By Jeffrey Drews, EAA 1191530

How many of you made model airplanes as a kid? Let’s see a show of hands. Come on, don’t be shy, let’s see those hands go up. We hung them from the ceiling with thread, gathering dust, but it was the start of a love affair, nearly 70 years of love. Did I go on to a PPL at 16, build an airplane from scratch, and fly it across an ocean? Wrong, that’s someone else’s story.

Personally, I’m in awe of him. I settled for loving airplanes from afar, as many of us would love a movie star we’d never met. More on that analogy later, Mr. Piper.

Am I a pilot now? Not unless 10 hours of dual in a 152 counts as being a pilot. It doesn’t? How about adding 2,000 hours of flight simulator? Still no, right?

So, life goes on, but airplanes are always there and I love them. Through a combination of finding the right people or shelling large amounts of cash, I’ve had some great rides, many from the front or right seat, rides my real pilot friends have envied. I’ve experienced aerobatics in a Pitts Special, ridden in the nose of a B-17, had the stick while in the front seat of a T-6 Texan, an elderly Beaver on floats, even a glider. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed time in a few Cessna products, as well as a Diamond. I’ve been very, very up close and personal with a host of historical, luxurious, and otherwise interesting airplanes, all while on the ground. But that’s another story.

Remember when I mentioned loving a movie star I’d never met? Well, my fantasy love interest was and is Mr. Piper’s beautiful, wonderful, and talented … J-3 Cub. For as long as I can remember I’ve loved the Cub from afar. Why? Got me! The Cub is made of metal tubes and fabric, tiny with no amenities. My 36-hp 1960 VW Beetle could easily outrun an airborne 65-hp Cub. But I love it!

A few years ago, I tried tracking down Cubs in my area, south/southwest Wisconsin, hoping to get a Cub owner to just let me look at, and maybe touch, a Cub. I searched FAA records and found few possibilities. I called small airports, I joined the Piper J-3 Cub Facebook group, a really good group, and tried contacting Cubbers in Wisconsin and northern Illinois. Some replied, but most didn’t. One was passing through after purchasing a Cub and graciously offered to meet me at his friend’s grass strip, but Covid got in the way. 

Patience paid off and when I contacted a Cub owner about half an hour’s drive away (45 minutes by Cub), he enthusiastically offered to let me stop by for a Cub experience. Trever Otto is an airline pilot with a Cub and a Maule, and his own grass strip! Sure, he has a great wife and great kids, but he has his own grass strip, right next to his house, next to his hangar, a dream come true for many of us!

I prepared by putting in hours of flight simulation in a Cub, to make sure I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. I don’t know if I succeeded. Trever? Flight simulation is yet another story for another day.

So, I get there in early evening in September and get to see and touch a real J-3 Cub. Wow! Pinch me, I must be dreaming. Christen, Trever’s wife, was prepared, capturing everything in photos and earning my gratitude. Trever said it’s a bit windy, but if I’m okay with a bumpy ride, we can take the Cub up.

How does one get into a Cub? I’m on the big side, but not THAT big, 5 feet, 11 inches tall and about 200 pounds. The rear seat is reasonably wide, and the headroom isn’t bad, but getting in means maneuvering around the front seat. Looks impossible, but somehow I got in butt first and lifted my left leg over the front seat, which was much harder than it sounds. I pulled my right leg in around the front seat, but where can I put my feet? My knees? The front seat is about 4-1/2 inches from my nose. Not really, but close, and my feet need to go on either side of the front seat. There is about 3 inches between the front seat and the side of the fuselage. No hyperbole this time. My hiking shoes are at least 5 inches wide. Don’t ever wear big shoes if riding in the back of a Cub. I was a bit embarrassed by my awkward entry, but Trever assured me I did fine, fine for an inflexible 74-year-old.

A J-3 has no electrical system, so no starter. A Cub is started by hand-propping, making sure the propeller doesn’t cut off your arm, or worse. As soon as the engine starts the pilot needs to quickly climb in the airplane. Keep in mind that the front seat is only slightly more inviting than the back seat. Trever’s not as big as I am, but neither is he tiny, and he handled his entry with appropriate grace. I think.

So, now we’re off, taxiing to the end of his runway. By the way, the Cub is a tailwheel airplane, so forward visibility on the ground is minimal. We made a left turn onto Runway 27, and 900 feet of grass doesn’t look very long, but in the hands of a true professional the Cub made it look like O’Hare. We tooled around the area with the door and window open and my knee sticking out. Trever told me I had the airplane, and I felt like a real-life pilot. The back seat has a stick, throttle, and pedals, though I couldn’t get near the pedals with my big shoes. With someone in the front seat, the rear seat pilot, ME, can see none of the Cub’s very basic instruments. 

I said, “How do I know if I’m in level flight?” Trever said, “Look at your wing tips. If they’re parallel with the horizon, you’re good.” 

We tooled around farm country, and made a brief stop at another grass strip before heading home, where Trever had to buzz the strip to move some grazing deer.

Christen made a truly amazing video, starting with base, turning left onto Runway 9, with a red sunset behind us. As we rolled past her, she caught a grinning idiot waving from the back seat. I show that video over and over and over. Priceless.

That hour or so was one of the, or probably THE, best times of this septuagenarian’s life. Now that I’ve met my movie star, I’m still in love!