Flying Concorde Sim: A Pilot’s Perspective From the Edge of Space

I’m seated in “Le Club,” Air France’s Concorde Lounge at Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport (LFPG). It’s May 2000, and across from me, outside a panoramic window, Concorde waits in silhouette—poised, sleek, unreal.

Check-in was a breeze. The lounge, all blond wood, buttery leather, Badoit and bubbly, exudes curated calm. From my corner, I watch her—a stunning, slender swan with a droop nose, ready to jet us to John F. Kennedy International Airport (KJFK) in New York.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

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A CEO across from me drops a line about his $8 million tax bill. Nearby, Si Newhouse clutches proofs for what might be next week’s The New Yorker. No one blinks. Newhouse doesn’t notice me not noticing him. This is the Concorde Lounge, after all—eavesdropping and star sighting is, perhaps, part of the experience. A voyage on Concorde isn’t just a flight, it’s an affair, a choreographed ritual—aviation elevated to art, distilled to form and line.

At Mach 2.02—1,350 mph—Concorde wasn’t just fast. She was astonishing, fierce, and startling in her beauty—a coltish supermodel who turns every head upon entering a room. But that beauty is a by-product of her functional, efficient design. Her delta wings, razor thin, delivered low drag at supersonic speed and acceptable manners around the airport. Her engines were the most efficient ever devised for supercruising faster than a rifle bullet.

Finally, AF002 is prêt à embarquer, ready for boarding. It’s a low bridge through Concorde’s door but once inside, there’s plenty of headroom. I’m greeted with a cheerful “Bienvenue à bord” by a cabin crew dressed to the nines in Nina Ricci. At barely 8.7 feet wide, the cabin is narrower than a regional jet but infinitely cooler. 

I settle into 3A, but what I want is the jump seat—alas, already claimed. Seats are Formula 1 snug. The service is haute.

While I did clock time in the cockpit somewhere over the Atlantic, brushing the fringe of space at FL 580, it wasn’t until 23 years later, in London, that I would relive my memories of Concorde and get a crack at her controls.

Brooklands, 2023

The 20th anniversary of Concorde’s final flight looms. Slate clouds swirl over London, seemingly wiped into the sky by Van Gogh. I hop an Uber to the Brooklands Museum, home of G-BBDG—the first British production, conforming Concorde—and the original British Airways Concorde simulator, still sporting a bold, 1970s-vintage Concorde logo on its off-white housing. Today, I get to fly.

As I contort into the sim’s left seat, I’m reminded how compact Concorde really is. Two Concorde cabins can fit side by side in an Airbus A350.

The sim at Brooklands is the only bona fide Concorde simulator in operation. It was used by British Airways for flight crew training until 2003. My instructor-pilot for this flight is Captain Mike Bannister, the legendary former chief Concorde pilot for British Airways. 

• READ MORE: Civil Aircraft Breaks Sound Barrier for First Time Since Concorde

He sports a navy blue “Brooklands Concorde” flight jacket, a shock of white hair, and a palpable pride for the airplane. As Captain Bannister briefs me on cockpit layout, his flow reflects his more than 9,600 hours flying Concorde, nearly 7,000 of those supersonic.

Concorde’s flight deck is dense, a 1970s analog anachronism in today’s digital world. As I scan the vintage panel to get my bearings, I see the usual suspects, but it’s also obvious I’m about to fly a totally different beast.

Interspersed among her conventional instruments are a few unique to Concorde. To the right of the horizon is a narrow vertical-tape format vertical speed indicator (VSI) that clocks higher rates than a standard round gauge. The Machmeter sits below the airspeed indicator, its notched barber pole checkered in yellow and black. It also sports yellow “FWD” and “AFT” indexes that adjust to display Mach limits for a given center of gravity (CG) position. Nothing says Concorde like the visor/nose control, above and right of the engine instruments. Below it is the unique ICOVOL, from the French indicateur a vol. It displays information including the positions of the six elevons to aid their alignment.

