The well laid plan was for Robert Goyer to fly up to Columbia County to take some pictures of me with my Cardinal. That was the plan.
At 7:30 on the appointed morning, he called to say that it looked like the weather was going to be better at Westchester County for taking the pictures and it might make more sense if I flew the Cardinal down there for the photo session. That was the new plan.
I had left the airplane preheat plugged in for the previous week so the airplane was toasty and ready to go when I got to the airport. In the past, I've waited until the night before a flight to hook up the Reiff system, but I was finding it convenient not to have to make a run to the cold hangar the night before each flight. And since the preheat system includes cylinder bands as well as an oil pan heater, I was pretty comfortable that I wasn't creating condensation that could be unhealthy for the engine.
The very slight wind was favoring a departure to the south, and everything worked just the way it's supposed to as I lined up and advanced the throttle. I prided myself that, for once, I was consciously keeping the airplane on the centerline. The wheels came off the ground; I retracted the gear, eased off the takeoff flaps and continued climbing to my now-I-can-turn-back altitude before reducing the power and adjusting the prop.
It was right about then that I became aware of a strong smell of something burning. I immediately began a turn back to the downwind leg. But then-and this is hard for me to understand-I thought, "Gee, there's no smoke. None of the circuit breakers have popped. The engine is continuing to run smoothly and the instruments are all indicating the proper values. Maybe I should just go ahead to Westchester County."
For a moment I actually stopped the turn and started to roll back toward the course for Westchester County. But then I realized that maybe I wasn't seeing any smoke because it was being blown back underneath the airplane; maybe there was a fire burning furiously beneath my feet. I rolled quickly back to the downwind, remembered to put the gear down and flew a tight pattern to get the airplane on the ground. I taxied to a remote area on the ramp and jumped out, fire extinguisher in hand. Nothing. There was no smoke. I opened the cowl access door and stuck my more-than-efficient nose down and sniffed. Nothing. I went back into the cockpit-there the smell was still very obvious-and looked under the panel, feeling for any warm or hot wires. Nothing.
Brian Gaylord, who takes good care of my Cardinal, was climbing out of a Gulfstream business jet in the hangar when I tracked him down. I told him of my adventure. He asked a couple of pointed diagnostic questions and agreed to pull the airplane into the hangar to see what he could find. He walked me back to the hangar door to look out to the ramp. "I just wanna be sure it hasn't gone up in flames out there," he said. It hadn't.
