The 2011 Reno Air Race Tragedy

[EDIT- After reviewing the available video of the crash, especially the moments leading up to the crash (as shown here: Final Flight of the Ghost (final pass at 07:30 of video), I have come to my own conclusions, perhaps slightly different from what I'd written earlier.

While I stand behind my statement that Jimmy Leeward's age did not likely factor into the accident, my conclusions about his state of consciousness were not founded in fact or observation, only that I did not see the pilot in the canopy in my photos or those of others. The construction of the seat support was such, if it remained the same as the original P-51 seat, that it could have easily broken in a high-g pitch-up, the force of which was enough to partially deploy the tailwheel from it's stowed position, as shown in the video.

It also appears from the video that the loss of control, from which Jimmy never recovers, begins with a slight "tip-in" towards the inside of the final turn, possibly caused by "wake turbulence" or "dirty air" from the aircraft in from of him (or pilot input), followed immediately by what appears to be a corrective maneuver which quickly became a looping, inverted dive. 

The trim tab (mentioned in this blog and other articles on the crash) appears to break free from the aircraft after the pitch-up and the failure may have been the result of any of a number of factors ranging from "flutter" which can cause failure of any component including the air frame itself to a control surface failure, to a broken bolt as in the case I mentioned with Bob Hannah. It is my opinion that the failure of the trim tab did not cause the crash, but may have contributed to it (most aircraft accidents are not the result of one cause, but often are the result of a chain of causation).

I also stand by my belief that if Jimmy Leeward had any ability at all to control or direct his stricken plane away from spectators to minimize any loss of life, even at the cost of his own, he would have done so without hesitation. The Aviation community lost a great competitor, pilot, spokesman and father on this day and he will be missed by many. 

I also wish to once again extend my condolences and sympathies to all who were injured and or lost loved ones on that fateful Friday.

EDITED 03-26-2012]

Well, it's been just about forever since my last post...2009 to be vague. That was around the time I went to work for Aria Group down in Irvine, California, which turned out to be a very busy 2 years for me where I spent a lot of long hours in job that had me always wondering and worrying about some silly little things that don't add up to nothin' (apologies to TP and the HB's). 


Yeah, well, those days are behind me.


Aria Group and I parted ways on August 31st, in a mutual separation that came following the basic wrap-up of a 2-year project that we will hopefully see and enjoy for decades to come. More on that later.


So, with a bit of free time on my hands I decided to ride my 1999 Kawasaki ZRX1100 up to Reno, Nevada (pronounced, ne-va-duh... NOT, ne-vah-duh) and stay with Al and Stephanie Bohl, if they had room for me and Al's 5-month-old offer to, "Come up and watch the races....you can stay with me!" was sincere.


Turns out both were true.


Al Bohl, you see, drove all the way down to Huntington Beach (currently, yes, we live here) from Reno to buy, virtually sight unseen, my beloved 1983 CB1100F that was being kicked out of the garage by the Kawi. There can be only one... vintage (-looking) muscle bike! Or something like that.


Truth is, Al owned one back in 1983 or 1984, when motorcycles were cooled by air, cell phones were science fiction and dinosaurs roamed the Earth . Back in the day. Whereby Al's CB1100F ownership was cut short by a friend who made him an offer he couldn't refuse and always regretted... until he laid his eyes on mine.

Would you drive 500 miles to buy this bike? I would.

Nothing can build or destroy a friendship like horse trading and swapping stories so let me tell you that Al and I started to build something that day. Al headed back to Reno with the CB and I'm telling you he was smiling the entire 2 hours he was here. I know, I've had that smile, too.


I left for Reno on the morning of Wednesday the 14th and before the first gas stop my thoughts had turned to, "WHO does this? Oh, yeah, I DO THIS!" and I texted Jessica, whose support and encouragement made this trip a reality, that I was excited to finally be on my way, I would be safe, and I would see her soon. The adventure began.

Finding shade at desert gas stops is an art form...

