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" Even at its best, the Golden West Airshow in Olivehurst, Calif., is not one of the country&amp;#039;s premier aviation events. The annual weekend-long celebration of light sport and experimental aircraft usually attracts only a few thousand spectators to Yuba County Airport. This year&amp;#039;s turnout is especially light. High winds have kept some performers away and are preventing small-plane pilots from flying in to the venue, but the show must go on. The pilots and prop-heads in attendance crane their necks to watch pairs of Aerobatic Racing Challenge biplanes corkscrew through a sequence of complex aerial maneuvers. Other visitors wander the booths seeking memorabilia, airplane sales pamphlets or overcooked hamburgers. Away from the flight line, about 25 people are seated inside a hangar, only partly sheltered from the gusts blowing through the open door, to hear a speech titled &amp;quot;Move Over, Jetsons!&amp;quot; Sam Bousfield, founder and president of Samson Motorworks, picks up a handheld microphone and begins to tout his flying motorcycle, the Switchblade. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s two vehicles in one, an airplane and a car,&amp;quot; he says. &amp;quot;Go pick up groceries, drop off your grandma at the beauty salon, fly to San Francisco.&amp;quot;  A 4-foot model of the aircraft sits on a folding table in front of Bousfield, its narrow nose inclined at a slight angle for maximum viewing impact. The race-car-sleek lines, tinted windows, curved rear aerofoil and bright red paint are designed to reel in investors and fire the imaginations of pilots.  Bousfield also uses the model as a prop to describe the craft: It&amp;#039;s a two-seat, three-wheeled vehicle sheathed in a lightweight carbon-fiber shell. An owner would drive the Switchblade to anywhere a general aviation aircraft can take off, then swing out the wings and extend the telescoping tail to prepare for flight. When the Switchblade returned to the ground, the pilot would button down the flight-control surfaces inside clamshell doors underneath the chassis.  Samson Motorworks plans to sell the Switchblade as a $60,000 kit aircraft, meaning that owners must buy an engine and construct at least 51 percent of the finished product. The final price could reach $85,000, comparable to other kit aircraft. &amp;quot;Why would I spend my time and investors&amp;#039; money coming up with something as wild as this?&amp;quot; he asks the audience. &amp;quot;When I look at aviation, the only thing wrong with it is that it&amp;#039;s not done enough.&amp;quot;  But as the Q&amp;amp;amp;A session after the speech makes clear, the audience members have not been fantasizing about the Jetsons, Blade Runner or The Fifth Element. They have more pragmatic considerations on their minds. &amp;quot;Does it have legal clearance for California roads?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Is the wing retraction mechanism manual, hydraulic or what?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Is it possible to put in a four-\u00ADcylinder engine, like a Subaru&amp;#039;s?&amp;quot;  Even though Bousfield fields each question with enthusiasm, no one puts down a $2000 deposit. If a rousing speech cannot convert pilots into customers, perhaps a demonstration of the hardware will do the trick.   But the flying-car prototype in Samson Motorworks&amp;#039; Booth A-27 bears little resemblance to the Ferrari-inspired model in the hangar. For one thing, it&amp;#039;s missing certain design elements common to aircraft\u2014like wings. The vehicle, a triangular lattice of bent steel tubes enclosing two seats and a rear-mounted engine, is more dune buggy than airplane. Bousfield and his employees stayed up until 2 am preparing this kluge of a skeleton for the first test of the Switchblade&amp;#039;s drivetrain, suspension and steering.  Bousfield is not just the company&amp;#039;s president, he is also its test driver. He climbs into the prototype.  &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s our inaugural flight,&amp;quot; he announces to a dozen onlookers. &amp;quot;Well, not quite a flight.&amp;quot;  He turns the ignition, the 1340-cc four-stroke four-cylinder engine roars, and the Switchblade scoots across the asphalt. When Bousfield reaches the end of a row of hangars, he slows and makes a sharp turn\u2014the Switchblade&amp;#039;s first. The metal cage handles the maneuver with ease. On the return leg, feeling more confident, he mashes the accelerator and the Switchblade speeds to 40 mph. Back at the booth, Bousfield is exhilarated that the prototype passed its first\u2014and very public\u2014 test. But the onlookers just want to know about the turn radius, aileron control and takeoff and landing performance criteria. In Yuba County, flying-car fantasies are a tough sell.  The air show demonstration may seem humble, but the Switchblade is far closer to reality than most flying-car concepts ever get. The history of roadable aircraft, as their proponents call them, is littered with frustrated \u00ADambitions. Glenn Curtiss&amp;#039;s failed 1917 Autoplane, which was supposed to usher in an era of ubiquitous flying-car ownership, was the first of many disappointments. Over the decades, dozens of companies have drawn blueprints, built prototypes and solicited investor money, and ended up with almost nothing to show for their efforts. Why have so many talented dreamers failed to make the flying car a reality? The answer: physics. Cars and airplanes operate in very different environments, so building a car that doubles as an airplane results in an inferior version of both. The challenges are so intractable that flying cars have become a cultural punch line, a metaphor for technological promises that never come true. Despite all that, the dream is very much still alive. Over the past 10 years, scores of startup companies have proposed a new generation of dual- purpose vehicles. In 2010, the I-TEC Maverick, which is a dune-buggy-style vehicle with a pusher prop and parachute, was cleared for flight by the FAA and for the road by the state of Florida.  