Affordable! Easy to build! Fast! Comfortable!

Marketing departments willfully ignore the difference between objective and subjective statements. One that stands out in my mind was a claim that $3990.00 a month is an affordable payment. They haven’t seen the rust-perforated rocker panels on my 2008 Jeep. Or they feel my otherwise frugal lifestyle allows me an indulgence. A $3990 monthly payment is not affordable to me. I keep company with those who smell of fiberglass resin, have Sitka Spruce dust in their hair, and track aluminum chips across their click-in-place kitchen floor.

Subjective Words: Statements of Opinion

A marketing department’s subjective proclamations (often accompanied by an exclamation mark, “Superb Handling!”) make great advertising bullet points but provide no concrete information.

• Affordable! (For who?)

• Easy! (Compared to what?)

• Comfortable! (Who can define what you find comfortable?)

Marketers don’t hold a monopoly on subjective statements. Aircraft builders and pilots are free and easy with them, as well.

• It runs hot.

• It’s slow.

• It feels tight.

Those statements, like the marketing claims above, provide no measurable information. Subjective terms can be thought of as opinions. This was on full display when I worked airshows and helped people try on the Sonex factory aircraft cockpits. One couple, both pencil-thin, leaned left then right at acute angles until their shoulders contacted structure or each other before declaring the cockpit “tight.” Two men of linebacker proportions (I felt they had no chance of fitting) shoe-horned themselves into the same cockpit (aided, I think, by the lubricating properties of sweat and sunscreen), looked at each other and proclaimed, “Yah, this is roomy!” Objectively, the cockpit is 38-inches wide. Subjectively, 38-inches may be too narrow for some and spacious for others. There’s no telling how any individual will subjectively judge the comfort of the cockpit’s 38-inch width.

Objective Words: Statements of Fact

Objective terms are statements of fact. When discussing cruise speed a pilot of a Heath Parasol may subjectively define 80 knots as fast, while a pilot of a Lancair will surely call it slow. Both understand, however, that 80 knots is an absolute, measurable value. Consider for a moment how wind direction and speed are communicated to pilots: “Winds are zero-four-zero at seven, gusting to twelve.” It is precise because it is objective. You know exactly what to expect as you begin your take-off roll or enter downwind. You can anticipate the control inputs necessary to maintain directional control. You can request a more favorable runway or divert to another airport if the values exceed your comfort level. If the winds were reported subjectively it may sound like this: “The wind is from the left but isn’t that bad.” Not that bad for who? Not that bad for what kind of airplane? From the left while facing which direction? A subjective wind report would be useless to everyone.

Airplanes are often described subjectively. I’d never want to hear a Spitfire’s appearance described as “a pleasing combination of compound curves encasing the mechanical components required for sustained flight.” Nope. “Sexy” can always describe a Spitfire’s appearance and no one will disagree. But when that sexy form needs maintenance the mechanic would rather be told, “The left brake drags during extended braking” than be told, “The brakes are bad.”

Subjectivity serves us fine when we’re hangar flying with our buddies (“Man, I dragged that thing in so slow”), but when communicating technical matters—with other builders, a DAR or an FAA inspector, a mechanic, or the company who designed the kit—, use objective terms that can be universally interpreted. When someone told me their engine ran “hot” my only option was to ask many questions. Hot is subjective and the statement doesn’t describe the conditions under which the temperatures were observed. On the other hand, “The cylinder head temperature in cruise is 410 degrees,” gave me something immediate to work with. I would still ask follow-up questions, but my questions were more specific and I could identify possible causes and suggest corrective action more quickly.

Are You Asking For Opinions?

When you ask a kit plane manufacturer, or the owner of the same aircraft you are interested in building, a subjective question—Is it easy? Is it fast? Is it comfortable? And my favorite, “Can I build it?”—you are asking them to make a judgement call on your behalf. That is something no manufacturer can do, whether they try to or not. Of course a salesman will never say their cockpit is cramped, their avionics are expensive, or their headsets are uncomfortable, but even staff who want to be as straightforward as possible are placed in the position of providing an opinion.

