Never in the history of The Fox Valley Flying Club has a single incident generated more gossip, innuendo, untruths, or nasty jokes than the much-heralded “Bulldozer” incident. And yet, never has an incident more exemplified the noble qualities of the aviator, self-sacrifice, devotion above and beyond the call of duty, daring, skill and bravery as this exact same event. Whenever two or more members of the Fox Valley Flying Club are gathered, and I enter the room, it is not long before the whispered jokes and sideways glances start. In an effort to dispel some of the ugly rumors and half-truths involving this incident, I would like to set the record straight about what really happened.
It was July 1995 and seven members of the Fox valley Flying Club winged their way toward that holiest of holies, The EAA Convention at Oshkosh. Yours truly was flying top cover, keeping a watchful eye over the flock, when suddenly the light-hearted banter on the radio was pierced by the horror of an almost mind-numbing call, “Uh, guys, This is Matt. I have an engine out.” Instinctively, I whipped around in my seat to see Matt’s blue and white single-seat Beaver ultralight plummeting from the sky like a housefly that had just flown into a bug zapper. Luckily, Matt was able to make an almost perfect emergency landing in a freshly plowed farmer’s field below, and as six ultralights buzzed about overhead like a swarm of honeybees, Matt came back on the radio to report, “ Uh, guys, hee-hee, looks like everything is O.K. I just forgot to switch fuel tanks.”
After hearing that Matt was all right, I sat back in my seat and breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived. I watched helplessly as Matt tried to take off, but it had rained the night before and with the freshly plowed field, all he did was sink into the mud up to his axles. As he feverously worked to free his stricken craft I knew that something had to be done, and soon. The rest of us had been circling for some time, burning fuel, and we were going to have to leave Mat behind if we were going to make it to the next airport.
Instinctively, I kicked the left rudder pedal and pulled back on the stick hard to swing around in a high–G left hand turn. I could feel the airframe shudder as it struggled to absorb the load. My eyes scanned left and right in a desperate attempt to find a spot to land. As I swung around I spied a spot that maybe, just maybe I could get my plane down into. I knew the rescue attempt would have to be up to me and me alone. It was far too dangerous for the others to even consider.
Down to my right was a construction site where a new housing subdivision was going up. The roads were in but no houses had been started yet. The road was straight and into the wind but I would have to fly over a tree line and then drop down onto the road in a single movement in a daring display of aerial wizardry. Yes, It was a bold move to be sure and I was putting my very life on the line, but I knew I had a friend down on the ground looking skyward for some type of salvation from above. Without a moments hesitation I put my plane into a radical right-hand slip - down, down I plummeted as the hand on my altimeter unwound like…well, I don’t know what it unwound like, but it unwound like something that needed unwinding. With the steady hand of a surgeon I guided my craft through a tiny break in the tree line barely clearing the branches that reached out for my wingtips. My full concentration was on the road as I dropped onto it like an F-14 Tomcat making an arrested carrier landing.
To be quite honest, the next few moments were a blur as events happened so fast, but a passenger in one of the ultralights circling overhead was able to take the following photograph just as I touched down.
Years have passed, and the passage of time has helped to make my thinking clearer in reconstructing the exact sequence of events that occurred next. However, it seems obvious that a cleverly camouflaged construction tractor must have moved next to the road just seconds before I touched down. I probably did not catch its movement because my vision was obscured by the tree line as the vehicle made its mad dash towards destiny. (The fact that the driver must have been able to escape sight unseen only adds to the mystery of the whole situation).
At any rate, as I raised my line of sight farther down the road after I touched down, my eyes met a sight of almost unspeakable horror. The insidious contraption had positioned itself a good 50 yards ahead and just to the side of the road where my wingtip was sure to catch it. A lesser man might have been paralyzed by fear, but my cat-quick reflexes allowed me to instantly grab my brake handles and pull for all I was worth. Unfortunately, even this instantaneous response was unable to slow my craft enough and I hit the immovable object at a good 20-mph. The outer 4 feet of my right wing caught it and it swung my plane around to the right. I came to a stop facing and only inches away from the enormous beast.
After shutting down the engine, I inspected the wing but could not find any obvious signs of damage. After pushing my plane back up the road to gain some take off room, I lifted off and purposely buzzed the hideous monster in one final act of defiance.
Mat was ultimately able to push his plane to a road and take off. He rejoined the group at the next airport where we had stopped for gas.
Unfortunately, although unseen, the wing was internally damaged and I was forced to fly all the way to Oshkosh and back with two hands on the stick in order to keep the plane level. Only superior airmanship allowed me to complete the journey without further mishap.
As can be seen from the above narrative, the unfortunate meeting with the bulldozer was entirely unavoidable and certainly not due to any alleged negligence on my part.
So guys, please, enough with the bulldozer jokes!