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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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.

Perhaps it is because so many associate the place with old Hollywood of the 1930s, a period when Palm Springs became a popular getaway for celebrities seeking privacy. Or is it the connection with Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., and the rest of the hard-partying “Rat Pack” of the early 1960s, and that group’s now-quaint-and-cringy exploits?

Either way, those who consider it simply an archaeological site for mid-century modern aficionados are missing out.

The city has in fact moved with the times and is full of unique, engaging activities and attractions, from the visual and performing arts to biking, hiking, house tours and more. Having traveled there alone on business and with my family of four, I am confident most would find it a rewarding destination.

The experience can be especially rewarding if you are a pilot arriving in your own aircraft.

The Approach

There is a lot to see as you near Palm Springs. Coming from any direction, you will notice the changing terrain and start picking up landmarks. This phase of the flight is thrilling, and pilots have to remain vigilant and avoid distraction.

As you fly from the east, the vast, desolate high desert gives way to more varied landscapes that might look vaguely familiar. Soon you realize you are over Joshua Tree National Park, whose area is roughly split between the Mojave and Sonoran deserts.

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The park’s elevation ranges from a few hundred feet to about 5,800 at the peak of Quail Mountain, but much of it is above 4,000 feet, so most pilots will start heading downhill toward the airport as soon as they clear the park. At this point you are likely to spot the white spinning turbine blades of the area’s many wind farms and notice the increasing number of large green patches in the desert denoting golf courses.

For those who enjoy working traditional pilotage into their navigation plans, the flight into Palm Springs has an abundance of recognizable natural and human-made markers.

While passing Joshua Tree, pilots will see the Salton Sea to the south. Ahead looms San Jacinto Peak at about 10,500 feet and Mount San Gorgonio (11,800). Aiming between them will take you toward Palm Springs International Airport (KPSP), which you will reach long before you get to the mountains. The ground turns increasingly green as you fly over the resorts of Palm Springs, though you are probably receiving guidance from ATC and have the field in sight by now.

While the approach from the east is scenic, flying in from the west is more exciting. Small aircraft typically fly through the Banning Pass, which runs between the San Jacinto and San Gorgonio mountains. Pilots have described the pass as a turbulent funnel that often deals extreme discomfort before releasing aircraft a few miles from the runway.

Discomfort aside, the mountains are stunning from the air, and while flying between two such high peaks can feel like more of a squeeze than it actually is, the pass is a welcome lower-altitude route for naturally aspirated piston airplanes. And there is plenty of space to get through.

Palm Springs International Airport

KPSP is a Class D field on the northern end of the city. Traffic is diverse, including airliners, general aviation flights, military operations, and vintage aircraft from the Palm Springs Air Museum, which is located on the airport and sells rides in certain airplanes from its collection.

While high terrain near the airport makes Palm Springs a challenging destination, especially for pilots arriving for the first time, some might argue that the degree of difficulty increases more once you are on the ground. That is because the airport’s parallel runways, 13R/31L and 13L/31R, are numbered in a way that can be confusing.

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In addition, the Charlie taxiway that runs between the two runways often tricks pilots into thinking it is another runway. They try to land on it, take off on it, and get lost while taxiing because they mistake it for a runway. The problem, which also stems from smaller details such as the proximity of certain ramps to the runway, is significant enough that the FAA made a familiarization video to help pilots avoid snags.

Other Fields

While KPSP has a lot of features that make it attractive, GA pilots visiting Palm Springs have other options, including Jacqueline Cochran Regional Airport (KTRM) about 20 nm southeast.

Built in 1942 as a training base for Navy and Army Air Corps pilots, it was called Thermal Army Air Field. After the war it changed to Thermal Airport, later to Desert Resorts Regional and then to its current name, honoring the famous aviator, in 2004.

In addition to a catchy name, Bermuda Dunes Airport (KUDD), opened in 1962, has the look and feel of the Rat Pack era we mentioned earlier. The airport was built in part to serve the Bermuda Dunes Country Club, which opened in 1958 and counted numerous celebrities among its members. The club, which has hosted major golf tournaments over the decades, remains a hot spot for the game.

KUDD lies about halfway between KPSP and KTRM. All three fields are close to points of interest, so you can take your pick without worrying about being too far from the things you and your family want to do.

Things to See and Do

There is so much going on in and around Palm Springs that finding interesting activities and entertainment can feel easy.

Great options often present themselves to you. You will find yourself surrounded by great food choices and a range of natural wonders such as Joshua Tree and mountain towns like Idlewild that are worth a day trip.

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You can take in the area’s wonderful mid-century modern architecture by simply walking through local neighborhoods or renting bicycles to cover more ground quickly. If you want the full experience, though, you will have to plan. The following are a few Palm Springs signature attractions that you should try to see:

Palm Springs Aerial Tramway

Buy tickets in advance for the tram, which carries visitors along Chino Canyon in a tram car that rotates slowly to give passengers a panoramic view. The destination, the wilderness of Mount San Jacinto State Park, sits at 8,516 feet and provides stunning views of the valley. The 2.5-mile trip up the mountain takes about 10 minutes. When you reach the Mountain Station, you can enjoy more than 50 miles of hiking trails, two restaurants, observation decks, a natural history museum, theaters, two theaters, and a gift shop.

Greater Palm Springs Modernism Week (October 24-27) 

The 11-day celebration of mid-century modern design, including art, architecture, fashion, and culture in February is over. But there’s still time to catch the similar, smaller four-day fall event in October that features some of the popular tours from the February event in addition to talks, parties, and other activities.

Palm Springs Air Museum

 Any excuse to fly is a good one. A flight that includes visiting an aviation museum is better yet. The Palm Springs Air Museum is home to a number of airworthy warbirds, static displays, and artifacts from WWII through the war on terror. Booking a flight in one of its warbirds, such as the P-51 Mustang or PT-17 Stearman, might be a good way to check off a bucket-list item while visiting.

Props & Hops Craft Beer Festival (November 23-24) 

A visit to the Palm Springs Air Museum is always worthwhile, but the opportunity to combine its collection of vintage aircraft with craft beer is a truly rare occasion that comes just once a year. The Props and Hops Craft Beer Festival features craft beers from across the region, local bands, food vendors and, of course, flight exhibitions. The event’s popularity has grown over the years and is among the top craft beer events in the Coachella Valley.

Palm Springs International Film Festival (January 2-13)

 This event gives attendees the chance to interact with filmmakers and actors who share their experiences and insights. Films in this “Talking Pictures” program in 2024 included American Fiction, Barbie, The Color Purple, and Killers of the Flower Moon. The event also includes dinners matched to films appearing at the festival. Menus are designed to blend “the magic of cinema with the artistry of gastronomy.”

Tours Galore

Remember that if there is something of particular interest to you in and around Palm Springs, there probably is a tour that covers it. 

There are self-guided tours for walkers, bicyclists, and drivers. Guides will also drive you or ride with you on celebrity tours, wind farm tours, and architecture tours. If you do not wish to hike through Joshua Tree, you can book a guide-driven, air-conditioned SUV tour.

Perhaps the best tours available are those taken in vintage warbirds, which you can schedule at the Palm Springs Air Museum. Among the aircraft you can choose are a C-47 Skytrain, T-28 Trojan, P-51 Mustang, or even T-33 Shooting Star.

