One of the customs in the army, if you were out on a cross-country
flight, was not to look at the weather map to see if the weather was all
right to go home, and not to look at your ship to see if it was in good
enough shape to make the trip, but to look in your pocket and see if you
had enough money to stay any longer.
I didn't have, so I piled into my old wing-radiatored PW-8 and took off
from Washington for Selfridge Field. I knew I was going to have trouble
with the radiators.
I climbed slowly on reduced throttle, reaching for the cold air of
altitude. I watched the water temperature indicator, but before it
registered boiling I was surprised to see steam coming from the
radiators. I remembered then. Water boils at a lower and lower
temperature the higher you go. I still thought the lower temperatures of
altitude would offset that, so I throttled my motor to the minimum
necessary for level flight until the radiator stopped steaming, then
opened it a little and tried to sneak a little more altitude before it
steamed again.
I worked myself up to six thousand feet like that. I was watching for
steam for the umpteenth time, hoping to make Pittsburgh before I ran out
of water, when I saw white smoke coming out of the exhausts. I was out
of water and was burning the oil off the cylinder walls.
I cut the switches. The speed of my glide kept the prop turning over
like a windmill. I picked a field in the country and started talking to
myself: "Take it easy--Slow her down--Come around--Don't undershoot
whatever you do--Hold it now, you're overshooting--Slip it--Not too
much--You're undershooting again--Kick those switches on--Gun it--All right,
kick him off--Watch those trees--The fence now--You're slow--Let 'er drop,
the field's small--Wham!--Watch your roll--Ground loop at the end if you
have--You don't--You made it." I always talk to myself like that in a
forced landing.
I don't remember how much water I put in the thing. I do remember that
there was only a pint in it when I had landed. And I had kept from
burning up the motor!
I took off again and made Pittsburgh, Akron, Cleveland, and Toledo,
steaming, but without running clear dry. I probably had a few more gray
hairs when I finally landed at Selfridge, but everything else was all
right.