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Tough guy passes out.
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Nice.

Yeah, this is a good one. Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated was invited to ride along in an F-14 Tomcat and had the ride of his life. Here is the article:

NOTE: Despite the video or article, I would go in a heartbeat if invited.

Sports Illustrated Article
written by Rick Reilly.

"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, 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 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 be with 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."

What a sweet handle.

Dirty Harry said, "A man's gotta know his limitations." I know mine well, and one of them is a stomach that is not happy with shenanigans unless I'm the one driving/flying/steering, etc. I would love to take one of those backseat rides, but I'm afraid I would so thoroughly coat the inside of the canopy with barf as to render instrument flying necessary, and making the aerobatics out of the question. Places like Six Flags are a waste of time for a guy like me. I'll just have to be content with video of someone else going night-night while reefing into a 6.5 G turn.

I thought Six Flags was cool until I used my motorcycle to get there once. Kinda ruined it for me.

I would love to go up in a jet though.

I can't believe the guy did not swallow/choke on his chewing gum.

Y'all should try Zero-G sometime...It's a hoot...That has caused more people to "egress" stuff they had for breakfast more than the high-g manuevers could ever dream of...

My Dad "Mr. Zero-G" could make people hit the bag with the mear mentioning of:

(with a look of extreme calm and concern)

"You look like you could use a tall............frosty............mug...........of pork gravy..."

Worked everytime...

I had a plan to take a small barf bag full of "fruit cocktail" (as a snack, and just to protect the contents of course) if I flew again with him just to see if I could garner a few "kills"...Walk up during a break in the set of parabolas to someone and say, "Hey, want some?" as I reach in to take a grape or something...

I know...I'm a mean person...

I was (am?) one of those maddeningly obnoxious sorts who would grinningly slurp down that frosty mug and cheerfully ask for more, it was about my only claim to fame.

About a hundred years ago I had the pleasure of hitching a ride across the Mediteranean on an F4. Can't tremember the pilot's name anymore, and I didn't record it in my diary, but he tried a couple of things to see if he could make me sick, but a couple of years of sea duty and the fact that I don't sicken easily made that a no joy situation.

I have been known to lift my chow tray out of the way while someone else at the table was suddenly puking up what he just ate, and then put it right down in the mess and continue eating.

jimlongley wrote:I was (am?) one of those maddeningly obnoxious sorts who would grinningly slurp down that frosty mug and cheerfully ask for more, it was about my only claim to fame.

About a hundred years ago I had the pleasure of hitching a ride across the Mediteranean on an F4. Can't tremember the pilot's name anymore, and I didn't record it in my diary, but he tried a couple of things to see if he could make me sick, but a couple of years of sea duty and the fact that I don't sicken easily made that a no joy situation.

I have been known to lift my chow tray out of the way while someone else at the table was suddenly puking up what he just ate, and then put it right down in the mess and continue eating.

You would have fit in well in submarines, Jim.

Anygunanywhere

anygunanywhere wrote:

jimlongley wrote:I was (am?) one of those maddeningly obnoxious sorts who would grinningly slurp down that frosty mug and cheerfully ask for more, it was about my only claim to fame.

About a hundred years ago I had the pleasure of hitching a ride across the Mediteranean on an F4. Can't tremember the pilot's name anymore, and I didn't record it in my diary, but he tried a couple of things to see if he could make me sick, but a couple of years of sea duty and the fact that I don't sicken easily made that a no joy situation.

I have been known to lift my chow tray out of the way while someone else at the table was suddenly puking up what he just ate, and then put it right down in the mess and continue eating.

You would have fit in well in submarines, Jim.

Anygunanywhere

I have pictures of my destroyer that prove we were a part time submarine.

Wait a second...

Submarines??? Heavy seas??? Puke??? Something here does not compute...

Anygun...You need to remember Jim and I were in the "real" Navy...

You know ASW was one of my favorite tasks when I was in the fleet...And I have to admit you guys were reallllly good...But look up the USS Callaghan DDG-994, and you'll know why I see the glass is half full...

stevie_d_64 wrote:Wait a second...

Submarines??? Heavy seas??? Puke??? Something here does not compute...

Anygun...You need to remember Jim and I were in the "real" Navy...

You know ASW was one of my favorite tasks when I was in the fleet...And I have to admit you guys were reallllly good...But look up the USS Callaghan DDG-994, and you'll know why I see the glass is half full...

USS Zellars DD-777, always last on the list, or was that always at a list?

OTOH, some of the best duty I ever had was ASW training ship out of Key West, set the sea detail at 0800, go conduct exercises, set the sea detail at 1600, liberty call at 1700, four section duty, and the duty section allowed to go ashore to the ball field behind the Chief's club adjacent to the pier. The Chief's club would sell beer to the ball players out the back door. Subs moored nearby and one of them actually had a screen door!

stevie_d_64 wrote:Wait a second...

Submarines??? Heavy seas??? Puke??? Something here does not compute...

Anygun...You need to remember Jim and I were in the "real" Navy...

You know ASW was one of my favorite tasks when I was in the fleet...And I have to admit you guys were reallllly good...But look up the USS Callaghan DDG-994, and you'll know why I see the glass is half full...

We had our moments with seasickness too......sitting broached on the surface in 18 foot seas venting missile tubes after launching ballistic missiles with dummy warheads. The missile techs opened the access hatches to inspect the missile tubes and released the smell of spent solid fuel launch motors into the sub's atmosphere. It makes diesel smell like the perfume the ladies in port wore.

I heard of the Callaghan. It was still a target.

Anygunanywhere

anygunanywhere wrote: You would have fit in well in submarines, Jim.

Anygunanywhere

The way I see it no full grown man is made to fit in a submarine.