So far, Wheeler and Dubaj have not imported any of the explosive cartridges, though they say they have obtained permission to do so from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.
Neither Strait nor Reid seems overly concerned.
"It's pretty simple to pop the canopy and bail out of one of these things," Strait says. Then he adds, "Of course, I'd prefer if the seats were armed . . ."
Reid adds that the MiG's reliability and simplicity make it a safe ride. "Besides, it's not as if we're actually being shot at," he says.
As daylight fades, it becomes clear that not much is going to happen today. One of the white MiG's wings droops lower than the other, a result either of a problem with the landing gear or uneven weight distribution. Over in Reid's MiG, the oxygen system is slowly losing pressure.
"They were supposed to have these things ready to go when I got here," Strait says, a little piqued. "But that's how it goes with airplanes."
A few days later, after many more hours of frenetic work, things look promising. By now, Strait has put both of the MiGs through taxi tests on the Falcon Field runway, checking out the brakes and hydraulic systems.
It is a clear, windless Sunday morning--perfect flying weather--as Strait takes the white MiG to the end of Falcon's 5,200-foot runway. Many of the same hands who turned out during the week have lined up along the edge of the ramp to see what happens.
The MiG just sits there, so far down the ramp that the roar of its engine can't even be heard as Strait runs it up, cycles the controls and tests the brakes. Finally, the MiG rolls onto the main runway and dashes to the east. As it draws abreast of the Royal Aviation hangar, the nose wheel comes up and the jet's stubby wings grab the air. The landing gear pop into their compartments as Strait puts the plane into a slow banking turn toward Williams Gateway Airport to the south.
A small whoop goes up from the crowd. Reid, Bernasconi and Caglieris climb into a Beech Bonanza for the hop over to Williams, where Strait has brought the plane in safely despite the canopy coming unlatched during the flight (he landed while holding it closed with one hand).
Then it's back to Falcon, where Strait gets Reid's MiG into the air shortly after lunch. After watching the takeoff, Reid beams like a new Saturn owner.
On the ramp at Williams, Bernasconi and Caglieris aren't so ebullient. They crouch over the cockpit, trying to fix the canopy. For them, the next few days will be hectic. Each must log several "check rides"--the equivalent of a driver's test for pilots--with Strait before he can certify them to fly their MiG. By the time they touch down in Buenos Aires, they expect to have stopped 21 times to refuel.
With little prodding, Caglieris reels off what he and his partner have sunk into the aircraft over the past year--$30,000 for the jet itself; $8,000 for a new engine; $7,500 for paint; another $40,000 for new avionics. Add to that the $15,000 or so they paid Royal Aviation to make it airworthy. And don't forget the $15,000 or so they will have spent on fuel by the time they arrive home.
So was it worth it, just to be the first kids on their block with their very own MiG?
Caglieris stops to inventory his exasperations.
"It's expensive, for what it is," he says carefully.
And what is it?
"A big piece of shit."
Hey, that's how it goes with planes.
