PAUL PHELAN
Writer for the Australian Flying Mag., learns to fly a trike.

In May/June's Backlash Paul Phelan gave commercial pilots a bit of an earful about the benefits of going back to their aviation basics to reinforce their fundamental flying skills, and revisiting the sheer pleasure of flight in its simplest forms. Some of them promptly invited him to put up or shut up.

"I'm guessing that to someone like you, flying a Trike would about as appealing as root canal therapy. Let me know if I'm wrong."

That amateur psychologist - our editor no less - sure knows how to aim a delicate kick. Five days later, I'm watching the sun rise over a mango orchard near Mareeba in Tropical North Queensland. The early light picks out the bright colours of five hot air balloons and two Trikes, already decorating the cool, crisp, clear morning sky. On the dew-covered grass, a third shiny-red Trike is being readied for my trial instructional flight.

It's been an occasion to look forward to (and back on.)

Pioneering CFI and school owner Rod Tyson holds the first-ever approval to train both flex-wing (weight shift) and 'conventional' ultralight pilots, and also has a GA-type PPL. He assures me that my advanced maturity isn't a problem: "Only last week I had an old bloke, aged 61 would you believe, who enjoyed every minute and did really well." I explain to Tyson that 61 is young. 68 is old.

Unabashed, this full-on enthusiastic aviator guides me on a walk-around inspection of his fun-looking machine - a scrutiny every bit as detailed as for any other aircraft; and more so than lots I've seen. Tyson, who cheerfully exploits Mareeba's statistically high sunshine record (300 days a year), runs several concurrent ultralight and microlight businesses. As an approved Australian Ultralight Federation (AUF) instructor, he specialises in training conventional fixed wing pilots for AUF pilot certificates in both weight-shift microlights and conventional ultralights, including experienced private and professional pilots seeking to broaden their horizons. His customers include airline pilots of all ranks including experienced captains; first-time local and foreign tourists whose trial instructional 'freeflying' flights tend to follow popular scenic routes; and individuals who just want to learn to fly simple, fun aeroplanes, and follow on by renting them from Tyson's DSA Aviation on their days off. Many of his customers, including the airline pilots, combine their training and their subsequent pleasure flying with a holiday in the Cairns area; and Mareeba's only a pleasant one-hour morning drive through the rainforest and Mareeba's savannah country.

I'm given an Australian Ultralight Federation (AUF) application form which I later fax off with a credit card authorisation for $135, and I'm officially a student pilot again after 45 years. Ahead of me is 10 hours minimum in flight instruction; five hours theory training, and two theory tests. Basic medical requirements are the same as for a driver's license, with no CASA medical required.

Because Trikes are designed to be folded up for storage, the security of the pins and fasteners that hold the reassembled craft together receives his close attention, as does the condition of the fabric and cables, the three-bladed composite propeller, and every component of the reliable 65 hp two-cylinder two-stroke Rotax 582UL (ultralight) engine.

There's nothing evident here of the 'cowboy' image popularly attributed to ultralight flying. A comprehensive theory session has already told me a lot about Trikes. They're described as "weight shift" aircraft, in which the weight of the aircraft and occupants is moved relative to the wing - a fabric-covered, swept-wing aerofoil derived from the design of hang gliders:

"People tend to divide aircraft up between fixed and rotary wing, but this isn't a fixed wing aeroplane," explains Tyson; "iIt's a flex wing." To highlight that point, he grabs the control bar, which replaces the functions of elevator and aileron controls in a conventional aeroplane (there's absolutely no rudder.) In flight, the aircraft and its occupants are suspended from a single pivot point at the structural and lift centre of the wing. Rigidly attached to the wing, the weight shift bar can be moved fore and aft to alter its angle of attack; and laterally to bank left and right. Tyson invites me to manipulate the bar: "If you push the bar forward when straight and level, you increase the angle of attack of the wing, you'll just slow down. Likewise, if you want to speed up, you move the bar towards you."

He then explains how it all works: "Being a fixed-wing pilot, you're going to take a while to adapt to the controls. You need to have it in your mind that you're not flying a conventional one-piece aeroplane, where everything's bolted or riveted together. What you're really doing, is flying the wing above you, by changing its position relative to the airflow. To do that, you basically point the wing where you want it to go, by moving the control bar."

This, I thought, was going to be a doddle for an experienced fixed wing pilot. Watching two of the tiny craft circling lazily overhead, I figured that in no time I'd be up there with them, soaring like a hawk.

Well if you count the way a hawk plummets towards earth to intercept a fleeing rabbit, I was soon giving a pretty good imitation.

