Pilotage

Mark R. Twombly is an aviation writer living and flying in Florida.

I don't know how I've gone my whole life without ever having had an Ercoupe experience. That dubious distinction finally has been erased.

I spent last Saturday morning in the left seat of an Ercoupe, aloft with the windows slid down, my hand on the wheel, and my feet on the floor, as only an Ercoupe pilot can be.

The Ercoupe belongs to my friend Don Abbott, and anyone who knows Don would expect his Ercoupe to be immaculate. It surely is that. Better, much better, than when it left the factory new. None of the more than 5,000 Ercoupes built were delivered in the condition that Don's is in now, with digital avionics and intercom, flashing strobes and a Pulselight system, a panel-mounted collision avoidance device, and the kind of spit, polish, and paint that makes Don's absolutely glow.

He has owned 16 airplanes through the years, with a particular fascination for Beechcraft Debonairs and Ercoupes. What's in his hangar today? A Beechcraft C33 Debonair and the Ercoupe. The 1950 Club-Air 415-G was one of the last 42 built by the Engineering and Research Corporation in Riverdale, Maryland.

It's his sixth Ercoupe. He claims to have rebuilt three from the ground up, the last one 30 years ago in his garage in Indiana. After investing about $9,000 in the project, he did what any self-respecting restorer does — he took it to Oshkosh to show off. As he was wiping the dust off it one morning, a stranger offered him $25,000 for it. Don gave him two hours to come up with the money, plus enough for an airline ticket back to Indiana. The man returned with time to spare, grasping a cashier's check.

Don so loved Ercoupes that in the early 1970s he set out for Kerrville, Texas, the home of Mooney Aircraft, to buy the rights to the Cadet. Mooney had acquired the Ercoupe type certificate, modified the design with a turtledeck and a single tail, then renamed it the Cadet. Mooney subsequently fell on hard times and ceased production. Even so, Don's $150,000 offer was rejected. Later, Univair succeeded where Don had not, and today Univair still sells Ercoupe parts.

Don found his current Ercoupe locally. It had already been beautifully restored, but he had to add his touches, principally on the panel. He's the champion gadgeteer at our airport and probably among the best anywhere. For show purposes he had the avionics installed so that when the airplane is on display at fly-ins they can be covered with attractive metal panels for an original instrument-panel look.

It's no accident that the Ercoupe's blunt nose cowl and perky little spinner are suggestive of the much-later Piper Cherokee; both were penned by Fred Weick, a talented engineer who had a special interest in making airplanes safer by design. The Ercoupe is probably best known for its lack of rudder pedals. The control wheel takes care of elevator, ailerons, and rudders.

Weick's idea was to keep pilots from unintentionally entering a deadly spin by preventing them from cross-controlling in an aerodynamic stall. The Ercoupe will stall, but the interconnected ailerons and rudders work in concert to coordinate roll and yaw.

It was, and still is, an unconventional approach to a safety problem. Interconnected controls have been used on lots of general aviation airplanes that followed the Ercoupe, but few went as far as Weick in eliminating the variable — the pilot — from the adverse yaw equation.

The occasion for my introduction to the 'Coupe was a typical Saturday morning plan to fly somewhere for an unhealthy breakfast. Don generously offered to let mutual friend Al Lane check me out while he and buddy Bill Trom flew Don's equally cherry Debonair in search of greasy ham and runny eggs.

Al reviewed the Ercoupe's collection of odd but engaging features including the lack of a mixture control; a T-handle trim lever; a single brake pedal on the floor; and, of course, the all-in-one control wheel.

You know you're in something special the moment you begin taxiing by steering with the control wheel. We do it every day on the road, but it is a strange thing to experience in an airplane. Sensitive, too — I sawed away at the wheel trying to track the centerline. The drive to the runway was a hoot.

The 85-horse Continental performed well on takeoff, even with full fuel and two pilots aboard. We popped into the air, then began a leisurely climb to smooth air. With the side windows down, Al's thick hair was tousled about in the breeze; I only wished I could say the same about mine.

I fixed my eye on the inclinometer and, when I cranked the wheel over, it pretty much stayed put between the hash marks, even with more aggressive maneuvering. Good job, Fred.

Ironically, for an airplane designed to downplay stalls, every first-time Ercoupe pilot has to do a few just to see what everyone is talking about. I did, and they were snoozers. Not even the slightest suggestion of loss of control. Just relieve back-pressure and add power if it's not already in.

The one handling characteristic that calls for caution is the high sink rate at low power. Al had alerted me to it, but it was still a surprise. I ended the day enjoying the airplane's crab-till-touchdown style on a crosswind landing.

Flying anything that is markedly different than what we're used to awakens and invigorates the senses. It's why someone — me — fresh from their first exposure to aerobatics, seaplanes, helicopters, sailplanes, or Ercoupes babbles on about it like it was their first solo.