Day One


The natural route to Reno from So Cal is the 395, of course. And I got on it as soon as I could, enduring the 90 or so miles of the freeways to finally get on the (relatively) empty 2-lane of US 395. Sometimes called Eastern Sierra Highway, it is easily one of my favorite roads in all of California and I've been on a bunch of them. In fact I'd been on the 395 more than 2 dozen times, with vivid memories of trips to go camping and climbing and hiking and skiing and road-tripping... including nearly being nearly stranded, lost in a snowstorm, running out of gas, on a Sunday night in avalanche country on the night they closed the passes and, yes, even motocross, hauling a motorcycle with me to Mammoth, but not once had I ever ridden the 395 on a motorcycle. Until today.


Stoked to be on the road, I quickly notice the anvils building up all around me but I remain under blue skies and soaring temperatures.

Dodging downpours

I see rain clearly falling to the West but I know I will miss it. With the conditions perfect for thunderstorms for the next 150 miles or 6 hours, whichever comes first, I wonder how long my luck will hold out.

Is that rain ahead?

It's wet there.

I ride all the way to Bishop watching clouds build and form on the mountains. For the first time on this road I am in the scenery, smelling all the smells, comfortably braced against the constant pressure of the wind, feeling the heat off the pavement and from the sun on my back and not once do I have to crane my neck to see the tops of the peaks... there they were, all above me with their cloaks and capes of gray pulled close around their necks, white collars of snow surviving only at the highest altitudes, on the highest ridges and in the highest rock-strewn gullies.

First snow of the season on the White Mountains of Nevada.

Sierra sentinels guard the back country.

Clouds and sun fight for supremacy

Ghost Mountain?

The clouds threatened me all the while but never built up the nerve to come right on down to the road to squat and soak, but here and there would set an ambush of big, heavy raindrops to mix with the bugs on my visor and turn the road into a wet, black, river of asphalt, grip indeterminate, for only a mile or two, sometimes less, until right before dark, the clouds on Mt. Tom and Wheeler Ridge dropped all they had and ran. I watched from Bishop as the the cloudburst ahead of me quickly faded to a fine mist in the deeper meadows at the foothills of Mt. Tom and the entrance to Rock Creek. I quickly paced the last few miles to Lee Vining and set up camp at the NFS campground 2 miles up Tioga Pass Road, just outside of Yosemite National Park.


The moon came up and out and Mono Lake was visible to the East as I picked up dinner at the Whoa Nelly Deli at the Mobil station at the 120/395 turnoff. Surprisingly good, I get the feeling the short-order cooks are ex-pat big-city chefs given the superior quality of the food. This is not your average gas station hot dog. Hell, they don't even HAVE hot dogs. Mango chutney BBQ chicken sandwiches are better than Dinty Moore beef stew, trust me. Order any of their delicious breakfasts, too, and I guarantee you will have trouble finishing.


Day Two


The second day, the morning was colder than expected and I had to will myself out of my sleeping bag. After packing up and having breakfast at Whoa Nelly, I saddled up and headed North.


Riding motorcycles on the open road is a unique experience. Not confined to a climate-controlled rolling sofa, you are subject to not only the wind and bugs, but also to the spirit of the road, embodied in the people you meet, invariably other motorcyclists (with the exception of BMW riders who, inexplicably, seem to have BOTH hands glued the bars at all times preventing them from waving to kindred spirits) and travelers who want to let you know that they get it.


One pair of guys who get it, is these two, Ron and Dennis, who I (not literally) ran into several times between LA and Bridgeport, always with a laugh or a shared story here and there, finally exchanging contact info at a road blocked for construction late in the morning.

I camped, they stayed in a hotel. They were on full-dress Harley-Davidson's, I was on a naked Japanese muscle bike. They wore chaps and fingerless gloves, I was in a high-tech, Roadcrafter suit. They wore cereal bowls with straps, I had on a $400.00 Arai full-face helmet.


But we connected because of this: It is not WHAT your ride, it is THAT you ride. My philosophy to riding is that simple. Connection made.


After jetting away from Ron and Dennis at near-warp speed (relative to the H-D's, that is), I loosened my arms and looked forward to the ride up to Reno through the Carson Valley and into Washoe County.


I found out that Al had taken the day off of work when I called from Washoe City, so I headed straight up to his house instead of meeting him for lunch at his work, Cashman Equipment in Reno-Sparks.


As I pulled into his neighborhood I ran into Al and his brother, Dennis, heading up the street in Al's Polaris Ranger to an awesome vantage point to catch some of the first heats. I turned the ZRX around and followed them about 1/4 mile up the road form his house, a gate into the airfield with unobstructed views from very near the midfield pylons on the back straightaway. It was air race time!


