Cooking Airplane Ribs

Do any amount of travel, you gotta eat. Good trip, say up to Alaska
or down through Central America, you'll be gone thirty, forty days.
That's a lot of cooking. Even when you do your traveling by airplane,
boon-docking old mining sites in the Mojave or whatever, you gotta
eat, although going airborne, you generally do the cooking at home,
rig it so's you can eat it cold or just an aluminum-wrapped something
you can lay on the coals of a fire.

If you write about your travels the facts of feeding yourself tend to
creep into the typewriter so that pretty soon, thanks to blogs and
Newsgroups and stuff like that, folks become aware of Bob's Basic
Biscuits, Beans a la Boom, Bajanese Salad and the other recipes - even
cookies - that have made life away from home a bit more enjoyable and
deserved mention because of it.

The point here is that most folks who drop by the shop are used to me
putting down my tools to go check something in the oven, especially
during the holidays when I shift into Pie-Making Mode. Which is what
I was doing when The Visitor arrived, and why I carried the timer out
to the shop as we went.

"Pies," I said.

He nodded in understanding. "My wife said you had a good cookie
recipe."

We chatted about cooking while I replaced the stripped nut-plate on
his spinner backing-plate, which was why he'd dropped by. While I
worked he glanced around the shop but there wasn't much to see.
Major projects are on hold due to a lack of funds. To fill the time
I've been doing some experiments with cardboard ribs and other such
stuff. Actually, they're not cardboard at all, they're plain old-
fashioned stick-ribs. But the gussets are made from heavy paper, like
the stuff used to package a 12-pak of soda pop. Or the better stuff
used to package a 12-pak of Colorado Kool-Aid. (This isn't new, by
the way. For the past several years I've posted occasional messages
about alternative materials, including several recent articles on my
blog.)

The 'cardboard' appellation came from a gentleman who took me to task
for daring to even mention such a 'stupid' idea, unaware that paper or
'fiber' gussets had already been used by a pair of bicycle boys named
Wright, a company called Aeronca, the late Paul MacCready and a few
others dummies. Unfortunately, their work with paper gussets hasn't
made it onto the internet forcing all future dummies - like me - to
conduct our own experiments. And to write about it so that when I
fall screaming from the sky the NTSB can simply hit a button, peruse a
few million words of gibberish and say: 'Ah ha! When he made his
casein glue he failed to properly neutralize the mixture!' ( er...
actually, the casein glue is another set of experiments. And if you
read a bit farther down that page and you'll see that my home-made
casein glue worked jus' fine, thanks... although I wouldn't want to
use it except in an emergency... such as living in a village in rural
India... or being even poorer than I am.)

Among the many details no doubt included in the missing body of
literature describing the use of fiber gussets is the fact they are
hygroscopic, something I had to rediscover for myself. Unless
treated, paper absorbs water. Since the 'fibre' I'm using is various
grades of paper obtained by a series of dumpster dives, it too absorbs
water. (My neighbors already have good reason to believe I'm crazier
than a hoot owl in heat. When they found me fighting off the 'possums
to get at their garbage it produced only a few sighs of resignation
and a request to put the lid back on when I was done.)

Since paper is hygroscopic that means some of my experiments have
dealt with ways of waterproofing the stuff after the rib is
assembled. So far, dilute varnish seems to be the best solution but
the tricky bit was discovering I had to use at least two coats, the
first being no more than 50% varnish. Of even more interest, at least
to me, was determining the ideal moisture content for fiber gussets,
and how to adjust it when the paper is too wet or too dry.

Which is why I shoved the repaired backing-plate into his hands and
went scurrying into the house when the timer dinged. The pair of
punkin' pies were baking slowly to perfection on the top shelf but the
cookie sheet of gussets cut from a Coors carton were done to a turn.
The pies had to be baked; that's what Thanksgiving is for, right? And
it was just plain old fashioned common sense to slide a sheet of damp
gussets in with them.

I come back out to the shop with the cookie sheet on high, put it
gently on the bench and inspected the result. My nose told me the
paper hadn't been over-heated. By positioning the triangles of
cardboard on the cookie sheet with their printed-side down I've found
I can estimate their dryness by the amount of their curl. Ten minutes
seemed to be just about perfect for that particular batch. And I may
have said something to that effect as an aside, so the visitor
wouldn't feel slighted that I'd interrupted him by dashing off in mid-
sentence. But when I turned his eyes were as wide as port-holes,
staring at that tray of brown, triangular chips.

