What's all the flap about?

The autopilot servos that I ordered from Van's last week arrived while I was out in Vegas, as did the replacement system block tops that I had ordered as a ploy to trick the ones that I had lost into revealing themselves. That reminded me that the tops had not yet been installed, so I decided to knock that task off of the list today. It seemed like it would be a pretty straightforward deal to install them since it is simply a matter of putting them in place and tightening a nut onto each of the two studs. Having not worked on the airplane all week, I thought a quick and easy job would be a good way to get back into the game.

I had forgotten about the curse that these studs have one them. As I recall, the installation of them was one of the very last things to do when building up the bottom center section of the fuselage. "Just one more quick job and I'm finally done with this seemingly interminable section," I remember thinking. It didn't work out that way. Try as I might, I couldn't get the nuts to screw down onto the svrews that were to act as the studs that would support the nylon blocks. If I remember correctly, I only managed to get one fully installed before ruining the other five screws by rounding out the heads with the screwdriver. I had to order an entire set of new nuts and screws from Van's. The new ones installed very easily, as it turns out.

Still, bygones are bygones and I approached today's job just brimming with high confidence and good cheer. Which is to say, a solid quart of coffee in my belly. In any event, I started out optimistic and for the most part that's how I stayed. It wasn't to last. It all fell apart on the sixth (of six) screws. As luck would have it, that was the only one that I had been able to get installed on the first effort way back when. And as bad luck would have it, it was also the only one that I didn't get tight enough so that it wouldn't just turn and turn and turn in its hole when I tried to install the top lock nut onto it. I was going to need someone to stand on the other side of the belly skin and hold a screwdriver on the offending screw. Luckily for me, Cadillac Pete was on his way to help. We made quick work of the job once he arrived and thus finished the final page in the wiring section.

Next up was the flap handle. This airplane has manual flaps. That's as opposed to the electric flaps in the RV-6 that extend and retract at the touch of a switch. These flaps will require me to pull on a lever between the seats to lower the flaps. Today's job was the installation of that lever.

The lever pivots inside of two plastic blocks that also act as its support mounts. Those blocks get bolted into some nut plates installed in the belly of the fuselage. It was a fairly tight squeeze trying to get the flap handle and the support blocks positioned into the narrow confines of the tunnel, but I eventually forced the entire mass into place only to find that the pivot tube of the flap handle was rubbing against the fuel lines. Pretty much the last thing you want to do when building an airplane is to install a moving part in such a way that it rubs against a soft aluminum tube that is carrying a highly flammable liquid under pressure, so I figured that I was going to have to do something about it.

I remembered reading that one of the Van's employees that built an RV-12 had encountered the same problem. He fixed it by crafting a piece of slotted wood that could be used to press down on the fuel lines in order to bend them down out of the way. I tried that, but found that I didn't have the proper tools on hand to craft the bending tool. While I was thinking about an alternative means, it struck me that the cheapy tube bender that I bought at AutoZone before breaking down and spending more money on a good one might be just the thing I needed.

All I had to do was remove the "roller" part of it and use it to push against the fuel line. Because of the grooves in the roller, I wouldn't run the risk of flattening or creasing the fuel lines.

It worked like a champ, although I did need to push on it harder than I could by hand. I just put a block of wood against it and tapped on it with a one pound dead fall mallet. After bending the tubes sufficiently out of the way, I was able to install the flap handle and verify suitable clearance with a very appropriate business card.

The flap handle works by way of a pushrod that gets attached to the mysterious flaperon mixer box. There is a bolt that goes through a washer, the top arm of the mysterious flaperon mixer, a bearing in a strangely shaped piece of metal, a bearing in the push rod, another bearing in a strangely shaped piece of metal, a washer, and into the bottom arm of the mysterious flaperon mixer. This is quite a trick! Holding all of those parts in place without dropping anything requires a level of finesse and Zen-like calm that I doubt that I will ever achieve, especially with a solid quart of coffee working its magic on my fingers. By which I mean making them quiver like a palsied Eskimo taking a cold shower.