Concorde wouldn’t be Concorde without reheat. Flat white paddles behind the throttle quadrant activate the afterburner system. Area gauges, related to reheat and secondary nozzles, line the bottom row of the engine instrument cluster. The variable-geometry secondary nozzles at the rear of Concorde’s four engines are autothrottle controlled to ensure maximum thrust at any power setting and altitude. The sim also features the full flight engineer’s (FE) station—a steam punk symphony of 365 knobs, switches, and dials.

Time for engine start. Bannister and I start running through the before-takeoff checklist. Takeoff CG is set at 53 percent for our light weight, since we gross below 140,000 kilograms.  

The FE would normally set CG location, but our sim tech sorted that. Bannister and I confirm 53 percent on a small CG gauge above my right knee. If the tip of Concorde’s nose is 1 percent and the tip of her tail is 100 percent, 53 percent is around the airplane’s midpoint. 

When in flight and pushing Mach 1, CG and center of pressure (CoP), which is the center of lift, move rearward. Pitch trim is adjusted by transferring fuel aft. When Concorde decelerates, ballast fuel shifts forward. Roll trim is maintained by lateral fuel transfer.

Why trim with fuel? At supersonic speeds, elevon displacement to aerodynamically trim Concorde would dramatically increase drag. Managing CG and CoP through fuel transfer is governed by speed milestones called Mach triggers.

Panel lights bathe the flight deck in a warm, subdued glow. It feels like we are flying at dusk. Bannister selects visor “DOWN” and a 5-degree droop for the nose, the position required for taxi, takeoff, and when airspeed is below 250 knots. The baritone howl of our four Rolls-Royce/Snecma Olympus afterburning turbojets reverberates throughout the simulator’s flight deck. 

• READ MORE: Inside the Concorde

We are staged for the JFK Runway 31L departure, the same I experienced on my own Concorde flight. It was after that departure it dawned that Concorde was unlike anything in the sky—until I flew the F-16, that is. After flying the Viper, I realized Concorde is, essentially, a 100-seat fighter jet—visceral, brutal, luxe.

We bug our speeds for takeoff: white for V1 and VR slide to 165 knots and 195 knots. An orange bug for V2 denotes 220, and two more mark 250 and 300 knots, Concorde’s maximum operating speed (VMO) at sea level.

Since Concorde is very pitch sensitive and flying on the back of the drag curve at lower speeds, where her minimum drag speed (VMD) at maximum takeoff weight exceeds VMO, the airplane’s designers provided an expanded horizon marked in individual degrees. At our light weight, should we lose an engine at V1, the attitude we’d need at V2 is 17 degrees. I set the pitch index, a small white bar within the attitude indicator, to mark “17” with a small wheel on the yoke under my right thumb.

When airplanes accelerate from subsonic to supersonic speeds, aerodynamic characteristics radically transform. Concorde’s ogival delta wings are incredibly nuanced in contour and optimized for both a Mach 2 cruise and for low-speed stability. They have no flaps, slats, spoilers, or speedbrakes, only six elevons providing control for pitch, roll, and trim. 

Concorde always takes off with full power and reheat. Her afterburners add 5,000 pounds thrust per engine, bringing total thrust from each motor to 38,000 pounds, up from 33,000, max dry power. Best climb speed is VMO. Once Concorde is no longer bridled by air traffic control restrictions, the drill is to chase the barber pole in the climb.

It’s time to select reheat “ON.” I reach down and lift the white paddles to engage. A small white light on each area gauge illuminates, confirming reheat is set. We are ready for departure.

3, 2, 1…Now!

Concorde is the first airliner with fly-by-wire flight controls, though it’s an analog system with no envelope protection. Throttle is controlled by a digital computer system, a precursor to today’s FADEC systems. 

According to Bannister, the Canarsie departure was one of the most complex they flew. Designed for noise abatement, this is how we flew it. 

