Separating the men from the boys

Below is an article written by Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated.
He details his experiences when given the opportunity to fly in a
F-14 Tomcat.

"Now this message for America's most famous athletes:

Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your
country's most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have.
John Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get
the opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity,
Move to Guam. Change your name. Fake your own death! Whatever you
do, do not go.

I know. The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was
pumped. I was toast! I should've known when they told me my pilot
would be Chip (Biff) King of Fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air
Station Oceana in Virginia Beach.

Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks
like, triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy
surfer hair, finger-crippling handshake.....the kind of man who
wrestles dyspeptic alligators in his leisure time. If you see
this man, run the other way.....Fast.

Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years
the voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus 15 seconds and counting
..." Remember?) Chip would charge neighborhood kids a quarter
each to hear his dad. Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by
nine-year-olds waiting for him to say, "We have a liftoff."

Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful
$60 million weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not
unlike Colin Montgomerie. I was worried about getting airsick, so
the night before the flight I asked Biff if there was something I
should eat the next morning.

"Bananas," he said.
"For the potassium?" I asked.
"No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up as
they do going down."

The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with
my name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign like Crash or
Sticky or Leadfoot but, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in
the crook of my arm, as Biff had instructed. If ever in my life I
had a chance to nail Nicole Kidman, this was it.

A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then
fastened me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would
"egress" me out of the plane at such a velocity that I would be
immediately knocked unconscious.

Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy
closed over me, and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up.
In minutes we were firing nose up at 600 mph. We leveled out
and then canopy-rolled over another F-14.

Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life. Unfortunately, the
ride lasted 80. It was like being on the roller coaster at Six
Flags Over Hell. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls, sap
rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose and dived again,
sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per minute.
We chased another F-14, and it chased us. We broke the speed of
sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at 200 feet we did
90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G force of 6.5, which is
to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against
me, thereby approximating life as Mrs. Colin Montgomerie.

And I egressed the bananas. I egressed the pizza from the night
before. And the lunch before that. I egressed a box of Milk Duds
from the sixth grade. I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of
the G's, I was egressing stuff that did not even want to be
egressed. I went through not one airsick bag, but two.

Biff said I passed out. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one
point, as we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a
mock bombing target and the G's were flattening me like a
tortilla and I was in and out of consciousness, I realized I was
the first person in history to throw down.

I used to know cool. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass, or
Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know cool. Cool
is guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and freon nerves.
I wouldn't go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but
I'm glad Biff does every day, and for less a year than a rookie
reliever makes in a home stand.

A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He
said he and the fighters had the perfect call sign for me. Said
he'd send it on a patch for my flight suit.

What is it? I asked.

"Two Bags."

Been around for a while, but still good.
http://www.macinnisaviation.com/wingprayer.htm

Duane
++++++++++++++
Duane MacInnis
Flight Instructor
Cell (604) 454-7415
www.macinnisaviation.com

Grumman Cheetah C-GVJF



"Robert Moore" wrote in message
. 6...

Below is an article written by Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated.
He details his experiences when given the opportunity to fly in a
F-14 Tomcat.

"Now this message for America's most famous athletes:

Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your
country's most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have.
John Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get
the opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity,
Move to Guam. Change your name. Fake your own death! Whatever you
do, do not go.

I know. The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was
pumped. I was toast! I should've known when they told me my pilot
would be Chip (Biff) King of Fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air
Station Oceana in Virginia Beach.

Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks
like, triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy
surfer hair, finger-crippling handshake.....the kind of man who
wrestles dyspeptic alligators in his leisure time. If you see
this man, run the other way.....Fast.

Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years
the voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus 15 seconds and counting
..." Remember?) Chip would charge neighborhood kids a quarter
each to hear his dad. Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by
nine-year-olds waiting for him to say, "We have a liftoff."

Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful
$60 million weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not
unlike Colin Montgomerie. I was worried about getting airsick, so
the night before the flight I asked Biff if there was something I
should eat the next morning.

"Bananas," he said.
"For the potassium?" I asked.
"No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up as
they do going down."

The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with
my name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign like Crash or
Sticky or Leadfoot but, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in
the crook of my arm, as Biff had instructed. If ever in my life I
had a chance to nail Nicole Kidman, this was it.

A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then
fastened me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would
"egress" me out of the plane at such a velocity that I would be
immediately knocked unconscious.

Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy
closed over me, and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up.
In minutes we were firing nose up at 600 mph. We leveled out
and then canopy-rolled over another F-14.

Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life. Unfortunately, the
ride lasted 80. It was like being on the roller coaster at Six
Flags Over Hell. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls, sap
rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose and dived again,
sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per minute.
We chased another F-14, and it chased us. We broke the speed of
sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at 200 feet we did
90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G force of 6.5, which is
to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against
me, thereby approximating life as Mrs. Colin Montgomerie.

And I egressed the bananas. I egressed the pizza from the night
before. And the lunch before that. I egressed a box of Milk Duds
from the sixth grade. I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of
the G's, I was egressing stuff that did not even want to be
egressed. I went through not one airsick bag, but two.

Biff said I passed out. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one
point, as we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a
mock bombing target and the G's were flattening me like a
tortilla and I was in and out of consciousness, I realized I was
the first person in history to throw down.

I used to know cool. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass, or
Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know cool. Cool
is guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and freon nerves.
I wouldn't go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but
I'm glad Biff does every day, and for less a year than a rookie
reliever makes in a home stand.

A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He
said he and the fighters had the perfect call sign for me. Said
he'd send it on a patch for my flight suit.

What is it? I asked.

"Two Bags."

Most people, tossed into a fighter plane and given a wild ride, would
react similarly. Indeed, many people will get sick initially on a
roller coaster, even though, after a dozen rides or so, they may be able
to read a newspaper while riding. That doesn't mean that visitors are
any less cool than the pilot, only that they are much less accustomed to
the environment. Medical doctors know far more about the human body
than the average person, but that doesn't mean that doctors have IQs
with four digits, it just means that they are much more accustomed to
being doctors.

Now, if Biff is more resistant to airsickness than his own colleagues
under identical conditions, that is considerably more impressive, but
the article doesn't say much about that. You have to make fair
comparisons.

--
Transpose hotmail and mxsmanic in my e-mail address to reach me directly.

Mxsmanic

wrote:Now, if Biff is more resistant to airsickness than his own colleagues
under identical conditions, that is considerably more impressive, but
the article doesn't say much about that. You have to make fair
comparisons.


Whoa Whoa.........the story was written as a humorous tale. Don't you get it?
It was not a scientific study or social analysis. Just enjoy what you like in
it and move on.
VL