Dispatch from KSAF, Santa Fe, New Mexico: By dawn’s early light I can see the silver fins of the stroker engine through the air intakes in the nose bowl, the front cylinders a pair of griffins in twin caves, ready to leap from their lairs and devour slower prey.
The new engine is ready to fly.
But Race 53 still isn’t ready to race. One important task remains: The engine break-in.
The stroker engine was born at 7,539 feet above sea level, and hung on the plane at 6,349 feet. To properly set the piston rings we need to get her to lower altitude as quickly as possible, and run her hot and hard.
My mechanic cautions me to minimize low RPM: No long descents, land with some power, keep the taxiing as short as possible.
Back in the saddle
I’m eager to go. It’s been too long since I’ve been behind the controls of my favorite plane. I slide down into the cockpit and take a moment to relish the environment. I breathe in the airplane smell of metal, oil, fuel, and plastic — a unique perfume only aviators appreciate. I run my fingers gently over her yoke and throttle.
I snap my iPad into its holder on the instrument panel and stow four bottles of oil in the cargo compartment, along with mixed nuts, string cheese, peanut M&Ms, and a sack of Duke’s sausage sticks — our traditional inflight meals on cross-country flights.
Then I stand on the bench seat, and using a soft cotton towel, I wipe a thin layer of tan dust off the grey plastic of my windshield.
You know your plane has been hangared too long when there’s dust on the windshield.
Then…that’s it. We’re fueled heavily and packed lightly. It’s time to go.
Best laid plans…
The sun has crested the mountains. Race 53 casts a long, wicked-looking shadow in front of her, hawk-like, showing her inner raptor. Lisa tightens her seat belt and snaps her shoulder belt into place. She grins.
“It’s good to be back in the saddle again,” she says, then slips her new Zulu 3 over her trademark Sundance Aviation baseball cap.
I flip the silver master switch upward and the attitude indicator and engine monitor screens flicker to life. Aviation sure has changed a lot in the last few years. In the days of steam gauges even abandoned relics looked ready to fly. Now the best-equipped cockpits look like eyeless zombies on the ramp.
I had hoped to take off before the tower opened, meeting Lisa at 5:15 a.m. for the drive over to Santa Fe, but it took longer than I thought to get Race 53 ready. As I flip the radio switch on I hear the ATIS crackle in my ears, “…Class D airspace is now in effect.”
Well, damn.
I listen more. The tower has started the day taking off and landing on Runway 02. Double damn. So much for our plane plans.
Knowing that the most likely time for an engine to fail is shortly after a major overhaul, Lisa, Rio and I spent the night carefully laying out a chain of emergency procedures for various altitudes.
When do I try to put it back on the runway? How high can I be before I try the “impossible turn?” Where should I put down among the mixed industrial and residential buildings that surround the airport if we lose the engine in that danger zone where there’s too much altitude to get back on the runway, but too little to turn back?
We studied Google Earth satellite images of the areas surrounding the airport, choosing emergency landing zones off of the end of each of the four active runways at the field. We liked Runway 22 the best.
So now what? The wind is less than four knots, the tower would probably give me 22 if I asked, but there’s already three planes in the pattern this morning. It might mean waiting, idling, at low RPM, bad for the new engine. I decide to go with the flow and call ground control for taxi clearance, and release the parking brake.
“OK, we turn slightly left for the field between the cement factory and the gas distributor if things go south on us,” I say to Lisa, more to remind myself, than anything else, as we taxi down Alpha past the control tower.
Last night we also argued about the wisdom of taking another person on this dangerous flight vs. the safety an extra set of hands and eyes could provide. I leaned toward solo, but Lisa is as stubborn as a mule when her mind is made up, which is why she’s sitting next to me right now.
“Roger that,” she replies.
Seeing red
We’re cleared for takeoff. I turn off my ANR so I can hear the engine better. It’s giving off a dull, steady thrumming noise. It’s a different song than our old engine, but it sounds healthy.
I listen for any cough, any hesitation, any roughness. Nothing. The engine is giving out a smooth drumbeat of steady noise. I rest my hand on Race 53’s dash. The vibration is smooth, fluid.
I pull out onto the runway, rolling over the giant painted runway number, pointing Race 53’s nose towards the line of center stripes. This is it. I cinch my shoulder belt tighter, then wrap my hand around the throttle, smoothly push it forward. The dull thrum becomes an angry snarl. Then the snarl shifts to a throaty baritone that evolves into a deep roar. The airspeed indicator is alive.
The controls become heavy as air rushes over them. The wide centerline stripes shoot under us, coming faster now. I steal one last glance at the new engine monitor that shows me RPM, cylinder head temps, exhaust gas temps, fuel flow, oil pressure, and oil temp all in one place — everything is in the green — then my eyes are out of the cockpit.
