The Airplane Saga, Part 1: One Head is Better Than Two

Somewhere during second grade I got a new kid in my class.  He told us his name was Gary, but that his family called him Chip; not because he looked like a chipmunk, but because he was a "chip off the ol' block."  I still don't believe him about that, but either way I can't remember ever calling him Gary.  To me he's been Chip the whole time.

I've never had to be the new kid in class but I imagine it's pretty traumatic.  I remember the teacher, Mrs. Belding, bringing him up in front of the class like you see in movies and introducing him while he stood there looking terrified and uncomfortable in his red wind-breaker.  On the playground later that day I kicked a soccer ball around with him for a few minutes, learned that he had enough nine volt batteries in his possession to build a life-sized replica of the Kremlin, and that was all she wrote.   

We shared a passion for building things and enjoyed many brain-storming sessions where we tossed around our potentially world-altering ideas for new inventions.  Maybe brain-storm isn't the right term.  It was more like a brain-shower, or a brain-drizzle.  Who am I kidding, it was a brain-barely-perceptible-spritz.

After one such session, in flurry of sketches, schematics, and crumpled up notebook paper complete with edge frizz, one of us hatched a terrible idea.  Unfortunately we both latched onto it like two brain-damaged snapping turtles.  It soon became the sole focus of our collective existence.

We would build an airplane.  Oh yes.  

It made sense.  We both wanted to fly, and since no amount of jumping from the tops of fence poles armed with garbage-bag parachutes had done the trick so far, what better way than to build our very own flying machine, and conquer the skies once and for all?

All the pieces fell into place.  I prided myself on my ability to whittle, so the propeller became my responsibility. It would turn under motor power, and Chip claimed to have just the lawnmower engine for the job.  Both of us had immediate access to hundreds of acres of Vermont forests where we could gather raw materials.  The plan couldn't have been more perfect.  All that remained was to build it.  


Next:  Part II