 

Time led to a succession of airplanes, each a little faster than its predecessor. A Piper Arrow gave way to a Cessna 210, which in turn was followed by a P210. The P210 could get up to the lower flight levels but was no faster, and maybe even a little slower, than the unpressurized 210.

This airplane was the winner for low flight. After a good tail wind on the east side of a cold front, I ran into furious headwinds out of the northwest after crossing the front. En route to Chicago, I descended to 10, then six, and then four thousand feet, watching the fuel reserves evaporate. Whew.

I flew that P210 for 13 years before buying a Cessna 340. Pressurized and faster, the 340 was flight planned for 190 knots true airspeed. It had the benefit of performing well at lower altitudes when we wanted to stay below strong headwinds and with turbocharged engines could climb into the lower FL 200s to take advantage of a strong tailwind. 

• READ MORE: That Sound of Music in the Air

It was when fortune shined upon me and I moved up to turbine-powered airplanes that altitude, speed and, for that matter, reliability became predictable. A Piper Cheyenne was arguably the best airplane for our needs. With a true airspeed of 230 knots and a penchant for lower flight levels (it was most comfortable at 23,000 feet), this airplane allowed nonstop flights from Tampa, Florida, to Lebanon, New Hampshire. Occasionally, though, that meant that a healthy boost from a quartering tailwind was required, but we did it more than once.

Over 17 happy years that airplane took us to Vancouver, San Francisco, Chicago, Colorado Springs, Miami, Key West, Marsh Harbor in the Bahamas and, of course, to our summer cottage in New Hampshire. The engines never hiccupped once. They were so reliable that flights across the Gulf of Mexico from Tampa to New Orleans were done without anxiety. 

All this turbine time allowed me to change careers at age 67 and be hired by a Part 135 operation where I flew Cessna CJ3s. Taught by some of the best and most patient captains, I became comfortable with true airspeeds of just over 400 knots and altitudes as high as FL 450. These weren’t my airplanes, though, so even though I was at the controls and became a captain, the special feeling you get from your airplane just wasn’t there.

The CJ3 experience gave me confidence to buy a single pilot jet when I retired. The Beechcraft Premier 1 was a real airplane, with sophisticated systems. MMO was .80. Two things about this airplane were really remarkable. As the sole occupant of the airplane, I occasionally found myself, alone, at FL 410—and the feeling was magnificent. And, yes, as a safety precaution, I always kept the oxygen mask nestled in my lap. 

• READ MORE: Riding in the Back of Some Nice Private Jets

The other remarkable thing about this Premier was its speed. My highest ground speed was 577 knots. A true airspeed of 450 and a quartering tailwind of 170 knots provided the push. These true airspeeds made headwinds less of a nuisance and made tailwinds a thrill. I have a picture of my daughter reading a magazine while the cabin information sign showed a ground speed of 629 mph. 

My fastest travel was, regrettably, as a passenger. Well, not too regrettably. In the 1990s you could cash in US Airways frequent-flyer points and book a Concorde flight. We didn’t have enough points for my wife, Cathy, and me to both fly Concorde, so she volunteered to fly to London the night before. I flew to New York, had dinner with a friend, and arrived the next morning at John F. Kennedy International Airport (KJFK) about an hour before British Airways was to launch a supersonic flight to London.

Stuffed with croissants and coffee, I got in line to board. When I got to the cabin door, I said to the flight attendant, “I would love to see the cockpit.” With a look of practiced disdain and a clipped British accent, she said, “Most of the children do.” Ouch.

I sulked to my seat and ordered a cognac. About half way across the ocean, the same flight attendant said that the captain would see me now. Armed with all sorts of Concorde trivia, including the facts that the airplane is longer at Mach 2 than on the ground as a consequence of friction-induced heat, that the airplane was trimmed by moving fuel backward and forward, and that, speaking of fuel, there would be very little left when we got London. 