The problem is - especially for experienced fixed wing pilots, that everything works back to front. What this will eventually demand of the trainee, is a bit of internal brainwashing to get it all in place.

Having been guided around a preflight, I step into the fibreglass cockpit, which is easy to do, and strap myself in. Tyson explains the primary flight controls, which are interestingly different from what the average GA pilot is accustomed to. First, there's a conventional-looking rudder bar with two pedals. But there's no rudder; the pedals only control the nose wheel steering. It gets more interesting because they control it just like a billy cart - that is, if you want to turn left, you push on the right pedal (we'll get back to that later.) The message is, this is literally seat-of-the-pants flying and in the main the instruments - except for occasionally checking the altimeter to monitor your height - are secondary. Look at the horizon; not the instruments.

Next is the control bar. The aeroplane's basically divided into two (relatively) rigid but separate components - the fuselage/engine assembly, and the wing - which are hinged together at the pivot point. You're sitting in the bottom part which dangles from the top part, and the alloy bar you're holding is firmly attached to the top part (the wing.) So it's vital to get it into your mind that when you move the control bar, you're not flying the bit you're sitting in; you're telling the wing above you what you want it to do.

Believe me, it takes time, and the more conventional flying you've done, the fewer advantages you'll enjoy, except for the understanding of basic aerodynamics you'll bring to the project. It's a bit like your first time in a left hand drive rental car in Frankfurt, Los Angeles, or Paris. When everything's calm, no problem. But when three things are happening at once, you tend to revert to habit and find yourself confronting 56 cab drivers expressing radical views on your driving, largely in Arabic.

On the alfresco flight deck, I'm familiarised with some more controls. Above the right steering pedal is a foot throttle; and above the left pedal is a foot brake cabled to the brake on the nosewheel (remember that.) Flight instrumentation is limited to an altimeter and an airspeed indicator (which only goes up to 100 knots - VNe is 70.) A digital rev counter tells you what RPM change you've just achieved by moving your right foot, and a water temp gauge lets you know when you've reached the minimum temp for flight, of 140 degrees. Fuel contents are revealed by a glance at the translucent fibreglass 44-litre tank behind us. There's a VHF radio and an intercom which is a vital link with the higher intellect seated behind me. The brief but comprehensive pre-start, taxy and takeoff checklists provide you with all the necessary prompts including brake on before start, especially if your heading is likely to take you into the mango orchard.

Goodness Me!

Rod Tyson, however, understands the difficulties we lesser mortals experience. A range of Tyson expressions (hereinafter generalised as "Goodness me" for censorship reasons) forcefully convey the instructor's message that the student has some little way to go to complete the learning curve.

"Clear prop!" The two-cylinder two-stroke engine requires choke for a cold (electric) start, I push the start button and throttle on to hold it at a vibration-free RPM. It stops because I didn't take the choke off. A re-start and quick look-around check, brake off, and we're taxying. The nosewheel isn't quite straight and we're turning slightly to the left. No problem, a jab on the right pedal and….."Goodness me!" We're headed for a hangar out to our left!

Later, at Mareeba airport, we have a "slalom" taxying session, zigzagging left and right between the centreline markers, in which the cost of going over a painted stripe (or on the wrong side of it) is a carton of Queensland's most popular beverage.

Among the final checks is full and free movement of the wing, which can actually be manipulated so that one wingtip goes extremely close to the ground while the other rises to clear a mango tree. There would be a lot more unharmed petrol bowsers around if fixed-wing aircraft had this facility.

As we taxy for takeoff, Tyson urges me to push the bar alternatively away from me and towards me, intoning: "Forward, I want to live; rearward, I want to die; forward……." The reason for this ritual is soon to become evident.

Moment of truth.

"Both hands on the bar. Full power and hold it there, steering with your feet." Immediately I find that movement of my feet to steer the nosewheel also tends to cause my right foot to increase or reduce pressure on the throttle, but a forceful "FULL POWER!" reminder through the intercom restores the power situation.

"Bar all the way forward!" I do that and for a split second it seems nothing's going to happen; then the Trike is airborne and climbing at a seemingly impossible angle. "Ease off on the bar!" I do that and a more realistic climb angle is established, so for some reason I relax my right foot, the power comes back to idle, and we're headed earthwards. I'm just beginning to restore power when a sharp "goodness me!" rings through the headphones and power is miraculously restored through interaction between Tyson's keen sense of survival and a hand throttle within his reach.