Bannister calls the tower: “Kennedy, Speedbird Concorde 2 is ready for departure, 31 Left.” We are cleared for takeoff.

“3, 2, 1, Now!” And with a move that doesn’t feel right in a turbine airplane, I slam the throttles open, to the stops, just like that. Concorde’s Olympus turbojets wind up with a thunder, gulping fuel at an astonishing 91.5 tons per hour. The airplane shudders and lunges forward like a thoroughbred as the starting gate opens.

Slamming the throttles open tells the computer to wind the engines up at the maximum allowable rate. Reheat doesn’t kick in until engine N2 fan speed hits 75 percent, but once it does, 152,000 pounds of thrust is unleashed, pushing me back into my seat. 

I apply a touch of left rudder early in our roll since a limiter momentarily delays engagement of engine four’s reheat. Regardless, Concorde tracks true on its tall gear with very positive directional control due to its massive vertical fin and rudder.

On the takeoff roll, Concorde’s wing produces no lift until rotation and we increase its angle of attack past 7 degrees. Thirteen seconds from start, Bannister calls, “100 knots, power check.” 

V1 blurs by, and at VR, 195 knots, I rotate to 17 degrees at 3 degrees per second. I feel a slight buffet as massive horizontal tornadoes of vortex lift furiously twist over our wings. We unstick around 210 knots. Laminar-flow lift doesn’t take over until Concorde passes through about 270 knots.

At 50 feet radio altitude, and after confirming a 500 fpm climb rate, I roll into a 25-degree left bank, turn out over Jamaica Bay toward Canarsie Island, and pitch up to 22 degrees to capture 250 knots, my target speed. “Positive climb, gear up.”

From seat 3A on the actual airplane, that 25-degree bank right off the runway and pull for initial climb was startling. Concorde pulled more Gs here than I have ever felt in an airliner.

At 55 seconds, the nonhandling pilot announces, “3, 2, 1, noise.” At this, the FE would reach forward, cancel reheat, and throttle back to a specific throttle lever angle (TLA), reducing engines to noise power.

Bannister makes that call, pulls power, and I lower the nose to 10 degrees to maintain 250 knots. Passing through a heading of 235 degrees, throttles advance to max dry power. I increase pitch, maintaining 250 knots while reducing bank to 7 degrees. Once we climb through 2,500 feet, I increase bank angle again to 25 degrees. 

Upon crossing the JFK 253 radial, we reduce to noise power and decrease pitch to maintain 250 knots. Passing 5 DME from Canarsie, we increase to climb power and increase pitch, continuing around to a heading of 100.

Once we’re far enough off the coast, the 250-knot restriction below 10,000 feet lifts. Bannister selects nose and visor “UP,” and the noise level up front significantly drops. Still turning, I lower the nose to seek VMO, increasing our speed to 400 knots as we pass through 6,000 feet. 

20 Minutes to Mach 2

Tooling along, we select “MAX CLIMB” in the autopilot. Concorde’s subsonic climb profile is steeper than your typical Boeing or Airbus. At our light weight, we are ascending at 8,000 fpm. Had we departed at MTOW, our climb rate would be close to 4,000 fpm.

Concorde’s most efficient subsonic speed, Mach 0.95, makes her about 100 knots faster than other commercial traffic. In deference to fuel economy, we want to get as fast as possible as quickly as possible, because the faster Concorde flies, the less fuel it burns.

I opt to hand-fly through Mach 1. Control forces are pleasantly light and harmonious. My impression is that Concorde is a fingertip airplane—well-mannered, straightforward, and intuitive. Precision is key, especially in pitch. Initially, I was overcontrolling a bit before I reined in my control inputs and found my groove. Bannister confirms the sim faithfully mimics the airplane’s handling characteristics.

Angle of attack and wave drag—drag from shock waves—both play a significant role in Concorde’s faster-is-better efficiency equation. At Mach 2, Concorde’s angle of attack is only about 3.5 degrees, while at Mach 1.4 in cruise climb, her angle of attack is around 7 degrees. Wave drag at Mach 1.40 is about 12 times stronger than at Mach 2.

