Racing Against Sunset

Team Effort to Break Closed Course Distance Record

By Maynard Hill

Photos courtesy of Roy Day, Scott Hill, and the author

As seen in the October 1999 issue of Model Aviation.

Crew was recruited from DC/RC and Pegasus Club of Hagerstown. Sixteen persons, 15 hours, two attempts: 480 man-hours!

The Mason-Dixon Dragway is located at latitude 39.66°, longitude 77.66°—a special spot about five miles east of Hagerstown, Maryland. Official sunrise on August 3, 1998, was 6:08 a.m. EDT; sunset was 8:10 p.m. That put the length of the day at 14 hours and 2 minutes. If we were going to set a world record for Closed Course Distance of Piston-Powered RC Models, we would need an airplane that would fly 60 mph nonstop for 14 hours. Otherwise, the sun would set before we beat the record.

How do we get this 60 mph number? We know we can’t fly this course in the dark. The course for FAI Closed Course Distance records is 500 meters long—one kilometer per lap. The record we wanted to beat was 1,250 kilometers. The turnaround at each end of the course makes the actual distance flown about 1.1 kilometers per lap, so there you sit: 1,375 kilometers in 14 hours is 98 km/hr or 61 mph.

Martha’s wingspan is 64 inches; wing area, 6.7 sq. ft.; empty weight, 5.6 pounds; engine, O.S. FS 61; radio, Futaba.

We knew that my model, Marvelous Martha, ought to be capable. Its straightline speed at wide-open throttle had been measured at about 70 mph during a record flight from Bealeton, Virginia, to Ridgeland, South Carolina (475 miles as the crow flies). The speedometer of the chase car was verified along the way by a Global Position System receiver located in the antique Ford LTD convertible.

A slower average speed was expected, however, because of the excess drag that accompanied the sharp turns at the pylons marking the ends of the course.

Actually, there was really no guesswork regarding Martha’s performance. It was the model that established the 1,250 kilometer records in June 1995. It had done that record in 13 hours and had landed with nearly 20% of the initial fuel load still in the tank!

We did set the record August 3, 1998. Do not think it was easy! Many test flights of one to two hours duration were done in May, June, and July 1998. We crashed the wing one time and the fuselage another. Repairs cost about a half-hour’s worth of fuel, lost from our previous capacity.

Pilots and owner of the model after success August 3, 1998. (L-R): Rob Rosenthal, Scott Hill, Maynard Hill, and Paul Kirsch.

We wanted to do the flight close to the summer solstice (June 21) to buy daylight insurance, but apart from the busted model, my good friend Pat Patton was not available to be the contest director. Pat and I have done so many records together that I just couldn’t bring myself to try without him.

(This reluctance was not a matter of superstition or fear of bad luck. I don’t think either of these two things has anything to do with success. Forget luck! You just plain have to do every last thing carefully and correctly.)

All was in order for an attempt on July 27, when there would be 14 hours and 23 minutes from sunup to sundown.

My son awakened me at 3:15 a.m. We went through our morning ablutions and coffee and hit the road at 3:45 a.m. We arrived at the Mason-Dixon Dragway, 65 miles from home, in time to fuel and weight the model for a daybreak launch.

Launch problems (primarily, a dolly that didn’t work) kept us grounded until 6;45 a.m.—a waste of nearly an hour of daylight. A 10-15 mph wind parallel to the course slowed our laps to about 40 seconds. It was going to be nip-and-tuck to finish before sundown.

Two laptop computers kept count of laps to be flown, laps completed, lap time, average speed, and continuously predicted completion time, reporting that 1,250 laps would be completed at 8:20 to 8:30 p.m.—very dicey because there would be very short twilight, if any, because of cloud cover.

Rob Rosenthal was the second pilot for this July 27 flight. He really wanted to help break “his” record. Scott and Rob had to work extra hard because the bumpy wind forced them to concentrate much more than normally necessary, where “normally” is a pretty strenuous job. The judges at the computers kept reading lap times over a loudspeaker. Scott and Rob involuntarily winced or scowled when the number was more than 40 seconds.

The stress ended about 7 p.m. when the engine went dead! Was I ever embarrassed! Yes, we were out of gas!

We had had a false-start on launch, and apparently I had bumped the needle valve “clock hand.” To overcome my vision impairment I have soldered a “clock ARM” on the needle so that I can feel and see the needle position. The arm was at 2 o’clock, not 4 o’clock, or about three clicks rich!

Some guys might say, “That was bad luck!” It was not bad luck; I did something wrong. I am always supposed to look at the needle last thing before launch. I failed. The flight failed.

Between July 27 and August 3, Scott and I put in two long flight sessions to check the fuel consumption rate in the air. Tedious!

We weigh the wing with fuel in the tank, fly at least an hour, and then weigh again to see how much fuel was used. Great care is necessary not to lose a drop from fuel lines.

New lithium batteries were installed. We use Electrochern 91 SC 13 ampere/hour, 36V D cells for receiver, servos, and ignition spark. These “supercells” are lightweight (3.5 ounces each) but heavy in cost: $80 per attempt.

There are so many people needed to attempt this record that we have to commit to it two days ahead of the flight date. The August 1 weather prediction for August 3 was favorable and turned out to be accurate.

Scott and I got off to a bad start by sleeping right through the 3:15 a.m. alarm until 4:20! We hit the road with coffee spilling on our legs and arrived at the dragstrip about 5:20. Thanks to the July 27 practice run, we fueled and weighted and signed papers for launch at 6:58 a.m.—10 minutes before astronomers’ sunrise! This was at least 20 minutes before sunrise at the Dragway because there is a 1,800-foot high mountain ridge about two miles to the east.