Other outfits have dodged fly\u2013drive pitfalls by designing personal air vehicles that require neither roads nor runways. Martin Jetpack has lined up funding to build a factory that will produce a backpack mounted with shrouded propellers. In addition to these private sector players, the Pentagon is funding a flying Humvee program; NASA is designing a one-person electric helicopter/small-aircraft hybrid for commuters.  This renewed interest has been spurred by changes in aviation, including the widespread use of lightweight carbon-composite materials, the advent of smarter flight control computers and new FAA regulations that reduce training requirements for pilots of small aircraft.  It seems like a hopeful time for the flying car. &amp;quot;The appeal is obvious,&amp;quot; says R. John Hansman, director of the MIT-based International Center for Air Transportation. &amp;quot;There&amp;#039;s always a market\u2014if you can do it well.&amp;quot; But the odds\u2014and the physics\u2014are still stacked against the enthusiasts.   &amp;amp;gt; Cars With Identity Crises &amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;gt;   Cars With Identity Crises The Transition, the most advanced flying car in the United States, rolls down a runway, gathering speed at the start of its test flight. The pusher propeller at the back of the car buzzes loudly as the nose lifts and the car lurches into the gray skies over Plattsburgh, N.Y.  Once airborne, the Transition proto\u00ADtype looks like a bulky light-sport plane, with a bulbous fuselage, a 26-foot 6-inch wingspan, a slender twin tail and a wide front bumper that doubles as a canard. The flight is brief, about a minute. The Transition does not rise higher than 300 feet and never veers from the safety of the 2-mile runway, which was designed to accommodate massive B-52 bombers. The test pilot uses every bit of the long stretch of asphalt to set down. Terrafugia quietly conducted this milestone flight in March 2009, away from the eyes of the public and press. (The company has released videos of only three of Transition&amp;#039;s 28 test flights.) If Samson Motorworks is trying to be the showy cardinal of the \u00ADflying-car world, then Terrafugia is content to be the secretive thrush.  Formed by five MIT graduate students in 2006, the company is built on solid engineering and tech-business roots. Carl Dietrich, who spearheaded Terrafugia&amp;#039;s creation while he was still working on his Ph.D. in aeronautics and astronautics, wants to build a product for pilots who don&amp;#039;t want to pay for hangar space. It&amp;#039;s a practical business model applied to an infamously impractical idea. &amp;quot;People tend to have \u00ADpopular-culture visions of flying cars,&amp;quot; Dietrich says. &amp;quot;The reality does not match that set of expectations. However, the reality is Transition offers a freedom that does not exist in the aviation market.&amp;quot; The Transition is a car that has been adapted for flight, and that simple fact brings some serious limitations to its performance as an aircraft.  During takeoff, for example, an airplane&amp;#039;s wings must be at a certain angle, at a certain speed, to generate enough lift for flight. When a pilot reaches takeoff speed, he pivots the airplane&amp;#039;s nose over its center of gravity, a maneuver called rotation. Most engineers position the main landing gear close to the airplane&amp;#039;s center of gravity for easier rotation, which allows for takeoffs and landings at relatively slow speeds on short runways. But Transition&amp;#039;s wheels\u00AD\u2014like those on most flying cars\u2014are at the perimeter of the chassis. And for good reason: If a car&amp;#039;s wheels were at its center of gravity, a pothole or speed bump could flip the vehicle. But, Dietrich admits, &amp;quot;it makes for some different takeoff dynamics.&amp;quot; In other words, Transition owners will need to find long runways. &amp;quot;Look at the video,&amp;quot; says aeronautical engineer Austin Meyer of the Transition&amp;#039;s test flights. &amp;quot;The pilot has the elevator fully deflected and he can still barely raise the nose.&amp;quot; Meyer is the creator of X-Plane, the leading flight simulator for personal computers. Other simulators use data from test flights to plug into simulations; X-Plane can predict how an aircraft will handle in flight while it&amp;#039;s still being designed.  The simulation models the aero\u00ADdynamic forces on aircraft parts: A wing is not judged as a single component; it is split into dozens of sections, each of which is evaluated separately. When Meyer flew the Transition in his simulation, he found that its twin \u00ADvertical stabilizers, canards and external wheels created enough drag to degrade the flight performance.  Even supporters acknowledge the vehicle&amp;#039;s limitations. &amp;quot;The Terrafugia guys have done a good job,&amp;quot; says MIT&amp;#039;s Hansman, who advised the company. But no matter what, &amp;quot;it&amp;#039;s a compromised car and a compromised airplane.