The museum's 1941-vintage Stearman A75N/1 sits in the aircraft workshop awaiting a replacement engine. I don't recall what the problem was, but that engine was completely trashed. They scooped eleven pounds of aluminum filings out of it, the fellow said.
According to the museum, this aircraft was used as a cropduster by the company which eventually became Delta Airlines.
The museum's Stearman was still in the workshop for the 1 July show, so a substitute was brought in – a PT-13 with the Lycoming radial.
The disparity in speed between the replica RAF F.E.8 and Nieuport 28C.1 is quite marked, even though both replicas have modern engines.
The replica Bleriot XI has, in fact, flown – perhaps 'hopped' would be a better word - before, but seldom does so now.
The original JN-4D.
The Bleriot's original Anzani engine was demonstrated during this show. It's modest “pocketa-pocketa” is pleasing to the ear, though I don't think I would have liked to sit in the path of the top cylinder's exhaust.
The representation Sopwith Pup. That's an actual LeRhone rotary on there, though – the castor oil kicked out after a flight is enough to make that clear.
The Farman III makes her stately way toward the grass alongside the runway, from which she will take off.
A Piper Super Cub in Lighthouse Patrol markings prepares for an airmail demonstration. The hook just above the tailwheel is where the action starts.
The photos of the catch itself did not expose well, so here is how it went: a mailbag was attached to the end of a long loop of rope, the top end of which was suspended across two poles like a tightrope. The Super Cub caught to rope on a low pass and pulled the mailbag with it, hanging from the tail like so:
Had this been a Jenny in the 1920s, the pilot would have hauled the mailbag into the cockpit while flying the plane with his feet, until he came to the town where the mail was to be delivered. Then he would have heaved the bag out of the aircraft, and a small attached parachute would have settled it to earth. If the parachute failed, only mail would be damaged, and thus airmail could be safely delivered to rural areas without a sufficiently large field to land or take off from.
The Auburn 851 is probably my favorite automobile ever; it exudes style and power like no other car I've seen. Sadly, it's not easy to photograph between the ropes and stanchions and the other cars parked around it, so this is the best I could do.
Ken Cianchette, Maine's Own Red Baron, throws his replica DR.1 into a zoom climb immediately after takeoff. The DR.1 flights are proper aerobatic shows, compared with the steady passes of the museum's WWI planes, and the impression that the DR.1 could eat its contemporaries alive is strong. Its maneuverability never ceases to amaze me.
The Farman III on the flightline. There is a gag plaque on the inside of one of the struts with instructions on how to destroy the aircraft: 1. Drain fuel tanks, 2. Obtain matches. Since the gas tanks are gravity-feed and situated right over the pilot's shoulders, this is not so difficult to do.
This show was a pleasant way to spend a hot afternoon. For the sake of brevity I have left the automobile content out (though that part of the show was not a wash). The high point was doubtlessly the open flightline, where I got to have a close look-round of the museum's aircraft, and got to talking with the Sopwith Pup's pilot about airframe construction and maintenance, flying, do-it-yourselfing, and other wholesome topics of conversation.
Because I have so many photos from these shows, I'll leave this as the first part. If there's interest, I will post parts 2 and 3 in their own threads, so as not to bog down each one excessively.
I'm going to try to get those pics up here soon.