Ray S S
Silver Member
Greetings here is another email that I want to share. A funny little tale about getting a ride in a fighter jet.
The following is the total story with two pictures to follow.
Bananas and milk duds
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. If you aren't laughing out loud by the time you get to 'Milk
Duds' your sense of humor is seriously broken.
NOW THIS MESSAGE IS 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, and Tiger Woods to name a few. If
you get this 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 waiting
for him to say, "We have 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 He**. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls,
snap 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.
And I egressed the pizza from the night before.
And the lunch before that.
I egressed the box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade.
I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the G's I was egressing stuff that I never
thought would 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 , 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 everyday, 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."
The following is the total story with two pictures to follow.
Bananas and milk duds
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. If you aren't laughing out loud by the time you get to 'Milk
Duds' your sense of humor is seriously broken.
NOW THIS MESSAGE IS 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, and Tiger Woods to name a few. If
you get this 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 waiting
for him to say, "We have 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 He**. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls,
snap 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.
And I egressed the pizza from the night before.
And the lunch before that.
I egressed the box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade.
I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the G's I was egressing stuff that I never
thought would 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 , 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 everyday, 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."