If you don’t trust sales staff you can turn to strangers on the internet. What you’ll most likely get in return are subjective statements; dozens of them, increasing your confusion and still leaving you to form your own opinion and make your own decision. For example, all of the following statements are valid: A Sonex cockpit is spacious; a Sonex cockpit is cramped; a Sonex cockpit is 38-inches wide. Only one of these statements is an objective fact, the others are subjective opinions.

Bonus Content: Weasel Words

Weasel words are a category of words all good technical writers learn to avoid. Weasel words imply something without delivering the goods. They are ambiguous and you should watch and listen for them as well. Often, they are used without thought. Worse is when they are used intentionally. Words like should, may, and might avoid commitment and lack specificity. You should unplug the toaster before washing it is not the same as you must unplug the toaster before wiping it with a damp cloth. You can install IFR instruments in an Evans VP-1 is not the same as “Never fly a VP-1 in IFR conditions.”
“As a new tailwheel pilot you should be fine landing a Beech Staggerwing.”
“They say these engines all run hot.” (Who are they?)

Even my youngest daughter noticed, by age eight, that the phrase “we’ll see” was the opposite of a commitment. Her specific reaction was, “I wish ‘we’ll see’ meant yes.” Yes, she busted her parents setting the stage to weasel out on activities.

Choose your words carefully when communicating with others. Aviation is a soul-freeing activity rooted in math, science and engineering. Objective statements make airplanes fly. Subjective statements are the personal expressions of the joy of flying (and building). “I was coming in hot with a strong crosswind from my left. The wind was singing through the struts of my Weedhopper and I knew I’d have to land long…”

“Customers are always right except in matters of money.”

Those stark-but-telling words were emblazoned on a sign in the break area of a fast food chain, where I worked for an all-too-long week in 1985. It was a not-so-subtle way for management to convey to front-line employees that anything having to do with money coming out of the till required a manager’s okay. And it probably wasn’t going to happen. “Here, have two coupons for free ice cream cones.”

Every business has terms and conditions—legitimate ones, not those hidden in an employee break area—which form a contract between them and their customers. (I know skipping ahead is tempting, but please give these 1300 words their due. I’ll try not to make this read like terms and conditions.) Terms and conditions are the house rules, put in place to eliminate surprises and protect buyer and seller alike though, admittedly, the seller writes the rules. Commonly, terms and conditions define how payment is accepted (“personal checks delay shipping 10 to 14 day”), how discrepancies are resolved (“defective parts are repaired or replaced at seller’s discretion”), and when returns are authorized. When you do business with a seller you agree to their terms and conditions whether you’ve read them or not. I’ve seen terms and conditions for a keychain that are three times longer than this column. Others are short; “We’ll do what’s right.” I love that sentiment, but it requires everyone to do what’s right. If that were always the case a keychain wouldn’t need a 3600-word contract.

Pizza with Extra Sass

Within arms reach of my keyboard lies a $1.00-off pizza coupon. As a level-headed consumer, I don’t need to read the fine print for the offer to be clear: “One dollar off Brand-X pizza when I buy one Brand-X pizza. Good through 12/31/2026.” Simple. If I use it for a Brand-Z pizza, or use it on New Year’s Day 2027, an alert cashier will refuse it. If I ask for two dollars off, the cashier will give me a puzzled look and take one dollar off my pizza purchase. My only appropriate reaction is to acknowledge my error or unfounded request, not berate the cashier, demand he be fired, spit venom on anti-social media platforms and threaten a lawsuit. Speaking of which…

