That championship season
In praise of the hard-working American Champ
By Rob Mark
It’s funny how relationships begin. Meeting some special person by chance, being unable to close your back door on a lost kitten that wandered by, or being introduced to a machine that you simply can’t forget.
american champion
An early model Champion Aircraft, a 7FC Tri-Champ, came into my life decades ago when I was a student at the Institute of Aviation in Champaign, Illinois (CMI).
I remember my instructor pointing across the ramp to a line of bedraggled looking single-engine airplanes painted a dull orange with bits of black trim. Maybe not an airplane to fall madly in love with at first sight, but that paint scheme also probably prevented more than one midair collision in the university’s flight training area above the corn and soybean fields of central Illinois. Those Champs weren’t shiny, sexy machines, but they were incredibly easy to fly. About eight hours into my training, I impressed my instructor enough that he signed me off for a few touch and goes in the Champaign traffic pattern. Pushing that throttle forward the first time as captain of that Boeing 707—OK, it felt like one to me—I realized my entire world was going to change. And while I wasn’t thinking about it back then, it seemed that no matter how hard we all beat up those Champs with our lousy crosswind landings or inept use of those awkward heel brakes, the airplanes performed like Timex watches; they took “a lickin’ and kept on tickin’.”
By the time I left the University of Illinois, I can’t say I was in love with the Champs that had given me my first taste of the air aloft, but I was seriously in like with them.
“They’ve always been Champions and they’re built in America. Somehow Midwest Champion as a final name just didn’t seem to fit.”Jump ahead a decade or so, and while taxiing at the old Sky Harbor Airport (OBK) just north of Chicago, I caught a glimpse of a slightly worn green and white taildragger with a big “For Sale” sign stuck in the side window. Later, I walked over and peered inside the airplane and realized that it looked familiar in so many ways. The sign called it a 7ECA Citabria (that’s airbatic spelled backward). That serious case of like I remembered from flying the Champ at Champaign quickly blossomed into a love affair once I’d handed over the princely sum of $2,000. That airplane and I logged almost 350 hours over the next four years traveling everywhere around the country. Flying my airplane taught me how to fly using my hands and my feet; crosswinds no longer frightened me the way they once had. Then one day we were forced to part, and I still remember a tear in my eye watching N9MK (serial number 434) take off without me.
In early fall 2022 I was headed west along Wisconsin Highway 20 looking for the cutoff that leads to American Champion Aircraft in Rochester, Wisconsin, where I hoped to be reunited with a few familiar fuselages and paint schemes. The factory entrance was tough to see amid all the maples and oak trees lining the road. I missed the place the first time around.
On the way back east again, I finally saw a sign for Mehlhaff Street. I mentioned to Jerry Mehlhaff Jr. about getting lost along the way when we finally met that day. He said I wasn’t the first. “Mehlhaff isn’t an actual street,” he said. “We bought a vanity street sign when we moved here years ago and stuck it in the dirt on top of an old Decathlon strut. Google recognizes it, but it’s really a private road.” He said the company doesn’t spend much on marketing, preferring word of mouth to sell their fleet.
I parked near the main hangar and spied a new 180-horsepower High Country Explorer, also known as a 7GCBC, painted in a deep Maule blue that seemed to pop off the fabric along with bright Juneau white trim and a glossy finish. A vibrant color palette is what Champs of all sizes are known for, especially the famous starbursts and invasion stripes on the Decathlons. This new bird is the property of Jared Schmeltzer, an East Coast bizjet and helicopter pilot, who said he bought the airplane for its versatility. The flaps allowed for some backcountry flying, and the airplane’s strength made it fully aerobatic. He said the Explorer is just plain fun to fly. Not many aerobatic aircraft can deliver a 500-foot ground roll at maximum takeoff weight, a landing ground roll of less than 300 feet, and a cruise speed of about 120 knots.
A little history
American Champion Aircraft was created at the Fox Valley Airport (96C) in Rochester in late 1988 when Jerry Mehlhaff Sr. bought the bankrupt company from Bellanca. Before Bellanca, Bob Brown owned Champion Aircraft and ran it from Osceola, Wisconsin. Brown had purchased the entire Champion 7 series in 1953 from the original Aeronca Aircraft company that dated back to the 1920s. Jerry Mehlhaff Jr. explained very pragmatically why it’s now called American Champion Aircraft. “They’ve always been Champions and they’re built in America,” he said. “Somehow Midwest Champion as a final name just didn’t seem to fit.”