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

The post Palm Springs Offers a Famous and Historic Getaway appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The normalization of deviance is a phenomenon in which individuals deviate from what is known to be an acceptable performance standard—basically, accepting less than the acceptable in terms of performance or cutting corners—until the deviant behavior becomes the adopted practice. It’s often defended with phrases like “it wasn’t too bad” or “almost” or “close enough” or “we’ve never had a problem before,” and at the flight school level, “my CFI said I didn’t need to know that.”

The normalization of deviance was discussed often at the Spring to Proficiency 2024 IFR Clinic put on by Community Aviation at the EAA Pilot Proficiency Center in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. The clinic involved pilots testing and enhancing their skills using scripted scenarios and custom lessons applied in a fleet of Redbird AATDs. The objective was to help pilots identify skills and soft spots and then develop a plan to maintain proficiency all year. 

When bad practices are allowed to go unchecked and unchallenged, they could lead to bad outcomes as the deviance becomes the norm, causing  a downward spiral of deviations and an increased acceptance of poor performance until there is an accident.

The Chain of Deviance

Just as accidents are typically caused by a chain of events, normalization of deviance is also caused by it.

Scenarios like the pilot who doesn’t use the checklist, or is in a hurry and doesn’t get a weather briefing, or doesn’t determine aircraft performance, were topics talked about frequently. Some pilots can become lazy and then start rationalizing behavior, telling themselves it’s a short flight, just us in the airplane, we’ve made the flight before, and others—you’ve heard them all, I’m sure.

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CFIs can fall prey to this too when they are in a hurry or feel pressured by flight school owners. The rolling Hobbs meter is what matters to the business owners. If the CFI consistently flies an aircraft with deferred maintenance, or rushes from one lesson to another, putting in minimal effort to determine aircraft performance, or doesn’t check the weather, or permits check-the-box instruction, that’s what the learners will accept as normal.

When the learner becomes a CFI, the cycle repeats.

When the Pilot Isn’t Prepared

There are no participation trophies in aviation. You either fly to the certification standards, or you don’t. The CFI needs to hold the learner accountable for these standards. The instructor isn’t helping the learner by just showing up and sitting in the airplane, especially on cross-country flights that require a flight plan.

One of the hardest things to do is cancel a flight when the learner isn’t prepared. Teaching someone how to fill one out can take an hour or more, so some CFIs are inclined to jump in the airplane and go anyway, relying on an app like SkyVector, or worse yet, Direct To on the GPS. 

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This is particularly poor practice if the learner has no idea about how long the runways are at the destination airport, if it’s towered or nontowered, predicted aircraft performance, weight and balance, etc. By allowing the learner to make the flight without thorough planning, the CFI has taught them it is OK to cut corners and skip preparation. At that point, the learner—who is ostensibly paying to become a pilot—is little more than a passenger. At the end of the 2.1-hour flight the learner still may not know how to use a sectional, plotter, and E6-B to create a flight plan, determine aircraft performance, check ground speed, fill out a navlog, etc.

It can lead to their future cross-country flights being done the same way. They push a few buttons on the tablet or GPS and activate the autopilot if so installed. This may come back to bite them during their check ride, because although they have logged the time as cross-country, they don’t have the required skills. This can make the DPE wonder if the CFI didn’t teach them these skills because the CFI never learned them.

The accelerated nature of flight training now has pilot candidates going from certificate to certificate or rating to rating—read that check ride to check ride—in minimal time and minimal hours. They learn the check rides, and many have very little solo flight experience—perhaps not more than 10 hours, because there is a new shortcut that allows the post-private pilot to fly with a CFI on board and log what used to be required solo time as Pilot Performing Duties of Pilot in Command (PDPIC).

While this builds the hours of the CFI it also robs the learner of the opportunity to gain valuable experience flying solo as in truly solo, in the airplane. The particularly distressing part of this is that a great many of these learners go on to be CFIs that want to be good teachers and experience builders rather than time builders—but they aren’t aware of the deficit they are operating under.

A friend who is a DPE sees this, as he has been tasked with flying with these underprepared pilot applicants who have the minimum required hours of solo flight time who were trained by a CFI with minimal hours “who is greener than Gumby” and doesn’t know how to teach beyond parroting what was taught to them by a (most likely) equally green CFI. Instead of trying to be better teachers, some of these inexperienced CFIs who are time builders focus on “workarounds,” like memorizing the knowledge tests or shopping for a Santa Claus DPE.

CFI Sets the Example

We learn that accidents are usually caused by a chain of events. I submit that a chain of events is also responsible for the normalization of deviance. When we accept the behavior of Hand-It-to-Me Henry, who wants the answers but won’t look things up for himself, or Pencil-Whip Penny, who expects to be signed off with minimal effort, we are enabling the poor behavior.

Flight instructing will make you a better pilot, and you may be surprised at how fulfilling it can be. That being said, it most definitely isn’t for everyone. If you don’t want to be an instructor—especially if you feel it is beneath you—go tow banners, fly as someone’s safety pilot, do pipeline patrol, talk your way into the right seat of a charter operation, or build hours any way besides teaching. 

• READ MORE: Separation Anxiety: When Your Instructor Moves on, Your Logbook Tells the Story

If you are going to teach, expect there will be a learning curve. Ask an experienced CFI you trust and respect to allow you to sit in on a ground lesson, or ride in the back during a flight lesson—always ask the learner if you can do this because you are riding on their dime. The learner is doing you a solid, so perhaps you could offer to help pay for their airplane or thank them by buying lunch. 

It’s more than teaching someone to fly. The flight instructor is the first point of contact most  pilots have in the aviation industry. Do your best to be a positive role model from day one. If you make a mistake, learn from it, and don’t repeat it or allow it to become the first link in a chain of normalization of deviance.

Draw upon your experience with both the good CFIs you had and the poor ones—the latter may teach you what not to do. Strive to be the instructor the learners remember favorably because you helped them build a solid foundation of skills and set the example you hope they follow in their piloting career by not taking shortcuts.

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

The post Normalization of Deviance Can Cause Problems for Pilots appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

About two weeks had passed since that fateful day in 2001 that none of us will ever forget. In uniform, with my wife’s hand in mine, we approached a NYPD officer standing on the corner, a couple blocks away from Ground Zero. Pedestrian barricades surrounded the area.

“Can we go through?” I asked, motioning at a small gap. The police officer nodded, a solemn look on his face.

“Did you fly the kind of airplane that hit the towers?” the officer asked.

“Actually, I flew the airplane that hit the North Tower,” I said. “It’s in my logbook.” 

I had said those words in my head but repeating them out loud unexpectedly punctuated their significance with a lump in my throat. The police officer took a moment to process my statement and then remarked, “Oh, wow.” He gestured toward the gap and said simply, “Be careful.” 

I wasn’t quite sure if his statement was a warning for the physical hazards of the area or the emotional assimilation of the scene. After attempting to survey the surrealistic nature of the destruction, and understanding how many human lives were obliterated, I took the officer’s statement to mean both.

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It’s been over two decades since the attacks on 9/11. All of us were seemingly connected in some way to the horrors of that day. Someone knew someone deeply affected by the shock of that terrible moment in history. As an airline pilot, I felt especially violated. The machines that we revered had become weapons of mass destruction. We had allowed our sanctuaries to be infiltrated.

Are we in a better place now? Are crews better able to protect our passengers from a terrorist threat? The short answer is yes, but it’s important to understand the evolution of why. Because the answer has many elements.