When the first group of Unlimited Silver planes came by on their first lap, I was speechless. They were close enough to reach out and touch them, it seemed. The "slower" P-51's of the Silver group's heat were followed by the T-6 heat, and then, finally by the Jet Class.


The L-29's and L39's and others of the Jet Class were astonishingly fast and quiet...until they went by! It took a minute to get dialed in on their passing speed, but once I started tracking them through the viewfinder of my Nikon, all was well. Here are a few shots from those heats...

It was fun getting to know Al and Steph and Dennis that night. They are so friendly and generous and funny and warm with great pets and Al and I could've talked about planes and motorcycles all night. We wanted to get to the airfield early in the morning, so we hit the hay early and set our alarms. It was so quiet in that house, I almost couldn't sleep.

DAY 3

It was a bit brisk in the morning when we rode over to the airport in the Ranger. Reno-Stead is literally across the street form Al's house and it took us about 5 minutes to be parked and walking in the gates. Coffee was needed badly.

I won't bore you with all the details, but I had the best airshow kind of day you could have. I got a free admission from the lady in the ticket booth when I told her it was my birthday. She said she did it because I was cute. I'll take it. It just seemed to get better from there.

We strolled the planes and pits and Al even talked to Jimmy Leeward for a few minutes. Al  had asked Jimmy about some of the mods the plane had and Jimmy took more than a couple of minutes and told Al about the total-loss cooling system and a few other things. The plane seemed unremarkable in it's lack of flash and sponsor stickers and oldness. Only by looking at the rainbow of discoloration around the massive engine's exhaust headers could you sense the potential of this thoroughbred aircraft. The basic design was over 50 years old and it still looks the business. Jimmy's mods made it faster and it would turn better, but at the cost of stability. All of the pilots in the Unlimited Class make that same trade-off, putting complete faith in their airmanship and piloting skills without thinking twice.

Al (on the left) and his brother, Dennis.

Sleek and Fast

If your Ferrari had wings, it would look like this.

Eclipse Jet for under $1,000,000.00. Not.

Hawker Beechcraft King Air. Emphasis on King

Team Strega. No last-minute work needed.

Shiny.

Shiny.

Dull. (PS. That was a joke, Al!)

We mean business.

What is commitment?

Pink crankcase is commitment... to color!

WWII vets just got a chill.

WWII vets just got a thrill.

WWII vets just got ill.

The ill-fated Galloping Ghost.

No fanfare, no flash. 

I snapped this pic while Al talked to Jimmy Leeward.

You only WISH she was your boss.

P-51A. That is all.

Close inspection reveals cool nose art.

As above. Here's your kitty-cat!

Beware of dork with camera.

It's all in the details.

I want one just like it.

Counter-rotating propellers look the business.

The normal airshow entertainment was held between the air race heats all day long. We also had time to go and walk the static display area. Let me tell you nothing beats chatting up an F-16 Viper Pilot for rarity of profession. These guys play the bad guys when the Top Gun pilots need some one to train against, so they need to be pretty skillful.

We finally settled in our seats for a spectacular show, Shockwave the jet-powered semi truck, an F-15 fighter wing, an FA-18 Hornet, a C-130 with the SEAL parachute team, the Patriots a 6-jet review team on par with the Thunderbirds or the Blue Angels, flying these bad-ass black L-39's... most of the pilots are ex-Thunderbirds or ex-Blue Angels.

The end of the day was Silver Class Jets followed by Gold Unlimited's in their first real heat, having only practiced and qualified to this point.

"Gentlemen, we have a race!"

The "slow" guys turn and burn.

F-15's look awesome anywhere.

Another gorgeous P-51D.

If your Learjet was this bad-ass, you'd smoke, too.

Did I mention we had a race going on?

I can still hear them.

Do they fly close to each other? What do you think?

Might send this one in for promotional duty.

Jet Silver gets ready for action.

Czech-built L-39... I want one.

C-130 rumbles by waiting for things to get interesting....

Meanwhile, the Jet Silver class has a crowded start...

Turn...

... and burn.

In case of real burn.

C-130 spills it's guts... er, SEALS.

