RSG GyroFly

11/09/2026

PHILOSOPHICAL FRIDAY #?
Why build an aircraft with a steering system that doesn’t steer?

Designing an aircraft is a fascinating occupation.

You can spend half a day wondering how to connect two things together, only to realise in the evening that the best solution is…

not to connect them at all.

At that point you can open a beer and consider the day productive. 😁

That is more or less what happened with Diamond’s nose wheel.

We have rudder pedals.

We have a nose wheel.

We have cables, rods, bolts, aluminium and an entire arsenal of things capable of connecting point A to point B.

Any reasonable person would therefore say:

“Robert, connect the pedals to the wheel. That’s how it’s done.”

And Robert says:

“No.”

This is usually the stage of the project when the family stops asking questions. 😂

Diamond’s nose wheel will be free-castering and mechanically independent of the rudder pedals.

Why?

Because aircraft have this slightly inconvenient habit of occasionally…

flying.

And while flying, the pedals operate the rudder.

Now imagine a crosswind landing.

The wind wants to go one way.

The aircraft wants to go another.

The runway has its own opinion.

And the pilot is desperately trying to persuade everyone to reach some kind of agreement.

To maintain direction, the pilot may be holding considerable rudder as the aircraft touches down.

Then the nose wheel reaches the ground.

If it is mechanically connected to the pedals, it receives a very simple message:

FULL LEFT!

The wheel doesn’t know there is a crosswind.

It doesn’t understand aerodynamics.

It hasn’t checked the weather forecast.

It doesn’t have a pilot’s licence.

It is a wheel.

It was told to turn left, so it turns left.

“THANK YOU, GENTLEMEN. I’LL TAKE IT FROM HERE!”

😂

And suddenly several hundred kilograms of aircraft, which one second earlier had the perfectly reasonable intention of travelling along the runway, receives an entirely new suggestion from one small wheel at the front.

Usually involving sideways travel.

How do I know this can become unpleasant?

Let’s just say this conclusion is not based entirely on months of computer simulation.

Field testing was personally conducted.

The methodology was straightforward:

1. Crosswind.
2. Landing.
3. Nose wheel touches the ground.
4. “OH, F**K.”
5. Analyse results.

😂

The experiment was successful in the sense that the researcher survived and remembered the conclusions.

There is, however, one part of the experiment I have no intention of doing:

repeating it.

So Diamond will use a different philosophy.

The nose wheel will be free-castering. No rods, cables or other clever mechanisms trying to convince it that it needs to know what the rudder is doing.

But that doesn’t mean taxiing will be controlled using the highly sophisticated system known as:

“Let’s see where she goes.” 😁

Diamond is a pusher, so with the propeller turning there is airflow over the rudders even at relatively low ground speed.

As long as that airflow provides sufficient authority, directional control comes primarily from the rudders.

Pedal → rudder → propeller slipstream → aircraft turns.

The nose wheel stays out of it.

As speed decreases and aerodynamic rudder authority gradually becomes less effective, progressive differential braking of the main wheels joins the conversation.

So it isn’t:

RUDDER OR BRAKE.

It is a progressive transition:

rudder → rudder + brake → differential braking.

At normal taxi speeds — aerodynamic steering.

At lower speeds — aerodynamic steering assisted by differential braking.

When manoeuvring almost at walking pace — differential braking can do most of the work.

And the nose wheel?

The nose wheel watches the whole operation, aligns itself with the actual direction of travel and very politely stays the f**k out of management.

😁

A proper division of responsibilities.

Apparently some well-managed companies work like this too.

I have heard rumours.

And that brings us to today’s philosophy.

When designing something, it is very easy to keep asking:

“What else can I add?”

Another linkage.

Another joint.

Another mechanism.

Four more bolts.

Another piece of aluminium.

And eventually you look at the finished aircraft and wonder why it weighs as much as an Audi Q5.

So with Diamond I increasingly try to ask the opposite question:

“Do I actually need this?”