Mehlhaff said the first step to returning the Champs to production after an eight-year absence was to build enough parts to service the current fleet of several thousand airplanes. With 40 employees on site, Mehlhaff said, “We also needed to rediscover the Champion manufacturing structure.”
The new company’s first real adventure began when the FAA told them they needed an airworthiness directive on seats for the entire Champion fleet, a task the new company accomplished successfully. Working with the old Bellanca company’s designated engineering representative, Jerry Jr. discovered the research data for a metal wing spar to replace the trouble-filled wood spar on the original airplanes. American Champion brought that spar change to fruition. For this and other efforts, Jerry became the American Champion’s official designated engineering representative in December 1999. “We also got the Scout back online in 1991 and were selling them by 1992,” he said. Next was the 7GCBC, a Citabria with flaps that evolved into the Explorer.
Early on, American Champion Aircraft decided it was time to replace the original company’s longtime, and often confusing, model designation alphabet and number scheme. The original Citabria series morphed into the Aurora, with a slightly more powerful 118-horsepower Lycoming engine. Next came the 160-horsepower Adventure, then the 160-horsepower Explorer, and finally the 180-horsepower High Country Explorer. The Scout series now comes in either the 180-horsepower model or the 210-horsepower Denali. The company also builds the fully aerobatic 180-horsepower Super Decathlon and the 210-horsepower Xtreme Decathlon. Mehlhaff calls this new fleet the great-grandchildren of the original Champs.
I asked Jerry what he thought draws customers to his airplanes these days. “They’re built strong, very strong,” he said. Consider the Xtreme Decathlon. “It’s not as lightweight as some aerobatic competitors, but we don’t give up any structural integrity. This is an engineered plane, you have comfort, you have space, and you have reliability. I’d rather be the Cadillac in this aircraft category and be just a hair slower, than the straight up Chevy that’s a lighter aircraft.”
American Champion today
American Champion builds new aircraft only to order. But the company also manufacturers parts to support most newer Champs around the globe. Mehlhaff said he doesn’t mind being able to only support the more recent machines, because Lyon’s Wisconsin-based Wag-Aero covers the rest. Mehlhaff said the two companies decided not to compete against each other and to simply serve the two segments of people who own these taildraggers.
Champion Aircraft’s target build rate is two aircraft per month. Over the past few years, the company has seen about a 50/50 split between sales of the Scouts and the Decathlons with occasional surges of sales on the Denali. Most sales have centered around higher-end aircraft, with few orders for aircraft like the Aurora. The company also handles a considerable amount of Champion repair work, efforts that are limited these days because of the difficulty finding enough good employees, as well as some parts supply issues.
“It’s not as lucrative as building the new airplanes,” Mehlhaff said. “But this work supports the fleet and adds value, whether you’re a current owner, or you’re just looking to join. Our efforts to support the community keep owners’ investment secure and keep values high.”
Despite the demanding work that goes into hand building each one of the 22 aircraft, on average, American Champion sells each year, its building number four probably draws the most wows from visitors. Also known as final assembly, the room is jam-packed with a half dozen aircraft painted in brilliant shades of blue, yellow, white, and red.
“We just keep surviving because the airplanes are popular enough, but it’s really hard to think about what we’re going to develop that’s new. I would like to create a new wing for the Scout, perhaps with different flaps and ailerons too. Maybe a different fuel tank, a higher gross weight and maybe a bump up in horsepower...and maybe move the center of pressure a bit, which would make it handle a little nicer.”
Schmeltzer told me he’s never had a second thought about his Explorer purchase. “I’ve seen how they build these machines. It’s just such a sweet airplane.”
Rob Mark is a journalist, business jet pilot, and flight instructor. He publishes the industry blog Jetwhine.com.
Decathlon flight
My spin student is holding the Super Decathlon’s control stick full aft and the left rudder pedal against the stop while she counts each half turn. Her cadence quickens as the airplane’s rate of rotation accelerates. By the time we’ve completed four turns, her counting can’t keep up.