SEALS do it EXTREMELY well.

Touchdown!

SEALS are Americans. In case you didn't know.

F-15's are, too!

Missing man formations always give me goose bumps.

The sound of twin afterburners ripping the sky does, too!

Engines. With wings.

Are you kidding? This IS SO BAD-ASS!

Another fast-mover rips my eardrums open.

Just about to pull up and...

...disappear in the sky!

Jet engines are very versatile...

...you can haul the mail, or burn it to the ground.

David Wilson. Look him up. He can fly. A bit.

F-15 pilots talk about being bad-asses.

I wish.

I wish my alma mater (NCSU) had jets.

Gentlemen, we have another race! (look closely... in the sky!)

Slow and...

...low.

P-40 restored and airworthy.

F-15 pilot stares in awe at aerobatic biplane. For real.

The Patriots review team in formation. They are good.

Most, if not all, are ex-Blue Angel and Thunderbird pilots...

...who got too old to meet some arbitrary...

...age-limited performance standards.

I'll take mine in black.

Defying gravity and...

...common sense.

5 jets against...

...1. The closing speed on this precision pass is over 800 mph.

What's this? An FA-18 Super hornet comes to the party...

...and captures the crowd with a legacy flight.

Speaking of legacies... the U-2 has been in active service...

...for more than 50 years.

Introduced in 1957, she still has no peer.

As she soars out of sight, I consider myself lucky to have seen her.

The Aussies came to play.

36-DD. Get it?

Add missiles for a realistic fighter look!

Add checkered flag graphic for realistic racer look!

Put them all together and watch them rip the sky open.

This young enthusiast, is about to get a big dose of reality.

[EDIT- After reviewing the available video of the crash, especially the moments leading up to the crash (as shown here: Final Flight of the Ghost (final pass at 07:30 of video), I have come to my own conclusions, perhaps slightly different from what I'd written earlier.

While I stand behind my statement that Jimmy Leeward's age did not likely factor into the accident, my conclusions about his state of consciousness were not founded in fact or observation, only that I did not see the pilot in the canopy in my photos or those of others. The construction of the seat support was such, if it remained the same as the original P-51 seat, that it could have easily broken in a high-g pitch-up, the force of which was enough to partially deploy the tailwheel from it's stowed position, as shown in the video.

It also appears from the video that the loss of control, from which Jimmy never recovers, begins with a slight "tip-in" towards the inside of the final turn, possibly caused by "wake turbulence" or "dirty air" from the aircraft in from of him (or pilot input), followed immediately by what appears to be a corrective maneuver which quickly became a looping, inverted dive. 

The trim tab (mentioned in this blog and other articles on the crash) appears to break free from the aircraft after the pitch-up and the failure may have been the result of any of a number of factors ranging from "flutter" which can cause failure of any component including the air frame itself to a control surface failure, to a broken bolt as in the case I mentioned with Bob Hannah. It is my opinion that the failure of the trim tab did not cause the crash, but may have contributed to it (most aircraft accidents are not the result of one cause, but often are the result of a chain of causation).

I also stand by my belief that if Jimmy Leeward had any ability at all to control or direct his stricken plane away from spectators to minimize any loss of life, even at the cost of his own, he would have done so without hesitation. The Aviation community lost a great competitor, pilot, spokesman and father on this day and he will be missed by many. 

I also wish to once again extend my condolences and sympathies to all who were injured and or lost loved ones on that fateful Friday.

EDITED 03-26-2012]

I want to take a second here and dispel any potential untruths about the accident that took place that afternoon. There's been tons of speculation and even I can't sure of what really happened, but let me say I believe that Jimmy's age had absolutely nothing -zero- to do with the accident. A similar event in a similarly modified plane occurred some years ago and a VERY FIT pilot named Bob "Hurricane" Hannah, had an uncontrolled pitch-up cause him to black out when an elevator trim tab broke on his P-51. Luckily the plane kept climbing straight up and Hannah was able to regain consciousness and recover and land the airplane.

When the trim tab broke on the Galloping Ghost, the pitch-up was just as violent, but the roll to the right and then inverted sealed his fate as Jimmy had no time to regain consciousness. Under full power all the way into the ground, there was less than 6 seconds from the moment the plane pitched up until it smashed into the tarmac on top of too many unfortunate spectators.