Because a part I never installed:

doesn’t weigh anything,
doesn’t cost anything,
doesn’t need lubrication,
doesn’t need adjustment,
can’t come loose,
can’t jam,
and can’t break.

And, perhaps most importantly…

it cannot suddenly announce during a crosswind landing:

“THANK YOU. I’M DRIVING NOW.”

😂

Happy Philosophical Friday.

P.S. Yes, Diamond’s nose wheel really will not be connected to the rudder pedals.

No, I didn’t forget it.

This time. 😁

08/09/2026

🔧 TECHNICAL SNIFFER #?

How much does 600 kg actually weigh… when it flies?

On a scale, it’s ridiculously simple.

The RSG Diamond is intended to have a maximum take-off mass of 600 kg.

Put it on the scales, see 600 kg, job done.

Well… not quite. 😁

Because the moment we start calculating the structural strength of a gyroplane frame, a rather important question appears:

What force are we actually supposed to apply to that frame?

600 kg?

Not really.

In flight, the weight of the aircraft is primarily balanced by the force generated by the rotor. But that force does not always act perfectly vertically, and it certainly does not always correspond to a peaceful little “1 g”.

The rotor disc is tilted.
The gyroplane is moving forward.
Airspeed changes.
Rotor disc angle changes.
Rotor RPM changes.
There is drag.
There are manoeuvres.
There is turbulence.

And all these little pleasantries eventually meet in one particularly interesting place:

the rotor head and the mast.

Which is exactly where several metres of spinning rotor begin explaining the basic laws of physics to an aluminium airframe.

That is why, before asking:

“Will this frame survive?”

we first have to answer a much more important question:

“What exactly does it have to survive?”

In structural design, we therefore don’t calculate one magical load.

We define load cases.

Steady flight is one.

A manoeuvre may be another.

A different direction of the resultant rotor force may be another.

Then there are adverse cases that the structure must also safely withstand.

And eventually we look for the one that says to a particular structural member:

“Good morning. I’ll be your problem today.” 😁

Only then does the real fun begin: cross-sections, stresses, buckling, bending moments and safety factors.

And that is exactly where we are now with the Diamond airframe.

We are not trying to pretend that we know, down to the last Newton, exactly what the rotor will do during every possible second of flight.

We are trying to do something considerably more sensible:

define a reasonable, conservative load envelope and determine whether the Diamond structure can safely carry it.

Because you can have the most beautiful aluminium profile in the world.

You can know its yield strength to three decimal places.

You can even make a beautiful spreadsheet.

But if you put the wrong force into the calculation at the very beginning…

…you have just performed an extremely accurate calculation of something completely irrelevant. 😁

And that is what the Technical Sniffer sniffed out today. 🐽🔧

06/09/2026

FROM THE BUILDER’S LOG

Or: how one stupid idea can successfully organise several years of your life.

“What if we built our own gyroplane?”

Six words. A short, innocent question.

At first, everything seemed simple. A side-by-side cabin, an affordable automotive engine, a structure that could be built without owning a rocket factory, and an aircraft that could be operated without selling a kidney.

What could possibly go wrong?

Obviously, quite a lot.

First came the Blender model. Blender has the wonderful ability to let you make mistakes in full 3D. You can rotate them, zoom in, admire them from every angle and even give them a beautiful metallic finish.

Then we built a full-size cabin mock-up.

Foam, wood, glue, cutting, sanding and fitting. We could climb inside, sit down, check visibility, available space and ergonomics. After almost two months, something that had previously existed only in our heads and computers began to resemble a real machine.

Then the Swedish weather joined the engineering team — without being invited — and conducted its own structural test.

The mock-up did not survive.

The weather did.

Sweden: 1. RSG: 0.

A normal person might have taken this as a sign.

A builder opens Blender and improves the model.

That was probably the first unmistakable symptom of the disease.

On the screen, the cabin surfaces looked beautiful. Smooth. Aerodynamic. Perfect.

