This occurred at a local 1800' full scale grass strip, one from which I used to fly our full-scale Cherokee 140 (now sold). You see, my most recent flight experience is full scale, not "models", which I last flew some 10 years ago.
I had finally restored the SH to a state good enough for range, taxi, and more engine testing than I can do in the neighborhood. The old grass strip, typically dead on weekdays, was perfect for this, and the owner/friend was glad to accommodate me.
Quite uneventful at first. I just taxied around, slowly--at first--minimally trying to shake some rust from the left thumb. There was quite a bit of it, rust. I taxied progressively faster, trying to get a feel, avoiding ground loops. I wanted to go fast enough for the plane to take enough of a bite to achieve some lofting, to be partially flying whilst still kissing blades of grass. You know what I'm talking about. That threshold between wheels and control surfaces having command.
You know--tail up, scant bobbling. I did this for about an hour, when suddenly I hit a bump and had more float than expected, by quite a bit, like 6 feet. ... At such a point a plane is flying, and because of the attitude, I had no choice but to apply full power and commit to a flight that was utterly unplanned. Prayer was involved.
I don't know how I did it. I was trembling and had trouble mentally escaping the full scale control arrangement: throttle on right and, yoke in the left. But I was flying--not lawn darting--til 30 seconds into the flight when she ran out of fuel at 30'. Ran out of FUEL! I had to dead stick that thing after a century of not having a transmitter in my hands other than to fiddle with linkages.
It is interesting. ... That flying R/C is like riding a bike must be true to some extent, because some latent memory stored in my left thumb actually managed to put that ship down without a scratch. Ugly, even hideous, but I got that nose down--get the nose down--and ballooned and proposed it in. I was stunned.
Yes--there was more flying. Are you kidding? After that smashing success I had to go up again, and again. Foolish, impulsive, but no choice. Much trembling, risking the whole ship each time. I was alone except for my full-scale pilot/owner friend, who was fascinated by the whole spectacle. No one to which that transmitter could be thrown to in a panic.
By the fourth and last flight, I was amazed at how much had returned. I wasn't doing 8-point rolls, or flying circles; but the dormant critical brain centers snapped to attention in short order. It is interesting to note that I probably would have re-kitted the SH had I not taxied for an hour hitherto.
It was very exciting! I had forgotten what a hoot this hobby is. The Tower 75 had three modes: surging idle, WOT, and a smoke belching cancerous midrange. Work needed there. It screams with a Zingali
11x7--probably not enough prop.
Well--the SH is filthy from grass clippings, with minor contusions from a corn row landing, but fully intact and ready for inspection and a bunch of fine tuning. I was lucky the trims were fairly close. But I flew that bloody thing! Totally unplanned, and amazing. Dave