From the start, Numan's plan to fly the North Atlantic was met with a great deal of scepticism. But Numan was convinced that it could be accomplished. Many aviation experts cautioned him about flying against the prevailing winds. But as early as 1982 when Numan first entertained the idea of making the flight. he'd phoned the meteorological stations In Iceland, the Faroe Islands, Greenland and Canada.

'At the Paris Air Show in 1987, most people thought the flight was impossible until they saw the maps. Most people think Greenland is 1,500 km (930 miles) from Iceland, but it's only 740 km. (458 miles). Nobody ever really took a good look at the maps. And as far as the winds were concerned, people listened to the commercial pilots who fly at 30,000 feet. Nobody ever took the time to call the local meteorological offices. I did. I called Iceland and the Faroe Islands and said, 'Hey, guys, do you ever have windless days up there?' and they said, 'Sure, during certain times of the year one in ten days will be pretty wind free.' Well, that's all you need - one day and the patience to wait for it."

From September of 1985 on, nearly every waking moment of Numan's life was involved in making preparations for the flight, building the trike, gathering instruments and survival equipment and attempting to secure sponsorship. On at least four occasions it appeared as if one or more major companies or organisations were about to commit to sponsoring the flight, but each time the financial backing fell through, frequently as a result of an overzealous public relations expert.

When preparations for the flight were not completed in time to depart in 1986, Eppo continued working full time on various aspects of the project, often putting in 16-hour days and more than once falling asleep with tools in his hands. In the spring of '87, a then-sponsor suggested that Numan take time to rest and visit some of the major air shows around the world and announce his intended flight, so he packed his machine up and transported it to the Paris Air Show, Dayton, Ohio Air Show and EAA Oshkosh '87. Along the way, Numan made numerous friends as well as some sceptics. At EAA Oshkosh '87, Numan proclaimed he'd leave from Le Bourget Field in the spring of '88 and arrive in Oshkosh in time for that year's convention. But as those who watched and waited recall, EAA Oshkosh '88 and '89 both came and went with no word from Eppo Harbrink Numan.

On June 16, 1989, Numan arrived at Rotterdam's Ziestienhoven Airfield to finally begin what had now become a flight dedicated to environmental issues, including preserving the Stein Valley in British Columbia from logging and delivering an article for the United Nation's Universal Declaration of Human Rights (Of course, setting an aviation record held a certain amount of intrigue as well.)

At 3:00 p.m. local time. after several hours of arguing with airport police about having the proper permissions to depart, Numan headed out along the coast to cross the English Channel. "After all the disappointments over the previous four years in getting this project off the ground, I was very upset by the events at Ziestienhoven. The aviation police came around and said to me, 'You're not going . . . you don't have your special permission.' I was shocked because the airport's public relations manager had assured me he had secured all the necessary permissions. I phoned the Dutch CAA office, and the official there, whom I'd only called about once a year, replied, 'We've had about enough of your project.' Needless to say, I was very emotionally upset. I thought I was going to have to dismantle the machine, drive to Belgium and take off from there. I had to do some strong talking, but finally they agreed to let me go."

Fortunately, throughout his trip, Numan found that once he lifted off the runway, all the distractions and disruptions were easily left behind. "It always seemed that once the nosewheel lifted off the runway, it was just me and my machine, and the machine doesn't know if it's flying over pleasant meadows or icy water. It comes down to if the machine flies, all you have to do is turn the knob in your head that says you can do it. I frequently had doubts and fears, but you can only do it by believing you can do it."

Having crossed the English Channel and passed through England, Numan arrived in Stornoway, Scotland. Unfortunately weather would detain him there for almost four weeks.

"After four weeks of delays. I was getting quite antsy about staying in Stornoway any longer. I was quickly losing the good weather time for the Iceland and Greenland portions of the flight. During the first week I'd been at Stornoway, I'd actually departed once but had to turn back after 16 minutes because of dense sea fog. So on my supposed last night in Stornoway I slept on a mattress on the floor of the weather office, I wanted to be so damn sure the weather system we'd been following was going to hold. We'd followed similar systems seven times previously, and none provided the weather I needed.

"When I awoke in the morning the local weatherman said it looked good, but the Glasgow weather station said, 'Well sir, there's going to be a heavy weather system passing over the Faroes this afternoon.' When I called the Faroes, the weatherman there said, 'Yes. there's a weather front coming, but I guarantee you it won't be here before midnight.'

Ten minutes later I phoned him again and said, 'Look, I'm jumpy as hell. Glasgow says different, are you sure?' And he simply said, 'Yes.' Somehow I trusted him, I had a better feeling about that man.

And it turns out he was right. The day was one of the most beautiful weather days the Faroe region experienced that summer, and the storm front passed over the islands at 1:00 a.m." LEFT:The Windmaster leaves Stornoway for the Faroes

Click the small image for a picture of Eppo flying near Stornoway

The leg from Stornoway, Scotland, to the Faroe Islands, which was a first-ever flight for an ultralight, was also the first time Numan employed the use of his Loran unit on this flight. "I'd given myself a deadline of 3 hours and 45 minutes for the Loran to start registering a master and secondary station. I figured if I couldn't pick up a signal within that time, I would return to Stornoway. At 3 hours and 15 minutes, I started getting jumpy, but within 15 minutes I started picking up a weak signal. I was flying at about 400 feet over the sea because of winds at higher altitudes. About 20 minutes after the Loran started reacting, I noticed a cloud on the horizon with a very sharp edge and remember thinking, 'That's a funny cloud.' About 15 minutes later I realised it was the cliffs of the bloody Faroe Islands. Obviously if I'd been flying at a higher altitude I'd have spotted the Islands sooner, but at 400 feet you don't see things too far in advance. You can't imagine my joy! I knew then I was going to make the Faroes and wouldn't have to turn back to Stornoway. After 5 hours and 45 minutes of flying, I landed at the Vagar Airfield."