Right.

And how the f**k are we actually going to build this?

PUR foam does not care about documentation, the designer’s vision or elegant computer-generated surfaces. It has very strong opinions about geometry.

And so began a long war to divide the cabin into flat panels — panels that could actually be cut, transported, assembled and joined without losing either Diamond’s shape or the builders’ sanity.

After many revisions, we finally achieved something resembling a peace treaty between Euclidean geometry and foam.

Then came the aluminium.

The profiles were ordered and cut. The frame will be bolted rather than welded, because the entire concept has always been based on simple, repeatable manufacturing methods.

The material invoice then informed us, briefly but firmly, that aluminium had apparently stopped being an ordinary metal and had become a precious one.

The RSG wallet opened its eyes, looked at the price, then looked at me… and quietly closed itself again.

And we still need the engine, reduction drive, propeller, rotor, composite skin, systems, instruments and all the other little items that individually cost “only a bit”, but together cost “holy sh*t”.

Then there are the regulations.

Because building the machine is one thing. Establishing exactly which rules it must be built under, who must supervise it and which documents will be required is an entirely separate engineering project.

Only heavier and considerably harder to drill through.

Somewhere in the middle of all this sits a Toyota 1ZZ-FE engine which spent most of its life believing that its destiny was to move a Corolla around peacefully.

Now somebody has told it:

“You’re going to fly.”

Sometimes I open the complete Diamond model and, for a moment, the invoices, authorities, foam, revisions, profiles, plates, joints, bolts, certificates and wallet anxiety all disappear.

Only the aircraft remains.

Still digital. Still unfinished. But becoming a little more real with every passing week.

I do not know exactly when it will fly.

I also do not know how many more things will go differently from what we planned.

But I do know that we will not stop simply because the road turned out to be harder than it looked at the beginning.

And one day, the Toyota will turn the propeller, the rotor will gather speed, the wheels will leave the ground and perhaps that first question will return:

“What the f**k possessed me to ask that question?”

This. This is why.

04/09/2026

Friday Philosophy
There are moments in a project when you suddenly realise you’ve crossed a certain line.
We’re not flying yet. We’re not even standing on the runway. But the journey has already begun.
For a long time, RSG Diamond was an idea, a sketch, a question.
Now we’re slowly entering a territory where, alongside “Can we do it?”, another question appears:
“Are we allowed to?”
And this is where bureaucracy enters the stage.
It’s a word that rarely inspires warm feelings. But in aviation, bureaucracy didn’t appear out of nowhere.
Someone has to set the rules. Someone has to define minimum standards. And sometimes, someone probably should look over the constructor’s shoulder and make sure his brilliant Saturday-night idea isn’t based entirely on optimism, duct tape and “hold my beer.”
Aviation is not particularly forgiving of mistakes.
Regulations can save lives.
But there is another side to it.
Every procedure costs something: time, energy and money. And somewhere between protection and control, there is a very thin line.
Where does protecting people end — and clipping the wings of initiative begin?
Today, I feel a little like a ski jumper sitting on the starting bar.
Skis on.
Goggles down.
The ramp ahead.
The run has already started, and there isn’t much point looking backwards now.
Soon comes the take-off.
Will the system give us some wind under our skis, check the bindings and say:
“All right. Go fly.”
Or will somebody put a barrier across the take-off table with a sign:
“Form 17B missing. Form 17B may only be requested after receiving permission to submit an application for Form 17A.”
I genuinely don’t know.
And that’s why I don’t want to declare war on bureaucracy today. We’ve only just knocked on the door.
Instead, I want to leave one question:
How much bureaucracy do we actually need to protect people without discouraging those who are willing to build, experiment and try something new?
We’ll find out.
Perhaps sooner than we think.
And just in case…
the little shovel is ready.
Don Coyote doesn’t sleep. 😁

31/08/2026

The final shape of the hull has been frozen...

