A Champion Record

It had been a somewhat tongue-in-cheek affair from start to finish, but I still had to smile when I got the letter: "Congratulations! Your speed record from Frederick to Athens claimed on April 14, 1992, has been approved as a U.S. national record."

And of course, I had to show off the letter to Lisa, my wife.

The missive from Art Greenfield, secretary, contest and records board, National Aeronautic Association, was official confirmation that I had added my name to the fine print — the very fine print — of aviation history. A few weeks later, an impressive plaque commemorating the achievement was to follow. So what if any yo-yo who could find his way from Point A to Point B could set a record? "Frederick to Athens" had a nice, global, Hellenic ring to it.

It all started with the need to do a story....

Founded in 1905 by the Wright brothers and other aeronautical pioneers, the NAA is the oldest aviation organization in the United States. Until 1926, it was the only source of pilot certificates in the nation. The official National Aero Club of the United States, the NAA is the U.S. representative to the Federation Aeronautique Internationale. The FAI, also founded in 1905, is the oldest international aviation organization and the sole authority for the establishment of international air and space records. The NAA sanctions all official U.S. aerospace records and has jurisdiction over some of the most prestigious awards in aviation, including the Collier Trophy and the Wright Brothers Memorial Trophy. Although it counts among its past and present members legendary aviation figures from Charles Lindbergh to Chuck Yeager, and nearly 30 aviation and space organizations are affiliated with the NAA, it's fair to say that the NAA has been overshadowed in recent years by larger, more politically active aviation groups.

Still dedicated to "the advancement of the art, sport, and science of aviation," the NAA today focuses primarily on its records and awards programs. Steeped in history but low in profile, the organization now employs a staff of five in a modest suite of offices in Arlington, Virginia. It has 5,300 members, plus the 350,000 who are associated with the NAA through membership in affiliated organizations. The NAA may be quiet, but it's busy; last year, the group presented around 50 awards and approved more than 100 records. Records may be set in a wide variety of classes, based upon type of aircraft and takeoff weight. The most frequently set records in the United States are point-to-point, "speed over a recognized course" records between city pairs. Other examples include time-to-climb and altitude records.

Our attention was called to the NAA primarily by the program through which AOPA members can set records to and from the annual AOPA Expo at reduced cost. (For information on setting a record to Expo '92 in Las Vegas, contact the NAA at 703/527-0226. For more on the Expo, see "Vectors to Vegas.") AOPA President Phil Boyer is a record holder, as are several of the association's regional representatives. We decided it was time to shed some light on this quiet organization that is the aviation sporting authority in the United States. What better way to do it than to go ahead and set a record ourselves?

We wanted it to be fun, and we wanted it to demonstrate that just about any pilot can set an aviation record if he or she is of a mind to. Not having access to the X-15, we decided to look at the opposite end of the record-setting spectrum. There was this dull-yellow Aeronca Champion I'd been motoring around in during my spare time, and some sadist suggested: Hey — why not set a record in the Champ?

Powered by a Continental engine boasting 65 wild horses, the 7AC Champion usually has a groundspeed roughly equivalent to most economy cars, and just about any automobile worth its salt could beat the Champ in a dead heat. Also, this was back in February, and although the Champ's heater handle has a certain placebo effect, the actual warmth generated by pulling it out can be detected only with sophisticated scientific instruments. Still, the idea of setting an international speed record in the slowest airplane on the field had an irresistible allure. I pitched the idea to Steve and Malcolm Van Kirk, owners of Control Aero, the Frederick (Maryland) Municipal Airport fixed-base operation that owns Champion N3007E, and they were all for it. They bent over backwards to jockey the schedule and keep the Champ available on short notice to attempt this great aeronautical feat.

First, I had to figure out where to go. For an international record, the trip must be of at least 400 kilometers (216 nautical or 248.5 statute miles). I chose my destination through a complex, scientific method, taking into account many factors and variables: I laid my sectionals on the floor of my office and envisioned a big, 400-km circle. Options were limited by the Champ's avionics suite. The 7AC has no radios, lights, transponder — or electrical system. Going north, I'd have to tangle with too much complicated airspace. South, which would take me directly into the Washington-Baltimore Tri-Area Terminal Control Area, was out. Flying east for 400 km would mean ditching at sea. The signs were clear: Go west, young record seeker.

If you draw a more or less straight line west from Frederick, stopping when you get just past the 400-km mark, you end up with your finger on Ohio University Airport in Athens, Ohio. Coincidentally, your finger describes a line roughly parallel to several consecutive highways, a fact not a little comforting in an old no-radios Champ over the Appalachian Mountains in February. There were airports along the way to stop at for fuel. So it was settled; I scratched a course line in highlighter across my charts, and my flight planning was nearly complete.