"Gussets," I explained. He nodded then looked at his watch like he'd
just discovered it lurking there on his wrist.

"For the ribs," I waved toward the cardboard heat-box inside of which
- and thus invisible to the normal eye - there was more than dozen
ribs basking in seventy-degree warmth from a twenty-five watt light
bulb.

"Right," he says, edging toward the door. "Clare will probably want
the recipe." And with another mumble - glance at his watch he's like,
gone! Clare's his wife. But... recipe?

That's when I figured out that he's probably never read the posts
about Chugger's Rib and has no idea in the blue-eyed world that I've
been searching for the Holy Grail. Or low-cost ways to build
airplanes. Or some damn thing.

-R.S.Hoover
-21 Nov 2007

On Nov 21, 8:46 pm, " wrote:
Do any amount of travel, you gotta eat. Good trip, say up to Alaska
or down through Central America, you'll be gone thirty, forty days.
That's a lot of cooking. Even when you do your traveling by airplane,
boon-docking old mining sites in the Mojave or whatever, you gotta
eat, although going airborne, you generally do the cooking at home,
rig it so's you can eat it cold or just an aluminum-wrapped something
you can lay on the coals of a fire.

If you write about your travels the facts of feeding yourself tend to
creep into the typewriter so that pretty soon, thanks to blogs and
Newsgroups and stuff like that, folks become aware of Bob's Basic
Biscuits, Beans a la Boom, Bajanese Salad and the other recipes - even
cookies - that have made life away from home a bit more enjoyable and
deserved mention because of it.

The point here is that most folks who drop by the shop are used to me
putting down my tools to go check something in the oven, especially
during the holidays when I shift into Pie-Making Mode. Which is what
I was doing when The Visitor arrived, and why I carried the timer out
to the shop as we went.

"Pies," I said.

He nodded in understanding. "My wife said you had a good cookie
recipe."

We chatted about cooking while I replaced the stripped nut-plate on
his spinner backing-plate, which was why he'd dropped by. While I
worked he glanced around the shop but there wasn't much to see.
Major projects are on hold due to a lack of funds. To fill the time
I've been doing some experiments with cardboard ribs and other such
stuff. Actually, they're not cardboard at all, they're plain old-
fashioned stick-ribs. But the gussets are made from heavy paper, like
the stuff used to package a 12-pak of soda pop. Or the better stuff
used to package a 12-pak of Colorado Kool-Aid. (This isn't new, by
the way. For the past several years I've posted occasional messages
about alternative materials, including several recent articles on my
blog.)

The 'cardboard' appellation came from a gentleman who took me to task
for daring to even mention such a 'stupid' idea, unaware that paper or
'fiber' gussets had already been used by a pair of bicycle boys named
Wright, a company called Aeronca, the late Paul MacCready and a few
others dummies. Unfortunately, their work with paper gussets hasn't
made it onto the internet forcing all future dummies - like me - to
conduct our own experiments. And to write about it so that when I
fall screaming from the sky the NTSB can simply hit a button, peruse a
few million words of gibberish and say: 'Ah ha! When he made his
casein glue he failed to properly neutralize the mixture!' ( er...
actually, the casein glue is another set of experiments. And if you
read a bit farther down that page and you'll see that my home-made
casein glue worked jus' fine, thanks... although I wouldn't want to
use it except in an emergency... such as living in a village in rural
India... or being even poorer than I am.)

Among the many details no doubt included in the missing body of
literature describing the use of fiber gussets is the fact they are
hygroscopic, something I had to rediscover for myself. Unless
treated, paper absorbs water. Since the 'fibre' I'm using is various
grades of paper obtained by a series of dumpster dives, it too absorbs
water. (My neighbors already have good reason to believe I'm crazier
than a hoot owl in heat. When they found me fighting off the 'possums
to get at their garbage it produced only a few sighs of resignation
and a request to put the lid back on when I was done.)

Since paper is hygroscopic that means some of my experiments have
dealt with ways of waterproofing the stuff after the rib is
assembled. So far, dilute varnish seems to be the best solution but
the tricky bit was discovering I had to use at least two coats, the
first being no more than 50% varnish. Of even more interest, at least
to me, was determining the ideal moisture content for fiber gussets,
and how to adjust it when the paper is too wet or too dry.

