It all started with an innocent remark in the clubhouse late one Saturday afternoon.  I happened to comment on the extra power my aircraft seemed to have after the new solid state ignition system was installed.  With a pint of red aboard as an aid to diplomacy and clear thought, one of the purists suggested that my plane’s lawnmower engine couldn’t pull the skin off a rice pudding.  Mixed metaphors didn’t count much with this bloke.  I might have had a glass or two myself so I suggested we arrange a test to settle the matter early the following morning.

I reckoned my glider could pull the old Holden across the level part of the airstrip.  A crowd of onlookers had gathered, which is pretty unusual for Pipers on a Sunday morning.  I towed her out to a level patch near the takeoff grid, released the handbrake and left her in neutral. I was still pretty confident I could pull this stunt off so I gave a bit of cheek to the crowd and climbed into the cockpit.  After closing the canopy, I fired up the motor and gave her full throttle.  I still don’t know why, but for some reason we started reversing ever so slowly down the hill.  Oh, shooot!  By this time the crowd of spectators was falling around the place laughing so hard that nobody moved a muscle to help.  Down the hill we went.  The starboard wing dolly hit a bump and catapulted into the air and I thought the port wing could have sustained some damage, but what could I do?  I briefly discarded the idea of pulling the airbrakes until I remembered the wheel brake.  I suppose I had gone about twenty metres before the smell of hot disc filled the cockpit and we were still accelerating.  Finally we came to rest at the bottom of the gully.  The sound of the crowd laughing helplessly filled my warm ears as the waves of embarrassment crashed over my battered ego. 

Now I had two options available.  I could climb back into the car and tow the glider out or I could unhitch the plane and taxi it back to level ground.  The comments from the peanut gallery were coming thick and fast so in an attempt to recover some semblance of pride, I took the second option.  With the car unhooked it was once again back into the cockpit, ignition on and away we went.  I could have gone across the slope towards the T-hangars but I decided to taxi straight up the hill to the grid in some manly show of horsepower.  I only want to say….that the reason I didn’t make it…. was the rough ground.  It had nothing to do with the power of the motor.  Claiming I could tow the car might have been a bit rash….. but surely it’s not that funny when a proper scientific experiment doesn’t work.  Is it?