First, there were forms to fill out. To make a sanctioned record attempt, you must be a member of the NAA and obtain from them an FAI sporting license (we might as well blurt out now that setting a record will cost you several hundred dollars, although the NAA cut us a break for purposes of this story). You then submit an application for sanction, describing the nature of the record attempt, information on the aircraft and pilot, etc. This must be accompanied by operational and weight information on the airplane, which for the Champ is somewhat sketchy, although a photocopy of the hand-written weight-and-balance sheet in the airplane satisfied most of this requirement. I learned that there was no existing record for the Frederick-to-Athens route in Class C-1.b (landplanes with takeoff weights between 1,102 and 2,204 pounds). I'd be a pioneer. I was good to go.

Sanction in hand, I planned the flight for the end of the week. The night before departure, Control Aero put the Champ in the hangar for me. I laid out my long johns, wool hat, and mittens on the dresser and turned in early. Morning dawned bleak and gray. I peered out through the venetian blinds, and it was snowing. No need to call flight service.

In the ensuing weeks, either the weather was awful or I couldn't get out of work. It was mid-March before another window of opportunity opened. Well, it sort of opened. A smarter man would have stayed home in bed, but I was impatient. The weather was bitter cold in the morning, although forecasted to get way up into the 40s later, and flight service warned of occasional moderate turbulence over the Appalachians — but they always said that. I called Malcolm, and he preheated the Champ as I put on a Charlie Brown-like outfit of layered cotton and wool. The Van Kirks, approved by the NAA to be my official witnesses, parked next to Frederick's Runway 23 in their van and noted the time of my departure (as I left, I learned later, Steve turned to Malcolm with a knowing shake of the head and said, "Boy, that's bravery.").

It was already blustery as I chugged off over the hills with a growing sense of doubt, the cold seeping through my Reeboks and into my wool socks and finding my toes. I'd gone only 40 nm and just entered the Appalachians when the issue of keeping the rubber side down began to be seriously in doubt. I turned and fled back to Frederick, embarrassed but filled less with a feeling of failure than one of gratitude that, while dumb enough to go in the first place, I wasn't quite stupid enough to continue. Maybe setting this record wouldn't be such a lark after all, I thought.

More work and weather delays, and by now, it was April. At least it was warmer. I'd been watching the Weather Channel, waiting for a break. On a day relatively free of other obligations, I called flight service before dawn and got a forecast that wasn't bad: Widely scattered showers between me and Ohio, light winds, conditions expected to improve. A front would move into Ohio the next day but probably not until after I'd headed back. I decided to go for it.

I got ahold of Malcolm, who juggled the schedule to free up the Champ for two days. By mid-morning, only a little later than I intended, I was on my way again. My plan called for fuel stops at Cumberland, Maryland, and Fairmont, West Virginia; two short legs and one long one. I had about three hours' worth of gas but didn't want to take any chances going westbound over those mountains. Enroute, I worked my whiz wheel and came up with a very satisfactory (for a westbound Champ) beginning groundspeed of 65 knots; I decided to go on to Fairmont and make the trip with one stop. It was clear at first but bumpy enough over the hills to make me ponder the fact that I was being held aloft by a wooden spar chopped out of a tree sometime before 1946. By the time I got to Fairmont, clouds moved in, and it had started to drizzle.

My fuel stop seemed to take forever; I had to call the office, and the FBO counter attendant was new on the job and couldn't figure out how to ring up my credit card. It took me awhile to horse the Champ around the ramp enough to fuel it, move it to a tiedown spot, secure the tail, chock it, hand-prop it by myself (I would prop it myself three times on this trip), get it running, untie it, unchock it, and get on my way.

Fairmont to Athens was more than 100 nm of pilotage, a long leg for a Champ, with very little to offer succor in between. By the time I reached Parkersburg, West Virginia, still nearly 40 nm short of my goal, the ceilings were quite low, and it was raining steadily. The left-side window kept creeping back, letting the water stream inside, and the windscreen was largely obscured by beads of water. Although Parkersburg is a controlled field, I considered landing there and awaiting better weather. But the terrain ahead was friendlier than that I'd passed, visibility out the sides was good — the weather wasn't that bad — and I was so close. I continued, and after what seemed like a long while, the buildings of Ohio University appeared ahead. I found the airport, climbed a couple hundred feet to pattern altitude, and landed.

The folks at Ohio University Airport were happy to fill out my forms, officially verifying my arrival (and departure next day). Seems they were expecting me a couple of months ago; Greenfield at the NAA had given them the heads-up. I told the airport manager I planned to make the trip sooner but had waited for better weather. He looked out the window at the steady rain. "This is good weather?"

