The first plane I ever flew, like millions of other nascent pilots, was a Cessna 152. Built like a pillbox, with rips in the upholstery and my clunky three-gear landing, it might as well have had STUDENT DRIVER written on its wings. The Cirrus SR22 solves that problem. Shortly after its introduction in 2001, the SR22 shoved aside the Cessna 182 as the number one selling single-engine piston airplane in the world — and for good reason. With its all-composite construction, resistance to metal fatigue, Bond-like ballistic parachute system, low-slung wings and aggressive, tapered nose, it brought safe, high-performance, stylish flying within reach of the average owner-operator. . . and stunningly beautiful screen superstar. It was the one entry-level plane that, when Angelina Jolie bought one to toodle around between movie sets and preschools, could actually hold up its end of the bargain.
Recently, I got the chance to take a long test flight in the
SR22-GTS-G3-T, the brand-new, top-of-the-line model. Stepping up on the wing to get into the left seat, it’s obvious what Angelina saw in her Cirrus: A cockpit that feels more like a luxury sports car than a single-engine airplane — bucket leather seats and leg-room aplenty, even with two rug rats in the rear passenger seats.
According to the brochure, the G3 includes more than 700 improvements. As is typical of Cirrus, none of them jump out at you. Rather, the beauty of Cirrus is the sum of thousands of subtle design elements, all of which add up to a deceptively simple plane. Elements like the recessed primary flight display, which, along with the copilot’s PFD and the center-console multi-function display, make up the entirety of the Avidyne Integra–built glass cockpit. It’s a bit unsettling at first not to see a propeller control, but then you realize the throttle lever takes care of both settings, making the transition from
a fixed-pitch propeller that much easier.
So how does it fly? Like an airplane, an airplane you can
really use to go places. Places, that is, you actually want to visit instead of a road trip in the sky you’ve selected based on your plane’s limitations. In this case, the flight was set to take us from New York’s Westchester Airport to Duluth, Minnesota, where G3s are born. As it happens, the week before, I’d flown nearly the same route in reverse, vacuum-packed into a regional jet that managed to get delayed on the ramp after we landed.
The G3 Turbo, as its name implies, has an engine turbo-
normalized to sea-level pressure: The engine couldn’t care less whether it’s flying at 2,200 or 22,000 feet; intake air density always remains the same. This is nothing new (the technology dates to World War II), but it’s another feature that takes the G3 out of the hobbyist’s realm and places it squarely in the practical column. We eventually climbed to 17,000 feet — not toweringly high, but well above the puffy layer of clouds blanketing the rest of the piston planes around 10,000, and far enough below commercial traffic that we never saw another plane after we left New York airspace. (The G3’s service ceiling is 25,000 feet. I know this because on the return trip we took her to the roof. Words to live by: No matter how cool you think you look in a full-face oxygen mask, wait at least two hours after eating lunch before climbing nearly to the height of Mount Everest. On the plus side, we picked up a roaring tailwind and hit a ground speed of nearly 300 knots for a couple of minutes.)
I think it was on the outbound Saginaw-to-Duluth leg when I started making cabin announcements to our imaginary flight attendants and passengers. Sure, it’s a single-engine piston plane, and sure, it’s un-pressurized, but above the clouds, riding on a marble-flat cushion of stable air, watching the sun set into the white cotton-candy clouds as the three-dimensional autopilot held course with jetliner grace, it made sense to mention
to nobody in particular that I had turned off the fasten seatbelt signs and everyone was now free to move about the cabin.
Paul Sallach, a Cirrus corporate pilot, responded, “Do you want sports or business?” And there we were, cruising at 17,000 feet, the newspaper spread out on our laps, and a bag of peanuts sitting on the center console. It felt like first class — but with a much better view.