The stripes rush under us now, the deep throaty roar of the engine is steady. No need to abort. Gingerly I pull the yoke back and Race 53 slides smoothly into the air.
A red light flashes on the panel. We’re 75 feet up.
I glace down at the engine monitor. I’ve redlined the RPM. Instead of being alarmed, I smile and keep climbing, the red light winking on and off, on and off, in my peripheral vision.
The heart of a 100 horsepower 0-200 beats inside the crankcase of my 85-horse engine. The beefier crank redlines higher than my old crank, but the regs require the monitor to be set for the lower-performing engine. We weren’t sure, but we suspected the new engine would trigger the RPM alarm. So long as the engine temps are good, there’s no issue.
I’m now at 250 feet. The air is smooth, although slightly hazy. My soul is singing with joy, back in the air. I’m cleared for a right turnout. I bank right, beginning the turn. Turning away from my only safe place to put the plane down off the end of this runway if the engine fails. We’ve been in the air less than a minute.
The red light is winking on and off, on and off, in my peripheral vision. The deep throaty roar of the engine is steady.
350 feet. I’m trying to sense how different this new engine is, but it’s too early to tell. I line up on course. 500 feet. I level off. We’re not going any higher today.
Ground speed is 108 miles an hour. Well that sucks. On course. RPM a whopping 2700. Not at an 0-200’s max, but the best I’ve ever seen in this plane. The state penitentiary is off to my right. We’re four miles from the airport.
Cylinder head temps good on all four, as are the individually measured exhaust gas temps. Oil temp is in the green and oil pressure is…Zero?
I lean forward and squint at the dial.
The red light is winking on and off, on and off, in my peripheral vision. The deep throaty roar of the engine is steady.
That can’t be…“Hey, Lisa, I’ve got a zero oil pressure reading here.”
That’s not possible. Not THAT quickly. It’s been less than two and a half minutes since we lifted off.
“It’s got to be a bad sensor,” I tell her, thinking out loud more than anything else. It was fine a second a go…Wasn’t it?
The red light is winking on and off, on and off, in my peripheral vision. The deep throaty roar of the engine is steady.
Lisa leans over to look, frowns. “Talk to me,” she says.
The day is lovely. The plane wraps around me like a security blanket. I want to fly. I want to get back into the races for the Sport Air Racing League. I don’t want to go back.
Plus for proper break in, I really need to keep the RPM up and — before I can finish the thought, my hands take over, turning the plane back.
I thumb the mike switch, “Santa Fe tower, November three niner seven six hotel, we’re showing zero oil pressure and would like to return to the field.”
“It’s gotta be the sensor,” I tell Lisa. “But no sense in taking a chance. We’ll land, get it fixed, and hopefully be back on our way in no time.”
The tower controller, who had five minutes ago caustically chided me for neglecting to say the exact runway number I was cleared to during my taxi read-back, is now 100% helpful.
“Seven six hotel, cleared to land runway 33, I’m holding all other traffic, do you require assistance?”
I roll out of my turn, runway 33 low off my nose. If the engine quits now I’ll be a tangled pile of metal in the bottom of the arroyo off the end of the runway.
“Negative,” I reply, “this is a precautionary landing. I think it’s a bum sensor.”
The red light is winking on and off, on and off, in my peripheral vision. The deep throaty roar of the engine is steady.
I hold the RPMs high. We shoot in over the juniper trees. At the last second I chop the power and Race 53 settles onto the numbers. It’s a lovely landing. I coast off the first taxiway and operations return to normal at Santa Fe Municipal.
The red light on the panel is still winking on and off, on and off. The engine monitor still displays zero oil pressure. So sure am I that this is just a loose wire on the newly installed engine monitor that it never occurs to me to shut down the plane right there and then, between the runways, and get out and look.
I contact ground control and am cleared to taxi back to where this adventure all started five minutes ago. I taxi with a high RPM and a light foot on the brake. As we near our mechanic’s hangar I kill the engine and coast in the last 50 feet.
Our unexpected return brings my chief wrench turner out on to the tarmac. I slide my door down into the belly of the plane as he walks up.
“I think I got a bad sensor, here,” I tell him. “It’s saying zero oil pressure.”
His face is grim, lips drawn in a tight frown. “Well,” he says, “you are leaking oil.”
It’s a punch in the stomach. I release my belt, scramble onto the wing, and drop to the ground. Behind Race 53 is a solid, glistening path of oil, a snail’s slime trail, leading back toward the runway. I can’t process what I’m seeing. I kneel down. Oil is dripping from every surface, starting at the wing root and leading all the way back to the tail cone.