30/08/2026

From the Builder’s Log

On wedges, millimetres, and other reasons why normal people have hobbies

This week, the plan was simple.

Really simple.

We were going to make the floor.

THE FLOOR.

Not a rocket engine.
Not a fusion reactor.
Not a tunnel under the Baltic Sea.

A piece of foam whose main job, by definition, should be:

to lie there.

As it turns out, I overestimated the foam.

First, Blender informed me that something that looked flat wasn’t actually flat.

Fine.

We fixed it.

Then something that was supposed to fit stopped fitting.

We fixed that.

A wedge appeared.

We removed the wedge.

The wall thickness disappeared.

We restored the wall thickness.

The wedge came back.

And that was when I realised I was no longer designing a gyroplane.

I was raising a Tamagotchi.

Feed one thing — another one dies.

In the meantime, we discovered that three surfaces which, according to my brilliant plan, were supposed to become one panel needed about 18 mm of persuasion before they were willing to accept reality.

I gave them 20.

They were still complaining.

I gave them 30.

Blender got offended.

That was the moment when you sit in front of the screen, stare at your own creation, and finally understand why large aircraft manufacturers employ thousands of engineers.

It’s not because aircraft are that complicated.

It’s because one person simply wouldn’t survive this mentally.

But the funny thing is, it’s precisely these ridiculous little battles that are slowly turning Diamond into a real aircraft.

Because a computer can draw anything.

It can create a beautiful curve.

It can create a perfect transition.

It can even convince the designer that he knows what he’s doing.

The problem only starts when you ask:

“Okay, smartass. Now how exactly am I supposed to cut this out of a flat sheet?”

And suddenly…

silence.

So now we check everything.

Every panel.
Every mating surface.
Every angle.
Every gap.

Because one day, instead of CTRL+Z, there will be adhesive, laminate and a part that costs actual money.

And unfortunately, I still haven’t found the button marked:

UNDO

in the workshop.

So, this week’s progress report:

Diamond — slightly more finished.
Blender — still installed.
Computer — survived.
The wedge — the bastard is still fighting.
The builder — symptoms critical but stable.
Prognosis uncertain.

And the floor?

The floor is beginning to understand who’s in charge.

Although, knowing this project…

probably not me.

RSG DIAMOND
Built one questionable decision at a time. 😁

29/08/2026

https://ko-fi.com/s/78914d7c90

Like the music? Help Diamond get off the ground.
I made this little AI-Capella album while working on the RSG Diamond project.
If you’d like to add a few coins to the build budget, you can grab the album with 10 songs on Bandcamp.
You get the songs. Diamond gets another bolt, a little resin… or maybe half a bearing. 😁

Every little bit moves the project one step closer to the day when the songs about flying are no longer about a dream.

BUY SOME MUSIC.
BUILD SOME AIRCRAFT.
RSG DIAMOND. 😎

**AI-Capella — Bolts, Dreams & Other Bad Decisions** This album started as a bit of fun with AI and somehow turned into a musical diary of the RSG Di...

29/08/2026

A little fun with AI, and this is what came out of it. 😉

28/08/2026

# # # Friday PhiloZophy: When Does a Dream Stop Being a Dream?

Every project has that beautiful stage when it is still just a dream.

At that point, everything is simple.

The aircraft will be light.
It will be affordable.
It will be comfortable.
It will operate from grass.
It won’t burn much fuel.

And preferably, it should look good too.

You sit there in the evening with a cup of coffee, staring at the 3D model and thinking:

**“Of course this can be done.”**

It’s a very pleasant stage.

Then the dream makes one fundamental mistake.

**It starts becoming reality.**

And suddenly, instead of wondering what the finished Diamond will look like against a beautiful sunset, you find yourself wondering whether a piece of PUR foam should be 47, 50 or 52 mm thick.

You start counting kilograms.

Millimetres.

Angles.

Bolts.

Metres of aluminium.

Litres of resin.