The day that U.S. airspace was opened to airline traffic after 9/11, I huddled my crew in an LAX jet bridge before we stepped through the entry door of our B-757 to begin preparation for our trip back home to New York. Trepidation was firmly anchored on the faces of our flight attendants. I did my best to assure them that the copilot and I would do everything in our power to keep us all safe, but we needed their eyes to report anything even slightly suspicious.

At that point, nothing had really changed in terms of security protocols. My airline hadn’t communicated much in the way of new procedures. Our union website was full of hyperbole and rudimentary ideas on how best to protect the cockpit. The most popular technique was to make certain one pilot had immediate access to the crash ax. We were mixed on how best to handle in-flight cockpit door access for lavatory breaks and crew meals.

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But one important aspect had changed overnight—our mentality. We now understood our workplace had an unpredictable external threat that we hadn’t trained to manage. Airline protocol had been to cooperate with such threats. The outcomes of hijackings in the 1960’s and ’70s were mostly successful if the crew ceded to demands. 

Except for the brutal beating and execution of U.S. Navy diver Robert Stethem by Hezbollah terrorists, the 17-day hijacking ordeal of TWA Flight 847 on June 14, 1985, ended without further casualties because the late Captain John Testrake mostly cooperated. 

Perhaps partly through anger and grief, the old line of thinking transformed quickly into protecting the cockpit at all costs. With the U.S. government and airlines accepting the fact that private security firms had been inept at the passenger-screening process, the new mentality ushered in the formation of the Transportation Security Administration (TSA).

Type-A airline pilots weren’t going to sit on their laurels, especially since we were the last line of defense. Pilots’ unions lobbied and eventually won the ability to carry a loaded weapon into the cockpit. The voluntary Federal Flight Deck Officers (FFDO) program was born.

I resisted initially, thinking that the idea was a dangerous, knee-jerk response. But after interaction on a flight with my first FFDO copilot, I began to change my attitude. Despite having vocalized my concerns, the copilot’s calm and relaxed reaction convinced me that the FFDO screening process was selecting the right people.

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Regardless of my personal convictions about guns, I deemed a weapon one of the things in the toolbox to protect my passengers, so I applied for the program. That said, aside from the mechanics of self-defense and shooting the gun, the mindset required to protect the cockpit was one of the most significant aspects of the air marshal-conducted, FFDO training. The mindset came to me in an epiphany during a scenario-based exercise that I will never forget.

Another piece to the new mentality was strategically significant. It originated from an extremely important source. Rather than become victims to the terrorist threat, passengers were beginning to understand that their participation was essential. The heroics aboard United Airlines Flight 93 that crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, became a rallying cry. It wasn’t long before reports of passengers subduing lunatics aboard flights circulated. These lunatics weren’t terrorists, but it proved people weren’t going to sit idly by while someone attempted to take control of their flight.

Beyond the post-9/11 public attitude adjustment, other security measures were being put into place. Aside from the U.S. initiative of terrorist hunting, the TSA was defining its protocols. Granted, we started with confiscation of nail clippers and moved on to 3-ounce restrictions on toothpaste, but it was a work in progress.

Eventually, TSA refined its procedures and now seems to be performing the screening process in a reasonable and certainly much safer manner. Behind the scenes, we have a much more robust system of security threat identification, with the no-fly list being a good example. Having acknowledged the failures of communication reported pre-9/11, intelligence agencies within the U.S. and across the world are sharing more information. 

At my airline, many of us will always remember the resounding clunk of the aluminum bar that swung across the cockpit door as it locked into place. The bar was the first initiative in maintaining physical cockpit security after 9/11. It was a symbolic and sad reflection of having crossed the threshold into the dawning of a new age in aviation.

Before, opening the cockpit door was a simple matter of using a key that pilots and flight attendants all had in their possession—a key that, at least on Boeing aircraft, opened any airplane’s cockpit door.

Now, the flight deck door is constructed with reinforced Kevlar panels. A code must be entered in an electronic keypad for the door to unlock. The pilots control entry electronically regardless of the code.

Additionally, all airlines have procedures and protocols for in-flight access to the cockpit. And finally, don’t assume your flight attendants will become submissive to an act of aggression. Many have been trained in self-defense tactics beyond that required during their recurrent training—the same for pilots.

Has the airline industry mitigated the terrorist threat after 9/11? Yes, but it’s an evolving process that requires everyone’s participation. For those airline pilots that aren’t old enough to remember that awful day, please learn from our mistakes. Complacency is one of our worst enemies.

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

The post A Perspective on Cockpit Security since 9/11 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

We’re multifaceted individuals with diverse interests that usually make meeting new people a fascinating experience. Case in point, I once met a person who collects banana stickers—that’s right, the Dole, Chiquita, and countless other brand stickers that we all see and ignore. He can’t get enough, and as it turns out, he’s not alone.

Aside from the fun of amassing a collection of thousands of stickers, being part of a group of people with a shared interest also enabled him to build a network of friends, all assisting each other around the globe (which also allows him to travel to far-flung reaches of the planet). I suspect global travel wasn’t his initial plan when he started collecting banana stickers, but it was certainly a nice byproduct of the process.

Being part of a group of like-minded people has many benefits beyond personal connection.

In aviation, aircraft owners, pilots, and aficionados band together in model- and manufacturer-specific groups. Collectively, a powerful block of consumers can help resolve a common issue or move an OEM in a certain direction to improve a product for everyone. 

• READ MORE: The Great Circle Route

On the OEM side, I once worked for an early stage aircraft manufacturer who, like all aircraft OEMs, had its share of aircraft squawks that generated customer complaints at a pace commensurate with production increases. 

Rather than attempting to address an array of individual squawks from a growing consumer base, we asked the owners group to form a committee whose job it was to survey members to identify the most common complaints with the biggest pain points. 

Working in partnership with the committee, we agreed to focus on the top 10 issues identified by the members of the owners group. Once we came to an agreement that any one issue was resolved satisfactorily, that item was removed from the list and another squawk was added.

The feedback and process helped improve customer satisfaction, fostered brand affinity, increased trust, improved the production process and ultimately, the finished product. Working together in good faith led by a team of dedicated people helped both parties move the needle farther, faster.

On a much larger scale, our industry associations play a similar role. Associations like AOPA, EAA, NBAA, GAMA, and others, all serve specific constituents, and in some cases, have overlapping purposes that increase their collective power. But what’s most important is that we as individuals find the association(s) whose objectives and purpose align most closely with our own interests and support them through membership, proxy voting, letter writing, fundraising, and more. 

If we don’t have the time, energy, or connections to lobby lawmakers ourselves in order to help preserve rights or advocate for legislation that protects our vested interests, we need to support the groups that do. In this case, our industry associations are the full-time professionals who work diligently to protect something we all hold dear, our freedom to fly in whatever form that takes.  

While associations have an essential function in preserving our freedom to fly, they also play an equally important role in the process of cultivating the next generation of private, commercial, and military aviators and aviation enthusiasts. 

Efforts to introduce youth to careers in aerospace, cyberspace, and outer space through STEM education and education career training need support, volunteers, and funding. My charge to all of us is to find something that interests you like AOPA Airport Support Network, EAA Young Eagles, Civil Air Patrol aerospace education, or any number of other public benefit flying organizations and associations and get even more involved where you can.

Chief among our roles as aviators and enthusiasts is to also be good stewards of general aviation so future generations can build on what has been accomplished thus far and enjoyed for more than 120 years. 

