RADIO CONTROL: PYLON RACING
Duane Gall, 1267 S. Beeler Court, Denver, CO 80231
HOW NOT TO BEAT YOURSELF, Vol. 1
At last, spring is here. The birds are singing, the bunnies are hopping, the sky is filled with fluffy white clouds. It's time to get out there and fly.
Since last flying season you've done everything right. You took the engines out of all your airplanes and carefully cleaned and oiled them. You replaced everything made from rubber, disassembled your fuel tanks, and washed and dried all the parts. You discharged and recharged your radio batteries at least once a month. You checked for frayed wires, oil soaking, stress cracks, loose hinges, and worn servo gears.
You've only just begun.
The art of not beating yourself has very little to do with horsepower, aircraft design, prop selection, or flying the course. Those are all connected with beating the other guy. Most racing pilots take to that naturally — we like beating the other guy. Count on a racing pilot to scope out what it takes to beat the other guy, and then spare no effort doing it.
Not beating yourself is different. It doesn't come naturally. It involves looking inward, not outward. It's Zen. Racing pilots are many things, but Zen usually isn't one of them — except for pilots who win.
You can prove this to yourself. Go down the list of top pilots nationwide, starting with Shadel and Verano. For each name, ask yourself: is this person Zen? Consider how they approach the whole racing enterprise. Do they appear calm, confident, self-possessed? Do they seem in touch with themselves and every aspect of their performance — on and off the flying field?
Consider what they don't do. Have you ever seen a top pilot:
- scurry around the pits begging for glue to make a hasty repair?
- arrive late at the starting line and take a zero for a no-start because they forgot to check some vital component?
- show up with an untrimmed airplane, fly wildly, cut the course, and then holler at the officials?
No, no, no, no, and no.
They have an easy time beating you because they've figured out how not to beat themselves. These people have done their homework. They have anticipated the most likely failures and taken measures to prevent them. Failing that, they have at their fingertips the tool or replacement part necessary to cure the problem quickly and efficiently. Then they've figured out the next most likely failure and gone through the same process again.
All this analysis may seem far too cerebral for an activity like racing, where noise, speed, and swashbuckling improvisation are a big part of the appeal. But when crunch time comes, such preparation can make all the difference. That's why soldiers practice disassembling and reassembling their weapons in the dark — not because they plan to, but so if they had to, they could.
"When crunch time comes ... preparation can make all the difference."
Now let's get down to specifics.
Start with the stuff you take out to the line with you. Consider packing these items and checks:
- Transmitter
- Does your pit box have a place for it?
- Will you know at a glance if you forgot to visit impound, or will you be running around frantically later while distracted and out of breath?
- Electric starter
- Does it require shaking or being held "just so"?
- Do you have to squeeze the switch repeatedly while angrily jamming it onto the spinner?
- Props
- How well does your engine run with a broken prop?
- Did you bring an extra?
- Glow plugs
- Sometimes they're bad even though they look fine out of the package. Use one you just test-ran with; take it out and look at it. Replacing it "just because" might actually cost you points.
- Tools and quick spares
- Ever had a glow plug unscrew itself on the starting line? Could you replace it in time to restart and take off?
- What if your starter loosened the prop nut? Could you grab a tool and retighten it quickly?
- Don't forget the lock nut on the needle valve. A small open-end wrench in your pit kit to tighten the lock nut can save you from choosing between taking a zero or taking off with a randomly rotating needle valve. The first could cost the contest; the second could cost your engine.
Of course you can't be prepared for every possible problem. Believe me, I'm still finding new ways to beat myself even after (ahem) years. But a few minutes of chin-scratching ahead of time could save you a very long, very quiet drive home.
IN PRAISE OF THROTTLES
This is for those who like racing airplanes and the idea of racing but are terrified to take off the first time with an untrimmed airplane at wide-open throttle.
It's no secret that the "carburetors" that come with purebred racing engines are there only to meet the letter of the rules. They're often just rotary shutoff devices. They don't idle — and why should they? Racing airplanes are made to go fast, then land. Power on, power off.
But racing competition and racing practice are two different things. For practice, consider investing in a real throttling carburetor. Nelson and Jett offer them. They do reduce top end a little compared with rotary shutoffs, so you wouldn't want to race with one. But for practice you can take off at full bore, then cut back to a sedate 100–120 mph (about the top speed for a Thunder Tiger–powered airplane) while you fine-tune trims and practice flying the course until you're comfortable with the airplane.
This approach has worked well for Bob Hildreth of Denver. For about a year he's been sport-flying a Q40 Swee'Pea using a Nelson/OS .50 engine with a wide-blade Rev-Up 8x2 1/2 prop. He can do low inverted flybys at idle, then power up into huge outside loops. Spectators and Sunday fliers are amazed to learn it's a racing airplane — because "everybody knows" racing airplanes are scary and hard to fly. This is how we get converts and build goodwill: one person at a time. Meanwhile, Bob's getting lots of practice. It's a win-win situation.
IN PRAISE OF TAILWHEELS
At any given time someone seems to be inventing a "Beginners Only — And This Time We Really Mean It" local racing class. The latest variation I've heard of uses a Quickie 500 airframe (Scat Cat or similar) with an OS .25 FP engine.
However well-intentioned these efforts are, after a brief burst of enthusiasm people start to flake off and participation drops. There are many reasons, but here's one you may not have thought of:
Put yourself in the shoes of a typical newbie — a reasonably proficient sport flier ready to move up to competition. He comes out to the field, sees the local racing team, and watches them put their airplane together and gas it up. One holds it while the other starts and tunes the engine. Fine.
But then they walk it out to the runway. Can't the thing taxi? Every normal airplane can taxi. Now they're signaling to other pilots to stay clear, and they're out on the runway. One pilot adjusts the needle, nods, and his partner pushes the airplane as hard as he can. It takes off, rips around, then throttles back to set up an approach. The airplane touches down, skids sideways, then careens off the runway edge. The poker-chip main wheels dig into the grass and the beast noses over, showering dirt and grass into the engine.
The team smiles at their success — the airplane is fast. But the newbie turns away puzzled. This isn't for me, he thinks. Even if I could handle something that fast, I wouldn't want all that aggravation. I don't have a partner to hold and launch for me. I don't want to shut down other pilots every time I take off. And I don't want to tumble the thing every time I land. Look at it — it doesn't even have a tailwheel!
The tailwheel is often the first thing to go as soon as head-to-head racing starts. It looks like a little glob of pure drag. In the monkey-see, monkey-do world of racing, the minute one guy wins a heat without that little glob of drag, out come the wire cutters and off comes the tailwheel from every so-called "sport" racing airplane in the vicinity.
I'm not suggesting we add a tailwheel requirement to official events; that would be silly. But if your club is trying to create a "Beginners Only" event, consider including the lowly tailwheel among the formula specs. It needn't actually function — its mere presence is often enough. Those who want their racing airplane to double as an everyday sport airplane will make it steerable; those who don't will stick it on the end of the skid. On race day, no one will feel handicapped by that extra little glob of drag, and maybe they'll keep coming out.
That's all for now. Send me some photos!
Transcribed from original scans by AI. Minor OCR errors may remain.
