Odyssey of the Albatross

A Yank pedals over the English Channel in a space-age bike

Shortly after dawn one day last week, a strange contraption teetered down a quay below the chalky cliffs at Folkestone, England. It looked like a giant dragonfly, with diaphanous wings spreading 96 ft. (2 1/2 ft. more than a DC-9's) above skeletal workings of a bicycle: a seat, pedals and a chain that powered a plastic propeller. Inside the translucent shell of the 75-lb. flying machine sat 140-Ib. Bryan Allen, 26, a bespectacled bean pole from Tulare, Calif., garbed in running shorts and leather cycling shoes, plastic crash helmet, a red life jacket around his bare chest.

Just 2 hrs. and 49 min. later, Allen and his Gossamer Albatross touched down on a beach at Cap Gris-Nez, France, 23 watery miles away. Only last August, three Americans had landed in a Normandy wheat field after the world's first transatlantic voyage in a helium balloon. Allen's odyssey was far shorter, but every bit as impressive, perhaps more so. The flight earned not only the coveted $210,000 prize offered by British Industrialist Henry Kremer but also a niche in aviation history for the first muscle-powered flight across the English Channel.

The feat was an inspirational diversion from more serious matters. TRIUMPH OF THE PEDALER OF THE SKY, said Paris' France-Soir. THE REVENGE OF ICARUS, judged Communist L'Humanite. One British cartoonist showed a Frenchman exclaiming, as Gossamer Albatross approached: "Mon dieu, there really must be a petrol shortage in England." U.S. Ambassador in London Kingman Brewster could not resist telling a jammed postflight press conference: "Some have said this is the most constructive solution to the energy crisis we've seen."

The brains behind Albatross was Designer Paul MacCready, 53, an aeronautical engineer from Pasadena, Calif. His foot still in a cast from a jogging accident a few weeks ago, MacCready mused about his fragile bird: "It's a specialized thing, so large, so flimsy, in order to be low-powered enough for man to propel, but it certainly does alter one's perspective of what man is capable of, both in design and actual powering of things."

For MacCready, a glider pilot who became America's first international soaring champion in 1956, the triumph was a reprise. Two years ago, another of his pedal-powered craft, Gossamer Condor, completed a 1.15-mile, figure-eight course in Shafter, Calif., to win an $86,000 Kremer prize that had eluded aeronautical designers for nearly two decades. Condor, which was also piloted by Allen, now rests in the Smithsonian Institution.

Condor was airborne for only 7 1/3 min. But once this Everest of aviation had been conquered, Kremer laid down another challenge: -L- 100,000 for a human-powered crossing of the English Channel. MacCready realized the problems were far different, perhaps insoluble. He needed a plane so light that Allen could keep aloft for some two hours, yet strong enough to survive a sudden gust of fickle Channel air. MacCready combined subtle aerospace technology with a pair of strong human legs. Using a computer to simulate stress, winds and other critical factors, he determined that Albatross should have slimmer and lighter wings; he cut crucial weight "an ounce at a time," with materials donated by Du Pont --Mylar film for the sheathing, Kevlar fibers for control lines and graphite fabric for struts. When he had finished, the stripped-down Albatross weighed a precious 13 Ibs. less than Condor.

The plane's "pilot and engine," as Allen likes to call himself, was also tuning up. A bicycling enthusiast since high school, he rode three hours a day, slept eight hours a night and ate prodigiously. Arriving at Folkestone last month with MacCready and a crew of 16, Allen gazed out on the Channel from the cliffs like a boxer pondering the ring on the eve of his big fight. "It just seemed to go on and on," he recalls. "I concluded that everybody here was right--we were crazy."

The main event came with only a night's notice. MacCready had been waiting for a rare windless dawn. Even a breeze of six knots might endanger Albatross; head winds would put extra strain on the engine. When the forecast indicated go, Allen ate a high-carbohydrate Chinese dinner; just before the 5:10 a.m. takeoff, he wolfed down large plain rolls and fruit--the best possible fuel, Allen insisted. Watching them gathering in the early light, one veteran Channel skipper decided: "These Yanks are balmy." With crew members alongside, Allen calmly climbed into the craft, took a deep breath and pedaled furiously down a makeshift wooden runway laid on the concrete quay, trying to generate the 1/2 hp. needed for takeoff. Abruptly, Albatross swerved and stopped. One of its two tiny plastic wheels had broken.

The wheel was quickly replaced, and Allen tried again. This time his flying bicycle took off easily, climbed to 20 ft. and moved out over the glassy water. Cheers went up from the small flotilla of rescue and press boats: "Son of a bitch, he's flying it!" "You're beautiful!" "Come on, Bryan!" Allen, who had never before flown over water, concentrated on pedaling at a steady 70 r.p.m. As he explained it: "If you start sinking, you've got to pedal faster."

For Albatross and its entourage on the water, including TIME Correspondent Art White, almost every minute was nerve-racking. In midpassage, a supertanker appeared; tipped off by MacCready, who was in contact with his pilot by two-way radio, Allen gave it a wide berth. Snooping helicopters that could have whipped up the air stayed away, but twice a press boat bulled in too close. It was shouted back by the rescue teams. At the halfway mark a head wind rose up, and Albatross's speed dropped from 12 m.p.h. to a precarious, near-stalling 9 1/2 m.p.h.

Pumping harder, Allen faced a new danger--dehydration. Sweating profusely inside his humid enclosed compartment, he drained his two-liter water bottle. His radio's batteries also wore down; Allen could hear messages through his earplugs but could not send off replies. As Albatross dipped to within 6 in. of the swells, an exhausted Allen waved in defeat at a rescue craft, signaling for a line that might have provided an airborne tow for the remaining eight miles.

Yet somehow, as he climbed 10 ft. to allow the boat's approach, he found calmer air and suddenly mustered a burst of energy. For the rest of the trip, Albatross remained well clear of the water.

Good thing: half a mile offshore MacCready spotted a sinister shape that he took to be a large shark. By the last quarter-mile, Allen said, "my legs started to get useless." He had developed painful cramps, but pedaled on. Finally, as Cap Gris-Nez loomed, he said to himself: "Doggone, I'm going to make it."

After landing to the cheers of spectators, Allen acknowledged that he could not have gone on another 10 ft. Sweat-soaked but clearly elated, he staggered out of his big bird to accept flowers and a shy kiss from a female admirer. His first words: "Wow . . . wow!"

As radio, television and newspapers told Albatross's story, the $1,600 plane was carted off to the Paris Air Show, parked among the latest multimillion-dollar marvels of aviation. An Albatross crew member called to book some hotel rooms in Paris for MacCready and company. All full up, he was told. He hung up, thought a minute, then called back: "It's for the man who just pedaled across the Channel." "Oui, m 'sieu!"came the reply. "How many rooms do you want?"

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