Even if joining one more thing isn’t something you have bandwidth for, invite an acquaintance to fill an empty seat and introduce someone new to the joy of flying.

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

The post It’s All in the Power of Association appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

It’s great to call them friends, but the conversation topic was grim: “What in the hell is going on at Lunken Airport?” Sure enough, the front-page headline in the Sunday Cincinnati newspaper shouted, “What’s Next for Lunken Airport…Cincinnati’s tiny, aging airfield…and what’s ahead for the struggling airport’s second century?”

“Aging”? OK. “Struggling”? I don’t think so. Mismanaged? You bet!

After the inevitable COVID-19 pandemic slowdown, Lunken general aviation and corporate traffic recovered dramatically. Recently there have been 10-to-15-plus jet operations each hour and an increase of 100,000 total operations in each of the past two years. Three thriving flight schools, plus private and corporate traffic, keep the control tower busy from 0700 to 2300 local time every day.

But the city is tearing out one of three runways—the oldest one that’s parallel to the primary, 6,100-foot 21L-02R. It has multiple functioning instrument approaches, lighting, and markings, but eliminating 21R leaves only a shorter runway, 7-25, which is unusable for airplanes over 10,000 pounds. gross weight and whenever the long runway is active because of crossing approach paths.

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Cincinnati Municipal Airport-Lunken Field (KLUK)  has long been home to large and small corporate flight operations with multiple business aircraft, including Procter & Gamble (on the field since 1950), Kroger, NetJets/Executive Jet Management, American Financial Corp., and more. These days there are more smaller jets and turboprops (Pilatus, TBM, etc.) that increase jet light turbine operations to about 250 daily.

The flight schools are seeing unprecedented growth with student pilots flying for fun or business and many pursuing airline careers. Lunken Flight Training, a Part 141 school, occupies two of the original three brick hangars built for the Embry-Riddle Company in 1927, and it’s swamped with students and renters. 

Years ago, Cincinnati Aircraft was where I launched my 6,000 hours of instructing and, much later, was a busy DPE. Jay Schmalfuss (c’mon, Cincinnati is a German town) has turned it into an impressive operation. Sitting in on one of its weekly huddles, I learned operations have risen 30 percent this year, following a 30 percent increase the year before. Its fleet includes 10 Cessna 172s and four Diamonds with more on the way.   

The FAA and the city also continue to demand that one of those three historic hangars be demolished because of its proximity to the Runway 25 takeoff area. This once beautiful, abandoned building has badly deteriorated—sad to watch. This most ornate of the three hangars has lasted for nearly 100 years with nobody crashing into it. From the ’50s through the ’80s, it was the place to learn to fly or keep your airplane. The exterior was classic art deco, and the interior offices were elegant, like something out of a movie. 

That art-deco terminal building—also now abandoned–was built with Works Progress Administration funds in 1936 and ’37. Flooding had been a danger (hence the nickname “Sunken Lunken”), but pumps, levies, and other flood-control measures tamed that problem from the adjacent Ohio and Little Miami rivers.

• READ MORE: Perusing Some Old Logbooks

The terminal’s beautiful lobby had a number of ticket counters for scheduled airlines when Lunken was once the city’s main airport and the world’s first and largest municipal facility. In the ’30s, American Airlines based at Lunken and operated schedules with Curtiss Condors and DC-3s. American opened its original Sky Chef restaurant in the building.

But after World War II the search was on for a larger airport. Federal funds were available, and across the Ohio River in northern Kentucky, a military field had been built during the war. Alben Barkley was a Kentucky Democrat and vice president under Democrat President Harry Truman, while Ohio was a solidly Republican state. So, it’s no mystery why the “Greater Cincinnati” airport was built on that property near Covington, Kentucky (thus the “KCVG” designator), and the major airlines abandoned Lunken for what is now Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International.

When I came to the airport in the early ’60s, the terminal building housed the control tower as well as a Flight Service Station, offices, the Airman’s Club, and the Sky Galley (once Sky Chef) restaurant. Any night of the week, the restaurant was crowded with airport and nearby racetrack people. The food was pretty good, and the bar was always jumping. 

I met Ebby Lunken there, we got engaged, and I worked for his Midwest Airways while getting private, commercial, and instructor ratings. When the little airline closed, Ebby moved to a second-floor office, and I played secretary to his (pre-Part 135) charter operation, booking trips on his DC-3 and Lockheed 10s in the mornings (and climbing out a window to tend a thriving herb garden on the roof). Afternoons and evenings, I flight instructed and eventually opened my own school. 

I’m no expert on city politics, but I’m pretty sure the City of Cincinnati knows as much about airports as I do about quantum physics. They hired a commission which recommended the airport needs to generate between $8 million and $27 million, and a new manager whose main qualification is he’s always loved airplanes and is “anxious to do whatever the city wants.”

So, all hangar rents have increased at Lunken Airport, and I have to get rid of the 1942 John Deere tractor stored in my hangar for a corporate pilot friend. That’s fair enough, but with Runway 21R gone and corporate hangars (no T-hangars) extending out into the middle of this essentially one-runway airport, the impact on us little guys and student traffic will be devastating. You can’t easily insert touch-and-go traffic between frequent jet operations.

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I wonder if all the fences and locked gates installed after 9/11 are the real reason that no bombings or hijackings have occurred at Lunken or any other GA airport. But sadly there’s no curious teenage eyes peering through to learn about flying anymore. 

Have we surrendered too much freedom to government mandates? Painfully, the Lunken Airport I’ve known and hung around for 62 years is becoming something very different. I’ve flown, loved, laughed, cried, crunched a few airplanes, and made countless friends at this old place. I’d sit in the control tower on crummy days and, even now, they call me by name.

I taught hundreds of people to fly and issued licenses to hundreds more from this field. It’s a special place that will always be my “Home Sweet Airport.”

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

The post Cincinnati Will Always Be My ‘Home Sweet Airport’ appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

One of them is the wing loading, that is, the airplane’s weight divided by its wing area. The other is the maximum lift coefficient of the wing, which coincides with its stalling angle of attack.

Extreme aircraft—ones with extremely high thrust-to-weight ratios, for instance, or powered lift—are exempt from this rule, but they form a small minority.

“Lift coefficient” may be a discouraging term for the mathematically challenged, but it’s simply the ratio between the amount of lift a wing produces and the dynamic pressure of the air striking it. The dynamic pressure of moving air is what you feel when the wind blows or when (if you are a dog) you stick your head out of the window of a moving car.

The word “dynamic” is added to distinguish this kind of impact pressure from the ambient, or “static,” atmospheric pressure. At sea level, dynamic pressure in pounds per square foot (psf)  is equal to .0026 times the speed (in mph) squared (use .0034 for knots).

The greatest lifting force a wing can produce per unit of area is the product of its maximum lift coefficient and the available dynamic pressure. Therefore, the lowest speed at which a wing can stay aloft is the speed at which dynamic pressure is equal to the wing loading divided by the maximum lift coefficient.

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Notwithstanding the simplicity of this relationship, people never cease telling tall tales about stalling speeds. I ran across this example in a Wikipedia article about the Antonov An-2, the big radial-engined biplane that was once as ubiquitous in Russia as the Cessna 172 is here:

“According to the operating handbook, the An-2 has no stall speed. A note from the pilot’s handbook reads: ‘If the engine quits in instrument conditions or at night, the pilot should pull the control column full aft and keep the wings level. The leading-edge slats will snap out at about 64 km/h (40 mph) and when the airplane slows to a forward speed of about 40 km/h (25 mph), the airplane will sink at about a parachute descent rate until the aircraft hits the ground.’”

