CHAPTER 14 / Ground Operation 101 — "The Pre-Taxi Regret Walk-around™

Let’s assume—for the sake of reckless optimism—that you’ve somehow managed to execute the Romdane Spinal Spiral™ (or whichever acrobatic ritual you perform to hurl yourself into the cockpit of a Super Cub) without tearing a hamstring, dislocating a rib, or exposing your soul to public ridicule. You’re now wedged into the front seat—a slab of medieval plywood upholstered with vengeance and spinal regret—feeling rather proud of yourself. Congratulations. Now look forward. See anything useful? Didn’t think so.

Because unless you’re seven feet tall, mildly clairvoyant, or blessed with the neck of a flamingo, your visual horizon begins somewhere around the next time zone. From the front seat of a Super Cub, your line of sight kisses the ground at roughly fifty feet away—on a good day.

This, of course, assumes you’re running decent tires.
Namely: 31-inch, or ideally, the undisputed crown jewels of taildragger aviation—the 35” Alaskan Bushwheel tundra tires. The kind that make your Cub look like it could survive a planetary landing.

If, however, you’re still spiritually parked in the Cretaceous Era—when “twisting” was a dance move and 6.50x6 four-ply was considered adequate—then congratulations: you can probably see the taxiway without divine intervention. But don’t get smug. This chapter still applies. You may see what’s coming. You just can’t stop it.

Because what lies between you and that distant smear of tarmac might be the taxiway.
Or a family of goats.
Or—if you're operating in Africa like I was—possibly both, locked in negotiations with a fence post.

And this is where your problems truly begin.
Because moving a Super Cub on the ground is like steering a shopping cart with a propeller strapped to it.
Except louder.
And on fire.
With the added bonus that it wants to humiliate you before you even take off.

Side Note (for the tragically undertrained):

At this point, I will not waste ink—or dignity—discussing engine start procedures. Cold start, hot start, flooded, confused, existential crisis—I don’t care. If you still need help figuring out how to get your glorified lawnmower to spin its trauma disc, then you have no business operating a Cub in the first place.
This is not your chapter.
This is not your circus.
And those are definitely not your monkeys.

As for me?
My startup process is both refined and stupidly effective.
I pump the throttle exactly 2.5 times—yes, half-pumps exist. Don’t ask—and leave it resting at what I’ve come to know as the “Probably Idle” position. Why? Because anything else launches the RPMs into orbit and earns you a free prop-strike inspection.

I hit the starter. Pray briefly. Listen for signs of combustion or immediate financial ruin. Then glance at the oil pressure gauge—not because I understand it, but because it’s the only thing that tells me whether the engine still has oil… or whether I’ve just woken up a mechanical poltergeist.
Volts and amps get a quick nod too, mostly out of social courtesy.

And then…
I sit.
Waiting.
Like a man who just pulled the pin on a grenade and isn’t entirely sure if he’s holding it backwards.

Cockpit temperature rises.

The engine coughs, wheezes, and settles into a low grumble—idling like it’s planning a murder.

Before I drift off into sun-soaked Caribbean fantasies—umbrella cocktail in hand, sand between my toes, Lycoming oil on my knees—I do one last mental check:

The Pre-Taxi Regret Walk-around™

(For degenerates, bush pilots, and people who treat pre-flights like performance art.)

1. Aircraft Tilt Check™
Is the Cub sitting at a weird angle, with one wing dragging its dignity across the ground like a wounded albatross?
✅ Might be low tire pressure.
✅ Might be a completely flat tire.
✅ Might be you parked in Compton and a local gang removed your Bushwheel overnight.
Either way—bad sign.

2. Bungee Sanity Evaluation
Are the gear bungees taut and clean, or are rogue rubber tentacles sprouting from the undercarriage like a malfunctioning sea creature?
✅ If you're running one of those fancy shock systems, go ahead and gloat.
If not, pray to Newton and move on.

3. The Fuel Fountain Check
Is anything dripping from the wing?
✅ If yes, better be condensation.
✅ If it’s blue, you either left the cap loose—or you’re about to fund your A&P’s next vacation.

4. Tail-feathers & Shame Survey
Empennage intact?
✅ Rudder, stabilisers, tailwheel—all present?
✅ Tailwheel springs attached—not drooping like abandoned laundry?
✅ Any part held on by zip ties or optimism?

5. Canvas Puncture Census
Any new holes in the fabric?
✅ If yes, it’s either hangar rash, goat-related, or your mechanic’s apprentice got bored with a screwdriver.
✅ Holes = drag. Drag = regret. Regret = you.

6. Oil Existence Check
✅ Is there oil?
✅ Is it in the engine?
✅ Is it still the right colour, or has it gone full espresso?

7. Control Surface Loyalty Test
Ailerons and flaps present?
✅ Hinges secure?
✅ Nothing missing, hanging, or flapping like a warning from God?
✅ If you can lift the aileron and it waves back—don’t taxi.

8. The Propeller Murder Disc Check
✅ Any cracks, nicks, or dents on the blades?
✅ Still bolted to the engine—or has it been replaced with decorative shame?
✅ Spins freely, or makes the sound of bankruptcy?
Reminder: A cracked prop isn’t a blemish. It’s a pending decapitation warrant.

9. Pitot Tube Finger-poke™
✅ Did a bird shove a peanut in there again?
✅ Mud dauber nest?
✅ Forgot your pitot cover and now you’re flying VFR by guesswork?
Poke it. Look smug. Move on.

10. Windshield Transparency Audit
✅ Can you actually see out, or is it coated in bug guts, dried mud, and the tears of past landings?
✅ Bonus: If you can read your own reflection—it’s too clean.
Scratch it once for realism.

11. Loose Items Check / Avionics Archaeology
✅ Is there a wrench under your seat?
✅ A banana?
✅ A dead mouse with a GoPro?
The inside of your Cub should not resemble a yard sale held in Nairobi. Clean up—or risk headlines like:

“Pilot Knocked Out by Thermos Mid-Takeoff, Dies Dignified.”

And that, ladies and degenerates, concludes the Romdane Walk-around for Functional Delinquents™.

✅ If you passed five out of seven, you’re legally allowed to taxi.
✅ If you passed three—welcome to the bush flying community.
✅ If you passed zero… you’re already in the air. Probably upside down.

“If anything on this list makes you shrug, you’re not doing a walk-around.
You’re performing last rites.”

—Romdane’s Rule of Ground-Based Denial™