• READ MORE: Taking the Grand Tour at Gulfstream Aerospace

As I entered the flight deck, the engineer greeted me. I knew if I was to stay there very long, I had to make a friend. The flight engineer was great. He told me of a time when he kissed his wife goodbye and reported for a New York morning flight. When he reached New York, the engineer on the return flight had “taken ill,” so he was assigned to head back to London. “When I got home, my wife had gone out with some friends. I was having a pipe when she walked in and said, ‘I thought you were going to New York?’ I answered, ‘Well, I did.’”

As he was telling this story, I noticed an altitude of 56,000-plus feet. “We float around up here. There isn’t any other traffic.” That is the highest and fastest I ever flew.

The flight attendant reappeared to drag me away. I pleaded to the flight engineer to return. He said he’d try.

Sure enough, a different flight attendant came back during descent and ushered me forward. I had scored the jumpseat for landing. ATC cleared us into a hold. The engineer said this was just for show: “We don’t have the fuel to hold, but other airlines complain that we get special treatment, so we have this little dance.”

We were then cleared direct to Heathrow (EGLL). After landing we were momentarily told to hold short of a runway from which a new (then) 747-400 was departing.

As Air China rotated just in front of us, the captain turned to the first officer and said, “It must be like flying a bloody brick.”

This column first appeared in the September Issue 950 of the FLYING print edition.

The post Half Century of Flight Has Included Some Altitude and Ground Speed appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I first learned of Rocco from a video posted on a website called “Lucky Lab Rescue.” He looked like the lab mix he was reported to be. Tellingly, he had no “bio.” Usually dogs up for adoption have been fostered and their traits have been cataloged. “Needs lots of space to run” and “not good with children” are a couple of red flags. Rocco had none. He was cute, if a little “mouthy,” on the 20-second video, so my wife, Cathy, and I arranged to have him join a caravan of dogs being shipped from the Midwest to the good folks of New England. Apparently, there is a well-worn path for dogs abandoned at kill shelters to adoption facilities in the Northeast.

We have had excellent luck with labs and lab mixes. We knew Rocco first showed up in a kill shelter in Kentucky and was transferred to a veterinary technical school in Indiana. From the paperwork that accompanied him, we found that he had been used for students to practice putting him under anesthesia and drawing his blood. I’m thinking that might give a fellow an attitude.

It did. Surprisingly, his animosity is not toward humans but dogs. It took several surprise attacks against friends’ and neighborhood dogs before we learned to keep him separated from all canines. His vet hospital and human emergency department visit bills topped 10 grand before we got the picture. We spent similar amounts on dog training with the graduation certificates as proof.

“Why don’t you put him down?” We heard this a lot. There was one problem: We were falling in love. With the kids, grandkids, furnace repair guy, and the pest man, he was an enthusiastic lab love. Our vet said, “I will not put a dog down for dog aggression. Your job is to keep him safe.” That sealed it.

Rocco’s first flight and first airplane was in our 1980 Piper Cheyenne I. He acted like it was natural to scurry up the airstairs and to make himself comfortable in an empty seat. When that became uncomfortable, he’d come forward, put his front paws on the wing spar, and peer into the flight deck with a bemused expression. “Can’t this thing go any faster?” he seemed to say. He’d stare in hypnotic trance at the blinking reply light on the transponder.

It wasn’t long before we decided to buy a jet. Three years of Part 135 flying had finally taught me how, and I felt comfortable with single-pilot jet ops. We bought a Raytheon Premier 1. With its magnificent height, imposing airstairs, and lavish interior, not to mention Pro Line 21 avionics, I was in heaven.

Apparently, so was Rocco. It gradually dawned on us that perhaps this dog had been fibbing about his background. He climbed into the Premier and looked around as if to say, “This is all you got?” I wondered if he’d actually belonged to a family with a Gulfstream. We sent off his DNA to see if he was related to a Rockefeller, but no joy.

