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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.