Parenthetically, the reason the An-2 “has no stall speed” is not that it is able to stand still in the air but that its elevator does not have sufficient authority to raise the nose to the point where the wing will stall.

Like the Helio Courier, the SOCATA Rallye, and many other STOL airplanes, the An-2 has automatic leading-edge slats that pop out at low speed to squirt high-velocity air back along the upper surface of the wing and thereby delay the stall. In addition to its leading-edge slats, the An-2 has full-span slotted flaps—the outer segments of the upper wing’s flaps double as ailerons.

There’s nothing magical about this combination of high lift devices. Its properties, along with those of a slew of other combinations of slats, flaps and slots, were pretty thoroughly documented in 1932 in NACA’s Technical Report 427. Its authors, incidentally, included Fred Weick, who would go on to design another airplane whose limited elevator authority made it hard to stall: the Ercoupe.

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Your results may vary, but TR 427 reported that the leading-edge slat allowed the wing to gain another 7 degrees of angle of attack before stalling, and its maximum lift coefficient rose from around 2.0 to 2.25. It’s noteworthy that the increase in stalling angle of attack from 12 to 19 degrees was proportionally much larger than the gain in maximum lift coefficient: The slat delays the stall more than it increases the lift.

The actual maximum lift coefficient of an airplane is always lower than the “section coefficient” obtained from wind tunnel tests. But let us charitably assume that the An-2 really does achieve a maximum lift coefficient of 2.25. What is its minimum speed?

Its wing area is 770 square feet and its gross weight 12,000 pounds, so its wing loading is around 15 psf. Dividing by 2.25, we find that a dynamic pressure of 6.7 psf is needed to keep it aloft. The minimum speed of the An-2 is therefore the airspeed at which the dynamic pressure is 6.7 psf.

That speed is 51 mph.

But let’s generously give our An-2 a single occupant, an hour’s fuel, and no cargo. Its weight is now around 8,000 pounds, and the required dynamic pressure is down to 4.5 psf.

The minimum speed is 42 mph. 

So where does this 25 mph business come from?

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Setting aside mendacity and venality, the reason for all physically implausible claims about stalling speeds is airspeed indicator error. Pitot-static systems in airplanes are unreliable at low speeds, in part because the instruments are not optimized for accuracy at very low dynamic pressures, but also because pitot tubes go astray when wind hits them at an angle.

The prayerful An-2 pilot holding the yoke all the way back sees the ASI needle trembling around 20 mph, and that is the stalling speed that he reports. The aeronautical engineer knows this is nonsense, but he doesn’t want to spoil the fun and so he stays mum.

Power, to be sure, affects stalling speed. Prop wash over the wings increases their lift, but in a single-engine airplane like the An-2 the propwash affects only a small fraction of the wing area. Tilting the thrust vector upward also helps. If the An-2 is flown at an angle of attack of 19 degrees, a third of its 1,000 hp engine’s thrust acts upward. But this will still not bring the speed down to 20 mph, where the dynamic pressure is only 1 psf.

Illusions about extremely low stall speeds are encouraged by airshow flying, in which the effect of wind can be mistaken for a property of the airplane. Confusion between airspeed and ground speed is endemic to aviation, and the Wikipedia article on the An-2 contains an example: 

“…Pilots of the An-2 have stated that they are capable of flying the aircraft in full control at 48 km/h (30 mph)…This slow stall speed makes it possible for the aircraft to fly backwards relative to the ground: if the aircraft is pointed into a headwind of roughly 56 km/h (35 mph), it will travel backwards at 8 km/h (5 mph) whilst under full control.”

As an occasional editor of Wikipedia articles, I was tempted to delete this silly paragraph entirely. But why deny another reader a chuckle? Perhaps, to more vividly emphasize the remarkable properties of the An-2, I could just emend it to read, “…if the aircraft is pointed into a 150 km/h (92 mph) gale, it will travel backwards at 102 km/h (63 mph)—whilst under full control!”

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

The post Explaining the Fiction of Minimum Speed appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

One aircraft in particular, the P55 Tornado, caught the attention of enthusiasts by winning the prestigious Giro di Sicilia air race. From that success, the family gained enough notoriety and confidence to start the first company—Partenavia.

From humble, pre-World War II beginnings to multiple state-of-the-art facilities today, Tecnam strives to be a dominant player in the piston market. The plan to find niches that can be exploited and dominated by aircraft designed to be class leaders has served the company well and is gaining traction. Tecnam produces a range of aircraft from light sport aircraft, to piston twins used in short haul commercial applications, to the recent 2024 FLYING Innovation Award winner two-seat trainer P-Mentor, capable of taking students from zero time through instrument and commercial. 

The upscale variant of the P2010, the Gran Lusso, is another example of the company’s ability to fill a void with a well-designed product.

The P2010 (or “twenty-ten”) Gran Lusso, like all current Tecnam aircraft, begins its model designation with the letter “P” that pays homage to the proud Pascale family lineage—no harm there. The number that follows the P indicates the year when the design was born and the aircraft began to take shape. The challenge here is two-fold. First, aircraft development takes years to advance from paper airplane to fully certified aircraft. Thus by the time a model appears on the market, the model name gives it the illusion of being a couple years old. For example, the 2024 Gran Lusso I tested is dubbed the P2010. Second, the naming convention doesn’t provide much indication as to where various products fit in the model line-up. For example, the P2002 is a single, the P2006 is a twin, the P2008 is a single, the P2010 is a single, and the P2012 is also a twin. 

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But what’s in a name? In the case of the 2024 P2010 Gran Lusso, the thing to focus on is why the aircraft is deemed Gran Lusso, Italian for “grand luxury.” The aircraft is elegant looking, tastefully appointed, and its refinements (thanks largely to its FADEC turbo-diesel powerplant) include simplicity of operation from one-button start to the elimination of both mixture and prop controls. 

Airframe

The aircraft has attractive, sleek contours, common among composite fuselages, accentuated by complementary finish of a beautiful paint scheme. Italian fashion models have long been heralded for their curvaceous lines and chiseled features, and the Gran Lusso has similar sex appeal on its own runway. 

Interestingly, the P2010 variants have three different tail configurations based on what is slung firewall forward. Empennage configuration changes slightly with different powerplants—Continental CD-170 (170 hp), Lycoming IO-360 (180 hp), and Lycoming IO-390 (215 hp)—to achieve the desired handling characteristics. Also curious is the blend of airframe construction methodology, including a metal wing mated to a composite fuselage. 

The beauty of composite construction lies in the speed of production (with far fewer parts and labor required), its favorable weight-to-strength ratio versus aircraft aluminum, and the ability to craft complex shapes seamlessly (with lower parasitic drag) from large-scale molds. However, carbon fiber materials are generally more expensive than aircraft-grade aluminum. Consequently, even with the added production time of riveting overlapping skins to stamped metal ribs and bulkheads, aluminum construction can be more cost-effective. Some may argue that making metal field repairs may also be easier in the case of hangar rash or bird strike. 

