  No Car Required The Willcox Jet Trailer By Bill Mattson It all started when a fellow sailor named Scott Willcox had a car accident. Although he was hospitalized and his car was totaled, like a true sailor he figured his biggest problem was the temporary absence of a car to tow his boat with. Now, placing sailing above your own physical well being is nothing new to us. Frank does it all the time. However, since Scott announced his plight on the Hobie Mailing List, we felt such dedication should be rewarded. How would one tow a boat without the use of a car? We had our R&D division stop all work on current projects and get to work on this problem immediately. Actually, our "R&D division" is Frank, me, and a one-eyed, quiet guy named Herb who did some time in prison (for who knows what) but is really good with plumbing, welding torches, and Pratt and Whitney power plants from high performance jet aircraft. Herb's expertise was invaluable to the project, since we ultimately decided (well... I decided, anyway) that we needed to go with jet engines on this one. Earlier plans for simple electric or internal combustion power were scrapped. Instead of merely replacing the need for a car by building a simple electric or internal combustion powered vehicle, I thought we should break some new ground. How about replacing the need for a car AND carrying the boat to your sailing site at a speed over Mach 1? Now that's innovation! To get the power and aerodynamics needed for this project we took a look at modifying existing fighter jet aircraft for the task. Basically, we were going to get the plane, cut the wings off, and mount some hull and mast cradles. We first looked at the General Dynamics (now Lockheed) F- 16 Fighting Falcon, but figured the single seat aircraft would not accommodate crew. As an alternative, we looked at the F-14 Tomcat from Grumman Aerospace Corporation. The Tomcat is a 2 seater, and frankly, much more comfortable for the pilot, err... driver. After further research, we figured we were going a bit overboard with the F-14. For one thing, the sticker price on a decent Tomcat is around 38 million dollars, not counting the optional "Grumma-surround" premium sound system with CD. (For our international readers, that's about a thousand billion gazzillion pesos). Also, while the fighter is about as big as a tractor trailer rig, and really dwarfed the boat. Nope, we would not be using the real thing. The Tomcat would merely be our model. And since we were able to get our hands on some actual plans, we basically built a scaled down version of the fighter. The result was a really impressive scale copy, which did not have most of the electronic gadgetry and weaponry you would find on the original. I was really tempted to include the MK-61A1 Vulcan 20mm cannon, but decided that the use of this type of armament simply did not reflect "The Hobie Way of Life". |
| What impressed me the most was Herb's work on the 2 scaled down versions of the Pratt and Whitney TF-30P-414A turbofan engines with afterburners. If you're going to play around with stuff like afterburners, you want Herb around. (You just have to be careful not to look him directly in the eyes. He's really sensitive about that.) Herb always had a strange grin on his face every time we fired one of those suckers up. Unfortunately, one of our earlier bench tests of an afterburner taught us a valuable lesson on the safe |
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storage of 55 gal. drums of Jet-A fuel. As
usual, Frank was in the "wrong place at the wrong time" when this happened, and ended up
doing a bit of the "drop and roll" on the front lawn. (And to think the hair grafts from the JATO
experiment were just starting to grow in.)
