Classic champion

It would be the ultimate showdown to determine, after 80 years of debate, which airplane is the best.

On the list of airplanes you must fly before you hang up your wings, a classic tailwheel always places prominently. And among the many options, some believe that a Piper Cub is the ultimate choice. But Aeronca Champ owners have long said they have a better airplane, and Taylorcraft BC12 owners think their underdog choice is better. Then there’s the Cessna 120 crowd, who believe their more modern take on the postwar airplane is far superior. Luscombe owners also have a dog in this fight. So, we decided to finally find out who is right.

Immediately, there was a problem, however. A pocket of low IFR weather just to the north of our gathering location meant it would be four classic tailwheel airplanes, seven tests, and one day. When you own a 1940s-era airplane with minimal avionics and car-like cruise speeds, VFR limits are strict. The Luscombe may have a dog in this fight, but our dog was unfortunately locked in his house.

Early on an October morning, we gathered a 1946 Piper Cub, a 1942 Taylorcraft BC12–65, a 1946 Cessna 120, and a 1946 Aeronca 7AC Champ at a picturesque grass strip in Maryland and flew them back-to-back through a series of tests. There was a baggage check, a pilot fit test, ground visibility evaluation, takeoff and landing distance calculation, stall and handling characteristics, and cruise speed.

Kitchen sink

It should be obvious by looking at any of the contenders that baggage capacity isn’t a selling point for this class of airplane. You may have visions of taking to the open skies with a tent, sleeping bags, and camp stove stowed in the back, and setting down on a perfect piece of grass to get away from it all for a night or two. But there are problems with this dream, starting with the fact that most two-seat classic tailwheels have little to no baggage capacity.

These airplanes weren’t built for family travel. They weren’t envisioned as backcountry haulers, carrying in and out anything you need for a weekend of solitude and reflection. Most of the early Cub ads touted its low cost and robustness. The executives at Aeronca focused on the Champ’s visibility and comfort. Taylorcraft had a lifestyle ad, complete with a man and three women smiling around a small table with drinks and cigarettes. They are lounging on blankets and one is propped up on a cushion. “The world of new pleasures could be yours,” it says. Except, it couldn’t. None of that would fit in the Taylorcraft.

The one manufacturer that should have been focused on lifestyle advertising was Cessna. The 120 is a remarkable hauler. The baggage area behind the seats is easy to access and can easily fit three carry-on suitcases, or maybe five medium-size duffel bags, and up to 80 pounds. Depending on how it is equipped and how much you and your passenger weigh, it’s possible to fill up the tanks and the baggage and still be under maximum gross weight, making it an honest weekend getaway machine.

The Cub sits at the other end of the baggage spectrum. Owner Chris Barrett said he would forfeit the competition, and with good cause. With two people, the Cub’s storage is limited to what’s on your body, and 20 pounds in a canvas bag behind the pilot. Throw a quart of oil and a few tools in there, and you are effectively limited to a 10-pound duffel for your adventures.

The Champ’s handbook says there’s a spacious baggage compartment located aft of the rear seat, “to accommodate luggage, guns, fishing equipment, and many other items.” With a limit of 40 pounds when flying solo from the front, and only a bit more space than the Cub, let’s just say the handbook is a nice piece of factory embellishment.

The Taylorcraft’s respectable 50-pound-limited baggage area is easily accessible behind the seats and slots it solidly in second place among the contenders.

Contortionists wanted

In something like a Beechcraft Bonanza or Cessna 182, discussion of cabin size or getting in and out is academic. Nearly all pilots fit. Such is not the case in the classic tailwheel segment.

Here again, the Cub fails. With practice it isn’t too much of a chore to get into the rear pilot seat. But the Cub’s front seat is a notorious torture chamber. It is virtually impossible for larger pilots to get in and out, and even if they can find their way inside, the seating position is like going to a kindergarten parent-teacher conference.

Again, the 120 excels in this area. It’s only slightly harder to get into a 120 than a Cessna 152. A convenient, welded step is on the strut, and the panel has a built-in hand hold. Just step up and in. Taylorcraft owner TK Rosolina briefed the best way to enter the side-by-side bench seat on his airplane. He recommends sitting down first and going in backwards. With a cross brace in the lower rear portion, the door opening is a bit small, but manageable. And the Champ isn’t as bad as the Cub, but the geometry is similar.

Once inside, the Champ’s rear seat is unbeatable. Like sitting in a comfy wingback while reading Dickens, the Champ’s rear seat isn’t just the best in this category, it’s one of aviation’s most comfortable places. As owner Peter Morssink said twice, “It’s a big fat airplane.” That girth makes the inside wide enough to stretch out your arms, and the designers even fashioned little windowsills in the back for a place to rest your elbows. Combined with Morssink’s quiet 85-horsepower engine, wide floor, and low stick, it is a place passengers will love.

The front seat is slightly worse. It’s somewhat narrower, your face is close to the panel, and it’s harder to get in and out. But overall, the Champ wins for comfort. The 120 is narrow, so once you get in, you become intimate with your seatmate. Owner Jeremy DeBons said he turns sideways a bit while instructing in his. You can see why. Plus, the yoke is built such that you aren’t sure whether to grip it from the side, where you have more authority, or the top, where your arm isn’t jammed between your stomach and the door.

The Taylorcraft was a surprise. The bench seat is comfortable, the cabin is wider than the 120, and there’s plenty of headroom. Plus, the windows open to let in a cooling breeze that somehow stays calm, even at cruise speeds, and the ratan-wrapped yoke is a pleasure to control.