But now, we're airborne and at a relatively safe vertical distance from the Wide Brown Land. Tyson reaches over and puts his hands over mine while I get the feel of the control bar and its interaction with the wing. He also explains that fore and aft movement of the bar is only for the purpose of guiding the aircraft in stable flight, takeoff and landing; and that the throttle is the primary device for controlling climb, cruise and descent. Thus, a climb IAS of 55 knots is achieved with high power; a cruise speed of 55 knots is sustained with power slightly reduced, and (you guessed it) a glide speed of 55 knots is produced by a further reduced power setting. Later in the training, I learn that by simply changing the pivot point between three alternative fore and aft locations, the Trike can be set to alternative trim speeds of 50, 55 and 60 knots; and glide ratio at 55 kt is an incredible 11:1.

"If you're holding the bar out to maintain height, you haven't got enough power on, and if you have to pull it in to stop climbing, you've got too much." This is also pretty easy to adapt to, although it isn't easy to determine the power level from the noise level, and early on it definitely isn't safe to take your eyes off what's going on outside for long enough to look for and read the digital rev counter. You know you're improving when you can achieve a desired vertical flight profile without looking at the tacho at all.

Banking is the easiest to adapt to, if you simply imagine (while you're getting used to it) that you're holding the bottom half of a Cessna yoke, rather than the top half. Thus movement to the right banks you to the left and vice versa. After a while, at least that part begins to come naturally.

By now we're into circuits and landings. Close to the ground, you have to get a few things clear in your mind. For example there's a tendency just after takeoff and just before landing, to try to correct yaw with rudder by pushing on the nosewheel steering bar, which is about as effective as sticking a banana in your ear: "On the ground, steer with your feet. In the air, steer with your wing," Tyson keeps reminding me with saintly patience. It still takes considerable self control not to try to arrest an airborne yaw with the pedals, and by now I'm figuring GA time to be more of a handicap than an advantage. I fondly recall my basic training as a backhoe driver as being maybe more relevant to the current task.

Stabilised flight is the goal, and when you've achieved it you begin to relax to the point where you're only holding the bar between a couple of fingers, and controlling in the vertical plane with throttle. Turbulence, especially close to the ground, tends to be distracting, and I must constantly remind myself that the only way to steer this machine is with the wing. Concentrating on this, especially on the approach, tends to cause over-correction, and there's a "pendulum effect" that develops as the machine (with you in it), begins to swing from side to side beneath the wing. Tyson demonstrates how short, sharp corrective movements overcome that effect. This guy has an answer for everything, but at least until you're proficient, I'm adamant Trike flying is best enjoyed on calm mornings.

I soon also learn that a stable approach at 55 kt achieves a better flare and landing. Like many microlights and ultralights the Trike is a bit like a Boeing 767 in high altitude cruise, where the critical mach number and the stall aren't all that far apart. In the Trike, the critical mach number is probably the point where the stitching starts to unpick itself, and the stall (at around 30-35 kt) can probably be reached from 55 kt by simply retarding the throttle and waiting a few nanoseconds for the drag to take over.(This is also why birds' nests are built the way they are. When they fall from the sky, their terminal velocity is low.)

Nevertheless, stalls are demonstrated power off and on, simply by pushing forward on the bar to raise the wing's nose. In either case, as long as the nose is held up, the aircraft simply pitches down and as it picks up airspeed, pitches up again; obviously with notable height loss. The swept-back wing (again a bit like a B767) has considerable washout and there's no tendency to drop a wing. Recovery is achieved simply by applying power and waiting until preferred climb, descent or straight & level can be achieved without bar pressure. It's very forgiving.

In the air, we also practice straight and level flight by aligning the aircraft with a straight road, and 360 degree turns by circling a hot air balloon, rewarded by friendly waves from the Japanese tourists aboard.

Throughout the training, we fly to and from Mareeba and two or three ultralight strips, seeking calm air while confidence slowly increases. Some of the strips are quite narrow, and this helps the trainee focus more intently on precise directional control close to the ground, as an alternative to clearing scrub with a machine not specifically designed for it. At Mareeba airport, to save tyre wear, takeoffs and landings are conducted on the grass between the runway lights and the gable markers, which don't even flinch when I veer towards them having pressed down on the wrong pedal. I'm also reminded frequently to avoid overflying the scattered farm houses: "We like to be good neighbours," says Tyson.

We're getting there.

As I become more at ease, there's more time to enjoy the flying itself, as well as the scenery. The wind tends to adjust your hairstyle to a kind of Presley sweepback, and a pair of close-fitting sunglasses or goggles are of benefit.