The biggest challenge was sure to be that second washer; there was just no way to hold it in place while juggling all of those other parts.

Well, I suppose there was one way. When all other options have been exhausted, when failure is no longer an option because it has graduated to being an inevitability, when all is surely lost, there is only one answer: duct tape.

That worked astonishingly well! Let's hear it for duct tape, the scrim-backed pressure sensitive adherent of the gods!!

The two oddly shaped pieces of metal were actually parts that had been fabricated a couple of weeks ago. I don't think I ever mentioned them. They're very critical parts, though. Here's a closer look at them.

These plates will somehow assist in transferring control stick roll commands out to the flaperons, I think. It's still something of a mystery at this point. What I do know is that I have to fabricate a couple of pushrods that will attach the control sticks to these plates, and the first step of that fabrication is to cut two lengths of aluminum pipe and tap them with a 1/4"x28 tap. The tapping step itself has a preliminary step, which is to drill the tubes with a #3 bit.

I didn't have a 1/4"x28 tap on hand, so that was the last job of the day.

Winning Big in Vegas

I mentioned that I'd be taking a break for a few days, and now the story can be told: we went to Las Vegas for a few days for some rest and relaxation. And we all know what that means: eating, drinking, and gambling. I'm typically good for two out of three of those - the gambling has never appealed to me and one need only see the ostentatious opulence of the casinos to see which party the odds favor. Still, even without high stakes gambling it's possible to come out ahead, and after all, it's really more about the thrill of the chase, right?

That said, I didn't think much good could come out of the airline flight. Even when flying Southwest, my favorite airline, there's only so much of the hassle incumbent in the TSA- and other brands of idiocy-infused world of modern air travel that I can stand. Not surprisingly, by the time I had spent a couple of hours listening to the braggart in front of me telling story after story to his seat mate, I was ready for a beer. There were three problems with this guy: 1) he was loud, 2) he was obnoxious, and 3) every fourth word out of his mouth was "Dude!" and every third word was "yeah." That resulted in periodically having to hear deep thoughts such as "Yeah, dude, yeah yeah." I didn't think the guy was ever going to shut up, and as it turns out, I was right. So, $5 for a beer seemed a bargain. It turned into an even bigger bargain when the attendant never got around to collecting my tab.

Score: $5.00 and not even off of the airplane yet!

We stayed in a nice little hotel just off The Strip. For $58 a night, we got a suite with a separate bedroom, living room, balcony, and small but fully equipped kitchen. It's clean, well managed, and quiet. In a nutshell, it's the antithesis of the hectic, noisy, and expensive casino hotels.

I will say this, though: we had a message waiting on the room phone after we checked in.

1973 had called and was asking when it could have its interior design back.

But it had a balcony, and we all know how much I love a balcony! Me and my Kindle enjoyed our early morning reading.

The view from the balcony was primarily of the casino next door, or as I took to calling it, "The Biggest Hooters You'll Ever See"

This was our first time staying on near The Strip and also our first time there without a rental car. That was no problem, though, as we had four big casinos (and Hooters) right there in our little neighborhood. There's far more "Vegas" than can be seen in three days, so we decided that we'd just concentrate on exploring our local area.

The first night was difficult in that we had to find someplace for dinner relatively late in the evening and didn't have a lot of time to go hunting around for a good restaurant, so we opted for the Hooters next door. The casino, that is, not the restaurant. While there is in fact a regular Hooters in the casino, we opted for their somewhat nicer Mad Onion restaurant where I ended up having a seared Ahi tuna appetizer and a bowl of seven onion French Onion soup.

I had to ask if it had seven different types of onions, or just a whole helluva lotta onions (seven, to be precise). The waitress listed off the seven varieties of onions that were in the soup, but I don't remember them. 'Twas a pretty good bowl of soup. It was a half hour wait to get in, so we killed some time playing penny slots. Their intent was probably to make some money off of us while we waited, but they failed. I started with a dollar, cashed out with $3.83.