A pilot who was also an attorney posted on an aerobatic group that he was going to spread anti-AeroConversions flyers around the Sebring Sport Aviation Expo “…unless that ***hole in tech support is fired.” I was the ***hole in tech support. I had denied his return of an air filter after he claimed it made his modified Taylorcraft quit on take-off. He felt the denial was a corporate-culture money-grab (it was a $68.25 accessory) and I was endangering people’s lives. His demand for a refund ran smack (that’s not a legal term) into AeroConversions’ term that there are no returns on used merchandise. He threatened a lawsuit and, oddly, threatened his own life by stating he’d re-install the air filter and attribute his all-but-certain death to the air filter. (That will show us.) You’d think an attorney would have read the contract he agreed to—if not before the purchase, certainly after. You’d think a pilot would know a pilot in command is responsible for the airworthiness of the airplane they command. Few, if any, kit plane companies sell parts for trial, especially when amateur labor on experimental aircraft is the target market. (As of December 12, 2025, the only ordering policy in bold font on the Van’s Aircraft web store states, “Important: The purchaser is responsible for determining and verifying the suitability and application of the parts/products ordered.”)

Two Guys Walk In With A Bar

Two building buddies walked into the Sonex hangar with an elevator pushrod that didn’t match the plans. They wanted to exchange it for one that did. Their pushrod had a crude attach-plate welded, poorly, at an unusual angle to one end . It was primed, not powered coated as a factory part would be. I had questions. The kind of questions you have when you find a peanut butter sandwich in your VCR or kerosene in your push mower. Their invoice history revealed the part was years old. They swore the part was as they received it and I assured them it wasn’t. Still, I did due diligence. Could a prototype / experimental part have escaped R&D and gone on the lamb in their kit? No. What they had was nothing like anything Sonex had ever tried. The men

weren’t happy the part wouldn’t be exchanged. A few days later one called to say they remembered they had modified the part. And right there a term (30 days to report missing or defective parts) was helpful because common sense (and memory, apparently) failed when it should have prevailed. In the airplane building hobby parts can take years or decades to be put in use. In that time they can be lost, modified, damaged, change hands and deteriorate.

A Woman Makes A Flap

“I just pulled a flap skin off my shelf and it’s severely damaged. I can’t believe you’d ship something like this!” A few things to—ah-hem—unpack here. If the damage was obvious, why did she miss it when she unpacked the box and placed the part on a shelf? I can assure everyone a niche supplier in a small market has nothing to gain by purposely shipping defective parts. Was the package inspected on delivery? After a shipping department turns a package over to a shipping company they lose control of it. When a package arrives damaged most sellers require the buyer to file a damage claim with the shipping company. But there is potential for part damage that isn’t hinted at by the condition of the packaging, which is why a package’s contents should be examined immediately to make sure the contents are in good condition. A seller has an obligation to ship a serviceable part properly protected for transit. A reputable company will replace a poorly packaged part. The time frame for reporting damaged or missing parts is often defined in a company’s terms and conditions. Common sense suggests it’s a fairly short window of time.

Dear Dad, I’ve Joined a Band

On several occasions entire boxes of parts have been reported missing from an airframe kit. One of the most entertaining shortage claims I had was resolved when the builder found the missing box propping up his son’s drum set. Had the customer performed the kit inventory and inspection within 30 days of receipt, as defined by the terms and conditions, he would have accounted for the box before it struck out for a future in rock and roll. That, in turn, would have narrowed his search pattern and saved days of earnest emails with me. Reporting missing parts months into a build is like claiming a scratch on your six month old car happened at the dealer.

It Needs to Be Said

Some terms and conditions define what you can’t do. For instance, copy and distribute plans or manufacture and sell airframe parts. That may seem obvious, but it happens. I recall a builder who began manufacturing and selling parts to “recoup his investment” in his kit. A kit plane designer has every right to protect their engineering and financial investment by protecting their proprietary information. Start selling Elvis mugs and see how long it takes the suits at Elvis Presley Enterprises to deliver a letter filled with words averaging four syllables or more. Most encroachments are innocent and a builder only needs to be asked to stop. Sometimes it's intentional theft and legal action must be taken. Trust me when I tell you kit manufacturers are as eager to involve attorneys in a dispute as a builder is to be served papers.

