Flying the Ford TriMotor logged as lifetime highlight
As much a staple as cheese curds, the Fisk arrival, and the night airshow’s wall of fire, the Ford TriMotor is an icon of every year’s EAA AirVenture Oshkosh in Wisconsin.
It’s challenging enough to get a seat for a ride, but to get in the front? That’s truly rare. But if you know the pilot, turns out that your chances improve immensely.
At AirVenture, the pilots of the TriMotor are granted the option to give friends the opportunity to sit in the right seat, provided they look for traffic during the ride. During the Iditarod, Kornfield mentioned he’d be at the show this year—if I was going too, would I want to fly along with him? Trying to remain cool and not get my hopes up too much, I said of course.
This was in February. The show comes around, and Greg Fischer, another Iditarod Air Force pilot, lets me know that he’ll be at his first ever EAA AirVenture Oshkosh. I tell him to please stop by the AOPA Sweepstakes Cessna 182 , to which I will be tied for my entire attendance. When he and Kornfield arrive on day one, it feels incredible to see familiar faces in the sea of attendees. Kornfield let me know the offer still stands—and he might have an open slot on the following day. The forecast looks grim, plus we’re limited by the airshow, and I actively work, and once again, I am not expecting it to work out. Yet, wouldn’t it be lovely if it did?
The next morning, the worst of the rain comes early, which means rides are on. Still trying not to get my hopes up, I’m elated to see a text: “Hi Alicia, do you want to be on standby for a TriMotor ride between 11 and 1.” Yeah, I do!
Not long after, Kornfield follows up with instructions to be at the booth by 11:30 to meet up with volunteer Paul Koziol, sign the waiver and get my briefing. I practically skip down the flight line to meet them at the Fly the Ford sign, where Koziol does indeed get me set up and ready to fly.
TheTriMotor taxis in and as usual, it is impossible to look away from it. Excited passengers queue with their numbered groups, getting both a safety briefing and history lesson while they wait. Production on the Ford TriMotor began in 1925 and continued to 1933. The Ford Motor Company built 199 during that time, and the unique, iconic aircraft helped revolutionize air travel. Today, fewer than ten are still flying.
Fischer gets the right seat for a few rounds before I do, and then it is my turn. We’re both stunned by our good fortune. I wonder how Fischer will ever top his very first visit to Oshkosh.
With the number three engine shut down for loading and unloading, the volunteers leave the briefing tents to rope off the section from the tent to just before the door and behind, keeping all guests away from the lofty radial engine. Then, we’re guided out to the airplane. Fischer gets off and I climb in, Kornfield looking back from the high front seats. I walk the aisle up the significantly sloped and gorgeous cabin, keeping my head low. It is a big step up to get to the flight deck, and Kornfield tells me to reach ahead and grab a hand holder on the dash, and I pull myself up and maneuver into the seat. I don the headset,while another volunteer gives Kornfield the home run/start up signal and he cranks up engine three. We’re on our way without delay as Kornfield deftly swings the tail around back onto the taxiway, not one minute of engine time wasted.
Both Kornfield and I have a small window near our outside shoulders, which will remain open for the flight. Since even a cooler day in Oshkosh is toasty, the airflow is appreciated, and only adds to the vintage experience.
“If people wave, you can wave back,” Kornfield says, as I rest my right arm out the window, just like I do in my Ford F-150, the only car I’ve ever owned. Kornfield holds the TriMotor yoke back as we taxi for an intersection departure off runway 36L. And people do wave at us, and it would be rude not to wave back. The whole feeling is unreal—I feel unworthy to be elevated to such a role, but deeply grateful for it all the same.
There’s not much time for chit chat—the taxi is pretty short—and Kornfield lets me know he’s going to isolate me during takeoff.
“It gets loud.” After we’re cleared by a jovial tower controller, three engines all the way forward, and almost in slow motion, the TriMotor is ready to fly. Some flights you never forget. Your first solo, your checkride. This is another I’ll add to the list, and as we lift off, emotions and a general love for aviation swells; someone must’ve been cutting onions. I can’t stop smiling. Kornfield looks over and grins, too, of course, with a look that says he knows how special it is. How could you ever stop smiling with a gig like this?
The engines are roaring as we continue our climb over Lake Winnebago, and I can literally feel the hearing damage happen, but such is the price of being an aviator. Each ride is essentially a wide pattern for the north/south runways, and we turn gently to the right. Kornfield turns my headset back on and says “Ok, once we level off, you can take it.” I can’t believe it! I’ll get to fly!
Aileron and rudders, he tells me. As a somewhat experienced tailwheel pilot, I think I’ve got this in the bag, but when he says rudder, he means it, and with minimal aileron and (to me) heavy rudder, we turn to stay east of the seaplane base. Kornfield points out the engine instruments that are mounted literally on the engine, and stabilizes us with winding the trim, which is up and behind his right shoulder, above the entrance to the flight deck. I get to turn us onto a wide right base, still regrettably uncoordinated but trying my best. Kornfield calls the tower and he’s cleared to land on runway 36R. I get my knees away from the steering wheel and lean back, feet now on the floor as he takes over the controls. I can’t imagine the pressure of landing a rare tailwheel aircraft at an airshow on its narrowest runway day after day, but Kornfield greases it on like the skygod he is, and we taxi back around to drop off the passengers. I get to go for one more trip, and man, does it feel incredible.
This time, I’m able to take a little more in. The airplane is graceful in flight, stable, and slow. Without proper coordination, adverse yaw will swing you the wrong way, and with control surfaces so big, it is key to keep the ball centered. I get another few minutes at the controls, and with the window open, green fields around us, and no sign of modern aviation beyond our headsets and a small portable GPS, the TriMotor becomes a time machine. To experience even a few minutes in the airplane is a gift. All too soon, I get to make one last turn onto base, this time better able to perceive the scale of the show for a moment before Kornfield takes the controls. This time we’ll land on runway 36L. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say Kornfield then executes truly one of the best landings of all time—gifting all of us that magical moment of wondering when we actually touched down. From the back, people clap—a sin on an airliner, but I think coming from fellow pilots at Oshkosh, it is a worthy gesture. He humbly shrugs it off with a smile as just another day in the life.
Those were Kornfield’s last flights of the day, and while the mortals deplane, he stays on board to refuel before handing over the controls to the next volunteer pilot. Fischer and I are in awe, and Kornfield has one more surprise for us when he walks over, work done for the day. He’s a certified multi-engine instructor, and out of his pocket he pulls little logbook entries. Perfection! He gifts us both an entry—a generous .2 for me—and we wander away back down the flight line, with our different lives, different backgrounds, united in our same love for fantastic flying machines. It’s not every day you get to fly the Ford TriMotor, and I’ll remember that afternoon vividly and forever.
