Speed and Power

Climbing aboard the Mullicoupe, it is immediately apparent that this aircraft is unconventional and not designed in anyway to be easy. Because of the high deck angle provided by the extra-long main gear, the door sill is approximately navel-high. Ingress requires the pilot to back up to the single door on the right side of the fuselage and place one hand on the rear lift strut and the other on the seat in the cabin and push up and back into the cabin. Flying this plane requires some degree of physical fitness and flexibility.

Once aboard, Mark begins switching various toggles and turning valves. A shot of fuel to the engine, and he engages the starter and waits a few blades before turning the ignition switch to both. The R-985 fires and begins to come to life in that beautifully obnoxious way that radials do. Once all cylinders are firing, Mark eases the power forward and we begin to taxi through the aisle the gawking crowd provides. They spread before us like the parting of the Red Sea. Nobody wants to be in the way of the giant Hamilton Standard propeller. The 985 barks at idle like a 450 horse Harley as we make our way through the crowd and the rows of parked RV's and Bonanzas. Because of the extreme angle and the huge engine, forward visibility is generously described as limited. Views out the side are better. Mark asks me to make sure we're clear on the right. So far, so good. The Mullicoupe has more ramp presence than a Corsair, but it's actually a small airplane, not much larger than a short-wing Piper, but the engine and propeller make it seem as large as a fighter from the front.

When we make it to the run-up area, one of the CAP ground coordinators requests we turn the tail to avoid blowing debris on the ramp and the onlookers. Mark performs the run-up and the 'Coupe strains at the brakes and shakes on its bungees. When he's done, he taxis onto the runway, locks the tail-wheel, and stops on what I assume is the centerline. There is no way to tell. The only runway I can see is a sliver out the right side of the windshield.

"You wanna do the takeoff?" Mark asks.

Yes. I want more than anything to do the takeoff. I've wanted to pour the coals to this airplane more than any other. I do not exactly consider myself worthy, however. The Mullicoupe seems closer in performance to the Saturn V than my humble Champ. But what the hell, these kind of opportunities don't come every day.

"Sure," I stutter. "Tell me what I need to know."

"Just keep her straight," Mark says.

"I assume I'll need a lot of right rudder."

"A little. I'll be here if you need help."

He might be sitting next to me, but as soon as I take the stick in hand, put my feet on the big Beechcraft rudder pedals and reach for the throttle in the center of the panel, I feel quite alone. There are no more onlookers, there are no other planes in the pattern. There is just me, some very short wings and a very powerful engine. I ease the power in slowly. The noise is terrific. The super-charged, fuel injected acceleration is on par with the fastest muscle cars I've known. Keeping the runway sliver the same size in my peripheral vision, I've finally got the throttle to its stop. I suppose the tail is ready to come up. I ease the stick forward, expecting this to be the moment of truth where the tiger may decide to turn on me and bite. The tail comes up, the forward view improves significantly, and the airplane is tracking straight with no signs of instability. The runway is passing beneath us in a blur of speed. I decide that at this point that things are going smoothly enough to divert my attention to the airspeed indicator for the first time. Holy crap, it's passing right through 100 mph like it's not even there! At that moment, Mark is back in the cockpit. He lifts his up-turned palm in a subtle gesture. The plane is more than ready to fly. I ease the stick back, and we rocket off into the heavens and establish a 1500 feet per minute climb in no time. It has been perhaps ten or twelve seconds since the wheels started moving. I'll have to time it for sure next time Mark does one.

Mark takes the controls and performs a graceful 230 mph pass down the runway. During this time, I am able to reflect on the takeoff and realize that my heart is beating very, very fast and that I'm too sweaty for the cool early summer morning temperatures. What a thrill! No, that's not the right word. I don't know the right word. It was an experience that I won't ever forget. It was the pinnacle of all of my stick-and-rudder experience to that day, a bench mark. I'm still looking up. Next up on the climb will have to be landing this beast some day.