Whether it’s a pizza or a plane, if you don’t familiarize yourself with the terms and conditions in advance of a purchase you’ll need to accept them if an issue arises. A reputable company with a solid track record will strive to do what’s right. That’s why they have a solid track record. That’s also why they define how they conduct business. There are no surprises that way. If you want a slow-paced hobby, watch the terms and conditions of upstart kit plane companies grow over time. Each new entry is the child of a troublesome transaction because “We will do what’s right” doesn’t work as well as everyone would like.

It’s a bright, warm morning. The first in months for a landscape that has finally kicked off the grey blanket of winter. Two men are silhouetted against diffused sunlight as they push a heavy hangar door open. The grinding of its metal rollers on a metal rail overlap the sound of a Continental laboring against the drag of a Piper Cub. A third silhouette joins them.

“Mornin’ Cliff. Mornin’ Joe.”

“Mornin’, Clarence. We got donuts and the coffee’s percolating,” replies the tallest silhouette.

The men watch the Cub climb into the sun and then walk to a workbench where they pour black coffee into stained mugs commemorating EAA’s 1972 Fly-in.

“Goin’ flyin’, Clarence?” asks Joe, stirring powdered creamer into his mug.

“Planned to. Spent the winter makin’ improvements to the plane but I can’t get it to make power this morning. Need you to look at the carburetor for me.”

“Why the carb?” asks Cliff, licking powdered sugar from his finger tips and lips.

“Gotta be the carb. It’s the only thing I didn’t touch forward of the firewall this winter. Had the engine apart to replace the bearings, had the intake manifold and cylinder head ports matched— even put a new prop on. Wait till you see it—hand carved beauty. Engine’s better ‘en it was last fall. Carbs the only thing ain’t been touched.”

Cliff lights a cigarette, completing his breakfast of sugar, caffeine, and nicotine. “We’ll take a look. Can you bring it over?”

“Can. It runs well, just no power.” Clarence’s silhouette slips through the open hangar door.

Soon, the sound of an engine draws near. Its exhaust is smooth and steady. “Doesn’t sound right to me,” says Cliff.

“Sounds fine to me,” replies Joe.

“Engine sounds fine. Story doesn’t add up. He said he didn’t touch the carburetor. It would be unusual for it to need adjustment unless he has squirrels with opposable thumbs and access to tools winterin’ in his hangar.” They contemplate that statement. Cliff puts a powdered-sugar donut hole in his mouth.

If this were a 1940s mystery noir, the scene would fade to black as an announcer intones these cautionary words, “Since the invention of the internal combustion engine, the systems—all the bits of the engine, the propeller, the fuel system, the wiring harness—have made carburetors their scape goat. It’s tough for an average Joe to not suspect the carburetor when power goes missing. Wise mechanics know, however, a carburetor usually needs the fleshy hands of an accomplice to cripple an engine.”

Carburetors Can’t Compensate For Other Ailments

If you’ve read “The Misfire. The Usual Suspects, Part 1,” you’ll recall I mentioned how carburetors are simple machines that facilitate mixing of fuel (supplied by the fuel system) and air (drawn in by the intake stroke of the engine) into a combustible aerosol. Carburetors can neither cause nor correct the bad behavior of a single cylinder. When an engine performs poorly overall, however, it is difficult to keep from suspecting the carburetor and its mysterious network of passages and adjusting screws.

Other causes of poor engine performance—failing fuel pump, plugged fuel vent, air leak, plugged fuel line, dirty fuel filter, dirty air cleaner, slipped mixture or throttle cable, and so forth—often frame the carburetor for an engine’s poor performance, causing an average Joe to probe the carburetor with screwdrivers. We’d all like to turn a carburetor’s screw 90-degrees to restore an engine’s compression or repair its broken magneto but, in the history of engines, that has never been accomplished. What’s more, two common carburetor failures—debris in a fuel passage and sinking/stuck floats—can’t be fixed by turning adjusting screws.

When a propulsion system receives maintenance or alterations and the engine’s performance is degraded in the process, the most likely cause is something that was touched on purpose or something that was touched incidentally. For instance, if intake tubes near spark plug wires are replaced it is more likely an intake tube isn’t sealed or a spark plug wire was bumped free than it is the carburetor went out of adjustment.

