Notes

"Outside Loop." Imagine sitting upright on top of an enormous flywheel, 2,000 feet in diameter. You are strapped to its outer rim. The wheel is in motion, whirling you forward and downward at a speed which increases from 150 miles per hour to 280 miles per hour when you are upside down, beneath it. Then you are carried upward to your original position and are safe, for this wheel will not torture you with another revolution.

Lieut. James ("Lucky Jimmy ) Doolittle performed a similar revolution in his 420-horsepower Curtiss biplane last week, when he completed the first "outside loop in aviation history. Two flyers had attempted this stunt in 1912 and were killed. Lieutenant Doolittle began his loop above Dayton, Ohio, at an altitude of 8,000 feet, flying at 150 miles per hour. His great dangers were the collapse of his plane or the breaking of straps which held him in the cockpit, at the bottom of the loop. Even though his plane held together Lieutenant Doolittle came out of the loop with bloodshot eyes and a slight hemorrhage of the lungs. At one point he had attained a speed of 280 m. p. h.

"Inside Loop." The usual stunt loop-the-loop ("inside loop")--during which the plane rises and is on its back at the top of the loop-- brought death to Lieut. Walter J. Ligon, reserve officer, and Ivan L. Hall, student aviator, at Clover Field, Santa Monica, Calif., last week. The wings of their plane collapsed in coming out of a loop at an altitude of 2,000 feet.

De Pinedo. Commander Francesco de Pinedo, famed flying Fascist, was forced last week to land on the Atlantic near the Azores Islands on the next-to-last leg of his 26,000-mile, four-continent flight. Premier Mussolini stayed up all night until he heard that Flyer de Pinedo's plane had been towed safely to Fayal, Azores. Soon Commander de Pinedo expects to hop to Rome and receive a long-delayed welcome.

England to Australia. Dennis Rooke, onetime member of the British Royal Flying Corps, clad in a grey lounge suit and civilian overcoat climbed in his Moth de Havilland plane last week; set out for Australia, 11,000 miles away. He took along a collapsible bathtub, a few spare parts and maps. He in-tended to make short, leisurely hops. The flight was stimulated by a $10,000 bet, which was later canceled.

Blimp Jinx. At Brooks Field, San Antonio, Tex., the nonrigid dirigible TC-10 243 of the U. S. Army was ready to take the air. But one of its anchors stuck, causing a cable to rip a hole in the gas bag. Unbalanced, the dirigible floundered stupidly, smashed its gondola (cabin) against the ground, ripped its gas bag to shreds, let loose 200,000 cubic feet of valuable helium. The crew of seven escaped unhurt. Major Harold A. Strauss, who was in command of this unfortunate blimp, recalled that another blimp of his had exploded on the same spot in 1922, that still another in his command had been torn loose from its moorings and wrecked by a gale in Leavenworth, Kan., only a fortnight ago. "A jinx," said he.