• READ MORE: Ultimate Issue: We Fly the Cessna T182T Skylane

Regardless of the manufacturing strategy, the airframe is a thing of beauty with attention to detail in such mundane items as a door handle portends that no detail is too small to be thoughtfully designed. And speaking of doors, the aircraft also boasts another thoughtful feature rare in a four-place piston single—a rear passenger door (more on that later). 

Cabin

Approaching luxury automotive fit and finish best describes the interior in a single sentence. Legacy aircraft designs have long perpetuated an odd juxtaposition between the bougieness of what one drives to the airport and what one flies away.

Aircraft designed in the 21st century have all benefited from and exploited a path that brings the aircraft experience closer to the auto interior experience (noise level aside). And given what new pistons single retail for these days compared to luxury cars, making the aircraft feel like a luxury auto experience helps make the price tag seem like a better value for those who need the justification. 

In the Gran Lusso, everything the pilot and passengers see, touch, and interface with has a premium feel, most of which is wrapped in Italian leather and hand-stitched—the French way. The interior is also available in six color schemes with carbon-fiber inlays.

Vents, cleverly ducted from the front of the engine cowl to the panel provide an immediate airflow for cooling upon engine start. Even if the fuselage has been turned into a terrarium by the summer heat, the airflow facilitates evaporative cooling until the temperature lapse rate of higher altitudes substitutes for air conditioning.

The front seats are electronically adjustable up and down, and manually fore and aft. At 6-foot-1, I had ample leg room without the seat at the rear stop leaving extra leg room for back-seat occupants. The rear passenger door makes ingress and egress more elegant than adjusting seats and seat backs and clambering from front to back. Even with the front seats fully aft, the rear door provides an unobstructed entry portal. Once comfortably seated, passengers will find ample options for charging devices, lighting, and cooling.

The baggage area is also flexible and accommodating. The rear seats are relatively easy to remove as are the baggage-area panels, making it easy to load larger, longer items like downhill skis through the rear passenger door, serving as a much larger cargo door.

Avionics

Garmin provides the interface for the last two-thirds of the aviate–navigate–communicate equation. The G1000NXi suite coupled to a GF700 autopilot is an increasingly familiar and incredibly robust panel. Both the G1000NXi and GFC700 have feature enhancements not found in earlier iterations.

The G1000 suite receives plenty of attention, largely because it has become so popular in new aircraft like the ones we cover in FLYING. In reality, fewer than 20,000 aircraft in the fleet boast G1000 avionics, so it’s still worth discussing what’s new. 

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The NXi version has an updated multifunction display (MFD) featuring a split-screen feature. This allows the pilot to have more pages visible, thereby reducing the need to switch between them to display desired information. The MFD screen can be split horizontally, vertically, or a combination of both for maximum customization. 

U.S. operators will benefit from enhanced terrain awareness through the addition of color-coded contouring when the aircraft is 2,000 feet (green shading), 1,000 feet (yellow), and 100 feet (red) agl. Map options include VFR sectional or IFR enroute.

Wireless connectivity now enables the pilot to stream information such as traffic and weather between compatible devices and apps so animated radar imagery can be overlaid on the MFD and the HSI inset on the PFD. Users can also transfer flight plans created on a remote device directly to the G1000NXi. 

The GFC 700 also includes visual approach capability for vectors or straight-in approaches with a coupled vertical flight path down to pilot-selectable minimums. 

The Gran Lusso’s G1000 is also equipped with features including synthetic vision (optional) and basic envelope protection in what Garmin calls ESP—electronic stability and protection. The system helps avoid loss-of-control scenarios by providing increasingly stronger forced feedback through the yoke if pitch or roll exceeds programmed limits. If the system is activated for an extended period, the autopilot will bring the aircraft back to straight and level flight. This feature can help avoid inadvertent stalls or other loss of control scenarios possibly induced by spatial disorientation.

The good news is, first, the forced feedback can be relatively easily overcome with firm control inputs, and second, the system can also be manually disabled for training purposes.

Engine

The Gran Lusso is powered by an overhead cam, liquid-cooled, fuel-injected, FADEC-controlled, turbocharged, intercooled, high compression, jet-A burning 170 hp powerplant. If that litany of engine tech sounds like something you’d find in an auto brochure, you’d be correct. This Continental CD-170 is a heavily modified Mercedes-Benz engine capable of a cruise speed of 140 knots on less than 9 gallons an hour.

Another welcome surprise is the much lower-than-expected ambient cabin noise than one generally experiences in a legacy piston single. While it isn’t the 65 decibel noise level of your family truckster at highway speed, in-flight conversations without a headset are possible with power pulled back to cruise.

Walkaround

My demo pilot for the day was Nate Weisman of CieloBlu, one of Tecnam’s U.S. dealers. Weisman is an instructor, demo and ferry pilot, salesman, marketer, and just all-around good guy. He is just what every aircraft dealer needs—someone who knows the aircraft, is easy to fly with, and can give you pointers while demonstrating.

During the walkaround for the aircraft  preflight inspection, Weisman pointed out the usual and customary items and also some that, again, speak to the attention to detail on the P2010. 

For example, there’s a small, almost unnoticeable drip sill attached above the front doors to divert rainwater away from the opening. Additionally, rather than hanging down into airflow, the wing fuel sumps are sculpted into the end of a small fairing. The baggage door doesn’t require a key and adds a level of security through a hidden release located inside the cabin.

Performance

Start-Up

The turbo diesel adds a number of practical benefits to this beautiful aircraft. But if you didn’t get a whiff of jet fuel while walking around the aircraft, the start-up procedure gives the first indication of what’s bolted to the firewall.

The aircraft has a single push-button start while still requiring a prestart checklist. The procedure is basically, flip the master on, engine master on, push and hold the engine start button until the engine fires, then release. 

Unlike gas-powered internal combustion engines, diesel engines do not have spark plugs but rather glow plugs to assist in the combustion process. Since glow plugs take a few seconds to heat up, there is a very brief pause required before cranking an engine to start. Once the GLOWSYS ACTV cas message appears, simply push and hold the start button until the engine fires.

Taxi

The fully castering nosewheel requires differential braking to taxi, but it also enables a very tight turning radius. Since the nosewheel isn’t connected in any way to the rudder, dancing with the rudder pedals isn’t going to provide any steering inputs while taxiing because the weak aerodynamic forces on the rudder at such low speeds typically will make the rudder ineffective.

Gently using the toe brakes for differential braking will keep you aligned on the centerline. For those who haven’t taxied a castering nosewheel, this may take a bit of driving around the airport to get a good feel for it.

When we taxied out to the runway for the demo flight, I couldn’t quite get a coordinated feel for where to place my feet to best manipulate the toe brakes. I wanted to rest my heels on the floor but couldn’t quite get the feel I wanted on the toe brakes. After landing, I realized that I could rest the balls of my feet on the top of the rudder pedals and work the toe brakes by rocking my toes forward.

Run-Up 

The benefits of the dual-channel FADEC engine were obvious and reduced workload. With no mags to test, and no prop to cycle, the run-up is a fairly simple process with the fully automated and redundant FADEC system testing itself—first FADEC channel A, then toggling to test the FADEC B channel.

The only other action was selecting takeoff flaps. There are only two flap settings, takeoff (15 degrees) and landing (40 degrees). That said, it probably took longer to write this paragraph than it did to complete the run-up.

Takeoff

Automated engine controls manage prop setting and fuel metering, leaving only a throttle lever in the center console for managing power.