Two old buddies who have come a long way together: Maynard Hill and John “Pat” Patton. Pat has been the contest director for nine records set by Maynard since 1981.

It was still pretty gray in our valley, but unlike his old man, Scott has superb eyes. He said, “Come on, Dad, let’s go!” and I followed orders.

Joe Foster, an athletic young man trained in hand-launching Martha, was absent on this day, so it became necessary for the old man to run and heave the model. Martha uses a high-pitch propeller (12 x 13) that spins at 6,500 rpm static on the ground—a condition where the steep-pitched blades are partly stalled. The launch by a potbellied senior citizen is scary. Martha sinks to about one-foot altitude before the propeller bites in to let it climb out.

The first throw was a charm. You can be sure that this time the needle valve was at 4 o’clock!

Rob Rosenthal had to work during the morning of August 3, so longtime friend Paul Kirsch came to be the assistant pilot. This was a long, long, day, but after just one hour, the computers were predicting we would make it to the 1,251 km before sundown.

The weather was perfect all day—warm and calm, with only a few bumps from thermals. Scott was far more relaxed than he had been a week earlier, and flying this machine was a piece of cake for Paul Kirsch, who has a few RC Aerobatics wins in his resumé. The O.S. FS 61 churned away at 6,700 rpm at 90% of full power without a cough or miss all day.

Officials, pilot, and computers located midcourse. (L-R): Joe Foster, Roy Day, Tien Seng Chiu, Rob Rosenthal, Scott Hill.

Martha made sweet, encouraging Doppler music on each pass by the midcourse location of pilots and timing officials. Two judges at each end of the course took turns calling out a monotony of “turn now” on their walkie-talkies every 20 seconds or so.

We passed the 1,251st lap at 7:24 p.m. During the previous half-hour everyone was tense, with a great deal of nail-biting if their hands weren’t in use on transmitters, computers, soda cans, or notebooks. A great “whoop” of cheer rose as we passed the old record.

The sun was low, but still above the horizon. All was going well, so “the owner of the airplane” said, “Let’s keep going to 1,300 km.” We reached that and Scott said, “Aw, heck, Dad, let’s add one for good measure.” He then did a super greasy landing almost on top of the spot where Martha had been launched 14 hours earlier.

We did it!

Acknowledgements: In addition to the pilots and John Patton, I am grateful to the loyal crew members: Robert Ballantine, Jim Barlowe, Charles Buhl, Tien Seng Chiu, Roy Day, Claude Eans, Joe Foster, Harry Grattan, Les Hamilton, Harold Sandera, William Savage, Adam Straussner, and John Warnock.

Why Beat Martha’s Own Record?

This record category has been the most difficult of all 23 world records I’ve set during the past four decades.

I think I speak for Scott, Rob Rosenthal, Doug Harper, and Paul Kirsch that the job of piloting requires patience and stamina above reason. All of these guys, and the large group of people who have worked in these attempts, are in agreement that the record should belong to a team that includes pilots and the builder of the model.

Because I am legally blind and can’t see the model in the air, the 1995 flight had been piloted by Rob Rosenthal and Doug Harper—fellow DC/RC members. Two pilots are allowed by the present FAI rules. One of them must fly more than 55% of the total duration of the flight. In my opinion, and that of many others, this rule is senseless.

I do not mean to belittle the pilot’s role, but the truth is that the successful technical performance of the model is enormously more difficult to achieve than the successful piloting of the model. I think any number of pilots should be permitted to participate in the flight to prove the technical capability, as opposed to measuring the stamina of the pilot’s eyes, hands, and concentration.

In spite of precedents where records for RC models and full-scale piloted airplanes had been certified to teams and groups for several decades, the CIAM (International Committee for Aeromodelling, a part of the FAI) technical secretary ruled that Martha’s 1,250 kilometer record should be certified only in Rob Rosenthal’s name. The official rule dealing with this matter is ambiguous. If anything is clear in the rules, it is that the Builder of the Model should be certified as the record holder.

I was appalled and angry to learn that after several thousand hours of experimental work over a period of two-and-a-half years, I, the Builder of the Model, was not to be credited with being a member of the team that had set the record!

Doug Harper was also excluded. Rob Rosenthal was unhappy, too. He felt that his eight hours of flying was a strain, but it didn’t fall close to the effort I had invested.

Blindness and old age have not diluted my competitive spirit. I battled this FAI decision like a tiger! Since 1995, I’ve written many letters and sent propositions through channels to try to have the injustice corrected and to have the ambiguous rules clarified.

Finally, in March 1998, after three years of study, the ancient mariners who steer the slow pace of CIAM changed the rules to clearly allow teams to hold records. But alas! In their less-than-infinite wisdom, the officers have scheduled these improvements to be effective in the year 2000, and that 1,250-kilometer record was still credited to Rob Rosenthal. What a bittersweet pill!

I have a wonderful son who has been helping his blind father to develop and test RC models that eventually we hope to fly across the North Atlantic Ocean.

“Hey, Scott! Your given name is Maynard Scott Hill! Let’s do 1,251 kilometers with you as the pilot. We’ll submit it in the name of Maynard S. Hill, okay?”

“Good idea!” said Scott.

For now, I will try to content myself as the Owner of the Model, while taking great joy that the record will be certified to Maynard S. Hill—a great son, a wonderful friend, and an unbelievably patient flying buddy.

—Maynard Hill