Ground-looping a wheelchair?
A few years back Slim Grube was helping a couple of pals pull the prop from a Steerman. Well; the durn thing slipped and scraped along his left leg. Boy; did it hurt and was he mad! So mad, that he gave it a good kick. So good a kick that it broke his right foot. Then he got even madder, but by this time he was sitting on the ground holding his foot, rocking back and forth, and cussing a blue-streak. Well; shortly his buddies hauled him off to the hospital to have the foot tended to. In the emergency room they put it in a cast and told him to stay off it for a couple of weeks. So he rented a wheelchair.
Anyway; he spent the next three days hanging around the house. That is until Slim's wife couldn't stand it anymore and told him to get out for awhile. He called ole Ernie, who had a pickup truck and shortly they were on their way to the airport. They got there about quitting time and Jesse, the FBO, said he'd buy if someone would go get it. There were a few volunteers, so soon they were all sitting around chewing the fat and sipping beer. It was then that I drove up and joined in. Slim had been helped into his wheel-chair and the rest of us were sitting on the tailgate of the pickup, or squatting on the ground. As we chewed away, and sipped now and then, we noticed a little Airnocker fly in and start doing touch and go's. Well, the Airknocker went round and round and we sipped and chewed, for maybe a half hour or so. It was about this time that the Airknocker made a touch and go, and was back into the air; oh; maybe 50 to 60 feet, and it had just started to turn cross-wind, when we heard a loud bang and the engine stop cold.
The unlucky pilot had run out of runway and was going to have a forced landing in the boon-docks. Boy! As soon as we heard that GAW-awful sound we jumped up and piled into Ernie's pickup, with me in the middle and Jesse on the right side. We'd forgot about Slim in his wheel-chair, but he'd headed for the tailgate intending to roll onto it. But, Ernie was too fast for him and started pulling away. Well; Slim grabbed ahold of a rope that Ernie had looped over one of the stakes, and he made a quick knot to the left armrest of the chair. Now; that was a big mistake! After a few feet the truck was churning the tarmac and Slim had to push hard on the right armrest, and at the same time try to keep the rope toward the center. The wheel-chair just wasn't made for that kind of speed and it kept trying to ground-loop ole Slim.
We were doing about 60 miles an hour at this time, heading straight down the runway, and Slim was cussing that stupid knot he'd tied and doing his best to keep the fishtailing wheel-chair from turning over. I guess we were doing about 70 when Ernie slammed on the binders alongside the runway in the dirt, and we all came to a dusty screeching stop. Except for the wheelchair! Poor ole Slim. He didn't have that kind of binders and he kept going full tilt alongside the pickup. That is, until he reached the end of that rope. What happened next is awful hard to describe, but; I'll give it a try.
As Ernie put on the brakes, Jesse opened the door and bailed out, with me right on his tail. Our feet were already churning about 88 mph when we hit the ground and Jesse sped away like the wind. I'd of been long gone too, but just then Slim came to the end of his rope. It jerked the chair hard left into the side of the pickup, but Slim kept going straight; and slammed right into my back.
Well now! That knocked us both colder then icecubes. I woke up a few minutes later, with Jesse pouring a cold beer slowly over my forehead. Slim was already awake and moaning something fierce. I had a real sore back and a few bruises and cuts, but I knew I'd get well in a day or two. But, ole Slim; he sounded like he was departing this life any minute. The hapless Airknocker pilot was ok and was helping Ernie tend to Slim. The only damage to his bird, other then the engine locking up, was a dinged-up wheel-pant. Well; they loaded us into the pickup and hauled us all back to the hanger. Slim was beginning to think he might live a bit longer and was thanking me for being where I was when he ejected from the wheel-chair. He said it kept him from eating about 8 yards of dirt, but I couldn't bring myself to say 'That's OK' just then. I was still aching pretty bad.
A couple of weeks later the Airknocker was back chewing-holes-in-the-air, Slim was out of the wheelchair and hobbling around on crutches, and I was over most of my hurts. We were sitting around as usual, sipping suds and chewing fat; periodically nodding our heads in agreement whenever Slim muttered:
'It sure was a stupid thing to do!'
And, to this day, every time Slim lays eyes on me he starts fussing and thanking me for saving his life. If you ever meet this fellow, be sure to ask him what's the silliest thing a fellow can do, and he'll sure tell you:
'Don't ever tie a wheelchair to the end of a pickup truck!'