Following his lengthy stay at Stornoway, Eppo's optimism about his flight received a needed boost when he was able to depart Vagar Airfield after just five days.

"After the frustration of waiting four weeks in Stornoway for the weather, and then being able to depart from the Faroes after only five days it felt like I was there for only an hour. Landing at Egilsstadir was probably one of the happiest moments of my whole flight, if the not the happiest. I was absolutely ecstatic. I was running up and down the corridors of the hotel yodelling and screaming and jumping up and down on my bed. Having completed the legs from Stornoway to the Faroes and on to Egilsstadir, I absolutely knew that I would be able to complete the flight. During all my planning and preparations I always had a definite conviction that the flight was possible. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't have doubts and fears sometimes, but on landing here I really knew it in my heart and my mind, and it was a feeling of absolute joy!"

Reykjavik, Iceland-August 8, 1989 The absolute joy which Numan experienced in Egilsstadir was soon to be replaced by utter frustration after landing in Reykjavik, however. Within moments after completing the difficult crossing from Egilsstadir to Reykjavik, Numan was met with trouble. LEFT: Flying over Iceland

"I had to fly very low over Iceland because of clouds. The Icelandic TV station was doing filming of me and it was very turbulent. The sender button for my radio, which I installed inside the neoprene mittens attached to the control bar, shorted out because of perspiration from my hands while trying to control the machine, and I had to pull it out of the mitten and let it flap in the wind to dry out in order to communicate with the photo plane and the control tower. Whenever I needed to transmit, I'd let one hand go off the bar and reach for the sender button and then grab back onto the bar. It was a difficult flight.

"Upon landing, Icelandic radio and TV were there and lots of people were standing around. Off to the side I noticed this neatly dressed gentleman standing, waiting. After all the hoopla of the press was over he walked up to me, handed me a piece of paper and said. 'Will you sign this please?' I looked at it and said, 'Why do I need to sign this, what is it?' It turned out to be a telefax sent from the Danish civil aviation authorities. It read: 'Eppo Harbrink Numan is not granted permission to fly over Greenland air space . Danish Aviation Authority.' In the excitement of the moment I wasn't too concerned. and I remember thinking. 'This can t be too serious. I'll take care of that in the morning; "

But Eppo was wrong. The Danes were indeed serious and made it quite clear they had no intention of granting Numan permission to continue the flight through their air space. "It's too dangerous," was all they would say.

Adding to the confusion was the arrival in Reykjavik of Andre Lafitte. a Frenchman flying a Mistral - a closed cockpit, three-axis controlled ultralight . Lafitte had been planning a flight from New York to Paris to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the French Revolution, but had been denied permission by the Danes and Canadians. After learning of Numan's arrival on the Faroe Islands, Lafitte had contacted him in Vagar and had quickly followed Numan's route to Reykjavik

Upon his arrival in Reykjavik Lafitte was met with the same resistance as Numan and, needless to say, there was a certain amount of competition between the two pilots. Numan describes it: "There we were, he being 49 and me 48, both of us old enough to be grandfathers, clamouring to be the first to cross the Atlantic. We were in the papers every day. I have to admit I really hated Andre's guts for a while. Having worked on this flight almost continuously for four years, I wasn't too thrilled about someone else completing the flight before me, especially in a more sophisticated machine."

Eventually the two joined forces in attempting to convince the Danes to grant them each permission. "I wasn't about to take no for an answer,"' Numan says. "They picked absolutely the wrong guy to fight with. Having flown the North Sea and the Denmark Sea, I really felt I had proved something."

After involving the Dutch government, the Dutch Queen and Prince and many levels of Danish government, the Danes finally outlined a scenario under which they would allow the two men to continue. Each had to secure approximately $20,000 worth of search and rescue insurance, hire a twin-engine chase plane, equip his chase plane with a direction finder and HF radio and show proof of permission to continue the flight over Iceland, Canada and the United States.

Lafitte was able to meet most of the conditions before Numan and continued on his flight, much to Eppo's dismay. But flying along the coast of Greenland, Lafitte was forced to deploy his ballistic parachute over an island when after six hours of flying up and down the coast he was unable to locate Kulusuk. That, of course, ended his flight and caused the Danes to take an even dimmer view of Numan's flight, but eventually he was able to secure all the necessary permissions, rent a Piper Navajo as a chase plane and hire a chase pilot - a character who would later become the bane of the flight.

By this time, however, almost six weeks of good weather had passed overhead and Numan had accumulated almost $20,000 in phone and lodging costs at the Hotel LoftLeidir. On October 8, 1989, realising that weather would continue to be a barrier to furthering the flight anymore that year, Numan packed his things and returned to Holland.