Dispatches from the Dream of Personal Flight

Even Craig Vetter, who envisions legions of "low and slow" craft breaking the blacktop gridlock, acknowledges two critical safety issues. First, there's the problem of whirling propellers like "swinging knife blades." Designers must build these craft "so a child could come up and touch them anywhere before takeoff and not get hurt," Vetter says. Second, there's what Vetter calls the problem of the "dead man zone." Altitudes of 12 to 350 feet, where many of these machines would operate, are high enough to kill a pilot in a fall, too low for a conventional parachute to work. New escape gear will be needed, Vetter says.


The first successfully marketed personal flying machine is unlikely to be a flying car, zooming over Expeditions as they make their slow way into the city. It's more likely to be an airborne ATV, scooting over empty rural fields: a fun, reliable toy, no more expensive than a decent boat, bringing the thrill of aviation to the man or woman who's tried the latest jet-ski and wants to get some real air.


At the Virginia hay field, Art Phelps, one of AirScooter's lead engineers, has retrofitted the stuttering two-stroke engine with a jury-rigged new dual carburetor system. Meanwhile, AirScooter test pilot Nolan, a former race car driver decked out in a black jumpsuit, conducts spot checks. He examines the so-called teeter stops that keep the rotors from wobbling until they are steadied by angular momentum when in motion. He tests the rotors' belt drive. He finds a loose wire to the tacho-meter and works with Phelps and a handy pocketknife to crimp it back into place.


Finally ready, Nolan hops into the sling seat, twists his right wrist on the motorcycle-like throttle and, once the engine has finally coughed to life, makes a graceful vertical takeoff. He loops around the open field like a hummingbird-stopping in midair, hovering, rotating the craft at will-then comfortably does a few laps at about 10 feet above the ground before gracefully alighting on a little cement tarmac. The potential and the allure of the AirScooter are unmistakable in this masterful low-altitude flight. The thing flies-albeit noisily, another problem with helicopters-and it looks incredibly easy to use. Nolan's test run is followed by a round of ceremonial cannon fire from a small Civil War replica a team member has brought to the site, as well as some hollering and a hearty round of high-fives.


Nolan makes a number of short demo flights over the next several hours. Then he wants to do a loop of the field to give the photographers a shot of the AirScooter from below. But a pin shears off inside the engine at startup, meaning another significant delay; the team will need to open the engine again for repairs. As Phelps puts it, at this stage of development it's virtually impossible to control for the "unk-unks" (unknown unknowns). It will be nearly nightfall by the time they get the engine fixed again. "Those unk-unks," Phelps says, "can really bite you."


Next day, a storm front descends, delivering thunderstorms, hail, and near-gale-force winds. The tethered flight I'd been hoping to make is not in the cards. I'm disappointed but, truth be told, not unhappy to wait for the new four-stroke engine. Still, it was pure pleasure to watch Nolan take the AirScooter up and around, precisely flying a helicopter with such simple controls. The dream is alive here in this Virginia hay field. Someday, one suspects, a lot of these babies will fly.


Seth Shulman's book Unlocking the Sky: Glenn Hammond Curtiss and the Race to Invent the Airplane will be published in September.