It definitely takes longer to get used to using thrust to climb, and vice versa to descend; and throughout our training sessions I have to concentrate so hard that like most helicopter trainees, I get to a point where I begin to think maybe I'm not cut out for it. The breakthrough comes when it finally sinks into my subconscious that I'm not flying the aeroplane; I'm flying the wing. That is, I'm actually pointing the nose of the wing where I want it to go. Of course, that doesn't mean that I won't revert when things all start to happen at once two feet above the airstrip.

One of those things is the way the ground rushes up at you. There's an almost overwhelming urge to pull back the bar for a flare ("I want to die,") or to push it too far out so the craft loses airspeed and starts to sink alarmingly, so that you're again inclined to pull back to arrest the descent ("I definitely want to die!") A few well-chosen "Goodness me's" manage to defer our departure for the hereafter, and Rod Tyson begins a countdown to the solo stage. To quantify my gradual improvement, he begins to count the number of "suicide attempts" per training session, which (with a few regressions) are gradually reduced to four, two, one, and………"Goodness me! That was a bunker buster! Why the **** did you have to go and do that, just when you were getting it right?" He ruefully inspects the undercarriage assembly but it's still on one piece. "Let's take a break and we'll have another try tomorrow."

Yep, you got it. I'd pulled back to flare.

We also practice forced landings; and this character-building experience is a timely reminder for the Trike pilot to plan a route where they can be conducted without tearing anything. The Trike's high drag however actually makes things easier, because you can make the approach by aiming at the selected touchdown point at the (preferred) 55 kt, knowing the flare will quickly kill your excess speed. It takes an excessively nose-down attitude to achieve 60 kt, and hardly any time at all to lose the excess velocity. Some of our forced landings are on the airfield, and I'm reminded that because the Trike is so manageable in the glide, there's no reason to be overly focused, during a forced landing approach, on aligning with a particular landing direction: "Just head straight to the aerodrome, and land wherever you like, including outside the gable markers if necessary."

A good touchdown, but I momentarily regress, and try to avoid a gable marker by pushing the wrong pedal. "Goodness me! That was one lucky gable marker! Nice steering Paul!"

Then one morning after a session completely free of 'attempted suicides,' Tyson asks if I'm sufficiently confident to have a go by myself. Trying not to look smug, I nod. "Before you come back to land, go over and fly around with the balloons and get the feel of it for a while. Then when you come back, do a normal approach but break it off, put some power on, and do a low run along the strip. Then do a few touch and go landings before you come in." He's already walking away talking into his mobile - possibly to his insurance broker, I reflect.

Pre-takeoff check completed, I'm on my way. Without the not-so-diminutive instructor behind me, acceleration is noticeably more rapid but the real change is observed when I rotate. It feels like I'm climbing almost vertically, and I ease the bar back a little. The rate of climb is still impressive, and in no time I'm at hot air balloon height and doing fly-pasts for the waving tourists. No, I decide, it's not gunfire, they're camera flashes.

A triumphant runway pass at 100 feet, and I'm into the circuits and landings. Three in a row and no suicide attempts! I proudly taxy up to Tyson, who wants to know why I'm coming in early. I explain my philosophy that three out of three is better than three out of four, but I'm bluntly advised to get back out there and make it five out of five or forfeit a carton.

From here I only have to do a three hour cross-country and I can actually carry a passenger, if I can find one. Three hours in a Trike takes you exactly 165 nm, and consumes just 36 litres of fuel. They are fun and safe to fly if you're competent and respectful of the aircraft. The scenery looks better when you're not peering through perspex. You couldn't live without one in (as one example) the deep valleys of Northeastern Victoria.

Hmmmmm - all that for only $30,000!

The Trike

Airborne Edge offer Trikes with a choice of "Wizard" and "Streak" wings, so you can learn on the wing on which you feel comfortable. The Streak wing on our aircraft is faired on the under side, and designed for a 55 kt trim speed, 15 knots faster than the other option, which would be a slow way to travel in a north Queensland southeasterly.

Microlight flights to date have included a circumnavigation of Australia, and several voyages from England to Australia. One epic adventure was Brian Milton's circumnavigation of the World, with a passenger!

And a (turbocharged) Trike flew at over 27,000 feet to clear Mount Everest!

As I've just spent a couple of weeks demonstrating, these aircraft have an unbelievably strong undercarriage and an airframe tested for 6G positive and 3G negative. Prices start around $22,000, but a fully-specced Trike with all the bells and whistles will go closer to $30,000.

If I were a jaded Cessna, Boeing or Dash 8 pilot who had retained a sense of adventure and a love of flying for its own sake, I'd be heading for Cairns and Mareeba on my next vacation.

Australian specifications

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