I ask her to recover, and she obliges with full opposite rudder and forward stick. Another half turn and the airplane’s rotation stops all at once. The spin is over and we’re in a 70-degree dive at idle power and airspeed increasing. At 120 knots, she pulls back on the goose-neck control stick firmly, emerges from the dive at about three positive Gs, and adds engine power to begin a climb.
We’ve lost about 2,000 feet during our five-turn spin and recovery, and a wings-level climb back to our starting altitude is a welcome chance to shake off the dizziness, make sense of what just happened, and appreciate the broad capabilities of this incredibly versatile airplane.
The Decathlon is optimized for aerobatics with a semi-symmetrical wing, inverted fuel and oil systems, five-point harnesses, and a door that can be jettisoned with the pull of a single handle—and anyone who’s seen airshow performer Greg Koontz wring his aircraft out can see they’re strong and graceful. Beyond that, however, the Decathlon is a fine tailwheel trainer, a comfortable cross-country cruiser, and operates with ease at unpaved airstrips.
The best trainers are easy to fly but hard to fly well, and that’s the definition of a Decathlon. A roll, for example, is easy to perform. At 115 knots or more, simply raise the nose about 15 degrees above the horizon, add full aileron deflection, and hold it until the horizon is level again about three seconds later. But a properly coordinated slow roll in the same airplane requires pat-your-head-and-rub-your-tummy coordination with the pilot’s hands and feet making a series of well-timed and precisely calibrated control inputs.
The Decathlon cockpit is roomy compared to other aerobatic airplanes, and it’s ergonomically excellent. The seats are comfortable and adjustable, the floor-mounted stick is optimally placed, and throttle, propeller, and mixture controls are easy to reach. Rudder pedals and toe brakes (some Decathlons made in the early 1970s had heel brakes) are spaced wide apart, and that both seems natural and prevents the pilot’s thighs from blocking full stick deflection. The rear seat is fine once you’re in it, but getting in and out is inelegant for non-contortionists.
Visibility over the nose is good on the ground—a rarity in tailwheel airplanes. That avoids the constant S-turning required in truly blind taildraggers where the engine cowling blocks the view ahead. The main landing gear is mounted far ahead of the center of gravity to allow for aggressive braking without nosing over, but it’s not foolproof. The airplane’s hydraulic brakes are powerful, and a sudden application—particularly when taxiing downwind—can result in a prop strike.
On takeoff, neutralize the elevator, smoothly add full power, and use peripheral vision to keep the airplane tracking straight. The tailwheel tends to rise off the pavement with little encouragement after a few seconds and holding a tail-low attitude allows the main wheels to rise off the ground at about 60 knots. The airplane quickly accelerates to its best-climb speed of 72 KIAS, and a roughly 15-degree nose-up pitch attitude keeps it there.
Pilots coming from Cessnas and Pipers regard the Decathlon as exceptionally light on the controls and borderline twitchy. Those coming from a Pitts or an Extra call it sluggish and truck-like. In objective terms, the Super Decathlon’s maximum roll rate is about 140 degrees per second, so it takes just under three seconds to complete an aileron roll. Newer Extreme Decathlons with updated ailerons claim quicker roll rates of 180 degrees per second.
Stalls are preceded by a warning horn and light-to-moderate airframe buffeting, and they can be accompanied by a roughly 30-degree wing drop if rudder coordination isn’t perfect. Adverse yaw is minor but noticeable, and demands coordinated rudder use. Spins require full pro-spin control inputs to enter and hold, and upright spins at idle power result in a steep nose-down attitude of about 70 degrees. After two turns, the spin stabilizes at recovery with decisive anti-spin inputs taking about a half turn.
The Decathlon doesn’t have flaps, but aerodynamic braking from its constant-speed propeller provides precise airspeed control in the landing pattern and its authoritative rudder allows slips to increase the rate of descent.
Wheel or three-point landings are a matter of pilot preference, as the Decathlon allows both to be done well and consistently. The only real difficulty in Decathlon landings is that the front seat is right on the airplane’s pivot point and forward of the wing—and that can make the airplane’s pitch attitude and yaw hard to assess. Personally, I always found the airplane easier to land from the back seat because pitch and yaw were so easy to determine.
Also, the Decathlon is appropriately named. In track-and-field competition, decathlons are meant for athletes with the broadest range of skills. They’re not the strongest or the fastest or have the greatest endurance—but decathlon winners do more of those things better than any event specialist. —Dave Hirschman