Post by lionheart on Sept 23, 2006 0:06:17 GMT -5
I wanted to do a little 'road trip' in my new baby. The goal is a glass of wine at a quaint pub in the outskirts of Paris.. Starting point is the coast of England. The era is the earliest of times of aviation and the form of transportation is a well running AVRO Type F Prototype. This is a story like following of the trip, complete with screenshots.
No use of 'attitude' or 'altitude' instrumentents are used on this 'voyage'.
I started off from an airfield just south of the inlet for the great Thames river
Nothing really special about starting off, slow gentle climbout with fog limiting visibility of this early British morning to about 10 miles out.
I spot a ship as I enter the Channel airspace.
I have gained altitude and notice I that without the land below and barely able to see the water from the English Channel, that I dont know if I am
climbing or descending or if my wings are perpendicular with the horizon, as all I have for instrumentation are my compass, Revolutions per Minete
gauge, and my Miles Per Hour instrument. Nothing to say about altitude nor my attitude to the horizon... eeeeks...!
I continue having lowered my altitude, (what ever it may be) to where I can see the waves of the Channel better and continue on my heading of 120
degrees per my compass mounted before me by cylinder one of my trusty 5 cylinder radial.
I realise about 10 min's after departing the coast of Great Britain, that I didnt figure a compass heading, but had went with the heading of the
airfields runway. I am heading upwards and not directly accross the great Channel, so I change my compass heading to 180, due South.
The weather is humid and thick, cool and foggy. I am still within about 10 miles visibility and the engine is running strong and smooth, having cool
air to ingest. I am grateful. Almost time to break out my sandwich for a bit of brunch on my 'adventure'.
I am high over the beautiful countrysides of France now, having crossed the coastline successfully. It was a bit worrysome to lose my sense of climb
and 'uprightness' in the fog high over the Channel and no way to judge which way was up or if I was heading in a downwards attitude. Keeps one on
their toes I would suppose. But for now, I am over dry land, the humidity is slowly lessening and my plane is flying good on her course. I continue on
my journey, looking for the Sein river that will take me into the heart of Paris where I will find my goal, a glass of good French wine!
Along in my journey, I worry that I have flown to far north. I havent found the Sein river yet and so I head South a ways and low and behold, I see
buildings! Many buildings. This can mean only one thing, Paris! I have found Paris! In one day, I have travelled what was once great distances, and
only in a single day. I locate a river way and follow it into Paris' huge city and locate the Eiffel tower and I fly towards it. For some reason, its like a
goal to me. I fly next to it, my altitude only about 2/3rds that of the height of the tower. I pass it and now it is important to me to find a spot to land
at, a clearence of some sort, like a field, a lonesome roadway, anything that will take my frail bird for a waypoint to rebond with Earth.
At last, I find a hill of trees and head towards it. On my way, with engine at about 50% power and very low in altitude, enough to clear the beautiful
trees of Autumn, I make out a green field near the edge of the forested hill by Paris' outskirts, and I decide its worth trying to land at. I aim my
worthy bird between two trees and pull back on the engines throttle. The easy running radial goes to a purr and the prop becomes moderately more
visible as I focus on making it between the trees and putting down lightly without damaging my spoked wheels. If I damage my girl, I wont be home
for a while, so its time to be careful.
I put down and as I touch the green soft field, I chop the engines power, cutting off the fuel in the hopes I will slow faster so as not to make for the
buildings that are accross the way. The mighty little Avro F series slows, slows some more, and finally begins to come to a stop, the deafening
'quietness' of the outskirts of downtown Paris' suburbs upon me, the drone of the radial gone from my senses, which once was a fear and now a
great feeling.
I relax in my seat. I am here. I made it to Paris! I cant beleive it. I pat the ribs of my cockpit and speak kind thank-you's to my trusty plane and pop
the latch of the overhead door to my little cabin and prepare for my next journey, to find a quaint little French pub that serves a good glass of wine!
Bill
Lionheart Creations Ltd.
No use of 'attitude' or 'altitude' instrumentents are used on this 'voyage'.
I started off from an airfield just south of the inlet for the great Thames river
Nothing really special about starting off, slow gentle climbout with fog limiting visibility of this early British morning to about 10 miles out.
I spot a ship as I enter the Channel airspace.
I have gained altitude and notice I that without the land below and barely able to see the water from the English Channel, that I dont know if I am
climbing or descending or if my wings are perpendicular with the horizon, as all I have for instrumentation are my compass, Revolutions per Minete
gauge, and my Miles Per Hour instrument. Nothing to say about altitude nor my attitude to the horizon... eeeeks...!
I continue having lowered my altitude, (what ever it may be) to where I can see the waves of the Channel better and continue on my heading of 120
degrees per my compass mounted before me by cylinder one of my trusty 5 cylinder radial.
I realise about 10 min's after departing the coast of Great Britain, that I didnt figure a compass heading, but had went with the heading of the
airfields runway. I am heading upwards and not directly accross the great Channel, so I change my compass heading to 180, due South.
The weather is humid and thick, cool and foggy. I am still within about 10 miles visibility and the engine is running strong and smooth, having cool
air to ingest. I am grateful. Almost time to break out my sandwich for a bit of brunch on my 'adventure'.
I am high over the beautiful countrysides of France now, having crossed the coastline successfully. It was a bit worrysome to lose my sense of climb
and 'uprightness' in the fog high over the Channel and no way to judge which way was up or if I was heading in a downwards attitude. Keeps one on
their toes I would suppose. But for now, I am over dry land, the humidity is slowly lessening and my plane is flying good on her course. I continue on
my journey, looking for the Sein river that will take me into the heart of Paris where I will find my goal, a glass of good French wine!
Along in my journey, I worry that I have flown to far north. I havent found the Sein river yet and so I head South a ways and low and behold, I see
buildings! Many buildings. This can mean only one thing, Paris! I have found Paris! In one day, I have travelled what was once great distances, and
only in a single day. I locate a river way and follow it into Paris' huge city and locate the Eiffel tower and I fly towards it. For some reason, its like a
goal to me. I fly next to it, my altitude only about 2/3rds that of the height of the tower. I pass it and now it is important to me to find a spot to land
at, a clearence of some sort, like a field, a lonesome roadway, anything that will take my frail bird for a waypoint to rebond with Earth.
At last, I find a hill of trees and head towards it. On my way, with engine at about 50% power and very low in altitude, enough to clear the beautiful
trees of Autumn, I make out a green field near the edge of the forested hill by Paris' outskirts, and I decide its worth trying to land at. I aim my
worthy bird between two trees and pull back on the engines throttle. The easy running radial goes to a purr and the prop becomes moderately more
visible as I focus on making it between the trees and putting down lightly without damaging my spoked wheels. If I damage my girl, I wont be home
for a while, so its time to be careful.
I put down and as I touch the green soft field, I chop the engines power, cutting off the fuel in the hopes I will slow faster so as not to make for the
buildings that are accross the way. The mighty little Avro F series slows, slows some more, and finally begins to come to a stop, the deafening
'quietness' of the outskirts of downtown Paris' suburbs upon me, the drone of the radial gone from my senses, which once was a fear and now a
great feeling.
I relax in my seat. I am here. I made it to Paris! I cant beleive it. I pat the ribs of my cockpit and speak kind thank-you's to my trusty plane and pop
the latch of the overhead door to my little cabin and prepare for my next journey, to find a quaint little French pub that serves a good glass of wine!
Bill
Lionheart Creations Ltd.