Score: $8.83.

The next morning found us out and about, enjoying the very temperate mid-80 degree weather while we visited the nearby casinos. We found that the morning temperatures were very comfortable, but the 100+ degree afternoons were a completely different story. The closest non-Hooters place was the MGM Grand. At the time of this writing, I've been through about eight other casinos, so I don't remember much about the MGM other than that it had extremely opulent bathrooms and a restaurant where the only selection on the menu was an 11 course dinner for $395.

Each.

Pass.

Oh, they also had a food court (McDonalds, etc.) which we also passed on for completely different but no less obvious reasons, and a station for the monorail that runs up and down The Strip. The locals call it the monofail; it doesn't get much lovin'. I'm not sure precisely why they don't like it, and I never bothered to find out. We limited ourselves mostly to walking, although a taxi now and then was necessary.

Remember: 100+ degrees. Not good walking weather at all.

Probably the most memorable thing about the MGM was the lion cubs. They have a habitat set up where they house at least four lions. There may have been more, but we saw two cubs and two lionesses. It wasn't all that different from what you could see at the zoo, but the incongruity of seeing something like that awash in an ocean of slot machines was pretty stark.

After trolling fruitlessly through the MGM looking for a suitable brunch/lunch spot, we crossed a pedestrian bridge over to the New York, New York. See if you can figure out why they named it as they did.

I imagine it's possible to see a reproduction of the Statue of Liberty made entirely of jelly beans somewhere other than Vegas, but I'm not sure where that might be.

If there's anything I like more than balconies (well, there are a lot of things I like more than balconies, but let's agree to just let that go in the interest of literary expediency) it's pretzels! These are in the New York, New York casino.

We strolled the streets of old New York looking for a place to have lunch. We found the Nine Fine Irishmen pub. I had a nice beer that I have long since forgotten the name of (even though I swore I'd try to find some locally) and a great big bucket of Shephard's Pie.

It was rather quaint to eat out of a bucket, I must say. Despite the praises for it sung by my dogs, I fail to see the appeal.

Having exhausted our interest in a reproduction of a city that we could have visited in actuality just as easily, if not easier, than Las Vegas, we decided to travel to far away Egypt by crossing yet another bridge over to the Luxor.

In another case of stark incongruity, the Luxor has a large scale model of the Titanic in its lobby. It was there to draw attention to the Artifacts of the Titanic display that the Luxor is hosting; perhaps the fact that retrieving the Titanic relics was an archaeological endeavor of a sort is the tie-in with the ancient Egyptian theme of the Luxor.

None of the that matters, anyway. The most memorable aspect of our visit to the Luxor is that I ran a $1 starting stake up to $11.31 in a penny slot machine. The would ultimately be the penultimate win of the entire trip.

Score: $20.14.

You will have noticed by now that the score only increases, as if I never lost any money whatsoever. Well, I didn't. That's not to say that I didn't ever put a dollar into a slot machine and eventually walk away empty handed, because I did. I simply consider those to be rental charges for time spent resting on a padded chair in an air conditioned room.

Money well spent, that!

Dinner that night was at Hooters. No, not the fancy restaurant. The regular Hooters. I have nothing good to say about that, so I will say nothing at all. Except, I suppose, to explain that we went there because I wanted some regular old comfort food after my heavy and rich New York lunch, by which I mean "expensive." Oh, and to see some hooters. There's always that.

The next day was "show day." While we didn't want to toss $300+ at any of the fancy cirque du soleil (there are a half dozen variants on those now; I fully expect to see Welcome Back Kotter du Soleil next time we're there) shows, we figured there were bound to be some mid-tier shows in Vegas that, considering the very deep talent pool in that city, were worth seeing. We dickered with the hotel concierge until we ended up with a pair of discounted tickets to Vegas! The Show and two passes to the Spice Market Buffet at the Miracle Mile Shops. A well-timed wince and cringe when hearing the price scored us some comped tickets earlier in the day to the The Magic and Tigers of Rick Thomas! show too.

