Quotes of the Day
When Lauren McCollum took up flying again last spring, after a 15-year break, she wanted a plane that she could take far and fast. But as a long-lapsed pilot, the Los Angeles property developer did not want an aircraft that would intimidate her. Her flight instructor suggested an airplane that McCollum hadn't even heard of. One demonstration flight later, she was hooked on a Cirrus SR22, a sleek and powerful four-seater whose designers are trying to reinvent the small plane, not to mention the small-plane industry. "I'm a techno-nerd," says McCollum, "and when I saw those two computer screens in the cockpit where there usually are a bunch of round gauges, I immediately felt at ease with all that info. It's like having your laptop to help fly a plane."
Cirrus Design, based in Duluth, Minn., which began mass-producing its small planes only in 1999, is bucking industry trends to become the fastest-growing general-aviation manufacturer in the world. In 2001 Cirrus captured just 11% of the market for single-engine piston planes, but now it accounts for almost one-third. Impressive, but it comes in an industry that has been struggling to regain altitude. Sales of all small airplanes hit an all-time high of 18,000 in 1978 but dropped to 2,600 just five years later, hurt in particular by liability issues. Things got so bad that in 1986, Cessna temporarily stopped production of single-engine aircraft.
Unlike other new-entrant designers such as Lancair and Diamond Aircraft — which sell similar high-performance, artfully designed planes — Cirrus has set its sights on the granddaddy of airplane builders, the venerable 76-year-old Cessna Aircraft Co. of Wichita, Kans. The Textron subsidiary has sold more than 23,000 of its Skylane 182s, and the distinctive, high-wing, small-propeller planes are so ubiquitous that there probably isn't a pilot who hasn't flown a Cessna at least once.
Cirrus is not just taking on Cessna at home. The manufacturer sold its 100th plane in Europe last May, bringing to $27 million Cirrus' revenues there. (That month the company also sold its first plane to a Russian customer, who requested extra tires, spark plugs and chewing gum.) As in the domestic market, plane owners overseas act as an auxiliary sales force. At the company's celebration of its 100th European sale in June, more than two-thirds of Cirrus' European owners flew their planes in to meet the others.
Cirrus is planning to take control of the skies by not actually thinking like an airplane maker, says CEO Alan Klapmeier, 44, who along with his brother Dale, 42, founded the company. The two — who started tinkering with user-friendly, homemade planes in their parents' dairy barn near Baraboo, Wis., in the mid-1980s — created Cirrus from a clean sheet of paper. "Plane design and performance hadn't really changed in decades," says Alan, a physics major, who is determined to make flying more accessible. "We were convinced there was a market for a very safe, smartly designed, high-performance airplane. We thought of building a plane that was as easy to drive as a very good car."
Cirrus started with one word: plastics. The airplanes (the SRV, the slightly more sophisticated SR20 and the top-of-the-line SR22) are made of a foam-and-fiber-glass composite rather than the traditional aluminum. The material is as strong as metal but lighter and easier to shape into a more aerodynamic airframe. That means less drag as the plane flies, which translates into one thing most pilots want: more speed. Compared with the decades-old designs of the boxy, entry-level Cessnas, Cirrus planes look like sexy sports cars. The SR22, which sells for $313,900, has a cruising speed of 180 knots (207 m.p.h.)35 knots (40 m.p.h.) faster than Cessna's popular 182, which retails for about $260,000.
But the Klapmeier brothers also threw out another aviation tradition: cramped and intimidating interiors. Instead of the massive instrument panel that blocks the view out of most cockpits, the Cirrus has a much smaller, curved panel that is modeled on a car dashboard. The wings are low, and the windows very large. That is in contrast to the Cessna, whose wing sits atop the cockpit like a big awning, supported by view-obstructing metal struts. "Being able to actually see what's outside of the cockpit is a big part of the fun of flying," says Alan. "The cockpit is functional, with incredible attention to detail and knowledge of what pilots need," says Gary Morgan, a 6-ft. 2-in., 280-lb. former Air Force flyer who pilots an SR22. "And it can easily fit a guy my size."
The instruments are also displayed in a dramatically different way. Instead of the small, round, black-and-white gauges of old, new Cirrus planes use two colorful, 10-in. computer screens with pictures that convey vital information on speed, heading and altitude on the first, and weather, terrain and the location of other aircraft on the second.
But there is one overarching ingredient that puts Cirrus in a category of its own: all its planes come with a parachute. Alan Klapmeier had a near fatal midair collision in 1984 and was convinced that a parachute could be a last-resort safety mechanism. His goal was to save aviators from the source of most general-aviation accidents: themselves. Although some safety experts have criticized the chute as a gimmick, the Klapmeiers are convinced it's needed.
When the emergency handle is pulled, a solid-fuel rocket blows out the hatch that houses the chute in the back of the fuselage, deploying the parachute, and harness straps distribute the weight of the airframe. Within a few seconds, the 2,400-sq.-ft. chute opens, and the aircraft is supposed to descend gradually. In October 2002 the Cirrus chute saved the life of a Texas pilot when one of his wing controls became disabled, the first time in history a civilian pilot landed a plane via parachute. That does not mean Cirrus is foolproof. There have been six fatal accidents — virtually all attributed to pilot error — which have led some safety experts to conclude that the plane might be attracting pilots who can't handle the plane's design or speed. The company has taken quick steps to address accidents, including increased training for new owners.
Cirrus has spent the past three years preparing for takeoff. In 2001 it lined up a $100 million investment from Crescent Capital, a private firm, to increase production and expand its selection. "Our key challenge is getting Cirrus' name on people's shopping lists," says John Bingham, the company's sales chief. It's working. In July the company sold a remarkable 51 airplanes in one of the slowest markets in years. And last month Cirrus became the first start-up in the past 50 years to sell 1,000 planes within four years of its first delivery. Cirrus may have succeeded in creating a new market. First-time buyers account for almost 40% of sales. "It's an easy plane to fly," adds Bingham. And, Cirrus hopes, to buy.
- Sally Donnelly/Duluth