“Let me get some tools,” says my mechanic, and heads back to the hangar. Lisa is now out of the plane on the other side. Surveying the oil slick leading back along our taxi path, her face turns pale.
My mechanic is back. The cowl is open on both sides. The engine is clean and dry. Where is the oil coming from?
With shaking hands I pull the dipstick. At first glance it appears clean and dry. A wave of nausea sweeps over me as it hits me: I might have destroyed my new engine five minutes after writing a very large check simply because I was too stupid to shut down the second I rolled off the runway.
In my mind’s eye I see the red light winking on and off, on and off.
My League Points: Frozen at 840, where it’s looking like they might still be at end the season.
My League Standing: Second place behind Charles Cluck, who’s flooded Houston-area airport reopened just in time for him to make it to the Thunderbird Air Race in Arizona. He now stands at 1,140 points.
Interesting story but I might not be so quick to point out that I operate the engine beyond the approved operating limits! Putting it in writing, that you operate the engine at 2700 RPM you’re admitting and posting your operations contrary to the limitations.
But just changing the crankshaft, cylinders and pistons does not make an O- 200. There’s a reason the operating limitations remain on the C85. The case although it looks the same as an 0-200, it is not there are less through bolts in the C-85 case. The valve timing is also different and the power curve in a different RPM band. A major difference is the propeller. The O-200 uses a much smaller and lighter propeller to reach 2700 RPM.
Probably most important reason is the example it sets for your son with regard to limitations. Many people regard you as an expert on Ercoupes. So if he doesn’t follow the rules it must be OK. Last by putting it in writing you document your own FAA violation. Also providing a way out to the Rebuilder to not stand behind the engine or perhaps your insurance company to deny a claim if you had to land off airport had an accident.
Love your writing just hate to see you back yourself in a corner.
Arlan
N3989H
SN4690
Thanks for writing, but info is contrary to what I’d been told, and what I’d read on my own. My peeps told me that the new operating limitation was 2800 and change (I can’t recall now if it was 2825 or 2875), but that with our prop, I’d never see it. Which was true. Naturally, now that you’ve written in and raised the issue, I’ll have to dig deeper and double check. And you are correct in pointing out that our children model their behavior off of ours, a fact never far from my mind.
And I am sorry I don’t mean to be argumentative however, the STC does not change the operating limitations of the engine. The redline rpm remains 2575 RPM. It seems to be a common misconception in the field that now you have an O-200. But you don’t. What you have is a C-85 with some of the parts of an O-200.
I urge you to read your STC carefully. If you have questions call the STC holder and let them clarify. The engine you have does not have the same number of through bolts as a O-200 nor the value train and camshaft of a O-200. The STC will have no reference to changing the markings on your tachometer. Also no performance data. Because the STC did recertify the engine to operate at the higher RPM. On the upside you will produce 85 horsepower to a significantly higher altitude than a standard C-85. So ultimately you do gain a performance increase.
I hate to recommend anyone consult with their local FSDO! But they do hold the rule book! You will find that the Airworthiness Inspector will agree with my position. If not I will fly back and take you and your entire family out for a steak dinner! But then on the other hand I like my steaks well done!
Best of luck,
Arlan
N3989H
SN4690
When and if we ever get the dern engine back (which, dear readers, has evolved into an unbelievable story that GA News wants to carry–so look for that in the near future) I will take a magnifying glass to the paper work that travels with it!
But seriously, steak well done? There goes your credibility!
🙂
What can I say, I thought all New Mexicans ate their steak well done! Looking forward to hearing the rest of the story.
Arlan
N3989H
SN4690
Good that you made it back safely. As an old hand – 50+ yrs flying and still have my CPL and AME would mind briefly disclosing the cause of the problem. Although it was tough for you, I prefer to learn from others experience if I can.Thanks, Paul.
Please stay tuned, I promise we won’t leave you all in the dark…
Irrespective of the fact that the engine has strict guide lines for breaking in NOTHING replaces the initial start up and ground run for any indications of trouble. The mechanic should have done this. Also, the old fashion “steam gauge” oil pressure gauge is a safer bet than some thing that may (or not) work. If it says NO PRESSURE you can believe it – even if the line to it has fractured because you will very soon be out of oil in this case. I saved my neck (and aircraft.) because there was a sudden an continuing drop in the oil pressure made obvious movement of the needle.
You are correct. And in my (and my mechanic’s) defense, we did. Although GA News is TREMENDOUSLY generous with how much space they give me for my stories, sometimes I need to leave out some details to keep the dispatches manageable. As to steam gauges, I agree, although I doubt in this case it would have made a difference. The engine monitor has a similar readout, although digital, but I had my head out of the cockpit for take off so I didn’t see it moving.
