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Overview
Product Details
ISBN-13: | 9780141017877 |
---|---|
Publisher: | Penguin UK |
Publication date: | 05/01/2004 |
Edition description: | New |
Pages: | 208 |
Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.60(d) |
Age Range: | 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Fly Down to Reno
The P-51 Mustang was America’s answer to the Japanese
Zero. Powered by a US-built Rolls-Royce Merlin
engine, it delivered 1500 horsepower and a knockout blow
to the flying machines of the Pacific Rim.
However, the P-51 in which I flew was churning out
3000 horsepower and could deliver a knockout blow to
my central nervous system – which was very nervous
indeed.
You see, if a 1940s’ car breaks down, and let’s face it
they do, a lot, you coast to the side of the road and await
the AA. But if a 1940s’ plane breaks down it doesn’t so
much as coast but plummet.
And that’s a normal plane. But the one in which I went
for a ride had been tuned and fettled to turn it from war
plane into a 1990s’ racer. The cockpit canopy had been
lopped off each of the wings to reduce drag, and the engine
had been tweaked to the point where it was a bomb. And
the clock was ticking.
In the back, it was noisy and hot and as the thermals
rose to buffet our undersides, there were moments of
queasiness, though thankfully they stopped short of
becoming the spectacular outpourings that occurred in
the F-15.
There wasn’t time to be sick anyhow. You see, an F-15
struts its stuff in the stratosphere, but the Mustang was
designed for low-level performance. So I now know what
it’s like to do 500 mph 50 feet from the deck.
It’s bloody good fun right up to the moment when
the pilot decides to turn. This of course means you stay
50 feet up but one of the wings does not. From where I
was sitting, it seemed like the tip was actually pruning the
bushes.
The pilots need to be familiar with ultra-low flight
because in a race they may need to get among the weeds
to overtake. But we weren’t in a race. So there was no
need to be down there so pleeeeease Mr Pilot, can we go
back up again. Pretty please? With bows on?
The answer was no, and for an hour we charged about
in the undergrowth, flicking left and right to avoid small
mounds and molehills.
Death, had it come, would have been mercifully swift
and I knew the organisers had a standby act to keep
the crowd amused while they hosed me down a drain
somewhere.
Last year, after a fatal accident, a wing walker was
despatched to keep everyone occupied but that went
wrong too. As a finale, the pilot flipped his plane upside
down so his wing-walking passenger was dangling underneath.
However, he misjudged it a bit and took the guy’s
head off.
Air racing is under threat in America because its
dangerous – and over there, dangerous is a dirtier word
than ****.
However, even before the legislators move in, there’s a
very real possibility that the supply of old planes will dry
up and that will be it.
I’m just glad that I got to have a go before they face the
final curtain.