Cliff and Joe’s ears should have perked up from two of Clarence’s declarations; he replaced the prop and the engine’s bearings. If I were Cliff and Joe, after a brief run-up to check the engine’s reaction to the throttle and cockpit mixture control, I’d cast suspicion on the new prop. Hand carved props can be inconsistent. I’d put the old prop back on to see if the power is restored. If that failed to restore power, I’d confirm the marks on the cam timing gear were aligned correctly with the drive gear when he reassembled the engine. One tooth off and the valves will open and close out of time with the pistons. The engine may run and sound fine, but lack power.

Calibrate Carburetor Adjustments

Carburetor adjustments should only be made for good cause. There is no need to touch the idle screw unless the idle is too high or too low. If the engine doesn’t exhibit signs of being too rich or lean, no mixture adjustment is needed. When you do confront a carburetor with a screw driver, note the original settings so you can restore them if your efforts fail or make things worse. Make small adjustments, one at a time. Common sense dictates a carburetor should not require significant adjustments if it had been functioning fine.

Carburetors become less mysterious when you understand what they can and can’t do. Before casting an accusatory glance at a carburetor, remember it cannot cause individual cylinders to misbehave, and adjustments impact all of the cylinders, not just one that may be misfiring, running hot, or fouling its plug. That knowledge will speed you toward a proper diagnoses and repair.

The Scene…

It’s late evening and the hangar is quiet. Two men linger in the dim light of an incandescent bulb which hangs over a workbench. One pages through a tattered Trade-A-Plane. The other draws a labored breath through a cigarette; its glowing tip reflecting on a window blackened by the night. He captures the smoke behind tight lips before coughing out, “Joe, we need to bring Marvel-Shebler® in and tune ‘em up.”

“Why’s that, Cliff?”

“There was an explosion in an exhaust pipe this morning.”

Joe turns to the Aeronca classifieds before asking, “But why ‘Shebler?”

“A guy saw him hanging out in that area,” says Cliff, tossing his cigarette into a can of dirty water as he pulls another from a shirt pocket embroidered with his name. “Figured him for the trouble.”

Joe looks up from the ads, his face illuminated by the flame of Cliff’s lighter. “Didn’t we investigated him last month, when that engine was missing?”

“Yah.” Cliff flicks the lighter shut and stuffs it in his pocket. “I’ve been suspecting him of causing a lot of trouble around here but nothing ever sticks. I thought he roughed up that engine a few weeks ago, the one you’re talkin’ ‘bout. Turns out a guy everyone calls ‘The Mechanic’ caused that trouble. He beat up a spark plug real bad. Broke an insulator.”

“Doesn’t sound right to me,” Joe says, returning to the tattered yellow pages he’s thumbed through a hundred times. “‘Shebler couldn’t do a job like that any more than Stromberg, Bing, Ellison, Posa, Lake, Rotec, AeroInjector or any other carburetor or throttle body or whatever they’re callin’ themselves. An explosion in an exhaust pipe is too targeted. That’s not their way of doing things. If they’re gonna take an engine out, they’re gonna take the whole thing out. Starve it or choke it until they’ve silenced it.”

Cliff stares into the darkness outside the window. Joe turns another page. If this were a mystery noir, the scene would fade to black as an announcer closes with these cautionary words, “The carburetor is always the first suspect when an engine misbehaves. It’s a tale as old as the internal combustion engine. But wise mechanics know most carburetor problems are electrical. Let that sink in while you count the wires attached to your carburetor.”

Carburetors Are Simple Machines

Carburetors hold a mystical power over our collective psyche. Maybe the name is to blame. The word “carburetor” offers no hint of what it does or how it does it, whereas the word “starter” cuts to the heart of that component’s purpose. “Starter” is both noun and verb. “Carburetor” is…hard to spell. When an engine misfires, no one points to a starter and says, “Maybe that’s the problem.” However, carburetors get blamed for everything: engines that won’t start, engines that run poorly, engines that run on after the ignition has been turned off, engines that won’t develop power, engines that run too hot, lights that have been left on, and cats that haven’t been fed.

