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Building the Vimy Articles Part I: In the Beginning Part II: Zen and the Art of Aircraft Building Part III: It All Comes Together Part IV: First Flight & Certificate of Airworthiness Aircraft Statistics The Check Flight Vimy R/C Model Plans Related Links England to Australia Flight Part II: Building an Authentic Vimy

The Check Flight by Jeremy Palmer September 30, 1998 The early dawn gave promise of a blustery day. Not only was the Shepherds' warning in full swing, the tall aspens at the bottom of the garden waved in protest at the squall-line making its way across the crimson sky. Just the day for my first and eagerly awaited check-flight in Peter McMillan's recreation of a Vickers LB27 Vimy heavy bomber! The drive from my home in Kent to Gloucestershire, where the Vimy is hangared, took four hours in conditions which emptied my car's six-litre windscreen washer-bottle. As I turned into the main gate of Kemble, one-time home of the RAF's Red Arrows display team, there was a welcome respite to the driving rain. A rainbow cradled the vast airfield from boundary to boundary. Chief Project Pilot Mark Rebholz had left the comfort of his Los Angeles hotel room the evening before to fly to London via Chicago. He arrived in the UK at 0600 with the sole purpose of clearing me to fly the Vimy, before returning to LAX at 0500 the following morning. I had been invited by Mark to become the main UK-based pilot, primarily to help with the test schedule for the new engines. The briefing began with preliminary cockpit preparations, followed by the external check. We started at the starboard trailing edge of the wing and moved in a clockwise direction. The pre-flight is similar to that of many vintage biplanes — it just takes a little longer to navigate round the 68ft wing span! Afterwards, we adjourned to the local hostelry, to discuss various systems and their operation. Mark's briefing was clear and comprehensive, covering the usual fuel, electrics engine starting etc., together with the more unusual Electronic Control Units (ECU's), two per engine, which govern aspects of engine management more common to the latest generation airliners. The BMW M73 engine fitted to the Vimy (x two) was designed to power the Rolls-Royce Silver Seraph car but it turns the huge four-bladed wooden propeller with remarkable ease too. According to Mark Rebholz, BMW was all for a complete 'fly-by-wire' engine management system, making the throttle more like a volume control for the two V12s! However, it was thought the throttle linkage should be conventional and the present arrangement was agreed. The weather clears — Ready for Takeoff! Just as our caffeine levels reached critical, the weather front passed leaving its usual legacy of towering cumulus and blustery winds. Back inside the hangar, the aircraft's constructor John LaNoue took up position at the tail, while Mark and I crouched under the wing and turned two of the four huge wheels by hand to get the machine moving slowly towards the centre of the hangar. Three chaps can just about move the aircraft (empty weight 7,419lb), helped by a strong desire to fly this wonderful piece of machinery. Mark and I climbed up the wing-walk and over the engine-to-fuselage strut before mounting the turtle deck and lowering ourselves slowly in to the cockpit. John settled into the aft-most passenger compartment positioned mid-fuselage. Starting had been discussed earlier and the port engine turned slowly but effortlessly to idle at 900rpm. The huge propeller made it possible to see individually the four blades cutting a perfectly tracked arc. Visibility from the cockpit (the Captain sits on the right) is poor. The pilot cannot see either wing tip and because the cockpit is so wide, anything lurking down the port side will also be a mystery to him. It is essential to weave the nose in taildragger fashion — fortunate, as my inability to keep in a straight line was masked by this necessity! The exit from the Vimy's hangar has a marked down-slope so helping hands on the wing-tips were much appreciated. Once onto the taxiway, I was able to practice the dark art of taxiing the biggest biplane in the world. Don't rush anything is the best advice I would pass on to a would-be Vimy pilot. As with most multi-engine machines, the turn is best accomplished using first rudder, followed by assymmetric thrust and then differential brakes as a last (and least effective) resort. Power checks before take-off are straightforward, although it was a little unusual to see the rpm reduce to zero as the Number Two ECU was isolated in turn — it powers the tachometers. This check of the Engine Management System is akin to a magneto check. The trim is set full aft and once the aircraft is aligned with the runway, the tail-wheel lock is engaged. The take-off is straightforward. Apply full power, hold the stick fully aft and wait. As the machine lifts gracefully into the air, the back pressure is gently released to keep the nose sitting just above the horizon. I quickly discovered that the