Treacherous taxiing

One of the biggest drawbacks of flying a tailwheel airplane is forward visibility of the ground. While the challenge of taking off and landing a tailwheel airplane is often seen as a fun and skill-building challenge, no one loves taxiing taildraggers. There’s constant fear of running into something or someone. Although we talk about this as a universal tailwheel trait, it’s not.

Among these four airplanes, there are significant differences in forward visibility. Again, the 120 excels. It’s only slightly harder to see over the nose of a 120 than it is a nosewheel-equipped airplane. A short nose coupled with a relatively shallow deck angle make for an unobstructed view out the front. The Taylorcraft was also easy to see from, making these the airplanes of choice for skittish owners afraid of mowing down the airport dog.

The Champ comes in a close third place. Although the view from the front seat is good, the instructor’s view from the comfortable back seat is the worst of all, which is why the airplane doesn’t rate as well as the 120 and Taylorcraft. How anyone ever taught from back there is beyond me, but many try.

And once again the Cub is a distant fourth place. S-turns on the ground are essential, and even then, there will be a few seconds through every turn where you are operating blind. Being able to stick your head out the open door is a small consolation.

Runway performance

This test was never going to be totally fair because airplanes in this segment have a wide range of engines. The 120 was stock with 85 horsepower, as was the Taylorcraft at 65 horsepower. But the Champ and Cub had both been upgraded to 85 horsepower. Despite this, the results held some surprises on this day operating from a grass runway in excellent condition near sea level with little wind and temperatures about 20 degrees above standard.

First up was the 120, and it lived up to its reputation for marginal runway performance. It took 20 seconds from full power to limping up in the air, with a few antsy hops along the way. We estimated the 20 seconds to equate to around 1,500 feet of runway. DeBons, a graduate of the French Air Force’s test pilot school and a former commander of the United States Navy’s test pilot school, said the airplane has a cruise wing that trades speed for runway performance. His background and our later tests made me a believer. The 120’s handling on the runway is the most difficult, but also the most honest of the bunch. DeBons rightly says the airplane talks to you. Try to come off too early and you won’t get a large balloon with a dangerous settle back to the ground. Just a little hop tells you it’s not time to fly yet. Three-point landings are benign and predictable, and that flat deck angle means a full pull of the yoke isn’t necessary. Wheel landings are much trickier. Often blamed on the gear, DeBons attributes the challenge more to the tail coming down, the angle of attack increasing, and the wing flying again. But the good news is that the airplane responds well to a firm push to keep it planted.

A Cub is a beast with 85 horsepower up front, and the tests confirmed that. Up in the shortest length, and with a continuous strong pull in the climb, it invokes the most confidence. By contrast, the Champ was relatively anemic with 85 horsepower. It’s not that it performed poorly. On the contrary, it took about 1,200 feet to get the big fat airplane airborne, but that was significantly longer than the Cub.

The Taylorcraft was the biggest surprise. With the smallest engine, expectations were low. But its performance nearly matched that of the Champ. The Cub is difficult to three-point because of its poor visibility and low stall speed, but is a cinch to wheel land. The Taylorcraft is easy and honest on the runway with no bad habits, while it takes a bit of time to get accustomed to the Champ’s oleo gear that wallows a bit as it compresses.

Handle without care

One reason these airplanes have been around for eight decades and have legions of devotees is that they all have predictable, pleasant handling and stall characteristics. The 120 is a fingertip flier in all axes, which can be frustrating when transitioning. By contrast, the Champ is a bit of a musher, with heavy roll characteristics. The Taylorcraft and Cub handling have average roll and pitch forces, making them the most enjoyable to fly. All of them display more adverse yaw than more modern airplanes, but the Taylorcraft’s nose feels like it’s in another country if you keep your feet on the floor in turns. For this reason, the Cub has to be considered the winner, although not by a significant margin.

Going nowhere fast

In what has to be the most irrelevant of all the tests, we evaluated cruise speeds. The 120 is marginally a cross-country machine, topping out at about 100 miles per hour, and easily winning the race. Once again, bringing up the rear is the Cub. Watching it try to catch up during the formation join-up was like watching a wayward puppy loaf along behind its mom. At 75 miles per hour, the Cub goes nowhere fast. The Champ and Taylorcraft are only slightly faster, comfortably cruising at around 85 mph.

In a way, all these tests are irrelevant. When you look at the specs, the Cessna 120 is the clear winner. In addition to being reasonably priced, most have an electrical system. They have electric or pull starters. They carry baggage, it’s easy to see over the nose, and they are fast enough to go somewhere with a spouse, friend, or kid for the weekend. Looking at the Cub and the 120 side-by-side it’s shocking that both were made around the same time. The 120 is a full generation ahead of the Cub. It’s among the most comfortable, it handles well, and DeBons demonstrated its ability to make a 180-degree emergency turn losing only 200 feet. That’s impressive, but it doesn’t make it a winner.

In fact, you can throw away the score sheet because the worst airplane is the best. The slowest, least comfortable, most expensive, and least practical airplane of the bunch takes the crown. Airplanes are emotional investments. Unless you are running a company, we buy what makes us happy. With this segment, in particular, fun factor is the most important number. None of them are good for traveling long distances, carrying lots of stuff, or getting in and out of mountain dirt strips. We buy them, lovingly restore them, and pay for their annuals because they make us happy and let us play in the sky the same as we have for decades. And in terms of that intangible smile scale, the 120 is solidly in last, the Champ only slightly better, and the Taylorcraft a surprising second place. But there’s only one that invokes a big, toothy grin by nearly everyone who flies it. It is, and always has been, Mr. Piper’s Cub.