From the Great Depression to the New Millennium and Beyond


The day of reckoning had arrived. It was June 24, 1986, and time for my first flight in my homebuilt airplane. The Cloudhopper was sitting at the airport waiting to do what it was built to do. I asked my patient wife Bev, and youngest son Jeff, if they wanted to witness this epic event. They said they would come along, however I detected some trepidation in their voices.

We arrived at the airport about two hours before sunset. This is the time of the day that the wind starts to diminish if it has been a windy day. Test flying an airplane should be done under the most ideal conditions possible. I had built every inch of that little airplane (with some assistance from family and friends). I had meticulously followed the plans. In the four and one-half years I had spent close to 2,500 man-hours of sweat and itching (from sanding fiberglass), transforming that truckload of foam, fiberglass, and glue into a real airplane.

We drove up to a row of airplane hangars on the south end of the field and opened the door to a small hangar on the end. There sat the Cloudhopper ready to soar with the eagles. The fresh cream-colored Imron paint (the same as used on the 1978 Chevrolet Corvette) was glistening. We pushed my little bird out of the hangar and onto the taxiway. It looked like it was going 50 miles an hour just standing still.

I kicked the tires, checked the oil and a few other items that are always checked before flight. The airplane appeared to still be glued together and ready to go. I put on my skidlid (flight helmet) and parachute and climbed into the left seat. I had purchased this parachute from a fellow pilot at the airport for $295. He commented that if I ever had to use it he was sure I would be pleased with it. A few weeks previously I had had the parachute spread out, inspected and repacked by a certified parachute rigger. He checked it for deterioration, mildew and six-legged residents.

After strapping myself in my seat I went over the pre-start checklist. I turned the magnetos on and pressed the starter button. The engine sprung to life just as it had during the many ground tests and high speed taxi tests I had conducted. I then closed the bubble canopy and started taxiing down the taxiway. I waved a salute to my wife and Jeff. As I approached the takeoff runway I stopped to check the engine. I set the parking brake, checked the mags, and ran the engine up to full power to make sure it was running properly. It all checked out so I called the tower on my radio. "This is Experimental 007 ready for takeoff." The number 007 is the number I requested from the Federal Aviation Administration, and they approved it. The number 007 was chosen as a result of a comment made by eldest son Mike one Sunday afternoon during the construction phase. He came out in the garage where I was using some bondo type putty to streamline some surfaces of the wing root. He said, "How are you doing, James Bondo?" Hence James Bond's 007.

With my pulse rate increasing, I taxied onto the runway for takeoff. Many thoughts were racing through my mind. Did I tighten all of those bolts enough - or too much? Is the fiberglass and glue going to hold together? Will it fly as good as it looks? There's no turning back now. I released the brakes and opened the throttle to full power. The Cloudhopper started rolling down the runway. I felt the propeller biting into the air. As we accelerated, I held backpressure on the stick. At 70 miles an hour I saw the runway fall away and we were airborne! All 850 pounds of us. We accelerated to 100 miles an hour and the Cloudhopper started climbing like a homesick angel. Actually we were climbing at 800 feet per minute. Everything seemed to be purring nicely. I headed southeast and leveled off at 1,000 feet. I turned left to the northwest and looked down at the airport. I could see Bev and Jeff down there by the runway. They were gazing skyward, and perhaps praying. I proceeded downwind at 150 mph and turned to make a low pass down the runway flying past my small audience at 160 miles an hour and as low as 100 feet. I saw them wave.

As I climbed up to the 1,000-foot traffic pattern altitude I started thinking about the need to land. I adjusted the air vents to cool my sweating brow. Was I going to land it softly? Could I keep it under control? Will I roll it up in a ball and wipe out five years of sweat and toil? I tried hard to suppress a thought I had many times while I built this flying machine. Am I building an airplane or a coffin? Time to land. I lined up with the runway centerline approaching the runway at 90 miles per hour.

As I descended near the runway I leveled off and reduced power. The large numbers on the approach end of the 8,000 foot runway scooted past underneath. Three feet above the runway surface I eased the power off and felt the airspeed bleed off. I held the nose up slightly until we touched down like a large dragonfly, with a mild thud. As we rolled down the runway, I pulled back on the hydraulic disc brake lever. We slowed down, turned off the runway, and headed for the hangar. I took off my sweaty gloves and said to myself. "What I had heard was correct. This is as much fun as you can have in public without getting arrested."

My wife and son followed me to the hangar in the car. They congratulated me and we put the Cloudhopper in its little carpeted hangar. I pulled down the hangar door and we got into the car and headed for home. As we turned into the driveway at home I heard my young son say to his mother. "Why can't I have a normal dad like other kids?"