Two Wings and a Prayer

(Herein, my brother's guest post, about something I wouldn't do if someone had a gun to my head.  No, really.  Just reading this makes my feet sweat.)

The wind blasted my face as all of my senses went into hyper-alert, trying to process exactly what was happening.  I was strapped into the rear seat of an open cockpit 1940s era biplane, plummeting straight down toward the water below.  There was no sky.  All I could see was the greenish-blue of the Lower New York Bay, the silver hair of the pilot, and the bright yellow wings that were, unnervingly, constructed more than 60 years ago and were now bearing a phenomenal amount of aerodynamic stress. 

I stole a glance at the altimeter in front of me.  The hands were crazily spinning counterclockwise:  3,500 feet. Now 3,000. Now 2,500. The gauge looked like a close-up in an airline disaster film as the heroic pilots desperately tried to pull back on the yoke and avoid the crash. Through the headset, I heard high pitched screams.  Then I realized I was the one screaming.

More than a year ago, my wife got me a gift certificate for a scenic bi-plane ride.  While I appreciated the gift, I lagged in booking the flight.  Ostensibly, it was because I couldn't find the time; we were new parents, and time had a way of getting sucked out of every weekend.  But the unstated reason was that the very idea of climbing into an ancient bi-plane with an open cockpit made me nervous as hell.  Eventually, though, my impending move to the Seattle area, coupled with an annoyed wife who emphasized that she had paid a lot of money for me to have this experience, forced the issue.  I booked a noon flight on August 19.  I was to show up at 11:45 for what I assumed would be a 15 minute briefing before takeoff, to better acquaint me with such topics as what to do if you feel the urge to vomit:  do you aim over the edge of the open cockpit or for your own lap?

I arrived at the small, private airport at 11:40, but couldn't find "Baron Scenic Flights."  Running short on time, I went into what was labeled as a flight school and asked if they knew where I should go.  A friendly older woman gave me directions to a hangar that I would have never found on my own.  She commented as I left that I should feel confident, since "Bob" was a great pilot.  Then she paused and said with a smile, "Well, except for when he's flying upside-down."  I smiled back at her little joke and hurried out to my car.

I arrived at the hangar, but it was empty.  Moments later, I heard a sound unlike the high-pitched drones of the small planes that were taking off and landing.  This one sounded deeper and more robust.  I looked up just in time to see this plane touch down on the landing strip in front of me.  It taxied over to the hangar, and the pilot hopped out, then helped his passenger climb out of the rear cockpit.

We all have a picture in our minds of what a good pilot should look like.  He should be in his early 50s with a peppering of gray in his hair and an aura of quiet, steely confidence.  Bob was not this man.  Instead, the person before me was easily in his mid-70s (about 15 years past mandatory retirement age for airline pilots) with a slight aura of good-natured wiseass.  His hair was pure white and, although he was certainly fit for his age, I began to ponder scenarios involving his sudden expiration, and our resulting death-plunge to the earth below.

To his credit, his passenger (a 50-something executive type who fit my pilot profile much better) was elated and kept saying things like "that was just wonderful, what a fantastic trip" and "I feel so exhilarated."  So that helped my confidence a bit.  And I figured the odds were weighted pretty heavily in my favor that my flight wouldn't just happen to be the one during which The Blue Baron met his maker.

The three of us stood and chatted amiably about what a nice day it was for the flight.  As the conversation wound down, Bob politely gestured toward me and said that it was my turn now.  With a wink toward me he said, "I've gotta go fly upside down with this young fella."  We all shared a chuckle, but I was starting to get a bit nervous, as this was the second "upside-down" joke I'd heard.  I remembered, though, that the description of the flight said nothing about aerobatics of any sort, which is the kind of thing you'd probably want to mention in advance to people expecting a leisurely bi-plane ride. 

In response, I said, "Hey, I'm a pretty big guy, so you'd have to have me strapped in pretty good to keep me from falling out."  Bob responded quickly with, "Straps?  We charge EXTRA for those!"  We all shared another big chuckle and I felt reasonably assured that the upside-down comments were his little way of having fun with his nervous customers.

So, on to the pre-flight safety briefing.  Except that there was none.  Bob led me to the cockpit, helped me get in, buckled me into a lap belt and two shoulder harnesses, and suggested that I tighten them a bit as it can be bumpy.  He asked me not to grab on to the windscreen, put a headset on my head, and...that was it.  Bob climbed into the front cockpit and fired up the engine, which sputtered disconcertingly before assuming a more confident hum.  We taxied to the active runway, Bob announced his intention to take off, and off we went.  Within 15 seconds, we were airborne.

