Destroyed on Maiden

  I came by the nickname Ribcracker in the early days of my aero-modeling hobby. We built the frames of our aircraft with thin strips of balsa called stringers, and longerons, also called "ribs".
  While learning to fly, many of my planes met grim fates returning to earth at high rates of speed, sometimes leaving a smoldering crater in terra firma. Thus came the name Ribcracker.
  In one such incident I had spent the dark hours of winter meticulously crafting a Stevens Aeromodel Cap 232. I took my time and made sure everything was perfect. All told, I put close to a hundred hours into the build.
  The wind was calm the night I tightened the last screw so I walked into the field and gently set my precious creation down on the grass strip, took a deep breath and advanced the throttle. The plane rolled out about 10 feet and nosed over. So I would have to hand-launch it. I threw it skyward and cracked open the throttle. The high motor torque caused the plane to hook toward the tree line about 20 feet to my left and I had to make a split second decision whether to kill the throttle or try to clear the trees. I made the wrong choice. Wham! Debris rained down from the trees like confetti.
  I'd say the plane was airborne maybe two seconds. One hundred hours of work. Two seconds. I never even got a chance to get a picture of this beauty.
  That is the downside of this hobby. Your hopes and expectations well up with such anticipation that you can barely catch your breath. And then comes the elation - or the agony.
  To deal with the shock I made myself numb and spent a fitful night in bed.
  The next day I began a new build. And once again I felt the hopes and expectations welling up.