We got to the Miracle Mile Shops (hereafter referred to as "the mall") early in order to get good seats since the comped tickets were general admission. I wouldn't have minded the lesser seats if it wasn't for the lengthy wait in line to get in; for another $10 each we'd have reserved seats and no waiting. Being the first people at the box office that morning resulted in us getting seats in the front row, which would ultimately lead directly to my ultimate Big Win in Vegas! But, we'll get to that.

We had a few hours to spend in the mall, and if there is anything that Vegas goes over the top on (well, there are a lot of things that Vegas goes over the top on, but let's agree to just let that go in the interest of literary expediency, again), it's malls. With the prohibitive heat of the summer, Vegas has moved outdoor malls indoors. The domed ceilings are painted and lit to look like a dusk sky, and the store fronts are designed to look like on-street storefronts. And, again, a starkly incongruous location for a ship. I'm sensing a pattern developing here...

So, the Magic and Tigers Show. How, you're wondering, did I manage to win something while sitting at a magic show? Well, it's like this. If you've ever been to a magic show, you will know that there is more to them than the tricks. There are elements of stand up comedy, and in some cases, tigers. The magician will also typically interact with the crowd and, as with most stage shows, will periodically request a volunteer from the audience to participate on stage. Failing to find a volunteer, the showman will draft an unwilling audience member. With us in the front row, we were obvious targets. As he came down the stares, I attempted to hide by scrunching down into my seat.

That, as it turns out, is akin to blood in the water for these guys. I had no sooner muttered "Oh, no!" before I was up on stage in front of 500 people holding a leather collar attached to a 10' leather leash. The other guy that had been yanked from his seat was holding two leather ankle straps, also attached to a leash. Between us was a rolling table that looked for all the world like an operating table. Sitting on the table was the Vegas showgirl (hot, hot, HOT!) that works as the magician's "victim" for the trick.

My assignment was to buckle the leather collar to the Vegas showgirl.

Let's think about that for a moment.

On stage, in front of 500 people, buckling a leather collar around the neck of a very scantily clad young woman.

Who wouldn't be a little nervous??

So I fumbled and bumbled with the buckle, my brain suddenly incapable of coherent thought and my hands shaking as if I had just mainlined a quart of Starbuck's finest Columbian.

And here came Mr. Thomas to the rescue. He leaned over and said, "What's the matter? Don't you do this at home?"

I replied with the first thing that came into my head: "Well, yes, but ours are Velcro."

I had forgotten that he was wearing a microphone.

All 500 of them heard it.

But wait! What's that got to do with winning big in Vegas?

Let's think about that for a moment.

Buckling a leather collar around the neck of a very scantily clad young woman..... and a Vegas showgirl to boot.

I think the current asking price for that kind of thing is around $400.

Score: $420.14.

The Vegas! The Show show was, well, somewhat of an anti-climax after that. Oh, it was a terrific show, but... buckling a leather collar around the neck of a very scantily clad young woman and getting a hearty audience laugh on a Las Vegas stage.

Hard act to follow! They never stood a chance.

The next day was a destination-restaurant day. I had decided before we left on the trip that I simply had to have some corned beef hash at the oddly named Hash House A Go Go. I'm not making that up!! The Vegas branch is located in the Imperial Palace, which would necessitate a taxi ride, but since the local area around the Hash House also includes such luminaries as The Bellagio, Caesars Palace, and another mall, it seemed worthwhile.

There was a half hour wait to get into the restaurant, but they had a conveniently placed menu out in the lobby for us to peruse. You know you're in Vegas when you see a breakfast menu item like this: "O'Hare of the dog 24 oz Budweiser and a side of bacon." Never mind that O'Hare is in Illinois - they piqued my attention with "bacon!"

If a side of bacon and a beer seemed appealing, imagine how I felt about the B. L. T. Mary! A Bloody Mary with bacon salt on the rim and a strip of bacon to stir it with?? Sign me up!