Vimy taxies, gets airborne and climbs in the same attitude. Keep the nose-gunner's cockpit just above the horizon and away you go. Climbing to 12,000ft. Brrr. It's cold! We climbed towards the west for some general handling and altitude trials to provide more data with the new engines. The stall and recovery are entirely conventional, although steep turns at low altitude are to be avoided as roll response is sluggish despite the four massive ailerons. The effect of adverse yaw and aileron drag is marked, with plenty of rudder required to co-ordinate the turns (any Tiger Moth pilot would feel quite at home). Although the aircraft is relatively slow to respond to roll inputs, it will respond provided the pilot is cognisant of the fact that there is tremendous control wheel movement available — almost 360 degrees of rotation. The very large horn balances on the ailerons (known, rather picturesquely, as "elephant ears") rather over-play their role in gusty conditions. The pilot ends up with both hands on the stick if it is not to be wrested from him. This fits rather well with my romantic picture of a moustached, leather-jacketed, steely-eyed fellow sitting out in the open and fighting with the elements, just like all pilots should. General handling complete, Mark took control. We got ready for the -5 centigrade outside air temperature at 12,000ft pressure altitude during this very necessary part of testing the new engines. The result of our climb was pleasing, as there was still 300 feet per minute showing on the vertical speed indicator at top of the climb. We concluded by agreeing that I should try for higher when I next flew the aircraft (I made a mental note to remember my thermals). With the engine throttled back, we entered a spiral descent towards circuit altitude at Kemble. Throttling the engine back after it had worked so hard to get us to 12,000ft (full power all the way) seemed unkind. However, these water-cooled engines are considerably less exposed to thermal shock than their air-cooled counterparts (that said, I still couldn't help but wince as Mark closed the throttles). As we approached the Kemble circuit, Mark handed control back to me. This is a tricky little procedure which involves extracting a pip-pin and swinging the single control wheel across to the opposite side of the cockpit while maintaining some semblance of control. It was at this juncture that I reflected any ham-fisted handling on my part would be beyond rescuing — no pressure though, eh. Landing for the First Time As we entered the pattern, I eased the power up to 4,600rpm and put the port lower wing-tip alongside the runway. Ever conscious of needing to be neighbourly in the quiet of the Cotswold countryside, base turn was made early to avoid over-flying the village on the north-western side of the airfield. Power was now reduced to almost idle and I was careful to ensure that the turn onto finals was balanced. The aeroplane was stable on the approach, reacting nicely to the exaggerated control inputs needed to deal with the 15kt wind gusting 20 deg off to the right. Mark's briefing for the landing had been...brief. He said the Vimy "landed like a big Cub." I managed to remember the attitude of the aircraft as we taxied out, so I raised the nose and waited. As the gear touched the tarmac, I was disappointed to feel a sideways skip — a rap across the knuckles for not losing all the drift. My excuse was the lack of visual cues as a result of being so low in the cockpit. A few circuits later I was beginning to get a feel for where the wheels were, as well as being able to use those visual prompts which had, at first, seemed so scant. The worst was now to come as I had to taxi back to the hangar and negotiate the sloping taxiway. My trusting check-pilot stood on his seat and made sure the way ahead was clear. Some gentle braking and asymmetric thrust had us pirouetting slowly in front of the closed hangar doors ready for the push back into the gloomy interior. The ignition switches were moved to OFF and shut-down checks completed. Mark and I sat quietly, enjoying the moment before becoming aware of some folk on the ramp below us. I would soon become familiar with this welcome. The Vimy naturally attracts enthusiasts, so there is rarely a shortage of willing hands to help with the task of putting this magnificent aeroplane to bed. I couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt as I dropped to the ground after clumsily negotiating the route from the cockpit. All the people here were anxious to know how the flight went and what it was like to fly and it was me they were asking. I was, and still am, very aware of the tremendous privilege. As we wound the huge steel doors of the hangar closed for another night, I caught myself squeezing through the gap to look once more at an aeroplane with which I so much hoped to become friends. With the doors closed, I walked slowly towards the car and thought that perhaps today we had made a start. It was time to buy Mark and John plenty of ale!

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