Although it may seem counterintuitive, the faster Concorde flies, the less drag she experiences, and fuel efficiency is greater. Efficiency, however, is relative. Just getting to Mach 2 and FL 500 consumes half of Concorde’s total fuel load—95 tons for an Atlantic crossing.

For climb and cruise, Concorde always operates at maximum allowable thrust. At Mach 0.70, our first trigger, the FE initiates a rearward transfer of fuel to 55 percent, the CG location for subsonic cruise. As we streak closer to our next trigger at Mach 0.93, or Mach 0.95 if the autopilot were flying, we review the transonic checklist. We confirm secondary nozzles are now optimized for transonic acceleration, having moved from their takeoff and climb setting. 

As we nudge Mach 0.93, indicating 400 knots at FL 250, our FE resumes moving fuel rearward, sending up to 10 tons back to tank 11, the rear trim tank under Concorde’s tail. To push through Mach 1, we will reconfirm autopilot is in “MAX CLIMB” mode and relight reheat. I select reheat “ON,” but this time in pairs—first inboards, then outboards—because Concorde jolts as the additional acceleration kicks in.

I vividly recall these nudges on my flights in the back. For this acceleration phase, reheat is timed and would typically burn from 12 to 15 minutes, depending on weight and on how long it took to get to Mach 1.70, when reheat is canceled. Anticipating our increase in speed from reheat, I slightly increase pitch to maintain VMO. Bannister adds that they’re lit in pairs because “if you switch them on all at once, you’ll spill everyone’s champagne.”

The transonic zone—Mach 0.97 to Mach 1.4—is aerodynamic purgatory, when Concorde experiences peak drag from shock waves forming on the wings, certain areas of the fuselage, and from flow separation and instability. At Concorde’s drag divergent speed of Mach 0.97, drag builds rapidly, peaking as she presses through Mach 1. Once there, shock waves sit at right angles to the direction of flight. The drag coefficient experienced here is higher than at any other point.

The CG now shifts rearward up to 1.8 meters, but the rearward transfer of fuel, to as far as 59 percent, and the shape of Concorde’s wing both compensate for this shift. 

Drag starts to abate around Mach 1.20 and by the time Concorde is cruising at Mach 2, those shock waves angle 60 degrees rearward from the direction of flight. 

Bannister and I watch the Machmeter tick higher, and just like that we are supersonic, passing through FL 300 barely 10 minutes from takeoff. Piercing Mach 1 is imperceptible, save for two signs the shock wave is passing over the static sensors: The needle on the vertical-tape VSI momentarily pegs to the top of the gauge, then dives to the bottom before returning to normal, and we see a momentary lull in indicated climb on the altimeter before it resumes ascending.

We now pass through Mach 1.05 on our climb to FL 580. Bannister suggests I roll into a 30-degree left turn to experience how well Concorde handles when supersonic. Mindful to keep my inputs smooth and quiet, I roll into a bank and around we go—and it’s completely unremarkable. Concorde feels so normal on the controls, even when supersonic, that I can’t help but feel a little let down.

Transonic acceleration and supersonic climb require precise pitch control. The faster we fly, the more pitch-sensitive Concorde becomes. At Mach 2.02, a mere half-degree of pitch change results in a vertical speed change of 1,000 fpm. 

Concorde’s engines cannot ingest supersonic airflow. Above Mach 1.3, air entering the intake must be slowed to Mach 0.50 before it reaches the engines. When supersonic airflow collides with a shock wave, it is slowed and compressed. Inside each 11-foot intake, variable-geometry ramps shape shock waves with computer-sculpted precision, and they carve away airflow for engine bypass. At Mach 1.70, bypass provides about a 25 percent boost, allowing cancellation of reheat. It was then Concorde achieved a feat unmatched by any other airplane—ascend, accelerate, and supercruise without reheat. 

