The first time you see your first airplane is a memory that you won't forget soon. Credit: Chelsea Frost

In the process of buying your first aircraft, there will inevitably be a moment like this when you want to know what kind of world you have entered. 

For me, this happened about 37,000 feet on a Delta Boeing 737. Usually, when I gaze at the scenery in front of me from the window of a passenger plane, I marvel at the magnificent scenery and admire the jet’s engineering design, wing and winglet massage. When the turbofan conveys passengers in a safe and relatively comfortable way When brought to all parts of the country, the air will rise.

But that day, I was on the way to Seattle to observe the pre-order inspection of the aircraft I wanted to buy, and my thoughts were completely different. When I anticipated that my carefully crafted plan could derail in countless ways, the vision of irreversible corrosion and neglected engine components blurred my vision. 

When I anticipated that my carefully crafted plan could derail in countless ways, the vision of irreversible corrosion and neglected engine components blurred my vision. 

A few weeks ago, I made a verbal promise to buy a 1953 Cessna 170, waiting for the inspection to succeed. The seller and I agreed on the price. I carefully checked the photos of the airplane taken by my friend and arranged for a local mechanic to inspect it. With any luck, a test flight will be carried out when the weather permits.

Although I was a little nervous about the inspection and purchase expectations, I was very lucky to have enough time. The aircraft was not actively advertised and the seller Dick was very helpful. He gets along well with me. We enjoyed the many chats we had in the first few weeks, and he assured me that I could spend as much time as possible on every part of the purchasing process. 

Still, the pressure still exists. If the mechanic is to discover a major problem with the aircraft, weeks of hard work and approximately $2,000 in sunk costs will disappear forever. This is the gambling that must be done in pursuit of an airplane; we buy airline tickets, book hotels, arrange mechanics, and then roll the dice.

On the way from SeaTac to the small airport where Dick stores 170, I created a fairly large list of red flags in my mind. If discovered, the aircraft will be completely disqualified from competition. Corrosion inside the engine. The fuselage is corroded. Evidence of negligence. Incomplete log. The STC of the corresponding document is missing. The stall characteristics are poor. Poor equipment. I do it to avoid hope.

Once owned a rotary-drive Mazda RX-7 and a BMW motorcycle, they both turned into terrible mechanical disaster pits. I have understood the serious consequences of buying a car on an optimistic basis. This time, I entered this process very pessimistically. I am looking forward to the absolute worst result. Only after obtaining proper supporting evidence can I become a believer.

When I arrived at the hangar, Dick was there to greet me. After countless lengthy phone conversations, it was great to finally meet him in person. He welcomed me into the hangar he had owned since the 1980s. The hangar is very distinctive-it is appropriately cluttered, but not obviously cluttered. Projects in various completed states are scattered all over the place. At the center of all this is the N170RK. I hope this aircraft will soon become my aircraft.

As he described it—decorated with original paint from about 1953, it looks pretty beautiful from about 50 feet away. However, every step you take towards it will reveal years of wear and tear, and finally make it clear that this is an airplane with many stories to tell. 

In every way, Dick is an engineer; he cares very much about the mechanical condition of his beloved machine, but it is impossible not to care about its appearance. Over the years, when he found that the paint on the leading edges of the elevators and flaps had thinned and began to expose bare aluminum, he sprayed olive-green zinc chromate directly on these surfaces. The result is a retro 1950s two-tone blue paint scheme, which appears to be a matte dark green spray paint randomly applied to the fuselage. 

Functionally effective, but visually offensive. 

The interior is also dilapidated. Although the shape of the pure black vinyl seats and upholstery is quite good, the headliner is in tatters, and stains from unknown sources discolor the already very dirty gray fabric. No more carpets on the floor. Instead, the bare metal is still coated with the ugly yellowing residue of 68-year-old original carpet glue. 

The result is that aviation is equivalent to a rat in the 1950s. I love it. 

I like the original vintage paint scheme. I like the shabby patina that took decades to form. I like the purely functional interior. But most importantly, I like that this aircraft didn't take the initiative *trying* to look cool or gorgeous. Among the crowd of glittering Cirruses, with lapels, soft shorts, and perfect curls, the plane is a gray-haired, shaggy docker, wearing an old flannel shirt, ragged, and a pinch of Skoal on the bottom lip. It smoked unfiltered camels, listened to the song of Waylen Jennings, and didn't give the rat ass as anyone thought. 

I imagined myself taxiing to an immaculate Signature FBO, passing through all the majestic Falcons and Gulfstreams, and parked in front. The company pilots by my side looked at me warily, wondering if their immaculate jet planes would get from me. Fleas were caught on the worn-out tailing machine. 

Dick gave me a narration drill for the next hour or so. He explained how he saved the engine when it was about to be out of use for a long time. He showed me some of the characteristics he found in his ownership of the past 40 years and taught me how to best maintain various systems and components.

Owning this airplane for so long, and buying it from a close friend who had owned it for 10 years before, you would think Dick was able to explain every detail of the airplane until the last rivet. In most cases, he It is indeed possible to do this... with one exception-the altimeter. Yes, plural. 

For some reason, at some point between 1953 and 1970, someone installed a second altimeter on the panel. One looks fairly modern, just like any other analog altimeter you might find. The other seems to come from another era, with a simpler face and slightly faded numbers.

Later I found this annoying. Every time I provide me with altimeter settings, I set them-and then when I see the subtle differences between the two, I get distracted, wondering which of the two is more accurate and why.

Dick continued his detailed tour of the 170 until my mechanic arrived shortly after. I gave the mechanic enough space so that he could concentrate and work without interruption, and he finally gave the plane a healthy list. He didn't notice any mechanical problems, and the compression of the engine was very high. He pointed out three or four very small items that needed attention at some point, but he could not determine any problems. This allows me to cross out a few items from the mental list of not buying an airplane.

Then, the mechanic spent about an hour checking all the logs and files that Dick kept in a set of binders. The logs are neat and orderly, arranged in multiple binders and plastic sleeves. Again, he didn't notice any problems, and my list of potential red flags became smaller. 

The rest is the test flight. Dick was unable to fly due to medical problems, but he thoughtfully added his friend Jerry to his insurance policy and arranged for him to take me for a drive to see how the plane flew.

It flew for 140 seconds but never passed 170 seconds. I am happy to let Jerry take care of the take-off and landing. In most cases, I worry about how the plane is trimmed and stalled. What is still fresh in my mind is that the rented 152 has some serious airframe problems. That 152 never seemed to be trimmed perfectly, no matter how perfect you keep the ball in the center, every stall will fall to the side with a violent wing.

Fortunately, the 170 flies beautifully. It adjusted effortlessly and happily maintained altitude and heading without control input. The stall is equally calm. The nose drops straight forward with all the correct control and sufficient tactile feedback. The engine was running strong and smooth, and Jerry did not report any problems during takeoff or landing. 

Later, when I told about my flight experience with Dick and listed my initial concerns one by one, I suddenly realized that these problems have been resolved. This is a strange feeling. I have been looking forward to one or more reasons to let me board the plane. Instead, I stood there silently, suddenly realizing that I would never find any reason not to buy an airplane. At that moment, I realized that I was about to become the owner.

I didn't know it at the time, but the next few months will involve stratospheric highs and heartbreaking lows. The complicated logistics of transporting aircraft from Seattle to Wisconsin proved to be the same as forming a small naval fleet. 

I am about to be blocked by my head. Although I will wave wildly to keep afloat, I am still grateful for this opportunity and luck.

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