Our little discussion about ?Safety? in so far as Tail dragger's are
concerned triggered a response in me that has been simmering for a long
while.  I will confine my remarks to aviation but they apply to all
endeavors  in life.   When I was a boy my father would take me to the
air port to watch the Cubs, Taylorcrafts and other similar aircraft
flying (in the pattern sort of) for the joy of flying.  There was no
control tower and not a single aircraft had a radio.  Right over the air
port, some adventuresome pilots, would toss in an occasional loop.
Learning how to handle your  tail dragger was a rite of passage into an
exclusive club.  If there were any nose wheels around, I did not see
them.  Perhaps they were cowering  behind the hanger doors where they
belonged.

My father was not a successful man and as his son I did not find much
to be proud of even though I desperately wanted to.  Then one day, he
and a buddy, managed to buy a war surplus Taylorcraft and he learned to
fly it.   He did get good at it, I?d say, since he eventually  thought
nothing of plopping down into any farmers field or meadow that had
enough clear space.  Think of how much skill that takes.   Did it take
courage?  I don?t know.   But imagine doing that...

For sure, for my father  the scales had tilted dramatically away from
safety and in favor of adventure.  He developed a spring in his step and
a glint in his eye and, in the process,  became my hero.

If we conducted ourselves that way today,  the farmer would sue us, the
sheriff would cite us and the insurance company would drop us faster
than you can spell the word ?fun?.  Bureaucrats (FAA, Insurance
companies) hate adventure and they love to dredge up safety anytime
someone wants to have fun.  They limit our activities and then charge us
for the privilege.   The thing about adventure is that it is always a
little bit dangerous sometimes very dangerous.  Do we really want to
give that up?   Otherwise ?adventure? would be as boring as, well,  a
nose dragger.

I learned to fly (Luscomb) off  a dirt strip in the Mojave and my 80
year old instructor spent a lot of time  on cross wind landings in the
strong desert winds.  In fact he would sometimes make me use the runway
that the winds did not favor.  I learned to land on one main and drive
down the runway on that one wheel steering with the rudder.  We
practiced stalls and spins.  At altitude he had me practice skidding as
in a crappy approach and force the issue until the plane would suddenly
snap onto her back.   He never taught me how to navigate or to talk on
the radio.  If I wanted to learn those things, there were books
available.  He wanted to teach me how to fly.   Flying is handling an
airplane as if you are one with it.  Anything less is just driving.

Think of all the gains in private aviation since the days of the Barn
Stormers.  I would trade all of them to live in that era- to fly by the
seat of my pants, needing no ones permission, and get out of my airplane
with the swagger that befits a real man.  Jerry

I learned to fly in the summer of 1949 in Cubs and Aeronca Champs
(tail dragger's both) at age 14. I exchanged instructions for washing
airplanes. Things were as you say they were.

One of the unfortunate facts of life is you can never go back in
time :)

Paul Lamar ...No rotor no motor.

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