At the start of the Unlimited Gold Heat, Strega was leading followed by Voodoo Chili, Rare Bear and the Galloping Ghost was in 4th. The galloping Ghost caught and passed Rare Bear with ease on the 2nd lap and the order coming over the line was Strega, Voodoo and the 'Ghost'. 

I trained my lens on first place and waited until he was close enough to shoot...

I did the same and waited for Voodoo...

As Jimmy approached the start/finish line, I had him in my viewfinder. Suddenly he pitched up, I hadn't taken the shot as he was still a bit far away. I assumed he was calling a "mayday" and would trade speed for altitude as was protocol when something, anything, goes wrong.

Still looking through my viewfinder when Jimmy rolled upside-down, I knew then he was going to crash. I snapped 2 quick photos and quickly lowered the camera. I had no sense of distance through the lens and wanted to be sure where he was... and be sure I was safe.

It would have been futile to raise the camera again for another shot. I watched the plane into the earth and then took a photo reflexively, not really sure I was seeing what I was seeing.

At the speed the plane was travelling, had the accident or mechanical failure happened a 1/4 or a 1/2 of a second later, Jimmy Leeward's Galloping Ghost could've been right on top of me and Al and Dennis. There would've been no time to react or run. I stared in shock and horror as the plane erupted out of the asphalt in a million pieces, a wall of gray and black dust and shattered aluminum and, of course, the people who were there, who had no time to run, they were helpless to watch, we all were, as the unthinkable happened and the plane crashed and people scattered and were shattered and cut and torn by the pieces of shrapnel that were once the P-51 of Jimmy Leeward. The Galloping Ghost was no more.

One blade of the propeller came skittering to a stop ten feet from where we stood staring in shock. I noticed something moving out of the corner of my eye and shouted a quick warning to an Air Race worker who just had time to jump out of the way of the engine's fan clutch, broken from the screaming 12-cylinder Rolls-Royce Merlin engine, singing, spinning across the tarmac and crashing into the fence behind where we stood. We were in the debris field, as were many others.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur. The emergency response as you may have seen or heard by now was phenomenal. The city of Reno had recently drilled in mass-casualty rescue response and it paid off. Though unacceptably high, the death toll of 13, including Jimmy Leeward, could have been much worse.

Al and Dennis and I rode back to the house stunned. We knew the Air Races were finished for the weekend. It was the reason I'd ridden 565 miles on my motorcycle and it just didn't seem that important at that moment. We were in shock. The town was in shock. The nation was in shock, but it seemed mostly that was because most of the nation couldn't believe that air races were still being held at all. Why haven't they been banned for being too dangerous? Well, in the 47 years of the National Air Races, there's never been a spectator killed before. And now the unspeakable had happened.

There's another couple of thousand words I could write on this subject, it still weighs on my mind, it is important to me, but I won't bore you with it here. I'll leave you with this. The future advancement of our race, I believe, lies in the inexorable necessity to put ourselves, as humans, in harm's way simply for the purpose of seeing how much faster, or better, you can make and then fly, ride or drive something that moves us around this planet at ever faster speeds. If it isn't necessary, well then, for sure, it's important and just as linked to our history as it is to our future. Without risk-takers and record-breakers, this country, this world, would be someplace entirely different, believe me. 

I'll write about this again after I have had a few flying lessons, stay tuned.

EPILOGUE

I rode back to Los Angeles without incident, the same route I'd taken up to Reno. I camped at the same place, ate dinner and breakfast at the same place and had plenty of time to think about the events of the week while by myself. I rode to Bishop with my bike on reserve and after a strange turn of events found myself at a gas station talking to this amazing and friendly couple who were also on a motorcycle. We began to connect and before long I was telling my story, talking about the curtain of gray and black that rose from the ground and the screams and the people that were crying and, and, and Salina took my hands and asked me my name and said she wanted to give me a hug and that was it. She knew. I needed one badly.

The Universe puts out in front of you exactly what you need if you'll commit to it. I never needed a hug at a gas station, but when I did, it was right there for me. Thanks, Salina and Soma, Al and Steph, Dennis, and most of all thank you, Jessica, for being my rock, wherever I am, always and forever.

Thanks for reading.

Michael