Still, he got awfully cozy awfully quickly, though he seemed to look askance at the ornate gold fixtures—not the kind of thing a well-bred dog would accept for haute couture.

• READ MORE: Rescue Dogs and Airplanes

When an errant pelican commuting at 4,500 feet dinged the wing, we sought the comfort of a Cessna Citation CJ1. Not quite as fast as the Premier, but never as maintenance needy, the airplane fit like a glove. Rocco claimed a seat, which we protected with a sheet. There was no question this was a smaller seat than the one to which he had been accustomed, but he took the indignity like a lab. He logged hundreds of trouble-free hours curled up in a ball and ready to party when he arrived.

Alas, my abilities as a dog aircraft provider atrophied with age, and we had to sell the CJ1 owing to insurance costs for “elderly” single-pilot jet ops. Looking to be “unleashed” myself from the aerospace medical boys and girls in Oklahoma City, I chose BasicMed. This led to a fine Beechcraft P-Baron.

And guess what? This is the most comfortable airplane for Rocco. He leaps easily into the back cabin, and the rear seats are so close together that he now effectively has a bench seat. This allows uninterrupted sleep for hours and hours. Rocco is good at this. It’s one of his finest skills. This is a good thing as his commute has become longer and regularly features a tech stop. At such interruptions, he parades around the FBO while Cathy and I keep an eye out for some unsuspecting fellow dog traveler.

We’d hate for him to have a rap sheet in another state. His countenance at the high-end FBOs could be best described as expectant. Just don’t let him spot a Chihuahua with a rhinestone collar—the fur will fly. So far, so good, though—just a dog and his airplane in harmony.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Master of Airplanes: Rocco Is One Lucky Lab, Indeed appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

• READ MORE: New Five-Blade Propeller Gains FAA STC for Cessna 206 Series

For the tests, the German company said it mounted the propeller on the right side of a Piper PA-31T1 powered by two Pratt & Whitney PT6A-135A turbine engines. When the aircraft flew, MT said, the new propeller generated “an impressive noise and sound signature.”

Among the test results was a 15 percent increase in static thrust compared with the standard certified 5-blade propeller. The company said the power system als showed promise in terms of cutting engine and prop noise.

The company said the new propeller, which is still in the development stage, “combined with a low rpm power supply from a turbine or an electric engine opens new possibilities for performance, efficiency and noise.”

It is unclear whether MT plans to apply for a supplemental type certificate for the propeller. The company has experimented with numerous prop configurations in recent years, including a 9-blade model tested on the Cheyenne in 2019.

The post MT Flight-Tests Propeller With 11 Blades On A Piper Cheyenne appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Here’s the tale (tail) of three dogs and three airplanes. All had a budget; you will see how they spent their allowance.

Ubu and the Cessna 340

Ubu was a rescue in the sense that one of my kids had a friend whose dog had gotten loose, and next thing you know, there were several Lab-shepherd puppies to offer up to unsuspecting teenagers and their families. Ubu learned to fly in a box in the hold of commercial airliners. On one memorable escapade, my wife, Cathy, and I were flying from sunny Tampa, Florida, to snowy Boston, Massachusetts, with Ubu down below.

Four hours into the flight, the Delta captain announced a diversion to Bangor, Maine. After refueling, we took to the gray and cold skies again, headed back to Boston. (“The airport should open soon,” we were reassured.) Three hours of holding later, we landed in Providence, Rhode Island. I met the captain on the jet bridge and pleaded with him to release the dog, even though we weren’t at our destination. He relented. When the crate came out on the luggage carousel, you could hear a loud tail thump, thump, thump. Ubu had spotted us. It was a snowy drive in that rental car, but we were reunited.