&amp;quot; The Switchblade tries to avoid this conundrum by placing its three wheels in a configuration similar to an airplane&amp;#039;s. The large rear wheels remain at the edge of the vehicle, like a car, but Bousfield promises a quick takeoff since the craft only needs to lift its nose 4 degrees to fly.  But X-Plane&amp;#039;s Meyer says the \u00ADSwitchblade faces other aerodynamic problems. When he tested the components, using the company&amp;#039;s specs, he found the aircraft&amp;#039;s small stabilizers\u2014located behind the rear wheels for a convenient automobile layout\u2014were not effective at steadying the airplane during level flight. &amp;quot;It could be flyable,&amp;quot; Meyer says. &amp;quot;But the flying characteristics would be poor.&amp;quot;  The difficulties of engineering a flying car are also found under the hood. In flight mode, the Switchblade routes power from its motorcycle engine to the blades of a ducted fan, whereas the Transition uses its plane engine to power a pusher propeller. In the case of the Switchblade, the engine&amp;#039;s duty cycle will be far different in the air than it will be on the ground.  The driver of a land-based vehicle frequently accelerates, stops and turns. The engine&amp;#039;s revolutions per minute (1000 to 6000 rpm) and power curve aren&amp;#039;t broad enough to accommodate this speed range, which is why a car engine is fitted with a transmission. A small airplane&amp;#039;s engine runs at a lower but relatively constant 2000 to 3000 rpm and, unlike a car engine, generates nearly maximum torque at full load for most of its operation. Some recreational pilots use car engines for aircraft, but adapting them is complicated. The pilots need to figure out ways to dump heat, since the thin air and high load make an engine in flight work harder than one in use on the ground. To increase reliability and to prevent overspinning of the prop, the repurposed car engines are configured to run slower, and the bearing clearances are enlarged, which increases oil flow and helps cool the engine.  Due to the differences in performance and operating temperatures, powertrains adapted for both flight and road work tend to be heavier, more complex, less reliable and more expensive than single-use engines. Engineers are aware of the problems that trade-offs can cause. &amp;quot;They&amp;#039;ve got reasons for their decisions,&amp;quot; Meyer says. &amp;quot;But the reasons usually come down to basic laws of physics that prohibit cars from ever flying efficiently.&amp;quot; Uncle Sam&amp;#039;s Puffin Known as a loner, the puffin is an \u00ADawkward-looking bird with wings that seem too small for its rotund body. It&amp;#039;s appropriate, then, that engineers at NASA adopted the moniker for their bizarre one-person aircraft that takes off from an upright position. Mark Moore, an aerospace engineer at NASA Langley who designed the Puffin, is not interested in trying to meld airplanes and automobiles. Instead, he envisions a radical personal aircraft with only one mission\u2014to deliver a commuter to his office. On a budget of less than $1 million, Moore designed the Puffin to avoid gridlock.  Here&amp;#039;s how the Puffin could redefine a typical commute: A rider walks to his backyard, steps into the cockpit, enters his destination into the flight-control computer and takes off. Two electric engines, powered by 100 pounds of lithium-\u00ADphosphate batteries, are so quiet that the rest of his family doesn&amp;#039;t know he&amp;#039;s leaving for work.  The commuter steers the Puffin with a two-axis joystick to indicate direction and speed, and the flight-control computer translates the input into movement of the Puffin&amp;#039;s control surfaces. Always on some level of autopilot, the craft would not obey dangerous commands.  At a predesignated altitude, automatic controls take over. Instead of rotating its engine nacelles, like a traditional tilt-rotor aircraft, the Puffin tips its entire body (and its passenger) over onto its belly for forward motion through a flight corridor\u2014a sort of bicycle lane in the sky.  In Moore&amp;#039;s world, the nation&amp;#039;s airspace is open to unmanned aerial vehicles. In reality, the FAA has been reluctant to allow UAVs to share the sky with airliners, sport aircraft and helicopters. The Pentagon is leading the effort to draft the rules and define the technical standards that will open the nation&amp;#039;s airspace.  Pressure is mounting to do so as federal and local agencies develop plans for using drones to monitor weather, provide tactical reconnaissance for police or conduct environmental studies. So commuting in a Puffin would be like hitching a ride on a UAV studded with collision-avoidance sensors and wired for direct communication with other aircraft and sensors on ground infrastructure.  Flying in a prone position might be unacceptable to most commuters. But there&amp;#039;s one thing Moore does not have to worry about that consumes flying-car companies: marketability. The government&amp;#039;s role, Moore believes, is to come up with the innovations and regulations needed to finally build a flexible point-to-point transportation system. What companies sell, and what products customers will actually buy, is another matter. &amp;quot;Let the private market figure it out,&amp;quot; says Moore. &amp;quot;It always does.&amp;quot; "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.popularmechanics.com/flight/how-to/a6539/the-promising-future-for-flying-cars/>