It was a very good drink, and I probably could have had another. As far as the actual BLT sandwich, well, one of those would be enough for anybody.

I found it amusing to find myself eating out of a frying pan only days after eating from a bucket. This order too was far more than a single mortal can finish in one sitting; I limited myself to the pound of tender and lean corned beef and some of the crispy potatoes.

And, in case you've forgotten, the B. L. T. Mary.

Caesars Palace is across the street, and it has an adjoining mall called The Forum Shops at Caesars.

This mall was even further over the top when it came to decor.

One of the shops has come up with a novel way to sell expensive women's purses in this "The Sky is Falling" economy.

The center bub of the mall is spectacular.

The ancient Italian theme seems to have prompted multiple vendors to sell gelato.

The provenance of chocolate pizza is somewhat more in doubt.

And piped in hot chocolate and Espresso!

Look! More gelato!

A short walk from Caesars Palace is The Bellagio. The Bellagio is well known for its open and airy lobby festooned with Chihuly glass and a nice garden off to the side.

Notice that this "painting" is made up of flowers.

We waited a few minutes in the heat for the world-renowned Bellagio Fountains to put on a show. I could see Paris just across the street, but a visit there will have to wait until next time.

Taking a Break

I'll be taking an almost week-long hiatus on the RV-12 project, but I thought I'd leave you with the story of today's ultimate shop visit. The flying weather this year has been pretty miserable and it has put me in a "take what you can get" kind of mood. The forecast for this morning was about what you'd expect on the back end of a few hot, humid, August-in-June days: wet, hazy, and generally unfavorable, with a chance of improvement to a 10,000' ceiling and 6 miles visibility. Safe, legal, but not what you'd call photogenic. I called it adequate.

Cadillac Pete had requested a rain check on the ride I had offered last week and it seemed that today might be a good day to have him cash it in. I had no real plan in mind and the gas is getting pricey, so I figured a breakfast run to Urbana would be a good destination. I've made that trip so many times that I'm often tempted to break my cardinal rule regarding never flying without taking my camera, and sadly enough I actually succumbed to the temptation. As usual, I regretted it.

We met at 8:30-ish and got the plane ready to go. Pete has a private pilot license that he hasn't used for thirty years, but even considering the decades between flights I didn't feel like I needed to spell out every step of the preflight process like I do with people that have never been in a small plane before. I did point out a few of the differences between a taildragger and a nosewheel equipped plane, though. The most important of which has to do with being extra careful not to impede the movement of the rudder pedals on takeoff and landing. The winds were light and the takeoff was routine, and as we climbed through 3,000' I gave Pete control of the airplane. After just a few minutes of rudimentary GPS navigation 101 and some time for him to get comfortable with the light, responsive controls, I was able to just sit back and let him fly us up to Urbana.

I took over for the landing and promptly bounced it.

Drat. My last three were glass smooth, but sans witnesses. Performance anxiety, I guess.

After breakfast we wandered over to the new hangar where the Champaign Lady is being restored. For the link-shy, the Champaign Lady is a B-17 restoration project. It's a fascinating, and in some way, tragic, project.

FEBRUARY 9, 2006
GARY SCHENKEL

Heralded as a major contributor to the Allied victory in World War II, the B-17 bomber could sustain significant damage and still lumber back to base. Today, though, only 14 of the original fleet of 12,731 Boeing B-17 Flying Fortresses can still take to the sky. Add one more to this exclusive number when a corps of volunteers completes its mission: the restoration to flying status of a Boeing B-17G bomber, a project that recently began in a hangar on the south end of Grimes Field municipal airport in Urbana, Ohio—under the guidance of the world’s most experienced restorer of vintage military aircraft.

How did such a venture land in Urbana? It all started last July when a fully restored B-17, the Liberty Belle, made a stop at Grimes Field. People flocked to the airport, donating a total of $18,000 to the not-for-profit Liberty Belle Foundation—some for the rare opportunity to fly in the historic warbird and most to make a walk-through.