Which is why I shoved the repaired backing-plate into his hands and
went scurrying into the house when the timer dinged. The pair of
punkin' pies were baking slowly to perfection on the top shelf but the
cookie sheet of gussets cut from a Coors carton were done to a turn.
The pies had to be baked; that's what Thanksgiving is for, right? And
it was just plain old fashioned common sense to slide a sheet of damp
gussets in with them.

I come back out to the shop with the cookie sheet on high, put it
gently on the bench and inspected the result. My nose told me the
paper hadn't been over-heated. By positioning the triangles of
cardboard on the cookie sheet with their printed-side down I've found
I can estimate their dryness by the amount of their curl. Ten minutes
seemed to be just about perfect for that particular batch. And I may
have said something to that effect as an aside, so the visitor
wouldn't feel slighted that I'd interrupted him by dashing off in mid-
sentence. But when I turned his eyes were as wide as port-holes,
staring at that tray of brown, triangular chips.

"Gussets," I explained. He nodded then looked at his watch like he'd
just discovered it lurking there on his wrist.

"For the ribs," I waved toward the cardboard heat-box inside of which
- and thus invisible to the normal eye - there was more than dozen
ribs basking in seventy-degree warmth from a twenty-five watt light
bulb.

"Right," he says, edging toward the door. "Clare will probably want
the recipe." And with another mumble - glance at his watch he's like,
gone! Clare's his wife. But... recipe?

That's when I figured out that he's probably never read the posts
about Chugger's Rib and has no idea in the blue-eyed world that I've
been searching for the Holy Grail. Or low-cost ways to build
airplanes. Or some damn thing.

-R.S.Hoover
-21 Nov 2007

Ahuh. Cooking. Reminds me of the post you made a
couple of summers ago, I think, when you were wearing an apron when
the FedEx lady showed up with a package. Except that the apron was a
crucial part of your attire at that moment.
For those who haven't read that story by VeeDuber, you
should go back a ways and find it. Hilarious, like all his other
stories. He might be poor, but he'd make plenty if he wrote humor like
Dave Barry does.

Dan

On Wed, 21 Nov 2007 19:46:52 -0800 (PST), in rec.aviation.homebuilt,
" wrote:

[much snipped]
That's when I figured out that he's probably never read the posts
about Chugger's Rib and has no idea in the blue-eyed world that I've
been searching for the Holy Grail. Or low-cost ways to build
airplanes. Or some damn thing.

Bob, I just wanted to say thanks and to tell you how much I enjoy reading
your missives. You keep writing them, I'll keep reading them....

-Scott

wrote in message
...
On Nov 21, 8:46 pm, " wrote:
...
Ahuh. Cooking. Reminds me of the post you made a
couple of summers ago, I think, when you were wearing an apron when
the FedEx lady showed up with a package. Except that the apron was a
crucial part of your attire at that moment.
For those who haven't read that story by VeeDuber, you
should go back a ways and find it. Hilarious, like all his other
stories. He might be poor, but he'd make plenty if he wrote humor like
Dave Barry does.

Dan

http://bobhooversblog.blogspot.com/search?q=nude

--
Geoff
The Sea Hawk at Wow Way d0t Com
remove spaces and make the obvious substitutions to reply by mail
When immigration is outlawed, only outlaws will immigrate.

And then the Cops showed up...

Wait, let me back up a minute. Much like the imortal VeeDubber, I too
am dirt poor. Yep, its the "poor" part that keeps me on the dirt and
out of the air. Anyway, I was in the process of building the Wright
1902 glider which required single-piece steam-bent white ash ribs.
Well, being poor, I made my steamer from a propane burner, an old
crawfish pot, and a 10-foot chunk of 4" PVC. Most of this works was
proped up on one end by a cardboard box, and on the other end by a
purple ladder. Everything was going well, the rig was billowing steam,
I had just finished my ribs when... the Cop showed up.

Cop: Are you cookin' something?
Harry: nosir
Cop: WERE you cooking something?
Harry: nosir
Cop: Then uh...
Harry: sumthin' wrong officer?
Cop: somebody reported that you had somethin' out here making a lot of
smoke...
Harry: OH... it wasn't smoke.... (I said with a mad scientist tone)
Cop: Then what's with the...
Harry: It was STEAM! I'm making FLYING MACHINE PARTS! (wild look in
my eyes...) See, this rig is a steam box, and when you heat the
wood... and then... (cop starts backing down the driveway) ...and then
you... (cop is in the cruiser by now) BUT WAIT, I'm not FiniSHED!!!
Cop: yeah, uh... make yo' airplane parts man... speeds off in a vain
attempt to avoid the crazy flying machine guy