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If your answer is yes—do you religiously follow it? Until recently, I would have said yes without hesitation. Now, I’m not so sure.
A Routine IPC Trip
Every six months, I schedule an IPC with an instructor I’ve flown with for nearly eighteen years. We make a two-day trip out of it—a mix of travel and serious IFR training—and I usually come home sharper than when I left.
This time, we planned to fly from Columbia County, New York, down to Little Rock, Arkansas. About six hours total, with stops along the way for approaches, lunch, and fuel. The weather was CAVU—not ideal for “real” instrument flying, but the foggles would do.
Friday went perfectly: challenging approaches, friendly FBOs, a good dinner afterward. Everything about the day felt routine.
Saturday Morning
We were up early, had a quick breakfast, and drove to the airport. The SR22T was fueled and ready. Preflight normal. Taxi and run-up, normal.
Before every takeoff, I give the Cirrus-recommended takeoff briefing—out loud and without fail:
“We’ll be departing Runway 24 with 4,358 feet available. We need about 1,800 feet to rotate. Any issues prior to rotation, we’ll abort and exit the runway.
Below 1,150 feet, we’ll push the nose forward and land straight ahead.
Between 1,150 and 2,550 feet, we’ll pull CAPS immediately.
Above 2,550 feet, we’ll assess and consider CAPS. Takeoff briefing complete.”
For context, the Cirrus Airframe Parachute System (CAPS) becomes effective around 600 feet, but Cirrus recommends pulling no lower than 2,000 feet. So above 2,000 feet, you assess; below that, you act.
The key part of that briefing—“abort prior to rotation if not airborne by the expected point”—sounds simple. Saying it and living by it are not the same thing.
“But Did I Mean It?”
I started my takeoff roll. Airspeed alive, all in the green. But acceleration felt sluggish—not quite right.
As we neared the abort point, I wasn’t yet at rotation speed. About 68 knots on the tape—I needed 77. “Just a few more seconds,” I thought. “We’ll be fine.”
We weren’t.
The end of the runway was coming fast. I finally decided to abort and went to full braking. My instructor joined me on the brakes. We were slowing well, until the airplane suddenly pulled hard left.
“What are you doing?” I said, instinctively looking at him. “That’s not me,” he said.
We slid off the runway into the grass and came to a stop. The tower called: “Cirrus November-—, are you okay?” We were fine. The airplane, it seemed, was too. But it wouldn’t move. We shut down and waited for assistance.
The Cause
At first, we assumed we’d blown a left tire. Both tires looked fine. The FBO brought a tug and towed us back to the ramp. As the plane rolled, we heard a rhythmic clicking from the left main.
Later inspection revealed the real culprit: the brakes had locked up. That explained the sluggish acceleration. When the left brake clips finally severed, the airplane swerved left.
We were lucky—no damage, no injuries. But it was a close call that easily could have ended worse.
What I Learned
First, always do a takeoff briefing and establish an abort point. You need to know exactly when you should be off the ground.
Second, commit to it. Don’t negotiate with yourself in real time. The decision must be automatic: if you’re not flying by the abort point, abort. Get off the runway, then diagnose the cause—whether it’s mechanical or pilot technique.
Finally, realize that saying the words isn’t the same as being mentally prepared to act on them. I see now that I was complacent. I had rehearsed the procedure but hadn’t internalized the discipline to follow it.
From now on, I plan to verbalize my abort point not just as part of the briefing, but as a decision line—one I won’t cross again.
The author, Larry Noe, with his Cirrus.
- Do You Have an Abort Point? - February 16, 2026
- Spatial Disorientation: I Thought It Couldn’t Happen to Me - September 29, 2025
- I damaged my airplane. Now what? - September 26, 2019
Something Doug Stewart from Columbia County constantly speaks about. I think I find myself religiously following it on VFR departures than I am IFR which isn’t great.
My issue is that a high-speed takeoff abort is the most dangerous maneuver a pilot performs voluntarily. This is particularly true in GA aircraft, where no refusal speed is computed. (Refusal speed is the max speed to which one can accelerate and then stop on the available runway and stopway).
So the first rule on takeoff aborts is “DON’T.” Check the RPM, manifold, oil, and feel of power right after brake release. If things are right at about 30 knots, then fly the airplane if it will fly.
Best
Vince Massimini
Kentmorr Airpark MD (3W3)
Thanks for sharing your story Larry.
Over time I’ve come to rely on a pretty simple methodology for determining my abort point. I added a 30% buffer to my nominal no-wind ground roll rounded up to the nearest 100′ for both takeoff and landing at max gross weight (1,300′ and 1500′ respectively). If the runway is 2,800′ or longer I use 1,300′ from the approach end as my abort decision point. If the runway were shorter than 2,800′ I would use 1,500′ from the departure end. In practice I don’t plan to land anywhere with much less than 3,000′ because I’m almost always at MGW, but I have been in and out of a 2,500′ strip at light weight. The key is identifying a visual reference on the ground to mark my abort point, verbalize reaching it, and make it a binary go/no go decision. That “feeling” or the hair standing up on the back of my neck at the abort point means ABORT. Taxi clear, figure it out, and try again if that’s warranted. It doesn’t cost me anything to execute a timely abort if the takeoff roll doesn’t look or feel right. Taking a potentially bad airplane airborne could cost me a lot.
But as Larry pointed out, I need to commit to making that decision to abort before I start my takeoff roll and keep it front of mind until I pass my decision point with everything in the green.