So glad to read you got her safely to the ground. Perhaps I am a bit of a Luddite but the original oil pressure and oil temperature gauge would have likely indicated the loss of oil through fluctuating pressure and rising temps. The thought of a modern digital engine monitoring system is good, but, as a Coupe driver you surely do not underestimate the capabilities of older design or the engineers that designed them. Sometimes “simple” is good. Best of luck on getting back in the race.
Thank you! I actually agree with you. I LOVE a simple steam gauge. The only reason we went digital was that I wanted to be able to monitor what was going on in all cylinders. It was cheaper to use a “modern” single unit designed for all cylinders than to install gauges for all cylinders separately. We would have run out of instrument panel! (But it would have been a cool vintage 747-type look.)
…and you had a passenger with you on a post maintenance test flight WHY???
I didn’t have a passenger. Lisa is a fully qualified pilot. The actual break-in flight was set to be 10 hours, all at 500 foot AGL. After much family discussion, we decided safety was on the side of two pilots over one for an extra set of eyes looking for those pesky cell phone towers, helping monitor engine gauges, and spelling me at the controls.
Lessons learned. Always, always always do a warm up and run up, then shut down and inspect for oil leaks following major engine work. Break-in is not that critical. I have built a number of engines and done the break-in from an airport very close and a bit higher in altitude than KSAF, and never have I had one fail to seat properly. That includes a number of small Continentals as well as Lycomings. It’s just not that difficult.
Really not trying to be critical as you were undoubtedly following your mechanics instructions. But he put you at risk unnecessarily so.
Next installation we would like to know what failed and was the engine damaged? Down to 1 quart of oil in the sump should have been enough to maintain minimal pressure off and on with the pump cavitating part of the time, but hopefully did not cause serious damage in a C-85, but you were really at the limit and the engine will undoubtedly need to at least pull a rod to inspect for excessive bearing wear and/or damage. Knowing your engine builder, I know he stands behind his work and will warranty it if the problem was his mistake.
Thank you so much for your comments. As I’m sure you know, the conflicting advice on break-ins is maddening, and as you suspected: I followed the advice of my mechanic and the rebuild shop. As of today I still don’t know what caused the failure, but as you suspected the next (and final) installment in our story will reveal if the engine was damaged. It was just too long a story for one dispatch. Besides, who doesn’t like a good ol’ fashion cliff hanger? Or should I say “cliff hangar?”
Cliff hangar indeed. The mechanic in me will stay tuned for the next installment. Glad you got back with it and all are safe.
I understand why mechanics emphasize break-in procedures, but don’t ever put it in front of your safety. There is absolutely no reason to be racing around at tower level! I have run in a number of engines at higher altitudes >7500′. Unless you go out of your way to abuse it, you aren’t going to hurt the engine and it will break in just fine. It just takes a little longer at the lower pressures that come with altitude.
I’ll be looking forward to your next report.
I’d never heard of high altitude break-ins, so thanks for sharing that with me and the other readers. As to running about at tower level, well that’s normal ops altitude for us as air racers…
🙂
Stay tuned, folks. Stay tuned.
🙂
No No Race 53!! Don’t do this!! Tell us so we can get back to normal life. What happened!!! Race 53 where are you? This hurts!!
Nice to know we’ll be missed. But not to worry, there’s one more “dispatch” before our two-year story wraps up.
Glad to hear you’re safe.
Thank you. I don’t think we were ever in real danger, as it all happened so close to the airport. That said, a few bad decisions at that point, and things could have ended differently. So I’m grateful for my training.
That’s just it, you were an incorrect assumption (bad wire or sender) away from a potentially worse outcome. It’s great that you followed your training as an example to all.
Very true.
Was the engine destroyed?
Like me, you’ll have to suffer a bit of suspense before that question gets answered. Stay tuned…
Glad you got down safe and sound and here’s hoping for the best on that new engine. And I am the last to be critical of anything you did here. But this brings an old question back to the front for me, and that has to do with the engine monitor. I was once party to putting in a new engine monitor at the time of overhaul. It worked great. Trouble is, we had no baseline from how the old girl was doing before the teardown. (O-360 Lyc with 2200 hours on it). It had served faithfully for 2200 hours without monitoring anything except the old gages. Then the new monitor goes in and all the cylinder head temps look funny. We were still trying to figure it out about 300 hours later when we sold the plane.
I still wish I’d had that monitor on the old engine and would have known what it was telling me, and yes perhaps to know the sensors were telling me the truth.
Great point, although in this case, the engine is more new than old, being as we switched from our old type to a stroker, so I’m not sure any comparisons would have been useful for us. But my original thought was that I would be able to better track changes overtime. Maybe if we’d had a full monitoring system from day one on the old engine, I would have had the confidence to finish the season with it. And who knows, then I might have won the GOLD.