Safety Spotlight: Head and heart

After earning a pilot certificate in his early 40s, Dad longed for a capable airplane with a pedigree. He learned about Navions and bought N5318K, a 1950 Navion B model. He kept it for 38 years until I took control of it last winter. It was truly the only airplane he ever loved. Occasionally he would swap flirtatious glances with a seductive taildragger, but he never lost eyes for 18K—the airplane that really taught him to fly.

5318K taught me to fly as well. After soloing in a Cessna 152, I flew 18K for dozens of hours while preparing for U.S. Air Force pilot training and the Cessna T–37 jet. The “Tweet” had remarkably similar physical dimensions to a Navion, including its height above ground, length, and wingspan. Flying the Navion gave me an instinctive feel for timing on roundout, flare, and the ground effect zone, which helped manage accurate, smooth touchdowns in the T–37. After flying a complex, high-performance, retractable-gear piston aircraft with a separate hydraulic system, I found the T–37 simpler in a few important ways. A single lever (throttle) to manage each engine’s performance took less mental effort and fewer knob activations. The “Tweet’s” landing gear system was simpler to operate, and relatively higher landing gear speeds in the T–37 opened more options with energy management in the pattern. Thanks to 18K, I had a great head start in U.S. Air Force pilot training. Throughout my Air Force career, 18K was the airplane I flew most frequently to reattach to my GA roots.

I used 18K to give my son and daughter their first-ever airplane flights. My son received his first 10 hours of primary flight instruction in 18K, and after earning his certificate, returned to it for his complex, high-performance endorsement. I used the family workhorse to give my daughter instruction in navigation, instruments, and time under the hood during her primary training.

My brother, Cliff, flew 18K to earn his commercial certificate, which launched him along a path eventually leading to UPS. He instructed his son in 18K to his complex and high performance endorsement, gave his daughter some instruction in it, and used it as the primary trainer for his son-in-law. My sisters, neither of whom are pilots, insisted that each of their children and grandchildren get flights in 18K with my dad, so they could be exposed to aviation. Every person in our large, extended family has had at least one, and in most cases multiple flights, in 18K.

We used the Navion extensively outside of our family to enjoy and promote general aviation. My brother and I gave dozens of hours of instruction, introduction, and familiarization flights in 18K. My dad, although not a CFI, is widely appreciated in the Navion community for his experience and thus used 18K to give numerous “check-ups” to friends. He’s given more than 300 Young Eagle flights in his beloved Navion. N5318K set the Navion world record for speed in the 260-horsepower class, a feat Dad proudly proclaimed on the nose cowl for years. We’ve flown 18K in warbird formations, honored lost friends in missing man formations, and once I watched on the Frederick Municipal Airport ramp as a colleague flew 18K with an AOPA co-worker to release her dad’s ashes in tribute to his love of flying.

But, like life in general, our aviation lives evolve, and needs and interests change. Different airplanes beckon with new adventures and experiences. My dad, flying fewer solo flights, has teamed with a friend to rescue a lost Navion affectionately nicknamed “Rat Rod” and race it at Navion nationals this year in hopes to set the Navion 285-horsepower speed record. My brother has finally satisfied his longtime lust for a UPF–7 Waco, so he can part-time as a modern-day barnstormer giving open-cockpit biplane rides. I’m enthralled by adventure flying in the backcountry and have my eye on a Cessna 180.

We spent our last weekend with N5318K in the hangar doting over it, as we’d done for almost four decades. My brother fiddled underneath the dash he’d designed and installed several years before, I cleaned the underbelly and polished the wings, and my dad leafed through the logbooks reminiscing about all the upgrades that earned him the nickname “one-knot” and that proud speed record. My mother stopped by, climbed up on the wing, and stared into the cockpit for a long time, seeming lost in memories. 18K was their avenue to adventure and friends for most of their adult lives.

Dad taught us to “take care of your airplane and it will take care of you.” We did, and it did, for some 5,000-plus incident-free hours over 38 years.

It’s just the sale of an asset; it’s not emotional.

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