This enthusiastic reception left an impression with Tom Reilly of Tom Reilly Vintage Aircraft, Inc., who led the Liberty Belle restoration and is now piloting the project in Urbana.

A Timely Call

That’s why Reilly called Carol Hall, assistant manager of Grimes Field, in November. Recalls Hall, “He said, ‘I have a B-17 project that’s ready to start. Do you know anyone who might be interested (in financing it)?’ I said that I knew of someone and that I’d check.” In fact, the man she had in mind, Jerry Shiffer—a local business leader, private pilot, and generous supporter of community causes, including improvements to the airport—happened at that moment to be dining in the airport’s restaurant. Shiffer and his family were among those who flew in the Liberty Belle during its visit, and Hall knew that he was thrilled by the experience. She told him of Reilly’s call. Soon after, Reilly came to Urbana to meet with the Shiffers, and, Hall says, “Within two weeks it all came together.”

November 29, the day the first shipment of B-17 parts—including part of the fuselage—was due to arrive at Grimes Field, Shiffer took off from the airfield, by himself, in his twin-engine Cessna 425 Conquest I. He was headed to Montana to ski. However, near Belgrade, Mont., the plane crashed; Shiffer would not return to see the realization of his dream: a flying B-17 museum based at the Urbana airport.

Seeing the Dream Through

“We’ll see it to the finish,” says Shiffer’s widow, Leah. “He was so excited that everything was proceeding. He left on a good note. When Jerry got excited about something, he couldn’t wait.” Neither can his children, David, Andrea and Eric. David and Eric, in fact, want to learn to fly the B-17, and they want to carry out their father’s wish to create a rumbling, thundering, four-engine memorial to World War II veterans. “History is being forgotten, so this is a way of preserving a piece of the past,” explains Eric. His mother adds, “We want the plane to serve as a reminder of the sacrifices that many men made to protect our freedoms.”

In tribute, many hours of free time will be sacrificed—most of it by volunteers—in restoring the bomber. The project could take 10 years to complete. The enormity of the task is apparent. In the hangar, large crates, bins, and warehouse shelving are loaded with a conglomeration of metal parts. A 25-foot-long wing flap rests against a wall. The stripped-down, skeletal frame of the cockpit and bomb bay hangs, steadied by a hoist, for the crew to work on. And many more parts are on the way.

I didn't have any idea how a couple of walk-ins would be greeted at the hangar, but I figured that the worst they could do was ask us to leave. I needn't have worried; we were greeted by a friendly and knowledgeable group that was more than happy to show us around and answer questions that they have probably answered hundreds of times. The stories behind how they have acquired various parts are intriguing and sometimes humorous. For example, the top gun turret was found underneath a porch in Springfield, Ohio. Apparently a former owner of the home worked in a plant that built the turrets during the war and somehow ended up bringing one home. The belly turret was purchased from a restaurant in Texas that was remodeling and no longer felt the the B-17 parts hanging from the ceiling fit their new ambiance. They are also working on bringing back the husk of a B-17 that crashed in Alaska. In fact, the guy that built my RV-6 is in Alaska right now making those arrangements.

Seeing the parts that they are fabricating and the jigs and templates they have had to build to make the parts was as fascinating as seeing the inner structure of the large part of the fuselage that they have done. The were currently building up one of the engine nacelles for either engine #1 or engine #4. They will have to build a different rig/template for the nacelles for engines #2 and #3 because they are shaped differently.

It sure would have been nice to be able to take some pictures of my own... but here are a couple from their web site:

If nothing else, seeing the patience dedication that they bring to the project was humbling. I'm sure that they have their bad days and a few muttered imprecations now and then aren't wholly absent from the work environment, but the challenges they need to surmount on a daily basis make my little imbroglios with the RV-12 seem very petty by comparison.

Climbing up to, and sitting in, the Captain's seat of their C-47 was just icing on the cake.

And, of course, you're all waiting breathlessly to see if I managed to make a better landing back at Bolton.

I'd rather not talk about that.