The sensation of lifting off from the earth in a small, open cockpit plane was very different than the one you get in a commercial airliner.  The wind whipped by and I could look in any direction to take in the sights both below and in the air.  Other than the noise of the wind and the engine, it was quite serene -- although I could have done without the smell of the gasoline powering the propeller, as one might tend to associate that smell while on-board a plane with "we're all going to die a fiery death."

We flew at 1,000 feet to the southern tip of Manhattan, heading up the Hudson River with the tops of the towering skyscrapers at eye-level.  It was a spectacular view, the entire majesty of Manhattan spread out before me.  I held on tightly to my tiny video camera while soaking it all in. 

Soon, Bob turned the plane into a long, graceful bank, heading southbound.  Once we were over the Statue of Liberty, he tilted his wings and we flew a full circle around it.  We were close enough to the ground that I could make out tourists waving up at us.  Bob headed back south again, and I relaxed in the back, thinking about how foolish I had been to be nervous.

And then I noticed something odd.  As we passed over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and over the Lower New York Bay, Bob eased back on the stick and we began slowly climbing.  A chill ran throughout my body.  He was ascending over a large, unpopulated body of water so that he had a margin of error to do something crazy and no one to kill below should it end badly.  My mind played back all of the previous conversations of the day, which took on wholly new meaning. 

Utterly terrified, I decided that when Bob radioed back to ask me if I was ready to fly upside-down, my answer would be a sheepish "no."  I glanced down at the flimsy-looking straps across my lap and on my shoulders.  These were decidedly NOT the solid contraptions that pull down over your head and bolt you to your seat when you're on a big roller coaster.  These were fabric.  And not even particularly tight.  Just in case Bob took matters into his own hands, I pulled on the straps until they dug into my shoulders.  This was made more difficult by the sudden sheen of sweat covering my palms.

We leveled off at about 3,500 feet.  There was a click on my headset.  Before I could say a word, Bob announced, "Ok, here we go!"  Perhaps for Bob's own sadistic reasons, my microphone remained open as he throttled the engine up to full power. 

The plane's nose shot skyward, and I was pressed down into my seat as we headed straight up into the sky.  I could feel the plane suddenly slowing down -- the propeller was unable to keep the plane going straight upwards.  Just before we stalled in midair, Bob yanked the controls to the left and the plane veered sideways and the nose continued downward until we were pointing straight toward the ground.  For a moment I had a sensation of complete weightlessness as the plane went from straining upwards to plummeting downwards.  After the few seconds of freefall, Bob pulled up on the stick and leveled off.  I saw him glance up at me in his rear-view mirror.  Presumably relieved that I was not dead from a heart attack or missing from my cockpit, he launched into the same maneuver once again as I emitted a surprisingly giddy scream -- straight up again, a sharp bank, a sensation of weightlessness, and then down toward the ocean below.

It was all utterly horrifying, yet equally fantastic.  He followed up by pointing the nose downward and rolling the plane sideways until we were completely inverted for a few seconds before rolling it back right-side up. While upside down, I had the bizarre sensation of looking up at the water below us, while hanging in my recently tightened straps.  We launched into another series of pitches and rolls that I could no longer piece together.  All I knew is that I was being rapidly alternated between feeling crushed into my seat and being lifted out of my seat with a lightning-fast visual sequence of sky, water, sky, water, sky.  Finally, Bob leveled off again and radioed back, "You doing ok?"  Buzzing with adrenaline, I thanked him profusely for the once in a lifetime experience but added, "I honestly thought you were joking about flying upside-down!"

He responded with genuine surprise and exasperation.  "Why the hell do people always think I'm joking?"

Comments

[Dianna]

OMG, laughing my you-know-what off here. And incredibly glad it wasn't me in that plane!

[spacegirl]

Wow awesome indeed and you know what, your brother writes in an incredibly similar style to you. Having grown up as an only child, i always find that sort of sibling thing interesting!

[jjm]

Now that was a good gift!

[Lia]

That sounds like the kind of thing I'd like to have done once. Not to actually do; just to have already done so I could remember and talk about it.

[Beth]

Holy crap. Just...holy crap. (Your brother writes as beautifully as you do, BTW.)

[Shannon]

Very cool! I also never would do that, but it is a great story. As the daughter of a pilot, I have to say that the mandatory retirement age is bogus. Make them get a physical every month or something, but a pilot doesn't suddenly become more dangerous on their 60th birthday. In fact I would much rather have an experienced 65 yr. old pilot than a 30-something pilot. The value of experience cannot be overestimated in that field!

[Kari]

Great story. I didn't know your brother was in my neck of the woods. Although it is probably too late in the summer, he should do the parasailing over Puget Sound.

Good writing runs in your family.