Penso que a grande altitude a potência dos motores baixa para cerca de 15% da que os motores têm ao nível do mar. É por isso que a resistência ao avanço é cada vez mais baixa, mas o avião não consegue ultrapassar uma certa altitude.

Voltando à terra, 190 Km/h é muito, quando se trava na placa dos 50 metros com dois ou três fulanos furiosos encostados na traseira.

Quando vou a Lisboa pinar em certas partes da A2 dou 240 Kmh (vou com os tomates cheios ) mas quando volto já consigo
dar 250Kmh porque já estão vazios.

Há uns tempos fui caçado e apanhei 300€ de multa, o que vale é que só me apanharam no radar a 191 Kmh, estou á espera de ficar sem carta durante uns tempos........



é bem feito que tivesse pé mais leve....

Nao me digas que nao tens detector de radares...
saía mais barato...

Não tenho , passei por um Ford Mondeo cinza rato que estava em circulação e olhei pelo espelho central e vi uma cinta preta com o radar na grelha, travei logo para baixar a velocidade mas já era tarde, mais á frente (+- 2 quilómetros) estava o carro da brigada em circulação (perto da saída para a Marateca) e quando passei por ele mandou-me parar, após parar parou também a +- 50 metros o Ford e lá se foram 3 fodas em Gps da tabela 100€/hora.

Agora essa Policia da foto vai lá vai...dava lhe de boa vontade os 300 paus..

Dasssss pá oh confrade fui apanhado a vir do Algarve na A-2 sair para a A-10 Benavente, p.k.p. à mesma velocidade foí aí também? lembro-me de 1 audi passar ainda mais "largado" e deu-me um chega para lá, e eu olha-me este f.d.p.!!! já o apanho!!!

terá sido o mesmo f.d.p. que nos apanhou, multou???

Tenho sorte de que escrevi para o Governo Civil do Porto, e falei que vinha fuuuuuuuu das idéias do falecimento dos meus pais,. e lá passou tenho a carta desde 31.10.2006 e "vinha largado atrás do meu sogro..." ele nada eu PUMBA e pelo Leon marcada colado aos 200/205 ele se S320 cdi 150m à minha frente..........

abraço, p*** de coincidência men, a porcaria do test drive ficou nas 500 balas e andar fininho 5 anos......

simpático

Mechanic writes off £130,000 Lamborghini after taking it for a spin after owner dropped it off for minor repairs

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2588105/Mechanic-writes-130-000-Lamborghini-taking-spin-owner-dropped-minor-repairs.html#ixzz2xdT0jw8S

Eu nunca: andei, vi andar, sei de alguém que andou, acho possível que se ande a essa velocidade de 1900 Km/h num carro!

Ah é só 190 Km/k? Sendo assim, reafirmo tudo o que disse atrás...

Hoje por acasos do destino, tive de ali para os lados de uma terra famosa por ter um daqueles resorts "all inclusive" estadia prolongada "gratis"... e dei por mim na antiga N1/IC2 entre Alenquer e a Espinheira...


Na ultima loooooooooonga recta antes de começar a descer para a Espinheira, costumam parar lá umas GPs, e como estava um bocado de transito decidi baixar a cabeça e abrir a goelas para despachar os 10 ou 12 camiões que iam à minha frente... quando ia a ultrapassar o ultimo estava do outro lado da estrada uma gaja loira podre de boa com aquele bronzeado super sexy e as habituais roupas de dimensões reduzidas (pensem Diana Pereira, versão beira-da-estrada" .


Naquele momento, o tempo até parece que parou, deu para rodar a cara para tirar as "medidas" à miúda e tudo só que quando tornei a olhar em frente, dei conta que o ponteiro ia bem para lá dos 190


Passado um bocado bateu-me que nunca tinha andado tão depressa em "rally do pintelho mode"

Esta é dedicada ao meu amigo Prov1...


Pena cá em portugal só termos F16... se tivessemos uns Tornados podia ser que acontecesse algum "acidente"

Outra para o meu amigo Prov1... uma das maquinas que mais me fascina:





Adorava ter a sorte de poder comprar o livro de Brian Schul, um dos pilotos que tiveram a sorte do escritório ser o cockpit de um SR71, o livro em questao chama-se Sled Driver : Flying the World's Fastest Jet, infelizmente está esgotado e o preco de cada exemplar rondava os 500/600 €, na Amazon ainda se encontram 2 novos à venda pela modica de 766 USD


De vez em quando consigo ler algumas passagens à borlix, esta é uma das minhas preferidas


There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.

I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.

Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.

We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the " Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.

Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. "I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check". Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground."

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.

Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?" There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. "Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground."

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money."

For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, "Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one."

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast.

For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

Caro Safado, a estória do radar da policia captar o jacto a baixa altitude parece-me ficção até porque este tipo de aviões têm grandes restrições em voar a baixas altitudes excepto em zonas desérticas (tipo Alentejo). Mas ainda dei uma gargalhada pois lembrei-me de uma estória real de um amigo meu advogado (só podia) há muitos anos ainda quando a policia usava os radares manuais. Ele vinha na estrada nacional a chegar a Vendas Novas, onde existe uma longa recta e a linha do comboio paralela á estrada. Foi apanhado em excesso de velocidade, mas por coincidência na altura ia a passar um comboio e ele conseguiu convencer o GNR que o aparelho tinha apanhado o comboio e não o carro. Duvido que hoje se safasse.

Quanto ao avião mais rápido do mundo é apelativo mas não tenho grande feedback deste tipo de voo. Há uns anos atrás na Russia fui convidado para voar um Mig que atingia os mach 2.3 mas por azar o avião avariou no dia previsto e nunca mais tive oportunidade. De qualquer modo neste tipo de aviões a voar acima do mach 1 só a olhar para o velocímetro sabemos a que velocidade vamos porque não existe qualquer percepção física. Só nas acelerações e voltas apertadas se sentem os G's que também são limitados pelos fatos anti-G e pelo treino dos pilotos.
Para se sentir o verdadeiro gozo de voar nada como um Pitts Special que em voo inverto se fica pendurado nos cintos, o motor a pistons a vibrar ali á frente e a terra bem perto. Pelo preço de 2 ou 3 TD's pode ter essa experiência com o meu amigo Luis Garção o melhor piloto de acrobacia português.
http://www.muitaventura.com/conte.php?a=179

a pagantes, no autódromo do Estoril, já experimentei as sensações da velocidade ... à pendura num bólide e numa supermoto

se são 200 paus, então também vou experimentar esta maluqueira, e tentar ver e sentir o mundo "de pernas para o ar"

gracias pela sugestão

Cuidado com o que come antes.
Eu não tinha tomates para ir de pendura numa supermoto, apesar de até ter moto.

Conheço o Luís Garção e um dia ouvi esta conversa entre pilotos:
-piloto- faz aí qualquer coisa quando saíres;
-Luís Garção- O quê? Descolar?

Claro que logo que tinha descolado sobe poucos metros e estava em voo invertido...
ver o gajo a voar o Pitts Spetial é coisa espetacular.

quanto a voar naquilo... eoá o gajo é muito bom, mas aquilo é vai pendurado no motor, à mínima falha do motor é um calhau... e o fulano já aterrou aquilo sem motor no quintal de alguém...

Pois faltou o pitrol... a gasolina para aviação está cara para c*****.