The next day, flight service was calling "VFR not recommended" for my return trip. But after quizzing the briefer for a while, I determined that the worst weather would be south of my planned route. The flight started with sunny skies and saw fair, albeit bumpy, conditions all the way back to Frederick.

My plan had been to go through the motions of setting a record on the way out, just to cover my backside, but to set the real record on the way back east, aided by an anticipated tailwind. But wouldn't you know it? I had a headwind in both directions.

My trip out to Athens took 4 hours 5 minutes 22 seconds, beating my return time by more than half an hour (I think my mistake on the way back was trying to climb above the headwind to forecast tailwinds. It took me so long to climb, at a very slow groundspeed, that I lost more than I gained). My record-setting average speed from Frederick to Athens was — drum roll, please — 102.28 km per hour.

If you must know, that works out to 63.55 miles per hour, or about 55 knots.

Hey, so what if I could have driven there faster? I had fun. And although the NAA has long overseen serious record-seekers the likes of Lindbergh, the Voyager crew, and other true aviation pioneers, a parallel purpose of the record program is just that: The pure enjoyment of sport flying.

"Our objective is to get the man in the small airplane up and flying and having some fun," says Malvern Gross, the NAA's affable president. Although much of the association's revenue derives from records set in heavy equipment, and aircraft manufacturers often set records as a marketing tool, Gross identifies with the guy who sets a record just for the heck of it. (He and his son, Randy, set a record from San Francisco to Washington, D.C., in their Cessna 210, long before he went to work for the NAA.)

"A lot of people say to me, 'What's the purpose of having a record for a person who flew, say, from Frederick to Athens?' " says Gross. "But that person set out a goal, accomplished that goal, bettered himself as a pilot, and hopefully stimulated others to get involved in aviation at the grass-roots level."

"The number one reason I hear is that it's fun," concurs Greenfield, who personally has certified more than 200 records set by everyone from average pilots to space shuttle astronauts. "It's just a fun thing to do."

For more information about the NAA and its record-setting programs, write: National Aeronautic Association, 1815 North Fort Myer Drive, Suite 700, Arlington, Virginia 22209; telephone 703/527-0226, fax 703/527-0229.

America's Top Ten

Each year, new record holders are recognized by the NAA in ceremonies at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C. The event is presided over by a notable aviation figure; this year, it was former X-15 test pilot Scott Crossfield. It's an opportunity for Spam-can drivers to mingle with aviation's big wheels.

"For a lot of people, the chance to get a certificate at the air and space museum is a big deal," says Art Greenfield, secretary of the NAA contest and records board. "There are always a lot of interesting people and stories."

In preparation for this year's event, which took place in March, the records board prepared its list of "Ten Most Memorable Record Flights of 1991." Here's a rundown:

Recreating the Post/Gaty around-the-world flight of 1931, an airline crew set 30 city-to-city records in a Fairchild Metroliner III twin turboprop. They left New York City on May 30 and returned eight days later.

In a series of record attempts in a Grumman E-2C Hawkeye, four naval aviators reached an altitude of 41,253 feet. Flights began December 17 at the Naval Air Test Center in Patuxent, Maryland, and ended two days later — after the aviators had set 20 additional turboprop performance records.

Launching from Lone Pine, California, Kari Castle set the women's hang gliding distance record by flying more than 208 miles to Dixie Valley, Nevada. She was the first woman to pass the 200-mile mark in a hang glider.

Timothy Cole piloted a balloon filled with ammonia gas from Kersey, Colorado, to Goodrich, staying aloft for 8 hours 47 minutes and setting a new duration record. It was the first record ever set with an ammonia-gas balloon.

The crew of a Dassault Falcon 900B business jet flew nonstop from Paris to Houston, setting a 5,012-mile distance record on the 10-hour 40- minute flight.

Marking the forty-fifth anniversary of the Swift airplane, six members of the International Swift Association set records from their hometowns to their convention site in Tennessee, averaging 169 mph.

Husband and wife Rich Gritter and MayCay Beeler beat three time-to- climb records by more than a minute each in a Questair Venture. Gritter also set an altitude record of 35,355 feet in the normally aspirated kitplane.

Flying a modified 100-hp Cassutt racer, astronaut Hoot Gibson reached an altitude of 27,040 feet after climbing for more than 1.5 hours over the Gulf of Mexico.

The space shuttle Atlantis lifted a record payload of 253,465 pounds, or more than 126 tons, into orbit on August 2.

Using a rubber-band-powered model airplane with a variable-pitch propeller, Robert Randolph set an indoor model duration record of 32 minutes 9 seconds. The model was called Top Cat. — WLG