Pushing through our Mach 1.3 trigger, we confirm intake ramps are moving into position. At Mach 1.7 and FL 430, nudging 530 knots indicated, I switch off reheat in simultaneous pairs and confirm a 35 percent fuel flow reduction. We are now supercruising to our top of climb and will shortly streak through Mach 2 at FL 500. 

Thinking ahead, at FL 500 we begin our “MAX CRUISE” phase of flight. The optimum elevon angle for cruise is one-half degree down, which we set and confirm via ICOVOL. As we settle in for supersonic cruise, I’m awash in memories of my experiences on the real airplane.

Concorde was not a quiet ride, but we were never on board very long. The passenger cabin, tailored by the French designer Andrée Putman, was minimalist, restrained, chic. Cabin service was efficient. The food was delish, but really, we’re not here to discuss the accoutrement of luxury travel. 

Concorde cruised at altitudes high enough to make a flat Earther blush. The view through its small passenger windows was otherworldly. Passengers marveled at Earth’s curvature, and the sky above—dark navy transitioning to velvet black—hinted we were flying at the edge of space.

There was no real sensation of speed, but there were signs of it. The outside temperature at FL 580 was minus-60 degrees Celsius, yet Concorde’s skin was hot. Kinetic heating from the supersonic slipstream expanded the fuselage. Inside, windows felt warm, and small structural gaps appeared between fitments and bulkheads when at speed.

Cabin altitude during cruise was a comfortable 5,500 feet because of the high 11.5 psi-max pressurization differential. Concorde’s windows measure 4.5-by-7 inches to mitigate instances of unintended depressurization. 

Nonetheless, Concorde pilots drilled for the potential failure of two cabin windows at 60,000 feet, establishing emergency procedures to get below 10,000 feet in four minutes. Pilots could also deploy thrust reverse in flight, but only on inboard engines and only when subsonic. In-flight reverse would roughly double the rate of descent. 

At cruise, Concorde consumes about 32,000 pounds of fuel per hour. In contrast, the Boeing 787-9 consumes 11,900 pounds per hour. The kicker—in that hour, Concorde flew 235 percent farther. For Concorde, fuel served three functions—propulsion, ballast for CG control, and as a heat sink to dissipate kinetic heating. 

Bannister and I finally reach top of cruise, FL 580, scorching the stratosphere at Mach 2.02. 

Concorde has bespoke tracks across the North Atlantic and a dedicated block altitude from FL 500 to FL 600. This allows Concorde to drift upward as fuel burns off. 

“MAX CRUISE” program is active in the autopilot. This setting maintains cruise at either MMO, TMO (maximum operating temperature), or VMO, whichever is greatest. MAX CRUISE will fly us at the limiting factor for the existing conditions. For example, if it’s cool enough at altitude, pedal to the metal and we’ll hit Mach 2.02. If the temperature on the nose reaches the TMO limit of 127 C before we hit Mach 2.02, we hold there.

Descent

It takes 105 miles to slow from Mach 2 to Mach 0.95. At 155 miles from the coast, we’ll start decelerating and begin our descent. ATC has cleared us to FL 410, where we’ll transition below Mach 1.

We select “ALT HOLD” in the autopilot to commence deceleration from level flight. I grasp the throttles, click off the autothrottle with my thumb, and throttle back to a prebugged 18-degree TLA. As our indicated airspeed plunges through 360 knots, we prime ALT ACQ, locking in our descent and capture of FL 410. At 350 knots, we engage IAS HOLD to descend at that speed. We also begin transferring fuel forward as our CoP moves forward. Decelerating and descending through Mach 1.60, I throttle further back, to 24 degrees TLA. 

Approaching FL 410 and Mach 1.30, I retard power to idle and decelerate through the transonic zone. The flight director prompts a reduction in attitude to penetrate this high-drag region. Once stable at Mach 0.95, I pitch up slightly to maintain our descent profile. 