While Frank spent some time in the burn ward, Herb and I continued work on what was now known as the "Willcox Jet Trailer". In early April, Frank was released, and we were ready to go. It was a sunny morning when we wheeled the beauty out of the garage. We had fitted the boat onto the cradles the night before, and had topped off the tanks. Frank was suiting up, while I worked the canopy over with window cleaner. Herb sat on the ground nearby, burning ants with sunlight focused through a magnifying glass. Just the sound of the birds chirping in the trees, the rag squeaking on the glass, and Herb chuckling to himself everytime he "got one". As usual, Frank was having second thoughts. "I gotta be outta my friggin' mind", Frank says in disgust. "I can't believe I let you talk me into doin' this crap again." "Look Frank...", I replied, "I'm getting really tired of you backing out at the last minute. I've got a good mind to grab that g-suit and do this myself!" "Great idea, Bill!", Frank exclaimed while starting to get out of the suit. "Okay.... Okay.... just hang on a minute", I said. "We agreed a long time ago that you would be the Guinea uh... pilot of this experiment. Besides, it's your calling, Frank. It's what you do." "It's what gets me in trouble with my HMO is what it is...", Frank said as he slowly started putting the suit back on. "Remember, this stuff is making you famous. Every sailor on the internet knows you. Remember the girls down at the beach last fall, wanting to sign your cast? You're making some really nice friends." "Yeah I guess so. Even the people down at the hospital are really nice to me." "That's the spirit! You're a real trooper, Frank! This one's really gonna make you famous, you'll see." "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's just get this over with." I gave a yell to Herb to distract him momentarily from the ants, so he could give me a hand getting Frank into the cockpit. Once we got his 5 point restraint buckled, Herb gave him the last minute rundown. "Okay, this here's your throttle..." Herb explained, while spitting tobacco over his shoulder. He got some on the canopy I just cleaned but I did not protest. Herb had a good sized socket wrench in his hand, and well... sometimes you can't predict how he will react to criticism. "You are going to go to full throttle, then pull up the interlock and go to full afterburner." "I still don't understand why we have to go so gosh darned FAST.", Frank said. "Remember Frank, we're making history here.", I explained. "Anybody can get to a sailing spot 2 hours away in an 2 hours. We'll be making the same trip in 10 minutes." "Yeah, and two wrongs don't make a right.", added Herb. Frank and I looked at each other. "Uh Yeah, Herb... You've got a point there., by golly.", Frank said. "I gotta be out of my friggin' mind..." "Okay, this here is your control yoke.", Herb continued. "Pull left to go left, and right to go right. I also put elevators on this thing like you asked." After our JATO experiment, Frank had been very insistent on a way to control the vertical attitude of the vehicle. "You push forward to go down, and pull back, for God knows why, to go up." "I won't be pulling back. I just want a way to get down if I need to, that's all." Herb needed to bend forward to show Frank the wheel brake lever, and hung his socket wrench on the throttle control lever before doing so. "Here's your wheel brakes. Make sure and release these before you start, or you'll burn ‘em up." Herb went on to explain the start sequence for the engines, and expressed his disappointment that Frank elected to not go with an ejector seat. Once he found out that the seat had a solid rocket booster on it, he became insistent that we have nothing at all to do with it. It was his feeling that he wanted no part of this type of technology. Not ever again. "Okay, I think we're ready to go.", said Herb. "It's been nice knowing you guys." said Frank. "See you in Santa Monica, Frank.", I said with a smile. "And don't expect us to keep up." We had stationed some cameras along the planned route, since we knew once Frank got going he'd be tough to keep up with. The plan was to "drive" to Santa Monica and do some sailing on the Pacific. By car, Santa Monica would take about an hour and a half. The first part of the trip would be somewhat rural, but later we would have to take a freeway or two. Hopefully, the Saturday morning traffic would be light. It took all three of us to get the canopy closed properly, and in doing so Frank bumped the forgotten socket wrench which gently placed it into the throttle linkages below. |
| After a quick preflight check, Frank began starting up the engines. The whine was exhilarating to us, but probably annoying to the neighbors since it was not yet 8am. After about 10 minutes of warm up, the road ahead was checked for traffic, and we gave Frank a thumbs up. Frank returned the gesture and I signaled him for "takeoff". |
