Two Bicycle Mechanics and a Wind

Two Bicycle Mechanics and a Wind

Two Bicycle Mechanics and a Wind

In the fall of 1903 the smart money on flight was on Samuel Langley. He ran the Smithsonian. He had fifty thousand dollars from the War Department, more from private donors, a machine shop, a crew, and a houseboat on the Potomac to launch from. In October his Aerodrome went off the catapult and straight into the river. In December it did it again. The papers declared the whole idea finished.

Nine days after the second crash, on a cold beach in North Carolina, two brothers from Dayton, Ohio, flew. Wilbur and Orville Wright ran a bicycle shop. They had no degrees and no funding. Their total spend on the project, including train fare to Kitty Hawk, came in under a thousand dollars of their own money.

The difference was not luck. Two years earlier, their glider had failed to lift the way the published tables said it should. Everyone else in the field was using the same tables. The Wrights decided the tables were wrong. They built a six foot wind tunnel in the back of the shop, cut two hundred small wings out of sheet metal, and tested every one of them by hand through the winter of 1901. Their numbers replaced the ones the world had trusted for a century.

They also decided the problem was not power. Everyone was chasing bigger engines. The brothers had watched buzzards over the Miami River and understood that the hard part was control, keeping a machine level in wind that never holds still. They solved that with a system that twisted the wingtips, tested it on gliders for three seasons, and only then bolted on a small engine they had built themselves because no manufacturer would sell them one light enough.

The first flight on December 17 lasted twelve seconds and covered a hundred and twenty feet. The fourth that morning went eight hundred and fifty two feet in fifty nine seconds. Five people watched. The brothers sent a telegram home and asked their father to inform the press. Most of the press ignored it.

Trust your own measurements. Solve the actual problem instead of the impressive one. Build the instrument if the instrument does not exist. Then go stand on the beach and try.