Chapter 2: Dream Kit Ordered and the Facility Born

March 17, 1998: happy St. Patrick's Day!

This is my husband's saint's day, so I thought it an auspicious one on which to continue the saga of the Weston Lancair. I must go back to where I had left off before…

I would like to say that I went through all sorts of potential kits with Pat, and that we discussed their possibilities--but I didn't. He had a dream, and that dream was the Lancair ES. He simply called the company in Redmond, (he had, unbeknownst to me, collected their material at Oshkosh that very year) Oregon, and made contact. By now his level of excitement was explosive.

We flew in our Cessna to Redmond, and what a wonderful flight. For those of you who have never flown over this northwestern area, I can assure you it is breath taking. There we were above the fall cloud cover over the Willamette Valley flying towards the Oregon high desert and Redmond. We could see the snow peaks of all the mountains, which ring the valley: Three Sisters to the south; Jefferson; Mt. Hood; Adams; the flattened St. Helens; and finally, the mighty Rainier to the north. There, like proud galleons floating on a sea of white cloud the mountains soared into the pristine blue sky.

The folks at Lancair were very hospitable and friendly. They took us all over the plant even into Lance's office to admire his huge cat sleeping on top of his computer. We were given T-shirts and bought more. Then the big moment--the ordering, signing, and putting down the deposit. What I, especially, appreciated was that an effort was made to stress the time this project could and would take. At no time, did they minimize that it would take thousands of hours. They pointed out that not all of these hours would be easy or happy. But the compensation would be the actual flying of the plane once complete. They made sure that I understood that unless I was laboring beside Pat (which I had no intention of doing) I would see very little of him over the following years (let me not say how many, they're not over yet).

I was thrilled (what power they had endowed to me!) that I had to sign the contact as well. This way I was a part of the project and had to acknowledge consciously that I knew that I would become the "lesser woman" in Pat's life for a few years. This all took place in October 1996. The kit (a fast build) would be available on March 15, 1997--the dreaded "Ides of March."

Now the "facility" had to be made ready for the "new arrival." We have a double garage whose roof goes up two-stories, and in the middle of which was a steel pole supporting the master bedroom's walk-in closet. That pole in the middle of the garage, and the fact that, it was of structural importance was quite daunting. Pat could not fit the table and jigs for the wings into the garage as long as the pole was in that place cutting the garage in two sections--each section too small for any part of the plane except the stabilizer or tail.

Pat pondered this problem at length. He, finally, decided that he would place a 10" by 2" board on either side of the rafter already in place and resting on the pole. The ten by two's would be the entire length of the garage and would be bolted through the existing rafters. The new boards would rest on the foundation of the roof on the concrete lintels around the garage. Then, the pole would be cut off both at the top and at the floor. With fingers crossed, bated breath, and prayers--said mentally--the pole was removed--and with all these forces of fate invoked, it was hoped the walk-in closet would remain standing.

Larry Linik, a friend and an engineer, was to prove of ultimate use in the conversion of garage to an aerospace facility. Larry is young, fit, strong, and thankfully eager to boot. He, at the time, lived with his wife, Joyce and three cats in a two-bedroom apartment, and he valued any exercise or physical effort as a change from apartment life. Thank goodness for his cramped circumstances! I ordered the lumber, and once delivered, Pat and Larry bolted the boards on either side of the existing rafters. They used mighty bolts (ones which could be used for weightlifting by children) and giant nuts for this purpose. Once the boards were in place and seemed to be resting firmly on the lintels, they began to severe the pole from its moorings. It is here that Larry really came into his own. He mustered strength and fortitude and sawed vigorously at the pole. He risked a failure of the new rafters and the closet landing on his head, crushing him into the concrete floor. Even though Pat simply acted as supervisor here he, too, stood nearby ready to be squashed if his plan failed.

After some time the grinding noise ceased. There was a momentary silence. Then a loud laugh, I think mainly of relief. The closet seemed to be standing. There was no sagging, no creaking, and no cracking--just silence. It appeared that the plan had worked, and worked well. I went into the closet and jumped up-and-down. I weigh 200 lbs. and therefore, feel fully qualified to test rafter strength. No matter how much I jumped there was no sound of failure. The biggest obstacle had been successfully removed--now onward!

Pat had no problem building a second floor loft where our "treasures" (things we should, but never, throw away and cram into our garage for future "need," or "use") could be safely stored. Pat and Larry then insulated the garage walls and hung a false ceiling, which was created of insulation as well. Looking alien in their masks and gloves--they even chatted to each other sounding more and more garbled--but they understood what each meant and needed.

We saw an advertisement for a wall heater, which is gas powered, with a sealed flame, and takes the air from outside. This means that the danger of the fumes and also their odor is minimized. I liked the heater since it uses gas rather than the more expensive electricity of the first heater. I also preferred it since it really worked and keeps the garage beautifully warm. In fact, our oldest daughter Maria-Elena (AKA Pinky) who lives in Sacramento, Northern California, and loves heat above all other sensations says that the garage is the warmest room of the house.

The garage was ready for the building of the first jig and the long table onto which the jig would be built. We also found some carpet off-cuts, which made the area softer on Pat's feet--and those of his endless stream of helpers. Pat also had to build the cutting table and that, too, would take up space. Everything was taking up "space." Pat was now getting anxious that there might not be enough space for the kit itself. But that comes later.

Pat decided on a name for his project: Alauda Magna, or "Great Lark" (pun intended) in Latin. Pat had read a short story by Frederic Forsythe in which that was the name of a plane--a very good short story by all accounts. Unfortunately, Pat has given the book away and so the story remains a mystery to me. Pat has kept a log of the events, and I shall defer to his log here.