Swedish kronor.

For some mysterious reason, there are always too many of the last ones.

Then come regulations, permits, suppliers, deadlines, and questions that six months ago you didn’t even know it was possible to ask.

And the 3D model that once looked so beautiful starts maliciously informing you:

**“You have a 7-millimetre problem here.”**

You fix it.

**Now you have an 18-millimetre problem over there.**

You fix that too.

**Congratulations. Now you have a wedge.**

Of course, there is one more element in the entire process that no CAD software is capable of taking into account:

**the designer.**

The kind of person who says in the morning:

**“Let’s not overcomplicate this. The simplest solutions are always the best.”**

And then spends the next six hours wondering whether it could perhaps be done slightly differently.

Eventually, he concludes that the first solution was actually the best one.

Undoes everything.

Looks at the screen.

And, with the deep satisfaction of a job well done, announces:

**“There. Now it’s exactly the way it was this morning.”**

Don’t ask me how I know this process.

At this point, a sensible person would probably find themselves a normal hobby.

Fishing.

Stamp collecting.

Maybe orchids.

I decided to build an autogyro.

Nobody’s perfect.

And I think this is exactly where the line between a **dream** and a **project** lies.

A dream exists for as long as you can say:

**“One day, I’ll do it.”**

A project begins when “one day” is replaced by:

**“Right. What are we doing tomorrow?”**

And paradoxically, that is when some of the romance disappears.

But something much more valuable takes its place.

The first aluminium profile you actually buy.

The first part you can hold in your hands.

The first problem solved not on paper, but in the real world.

And one day you suddenly realise that you are no longer talking about the aircraft you would like to build.

You are talking about the aircraft **you are building**.

And that’s when you discover that the dream hasn’t died at all.

It has simply…

**put on its work trousers.**

25/08/2026

*** TECHNICAL SNIFFER***

Brothers and Sisters of the Gyrokopterian Order!

Today’s story involves foam, math, and the discovery that a computer can casually draw something that cannot actually be built without personally offending several laws of geometry. 😄

As you probably know, the Diamond is supposed to look like a Diamond.

Not like a slippery stick of butter.

Not like a bathtub on wheels.

And definitely not like something that happened when the designer fell asleep on the “smooth everything” button.

The problem is that sculpting a good-looking cabin in a 3D program is relatively easy.

Things get more interesting when you actually have to build it from flat PUR foam sheets, which stubbornly refuse to change shape just because I asked nicely.

So right now, I’m trying to answer one simple question:

Can the Diamond’s silhouette be divided into flat triangles and quadrilaterals while preserving its character, symmetry, and the builder’s mental health?

Negotiations regarding that last item are still ongoing.

The plan goes something like this:

The aluminum frame handles the structure and carries the loads.

The PUR foam creates the shape, fills the gaps, and helps with insulation.

The laminate stiffens everything and works together with the structure.

The floor and firewall get 50 mm PUR foam.

The cabin skin, the panel behind the seats, and the shelf get 20 mm.

On paper, it all sounds simple.

Then you discover that an aluminum frame member takes up space.

A reinforcement plate also takes up space.

So does the neighboring frame member.

And suddenly the foam that was supposed to fit everywhere so elegantly has to accept that other tenants moved in first.

First example?

After accounting for just five frame members, the calculated foam volume in the floor dropped from 160.8 to 93.9 liters.

And one beautiful computer-designed panel turned into three very real parts.

That was before all the reinforcement plates raised their hands and said, “Excuse us, we live here too.”

That’s exactly why it matters to move beyond the question:

“Does it look good?”

And start asking:

“Can it actually be cut, assembled, and built without discovering twenty brand-new swear words along the way?”

The Diamond still has to look like a Diamond.

We’re just trying to give it one more rare and valuable feature:

It should also be possible to actually build the thing. 😄

Have you ever turned a 3D model into real-world parts? How many times did your computer promise that “everything fits” before reality demanded a revision?