Despite their complicated name, carburetors are simple machines that only facilitate the mixing of fuel and air into a combustible aerosol. Carburetors are little more than networks of metered air and fuel passages. They lend their throat to the cylinders so each can draw a breath to the best of its ability (which, like Cliff, could be diminished), but they can’t aide the breathing. Carburetors hold no sway over the type, quality, or quantity of fuel that is delivered to their fuel inlet. They can only ingest it and pass it along. Study a cut-away illustration of a carburetor and you’ll also see that nothing inside can move of its own accord. Everything that moves requires an outside influence: fuel pressure, airflow, the input of a pilot (with the throttle and mixture controls), or the caress of a tool.

Carburetors Are Cooperative, Not In Control

Proper combustion is a cooperative effort between all of the systems of an engine. A carburetor is only one of the many systems and can’t compensate for a deficiency elsewhere in an engine. They have no way of knowing if the ignition timing is off or a spark plug wire is cracked. Put more simply, carburetors cannot direct or withhold their mixture from specific cylinders nor cause cylinders to ignite when they’re not supposed to. When an engine backfires through the exhaust pipe or coughs into the intake manifold it’s because ignition has occurred while a valve is open, not because a screw needs to be adjusted on the carburetor. You can “tune” a carburetor for days but carburetor adjustments won’t resolve any of the problems on this (partial) list of engine problems:

• Damaged spark plug wire(s) or spark plug(s)

• Cracked distributor cap or failed rotor

• Failed Magneto

• Valves out of adjustment

• Intake manifold or cylinder head gasket leak

• Bad ground in an electronic ignition system

• Missing primer plug on a new engine (I’ve seen it)

Carburetors become less mysterious when you understand what they can’t do. When an engine runs poorly, before casting an accusatory glance at the carburetor remember that it cannot cause individual cylinders to misbehave. When an engine stutters it’s more likely to be faulty ignition or a cylinder that can’t breath correctly (for a variety of reasons). Keeping that in mind can speed you toward the correct diagnoses and repair.

Ahhh, putzing about. Is there anything more satisfying? Of course there is. Thousands of things, I’m sure. But, like an ointment on an itch, putzing about is sometimes what’s needed. Dare I say, sometimes putzing is the only thing that will do? For those who aren’t familiar with the term, putzing is an inconsequential activity. Used in conversation, it may sound like this:

“Whatcha do t’day?”

“I putzed around my hangar. Wha’ju do?’

“I putzed around my yard. It was a good day for it.”

“It was. I got my screwdrivers organized by tip style and weeded out duplicate combination wrenches. Feels good.”

“Yah, I picked the decorative rocks out of the grass and tossed them back into the landscaping. Wanna beer?”

Inconsequential? I think not! I find putzing about to be quite consequential. Given a choice between sitting in front of the TV or putzing about, I’ll chose motorcycling every time.

A Putz Comes To Be

Putzes cannot be planned. That is an unbending rule. They can, however, be conjured. On any given day there are multiple putzes waiting for you, you only need to be in the right state of mind and in the right location to recognize one. A putz comes to be when you have the urge to do something but you don’t know what. Here’s an example: You want to be in your hangar but you don’t want to work on your airplane because, at that moment, working on your airplane sounds like, well, work. Cleaning the hangar also sounds like work. But something drew you there, where you now stand with your hands stuffed in your front pockets surveying the scene for nothing in particular. Then your eyes catch a disheveled pile of plans and you begin collating it into some semblance of order. It’s something to do while you figure out what to do. That’s a putz. You’re putzing. Ride that wave as far as it will take you.