With everything in the green and the modified Mercedes diesel up to temperature, we brought the power up and launched out of Appleton, Wisconsin, on a hot summer midday before EAA AirVenture with clouds building around us. 

After rotation, we targeted the century mark for the climb up to 6,500 to have some fun and see how the ESP would react. I was reasonably impressed by the climb ability—as a rule, diesel engines generally have more torque than gas. This makes the P2010 with the CD-170 a powerful combination that likes to climb yet doesn’t require an unusual amount of right rudder trim. 

Once stabilized at a safe altitude and clearing turns combined with familiarization with the controls and sight picture, we executed a power-on stall.

Pulling back on the yoke made the airspeed tape scroll below Vx and filled the windscreen with nothing but blue sky—one would be hard-pressed not to recognize the warning signs of an approaching power-on stall. As expected, the ESP system kept trying to convince me to lower the nose as I kept trying to put the yoke in my lap. The power-on stall was unremarkable and the aircraft recovered as expected.

The power-off stall characteristics felt a bit more squeamish with what I deemed to be a tendency to drop a wing more abruptly than I expected. Not disconcerting, just surprising, which brought up another point I was not aware of. Unlike some high-wing aircraft with gravity feed systems, the P2010 pilot must monitor fuel and switch fuel tanks periodically to maintain balance. Keeping an eye on fuel is a part of the routine scan, setting a timer is always wise, and programming a recurring MSG in the G1000 is also a great backup to help avoid a fuel imbalance that might aggravate a stall.

After a couple stalls, we leveled off and executed some steep turns that also woke up the ESP. As the bank angle increased beyond 30 degrees, an increasing amount of control input force was required to overcome ESP’s desire for the aircraft to rollout back to wings level. It would be difficult to overcontrol the aircraft with ESP on, but I can also envision times when I’d prefer to keep ESP off.

I also wanted to see if the Gran Lusso, which lived up to its name, also lived up to its marketing hype—I wanted to see 140 knots. With the GFC700 doing the flying, we pushed the throttle forward and yes, at 90 percent power on 8.9 gph, the airspeed tape scrolled to 140 ktas as advertised.

Conclusion

The Gran Lusso is a compelling product. At its core, it checks all three boxes for my trifecta of what a 21st century general aviation, cross-country aircraft design should be with regard to airframe, avionics, and powerplant.

Modern airframe—check.

While not fully composite, it includes a sleek, spacious fuselage that reduces weight and drag. The ramp presence is strong, the fit and finish is impeccable, and the interior appointments are stunning in this class of aircraft.

GA aircraft are expensive, no question. In the past however, the premium price didn’t seem to align with the technology, fit, finish, features, and comfort one might expect when reaching so deep into your retirement fund.

In this case, everything about the Gran Lusso seemed to indicate that no corners were cut in the process of delivering grand luxury. OK, maybe a heated seat would have been a nice addition—and a key fob to remotely illuminate underwing and interior LED lighting (I’ll be looking for that next).

Modern avionics—check.

The Garmin G100NXi suite needs no more explanation. The feature-rich package, digital autopilot, and safety attributes have altered the way many of us fly. There’s considerably more features in the NXi upgrade that aren’t covered here, but it will suffice to say that the G1000 is synonymous with modern avionics.

Modern powerplant—check.

The vast majority of GA aircraft are powered by very basic, generally low-tech, air-cooled engines designed in the previous century. While engine OEMs have made vast improvements over time in reliability, fuel delivery, electronic controls, and more, simply put, aviation engine technology has not kept pace with the modernization and performance found in today’s cars and motorcycles.

If a 4-cylinder liquid-cooled, double-overhead cam, motorcycle engine can produce more than 200 hp from only 1,000 cc displacement, why are we still slogging around with 360 ci air-cooled, pushrod engines pumping out 200 hp?

Granted it’s not easy. I get it, but you see the point. The Gran Lusso has a modern engine with arguably more reliability than its 1,800-hour TBR (time before replacement) would imply. 

Unlike other powerplants, the CD-170 is replaced, not overhauled, at the currently certified end of its service life. This could be because the OEM wants to eliminate the liability of having very hi-tech engines rebuilt in the field without proper tools, training, or parts. At the prescribed time, the engine is returned to the OEM for a core credit toward the purchase of a factory new, not remanufactured, engine.

But fear not, flying 100 hours per year still provides 18 years of enjoyment before TBR. And as for relative wear and tear comparison, 1,800 hours of operation may only equate to roughly five years of use in an auto application. Given the reliability of diesel engines, and the more than 10 millions hours of testing claimed by Continental on the engine, I suspect the CD-170 could fly considerably longer than the 1,800 TBR without flinching. So kudos for engine modernization. 

Perhaps what I find most compelling about the Gran Lusso is its mission capability and practicality. With an average useful load near 850 pounds and fuel efficiency of about 6.6 gph in cruise, it can be a four-place aircraft that can fill all four seats (depending on how carefully you choose your friends) and still have enough useful load remaining to carry the fuel needed to fly farther than the closest fuel stop.

The Tecnam Gran Lusso is a wonderful confluence of technology, features, luxury, and performance. With its production rate and growing popularity, the Gran Lusso may be as elusive as a dinner and drinks with an Italian model (but that certainly shouldn’t deter you from entertaining the possibility).

Cockpit at a Glance: 2024 Tecnam Gran Lusso

A. The Garmin G1000NXi suite coupled to the GFC700 digital autopilot boasts new features and supports options like synthetic vision and Flight Stream 510 to wirelessly stream data.

B. The Garmin flight management keypad provides push button data entry as an alternative to knob twisting.

C. The center console puts important controls like flaps, fuel valve, trim wheel, parking brake, and the single power control in one convenient location.

D. Approaching luxury automotive fit and finish, the interior is also available in six modern color schemes with carbon-fiber inlays.

Spec Sheet: 2024 Tecnam Gran Lusso

Price as Tested: $690,220 (including optional Synthetic Vision)

Certifications: FAA Part 23, Transport Canada Civil Aviation, European Union Aviation Safety Agency, and Civil Aviation Safety Authority (Australia)

Engine: Continental Aerospace Technologies CD-170 turbodiesel

Propeller: Three-blade MT MTV-6-R/190-69

Horsepower: 170 hp

Length: 25.95 ft.

Height: 9.32 ft.

Wingspan: 33.79 ft.

Wing Area:  149.6 sq. ft.

Wing Loading: at max gross weight = 17.98 lbs./sq. ft.

Power Loading: 16.01 lbs./hp

Cabin Width: 3.74 ft.

Cabin Length: 7.55 ft.

Max Takeoff Weight: 2,690 lbs.

Max Zero Fuel Weight: 1,687 lbs.

Standard Empty Weight: 1,841 lbs.

Max Baggage: 88 lbs. in baggage compartment

Useful Load: approx. 849 lbs., depending on options

Max Usable Fuel: 411.75 lbs. (61 gallons usable)

Service Ceiling: 18,000 ft.

Max Rate of Climb, MTOW, ISA, SL:  MTOW, ISA, SL:  579 fpm

Max Cruise Speed: 140 ktas

Max Range: 1,300 nm

Fuel Consumption at Max Cruise: 8.7 gph

Stall Speed, Flaps Up: flaps up 63 kias

Stall Speed, Full Flaps: flaps LND 49 kias

Takeoff Over 50 Ft. Obs: 2,306 ft. (ISA, sea level @ MTOW)

Landing Over 50 Ft. Obs: 1,808 ft. (ISA, sea level @ MTOW)

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

The post We Fly: Tecnam Gran Lusso appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

First, in April 1996, I had spent an hour in recurrent training in my Skyhawk. We had done some air work, including steep turns and slow flight, as well as some partial panel flying. As we returned to the Purdue University Airport (KLAF), my instructor suggested a no-flap landing, something I had not practiced since primary training nearly 10 years previously. It went well, and I was reminded that no-flap landings are faster and with a more nose-high attitude.