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Destination: Santa Monica. ETA: 7.34 minutes. The whine increased, then was followed by an intense roar as Frank went to full afterburner. As he left the starting line, my respect for the elevators went up tenfold. The whole thing immediately left the ground, and I had the sinking feeling that, in our attempt to |
| go on a sailing outing, we just might take out an entire block of homes. But Frank instinctively pushed the control yoke and got things back under control. |
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Then he was gone. "She's got good pickup!", was Frank's first radio contact. "Awesome, Frank!", I replied. "Now that you are up to speed, you might want to cut back on the accelerator." "Okay... I'm bringing the throttle back...", Frank reported. In the distance, the afterburner did not appear to fade at all. "Uh... I've got a problem here....", Frank said. "Anybody seen my socket wrench?", asked Herb, while patting his pockets. "Sorry, Herb. But I'm a little busy here." I said. "Frank... what's the deal?", I asked into the radio. "I can't bring the throttle back. It's like it's jammed or something...". Uh oh. Not good. I didn't want Frank losing his cool here, but this thing was starting to look very familiar. Propulsion that can't be turned off. We had to find a solution to this one quick. "What the heck am I supposed to do!!?!!? I'm really hauling butt here, and I can't shut this thing down!!!" "Uh....", I struggled for answers. "Uhh... Try pulling back really hard!", I said. "Now why didn't I think of that?!?", Frank said in disgust. "You're an IDIOT, Mattson!" "Okay, Herb. Help me out here. We have to do something to get this solved." "How?", he asked. "The handle's stuck. What the heck are we going to do here?" "I don't know, Herb! Something. You know, like Apollo 13. I get a bag of parts and tell you to build something out of cardboard and aluminum foil and stuff. And I say that we won't be losing Frank on my shift. You know... stuff like that." Herb shook his head. "The throttle's stuck. We put enough fuel in that sucker to get him to Cleveland. He's screwed." "What's going on?!? Any ideas, you guys?!?!", Frank asked. "Uh yeah... We're going over the prints right now, Frank.", I said. Herb silently mouthed, "He's screwed."  A fast ride down a country road. The cameras revealed Frank's worthy driving skills. Where traffic was concerned, the country roads were not that much of a problem. The traffic was light, and whenever a car was encountered they "saw him coming" and quickly got out of the way. |
| Things were a bit more complicated on the freeways, but Frank was able to pull it off. It appeared that when you are approaching vehicles from behind at a closing speed of about 650mph, the drivers do not tend to see you until you overtake them. As for Frank's actions in front of them, we had equipped the vehicle with turn signals. |  |
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Unfortunately, motorists had the
opportunity to see one "blink" before the Jet Trailer was miles ahead. Basically, if you are going
to take the Lincoln exit in Santa Monica, you need to start signaling in somewhere in Burbank.
"I'm already coming into Santa Monica!", Frank was yelling. "What am I going to do!!!" "You may have to turn around, Frank!", I replied. "Herb has not yet determined the problem." Herb was busy with the magnifying glass again. "What happens after I turn around??!??" "Well... ", I replied. "I have this uncle in Cleveland...." |
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"Oh No! I've really got a problem now!!!", yelled Frank. A strange sound could be heard in the
background. Like Frank was going over a railroad crossing. "I'm on the pier!!!"
I quickly turned to Herb. "How much room will he need to safely turn around?", I asked. |  |
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"About 300, maybe 400 yards.", replied Herb.
I began to picture the pier. "So.... 40 or 50 feet would be marginally safe?", I asked. "I guess you could call it that.", replied Herb. "Frank!!! We think you might be able to turn around at the end of the pier! But you are going to have to be quick!"  But Frank was not replying. Witnesses on the pier said he was smiling as he roared down the length of the pier. Frank was smiling as he calmly looked out the side of the canopy at the visitors, the ocean, and the scenery.  The fisherman said he smiled as he blasted through the railings and slammed into the water.  The coastguard said he was smiling when they loaded him into the chopper. Later when I visited him in the hospital, he was still smiling. He spoke calmly about the experience, and said he could not wait to get out of the hospital and have a nice chat with Herb and I. He mentioned that he had a nice present for Herb in the way of a socket wrench. I told him how thoughtful it was to get Herb a wrench since he had lost his, and offered to take it to him. But Frank insisted that he wanted to personally deliver it to Herb. Frank also said he that he had a present for me also, but that it was a surprise. As I left the room, he was still smiling. Bill Mattson mattson@earthlink.net Back to Humor |