Adopting a puppy

The rest of us are scanning websites or yellow broadsheets, looking for a used airplane that does what we want it to do and one we can afford to buy, operate, and insure. After a while, you find it—and it’s an amateur-built airplane, for this example, we will call it the "Belchfire 1000." The demo ride was impressive, and it seemed to run fine. It’s had a couple owners since it was built from a popular kit, and the current owner assures you it is “just a standard Belchfire.”

Let’s stop for a minute and consider that. The Belchfire, like almost all homebuilt airplanes, is certified in the experimental amateur-built category. Unlike type-certificated production airplanes, experimental airplanes are licensed individually and required to match no standard at all. The original builder was free to install any engine he or she liked, any oil cooler he wanted, any instruments of any age he had sitting on the shelf. The airplane was granted an airworthiness certificate based on a single physical inspection by an FAA designated airworthiness representative. If the builder was issued a repairman certificate, he or she could sign off the airplane every year as being airworthy, no A&P or IA required. So, a “standard” experimental airplane? There ain’t no such animal. You can no more buy a “standard” homebuilt than you can marry a “standard” partner or adopt a “standard” puppy.

Before you cut the check, you have a couple of difficult but essential jobs. The first task is introspection. There is no room here for wishful thinking; clear-eyed honesty is imperative. The world of experimental aircraft is different than the type-certificated world. It demands more personal involvement and a dedication to understanding a unique airplane, its capabilities, and its systems. If you want to just turn the key, fly, and leave the maintenance and learning curve to others, walk away now.

The next step is a thorough inspection. As a non-builder, you’re not eligible for a repairman certificate. Every yearly condition inspection will have to be signed off by an A&P, so it helps to choose someone with an open mind and who will be available for the next several inspections. (This does not mean you can’t work on the airplane. Anybody can work on it, but an A&P or the holder of the repairman certificate declares it airworthy every year.)

It may seem, at first, like you’re playing tennis on a court with no lines and no net, but it’s probably not that bad. The majority of experimentals registered in the past 20 years or so have been built from kits. Kit aircraft designers are, typically, conservative people who want their customers to live a long time, so they use tried-and-true construction methods, engines designed to power airplanes, and systems that mimic those used in type-certificated aircraft.

Shops that have found a niche inspecting the more popular designs are scattered around the country, and if one is within range, taking the airplane there for an objective opinion could be money well spent. Some of them will come to you. One such shop is Base Leg Aviation in Peachtree City, Georgia. Owner Vic Syracuse has been involved in experimental airplanes for 40 years. Besides building 11 aircraft himself, he holds A&P/IA credentials and is the FAA designated airworthiness representative for several southern states. He specializes in Van’s Aircraft RV line. His book, Pre-buy Guide to Amateur-built Aircraft, should be bedside and planeside reading.

Syracuse has “…conducted more than 2,000 inspections and has yet to find two identical airplanes, even those built by the same person,” he said. “Maintenance issues are our greatest cause of rejection. Ignored service bulletins and ADs, 35-year-old hoses that should have been replaced 25 years ago….We recommend against purchase in about 35 percent of our inspections.”

If possible, obtain the drawings and construction manual that were used to build the airplane. Some builders keep meticulous building logs with hundreds of photos, detailing every aspect of the project. Some don’t. These logs are valuable, not just for the information they contain, but as a window into the mind and attitude of the builder.

Most kit companies issue service bulletins and post them on their websites. They are based on extensive fleetwide experience, so it would be foolish to ignore those that apply to this Belchfire. It is exceptionally rare for an airplane to suffer a structural failure, but systems are another matter. Fuel system conventions such as selector valves, hoses, and connecting hardware have been proven on hundreds of thousands of airplanes, and departures from the norm—hardware store hoses and fittings, say—should be regarded with great suspicion or outright rejection. Electrical systems, ditto. The glass cockpit revolution started in experimentals, and many have had new panels installed somewhere along the line. This might be carefully and professionally done, or there might be a nightmare of unused and unlabeled wires behind the glowing screens.

Somewhere in the cockpit there should be the required papers. The operator’s manual is a useful place to start but carefully compare it to the actual airplane. Any number of things may have changed since the first flight and the manual might not have been kept up.

Regard the weight and balance numbers as amusing fiction. Airplanes are a lot like most of us—we gain weight with age, and we either lie about it or ignore it. Kit designers can recommend a gross weight, but builders can assign any value they like. If the number on the paperwork is far from the designer’s figure, be wary. Even more important are the designer’s center of gravity limits. An overweight airplane may fly well enough, but an airplane that is loaded outside its established CG envelope is downright dangerous. Plan on taking a day to weigh the airplane and establish the real weight and CG. Then fire up the calculator on your phone and work a bunch of sample problems. The placard on the baggage compartment says “limit 100 pounds.” Can you actually carry 100 pounds in it when you’re flying with passengers and burning off fuel, or does the CG exceed the aft limit?

Suppose the Belchfire passes every test. You’ve read Syracuse’s book, looked over your mechanic’s shoulder for the past few days as the inspection progressed, and you’ve become comfortable “adopting” this airplane.

Now for some real soul-searching. Can, or should, you fly this thing? Years ago, you got a complex rating in a Cessna 172RG. You earned your tailwheel endorsement in a J–3. Lately, you’ve been sharing a rather tired Warrior with a couple of partners. It’s about as exciting as yesterday’s oatmeal. The Belchfire is altogether different. This particular Belchfire is a 210-horsepower/1,100-pound (you know, because you weighed it!) taildragger with a constant-speed propeller. On the demo flight, the takeoff seemed like a cat shot and you discovered the controls were fingertip light. Gaining or losing 500 feet seemed almost instant. It was exciting.

Time to slow down and reflect. Put your ego on the mantel. Think about your spouse and kids, your friends, your parents. Remember the words of someone who worked for a major kit manufacturer for years: “It got to the point where when we learned of an accident, we automatically assumed it was someone who had bought the airplane and had owned it one or two weeks. We were often wrong, but too many times we weren’t.”

There is no need to add to that statistic. Every popular experimental has spawned instructors who offer transition training. The dean of transition instructors must be Mike Seager, who has been offering training in RVs of every stripe for 32 years. He’s amassed a staggering 22,000 hours of instruction given.

“You might think the least receptive pilots would be the ones who have already logged thousands of hours. In fact, it’s just the opposite. You have to ask yourself how they got those hours. Often, they’ve had military or airline careers and know the value of training. They leave their egos on the ramp and are eager to learn.” Pilots who have flown with Seager almost universally call it some of the best money they’ve spent in aviation.

So, you’ve done the responsible things: participated in a complete inspection, learned the avionics, taken transition training. With a few strokes of a pen, the Belchfire is yours. Suddenly, speeds and performance that you dreamed about are at your fingertips. Resist the temptation to show off your new baby. No fast, low passes over your buddies’ houses, no impromptu aerobatics, no long trips over the mountains. Flying is a learning game, and it will take more time than you might think to really understand your new steed.

Once you’re at the point where you can settle into the seat and have confidence (not complacence) in what’s going to happen next, whether it’s a seven-second takeoff run with a 2,000 fpm climb, or a comfortable trip in an airplane that can actually fill four seats and the tanks with performance to spare, you and the Belchfire have formed a team and the sky is open.

Ken Scott is an instrument-rated private pilot and has been flying for 42 years.