Man and dog both upgraded when we sold the Cessna P210 and bought the 340. Ubu was happy to leave behind the airlines and switch to air-stair entry and unrestricted cabin—and sometimes cockpit—access. The dog was nobody’s fool, and neither was the 340. Ubu’s Labrador genes were evident in his exuberance, which matched the airplane’s speed and altitude. When we landed, Ubu invariably demonstrated his approval with a characteristic male-dog “happy meter,” if you know what I mean. Then, when the door was opened and the stairs extended, Ubu would survey his domain. There was one lineman at home base that Ubu didn’t like. If he spotted that poor man, he’d lunge out of the airplane and head right for the poor guys private parts.

As the dog aged and became infirm , I could not bring myself to put him down. He still ate voraciously and his eyes still glowed. I wrote a piece in the local newspaper about the dilemma entitled, “When is it time to help Ubu along?” A friend read the piece and told me she could find a new dog when we were ready. That’s how we met Corbett.

Corbett and the Cheyenne

Corbett was a yellow Labrador retriever whose only issues were unbridled exuberance and a cancer that took him too soon. His size and energy proved too much for his original owner, so we got this wild thing at one year old, just after we had upgraded to a Piper Cheyenne I turboprop. I approached our first flight with this crazy 80-pound dog with trepidation. A visiting friend, a senior Southwest Airlines captain, volunteered to be copilot on a short test flight. The plan was for Cathy to sit in the back with Corbett, while Tony and I sat in the cockpit barricaded in with large FedEx boxes. Tony informed the ground controller that we wanted to do a dog test flight around the pattern, and off we went. When switched from tower to departure to arrival back to tower, the last controller said, “I don’t hear any barking—I guess you guys are OK.”

Were we ever. In many ways, that dog and that airplane were the best fit any man has ever known. The airplane was sturdy, fast, burned jet-A, looked great, and gave us 17 years of very happy flying. Corbett was an equal contributor to our lives, filling our days with ball-chasing, swimming and flying. He’d come up to the cockpit once in a while and check on the captain’s navigation and energy-management skills. He was born to fly. When we landed and lowered the air stairs, the linemen would see a dog and cover themselves with defensive hands. They had remembered Ubu.

Corbett died too young of lung cancer. He spent his allowance on medical treatment. I tried to console myself by buying a fast jet and searching for a new dog. By then, I had learned about flying while employed by a great Part 135 carrier stocked amply with generous captains. They taught me a lot and made flying a jet a real possibility. 

Rocco and the Premier

I got my head turned by a 2000 Beechcraft/Raytheon Premier 1. Despite the extensive pre-buy and acceptance test flight, my advisors and I missed the fact that the airplane had a persistent and likely not-fixable flaw in the speed-brake logic. On the delivery flight home with an instructor, we got a “speed-brake fail” and “roll fail” light. Fittingly, around this time, we tried to replace Corbett with a dog we found on a Lucky Lab Rescue site. Because I had always wanted a dog named Rocco, we picked one out on the Internet with that name. Both the airplane and the dog tested our patience.

Rocco had been found at a kill shelter in Kentucky and then shipped to a veterinary school in Indiana, where he was used for practice—as in practice drawing blood, practice anesthetizing. I was oblivious as to how this history might alter a happy dog’s view of life. In retrospect, we had zero information about his personality. Like the airplane’s spoilers, we slowly learned about Rocco’s dog aggression. There were some nights when Cathy went with an injured dog to the vet while I took the injured human to the emergency room. These episodes matched the expense and frustration we had with the speed brakes. If Corbett’s allowance was spent on treatment for his heart and lungs, Rocco’s was spent on vet bills for victims and multiple training schools.

In the end, the Premier was put out of its misery with a bird strike, and we learned to keep Rocco in crates or fenced-in areas. I felt bad about the airplane—who wants to preside over the destruction of any aircraft? We felt obligated to Rocco, though. We knew if we turned him back in, he’d be euthanized. We just couldn’t do it, so he now rides in style in our Cessna CJ1, acting like he’s always owned a jet. Who knows? Maybe his previous owners had a Gulfstream.

The post Rescue Dogs and Airplanes appeared first on FLYING Magazine.