A putz can also be triggered by an urge to not do something. Let’s call this the replacement putz. The replacement putz occurs when an unplanned task gets substituted for a planned task. I’ve perfected the replacement putz. It gets me out of recurring chores like vacuuming, mowing the lawn or clearing my couch of the most recent laundry dump. There’s often irony in the replacement putz. For instance, this past fall I wanted to clean my basement but needed to be outside in the warm air and sunshine before they both went south for the winter. Beyond needing to be outside, I had no agenda. After a bit of aimless poking around in my garage I found myself on top of my garage, putzing my way through cleaning the gutters. Had cleaning the gutters been planned for the day, I may have putzed my way through cleaning the house instead, to avoid the miserable task of cleaning the gutters. Putzes are both wondrous mysterious.

Welcome a Putz into your Shop

When I built Metal Illness—and my reader will recall mentions of this in previous columns—I took a year to fit and finish my cowling. (I’m particular.) That wasn’t a year of continuous, focused effort. That was a year of putzing about while my primary building efforts were focused elsewhere. There were days I‘d step into my garage and lose my ambition to, oh, I dunno, route more wires or polish the seat pan. So I’d stand there (hands in pockets) wondering what to do. Thirty minutes later I’d find myself 25 minutes into filling pin holes in the cowl. The effort was likely triggered by seeing the tube of spot putty and deciding it was something I could do “real quick,” while I decided what to do. It was a putz, pure and simple. I putzed my way through fitting and finishing the entire cowl.

Putzing in the shop doesn’t have to directly involve your project. However, any effort exerted toward improving your shop can benefit your project. Examples include organizing a tool bin, sweeping up, throwing away the empty energy drink cans, moving an overhead light to a more useful location, discarding dry and damaged markers, turning a scrap of wood into a drill bit caddy, and so much more. Remember, however, if you plan those projects in advance its not a genuine putz, it’s a to-do list. Which brings me to another characteristic of a putz; a putz (almost) never requires running to a store for parts or supplies. Putzes make do with what’s on hand.

Putzing in the Air

Putzing isn’t confined to the ground. I’ve done more than my share of putzing in the air. I bet the majority of my flight time could be logged as putzing, if such a column existed in The Standard Pilot Logbook. (At 6’0” and 170 pounds, I’m about as standard as pilots come). Every time I launched into the air without a predefined mission or destination I was putzing, and so are you. Something compels us to fly; there’s no telling what, so fly we do. (Why take chances on what that “something” might be?) Because the nature of flight prohibits us from running errands or stopping for a drink, we’ve got to keep moving while we figure out the flight’s purpose—excuse me while I write this—on the fly. A $100 Hamburger flight is not a putz. It’s intentional. Unless you’re airborne when the idea comes to you. That’s a putz.

Let’s pretend we’re playing Let’s Pretend. As you cross the perimeter fence on climb-out you realize you haven’t given any thought to where to go or what to do. At the same moment you feel a breeze on your leg—maybe because you’re not focused on where to go or what to do—and you begin waving your throttle hand around to identify the draft’s source, so you can seal it before winter. That’s a putz. Maybe you realize the headset wires are always in the way of the GPS so you begin noodling a better location for the jacks. That’s a putz. To quote a friend, “Good on you!” To quote another friend, “Are you done with my drill press?”

The Phase I flight test period doesn’t have to be restricted to the serious business of flight testing. In fact, if flying begins to feel like work, that mindset can lead to longer periods between flights. Imagine buying an old British sports car for fun summer drives. Doesn’t that sound nice? But every outing is spent diagnosing clunks, odors and “Why the hell the does the horn blow when I turn the steering wheel right?” How long would that be fun? So far, just over 40 years. To keep things fun during the Phase I flight test period, make time to fly for the pure joy of flying. Fly just to gaze out at wings you built while picturing the invisible forces holding you aloft. It may be, in that moment, that putzing ensues. A tug on the throttle leads to a mixture adjustment, which leads to a note being jotted down. Thirty minutes later you’ve got data on your airplane’s fuel consumption at three or four different power settings. Good on you.

Putzing is an inconsequential activity? I think not. I find tremendous value in putzing about. Putzing has a way of sparking action on mundane tasks, advancing stalled projects and highlighting unseen needs so they can be addressed to the lasting betterment of your shop, your airplane or your psyche. Never underestimate what a putz can achieve.