Second, a few days later I went with my daughter’s preschool class to visit the KLAF tower. The day was solid IFR with little activity, so the tower controllers had to be creative to entertain 15 5-year-olds. They brought out the light guns and the kids were captivated. 

The main event occurred a few days later when my wife, daughter and I flew to Kalamazoo, Michigan (KAZO), on an early Saturday morning. We had made this trip many times, and it proved the utility of a small airplane. Instead of spending seven tedious hours on the highway to spend five hours with my wife’s family, we spent three pleasant hours in the air to spend nine hours with her family. The flight was easy, we had a relaxing day with my in-laws, and in late afternoon we returned to the airport for the flight home.

• READ MORE: Everyone Should Pay Close Attention in the Cockpit

The walkaround was normal, the tanks were full, and with a forecast for “severe clear,” we were set for a relaxing flight home. On the run-up pad with the engine to 1,700 rpm, the mags checked out, and the oil pressure and suction were in the green. The ammeter showed a discharge with the landing light turned on and returned to center with the light off—well, maybe not completely center but close enough. After all, many a CFI had complained that these gauges in Skyhawks were not precise. A small voice in the back of my head said, “Hmm, maybe I should investigate that,” but I ignored the voice and we departed. 

On our IFR flight plan, as I spoke with air traffic controllers, the radio seemed scratchier than usual, but this was probably just some random electrical glitch, right? No. Just as the sun was setting, we lost all electrical power—no radios, no transponder, no lights, and, of course, no flaps. 

This happened as we were about 25 minutes from KLAF, but we were directly over a small airport where I had frequently practiced touch-and-goes. I told my wife that we could land immediately—without flaps—but otherwise all would be straightforward, and we could call a friend to fetch us. Alternatively, we could continue homeward. I explained that although ATC had lost our data block when the transponder lost power, the primary return was still visible on radar, moving steadily to KLAF. Chicago Center would tell the KLAF tower that a NORDO was inbound. We would fly 1,000 feet above pattern altitude, looking for the steady green light that meant we were cleared to land.

• READ MORE: Beloved Flight Instructor’s Lessons Continue to Replay in Airline Captain’s Head

My wife said that we should go ahead to KLAF. I was grateful for the vote of confidence. I grabbed my flashlight so that I could see the instruments and on we went. And it worked out exactly as I had told her: We approached KLAF above pattern altitude, saw the steady green light, entered the pattern, and made an easy landing in the dark with no landing light and no flaps. (And it was really dark—when we left KLAF that morning, I was wearing my prescription sunglasses and had left my regular glasses in the car in the hangar). After we had put the plane in the hangar, I called the tower and thanked the folks for their help. They confirmed that Chicago Center had forewarned them of my arrival and that they had alerted everyone in the pattern to be especially vigilant.

On the drive home, I reflected on the evening’s events. On the one hand, I was pleased that I had handled the emergency calmly and by the book. And I was grateful that the event had occurred in familiar airspace with no additional challenges associated with bad weather. On the other hand, I was annoyed that I had misread the signs that led to the emergency. 

What did I learn from the episode? 

First, periodically expand my scan of the panel to include instruments, such as the ammeter, that are on the far side of the panel. Second, receive recurrent training regularly to get feedback from a CFI about skills that may have grown rusty and should be practiced. Third, use the ATC system. These folks provide great service that can simplify a pilot’s tasks and can be a tremendous asset in an emergency. Fourth, when there are signs that something might be wrong, don’t weave a story to explain and then dismiss those signs. Instead, when the little voice says, “all is not right here,” pause to evaluate what’s going on.

Finally, keep a spare pair of glasses in the flight bag! 

This column first appeared in the July/August Issue 949 of the FLYING print edition.

The post Listening to That Inner Pilot Voice appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

A) Back Course (BC)

Sometimes, a back course (BC) is present even when it is into the prevailing winds instead of having a full ILS aligned with those winds. It might be for obstacles or equipment-positioning reasons that a glideslope is not able to be established from a particular direction. The BC is “the other side” of an ILS approach and traditionally requires a pilot to “reverse sense” while flying the approach. This means that instead of flying toward the deflected side for course alignment, a pilot would fly away from the direction, or, as most of us remember, “fly the needle to the ball.” Many modern avionics packages have HSI equipment or are digitally able to “flip” the signal and make it so a pilot doesn’t need to fly using reverse sensing. Knowing how your system works is critical to making sure you are correcting in the proper direction when flying this approach.

• READ MORE: Chart Wise: Charlottesville RNAV (GPS)-Y Rwy 21

B) Disregard Glideslope

Note 4 on this approach, like on many back-course approaches, indicates that a pilot should “disregard glideslope indications.” Glideslopes are typically generated on the opposite end of a runway when there is a back course and would lead a pilot along an incorrect descent path. This is a nonprecision approach,and a pilot should establish an appropriate descent rate to arrive at the minimum descent altitude before reaching the missed approach point.

C)  Discrete VOR and LOC Frequencies

On this approach the inbound course is generated through using the localizer (I-ESC) on 109.3. The VOR is also on the airport (ESC on 113.55), so be sure you are using the correct navigation source when you are inbound. This becomes especially confusing if you were using the VOR to navigate to the area and then along the DME ARC. Be sure to be selected to the LOC frequency for the inbound course.

• READ MORE: Chart Wise: Ocean City (KOXB) LOC Rwy 32

D) DME ARC Alternative

If you are flying this approach and don’t want to do the DME ARC to establish onto the approach, you can also track outbound from the VOR on a 092-degree radial to the KULAH waypoint, where you will intercept the localizer and then conduct a procedure turn after you are out past the waypoint, which is either 6 DME from the ESC VOR or 5.7 from the I-ESC LOC.

E) VDP and Map Differences

A visual descent point (VDP) is noted with the dark “V” at 1.1 DME from I-ESC, the localizer-based DME. A missed approach point (MAP) is noted at 0.5 DME from I-ESC and is where a pilot would need to go missed if they did not see the runway environment. Be careful not to confuse these DME readings with ones from the ESC VOR a pilot may have previously used to navigate onto the approach or while conducting a DME ARC.

F) Missed Hold Entry Turns Nonprotected Side

When going missed on this approach, a pilot would execute a climb to 2,500 feet, turn right back to the ESC VOR, and then hold. The turn in this case is toward the nonprotected side of the hold for the entry, and once established you will continue right turns while in the hold at 2,500 msl.

• READ MORE: Chart Wise: Spirit of St. Louis ILS 26L

G) Magnetic Disturbance Note

A note on the chart indicates that “magnetic disturbances of as much as 14 degrees exist at ground level in Escanaba.” A pilot is going to want to take that into account when setting their directional gyro. You might be best served to set it based on runway alignment rather than using a comparison to your magnetic compass.

This column first appeared in the July/August Issue 949 of the FLYING print edition.

The post Chart Wise: Escanaba (KESC) LOC BC Rwy 28 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.