Bicycles Do Fly

No trip to the Outer Banks is complete without a visit to the Wright Brothers National Memorial.

Wind, sand, and a dream of flight brought Wilbur and Orville Wright to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where after four years of experimentation, they achieved the first successful airplane flights in 1903. With courage and perseverance these self-taught engineers relied on teamwork and application of the scientific process

They had seemingly settled into respectability as proprietors of a small business. But the Wright brothers of Dayton, Ohio nurtured a barely respectable dream; the possibility of flight. Wilbur, four years older than Orville, was quiet and intense -- a dreamer who could lose himself in books. Orville was outgoing, talkative, and an immaculate dresser. Both combined intuitive mechanical ability with analytical intelligence.
In 1892 they opened a bicycle shop and prospered, but they were restless, especially Wilbur. Their energies were focused by two events of 1896; the death in a flying accident of Otto Lilienthal, the celebrated experimenter with gliders, and the successful launching of powered models by Samuel Langley. The Wright's serious work in aeronautics began in 1899 when Wilbur wrote the Smithsonian for literature. Dismayed that so many great minds had made so little progress, the brothers were also exhilarated by the realization that they had as much chance as anyone of succeeding. Wilbur took the lead in the early stages of their work, but Orville was soon drawn in as an equal collaborator. They quickly developed their own theories, and for the next four years devoted themselves to the goal of human flight.

Many of the components used on their "flying machine" were fashioned from parts they had lying around in their bike shop; chains (to control the rudders and wings), spokes wires (for the wings), gears, hubs, and bike frames (used as braces between the two wings). Unable to find a suitable lightweight commercial engine, the brothers designed their own in their shop.

The brothers were dressed in coats and ties the morning of December 17, 1903-a touch of private ceremony for an event that would alter the world. The pools around their camp were icing up, and the break in the weather might be their last chance of the season. Words were impossible over the engine's roar, so they shook hands and Orville positioned himself on the flyer. The 27-mph wind was harder than they would have liked, since their predicted cruising speed was only 30-35 mph. The headwind would slow their groundspeed to a crawl, but they proceeded anyway. With a sheet they signaled the volunteers from the nearby lifesaving station that they were about to try again.

The stick that moved the horizontal elevator controlled climb and descent. The cradle that he swung with his hips warped the wings and swung the vertical tails, which in combination turned the machine. A lever controlled the gas flow and airspeed recorder. The controls were simple and few, but Orville knew it would take all his finesse to handle the new and heavier aircraft.

"They have done it!" Damned if they ain't flew!"
At 10:35 he released the restraining wire. The flyer moved down the rail as Wilbur steadied the wings. Just as Orville left the ground, John Daniels from the lifesaving station snapped the shutter on a preset camera, capturing the historic image of the airborne aircraft with Wilbur running alongside. Again, the flyer was unruly, pitching up and down as Orville overcompensated with the controls. But he kept it aloft until it hit the sand about 120 feet from the rail. The flight had lasted only 12 seconds, and the distance of the flight was less than the length of an airliner. For the first time, a manned, heavier-than-air machine left the ground by its own power, moved forward under control without losing speed, and landed on a point as high as that from which it started. The brothers took turns flying three more times that day, getting a feel for the controls and increasing their distance with each flight. Wilbur's second flight - the fourth and last of the day - was impressive 852 feet in 59 seconds.

This was the real thing, transcending the powered hops and glides others had achieved. The Wright machine had flown. But it would not fly again; after the last flight it was caught by a gust of wind, rolled over, and damaged beyond easy repair. With their flying season over, the Wrights sent their father a matter-of-fact telegram reporting the modest numbers behind their epochal achievement.

Taking our leave of the Memorial, we wheeled our way south on Route 12. The Kitty Hawk area is quite congested, filled with beach homes, shopping, and all the trappings you associate with modern coastal living. The houses sit on stilts, testimony to the power of the hurricanes that periodically come ashore in these parts. After all, we were on a "barrier" island, so wind, rain, flooding, etc. is par for the course. It is amzaing to see so many high priced homes abutting each other. We could only imagine what a zoo the place must be during the height of the tourist season. Fortunately, the traffic along route 12 is slow moving, and there is a good bike lane to boot. Again the riding was very easy. Most of the bicycles we saw in the area (and there were quite a few) were single speed beach cruisers; wide tires, upright handlebars, the kind of bike that used to be called a "Newsboy" bike because that's what the kid who delivered the morning paper would ride. We were blessed with a great tail wind, and put in a good pace as we headed south to Hatteras Island and the National Seashore.