We are flying direct JFK for the ILS approach to Runway 31R, vectors to final. Bannister starts prepping me for my first Concorde landing as pilot. 

He mentions that because of Concorde’s large delta wing, ground effect will reduce our descent rate by about 90 percent. As we decelerate through 270 knots, Bannister droops the nose to 5 degrees. For approach and landing, the use of autothrottle to control speed is mandatory. At max landing weight, VMD is about 270 knots. But we’re already slower than that, having just crossed the coast of Long Island at 5,000 feet and 210 knots.

To maintain level flight at this speed, my pitch attitude is 9 degrees. Bannister adds, “Now you’ll get some really big rates of descent because we’re on the back of the drag curve.” Precise flying is paramount. Controller calls, “Speedbird Concorde 2, right turn heading 335, descend to 3,000 feet.” We dial our speed down to 190 in the turn, and I increase pitch even further.

We brief and bug approach speeds—190 knots down to 800 feet, then between 800 and 500 feet we slow to 162 knots, our VREF and VTT, target threshold speed—our speed over the numbers. We droop the nose to 12.5 degrees, its maximum setting. At 162 knots, my theta, or pitch angle, for level flight is 13 degrees, therefore, my target pitch attitude for a 3-degree glideslope will be 10 degrees. I set the pitch index and turn left to establish on the localizer. Speedbird Concorde 2 is cleared to land.

Descending through 2,500 feet, the radar altimeter activates. Bannister dials in our altitude for a missed approach and then calls “five greens, go-around altitude set.” Yes, five greens—our undercarriage and tail gear make four plus one for the nose. Since Concorde has such a high pitch angle at takeoff and landing, the tail gear shields the secondary nozzles from a ground strike.

Through 800 feet we slow to VREF. 

Descending through 500 feet we are stable at 162 knots. At 300 feet, Bannister starts a series of calls with “100 above” decision height and moments later, “200—decide, land.” At “50—disconnect,” I click autothrottle off. At “15,” throttles back to idle and I gently flare since both aerodynamics and retarding power induce a slight nose-down moment. As the mains settle, yoke forward to land the nosewheel. Reverse thrust, brakes, and I stop right on the centerline.

That is Concorde.

There’s nothing about the airplane that made anyone think they’re flying on anything but Concorde. This one just hits differently. After flying this sim and virtually reliving my actual flights at the Brooklands Concorde Experience, goodness, what I wouldn’t give to experience one more flight and landing in the real airplane. Because even after touchdown, Concorde still turns it up to 11.

We’ve already established Concorde rips in over the numbers. Her very effective carbon-fiber brakes and reverse thrust contribute to quite arresting braking action. Once the nose was down, braking was urgent, dramatic. I was almost thrown forward in my seat as I felt the nose gear strut compress, digging in as weight shifted forward from momentum during braking. 

Concorde was a truly remarkable engineering achievement, a testament to human ingenuity, curiosity, and audacity, especially considering it first flew in 1969 a few months before Apollo 11 landed on the moon. The jet’s still an icon and outlier.

Boom Supersonic teases going back to the future, and NASA is molding shock waves with X-planes. But there will never be another Concorde. She was the only airliner to routinely supercruise above Mach 2—daily—her passengers reading finance news and fashion magazines, sipping champagne, and enjoying the moment knowing they’re flying faster, and higher, than anyone but astronauts.

As I disembarked from the real airplane at JFK in 2000, crestfallen that my flight had ended, the flight crew’s steward said to me, “See you again, sir.” I smiled. I wish. 

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Writer’s note: This article would have been impossible without the generous collaboration of Captain Mike Bannister, Captain John Tye, the Brooklands Museum and Mary Hely, and Melinda Benson Viteri. To learn more about Concorde or special packages to fly the Concorde simulator, visit brooklandsmuseum.com for more information. 

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This feature first appeared in the August Issue 961 of the FLYING print edition.