Funny Aviation Story - PeachParts Mercedes-Benz Forum

Skippy · #1 10-31-2009, 09:50 PM

I'm sorry if this is a repost, but someone emailed it to me, and it made me ROFLMAO. I had a much milder version of this guy's experience in a T-34C once. I managed to not hurl.

Quote:

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 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, 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 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 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 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.'

#2 10-31-2009, 10:11 PM

That is very funny.

WVOtoGO · #3 10-31-2009, 11:37 PM

Always a great read.
Thanks for the post.

T-34C time?
I love those things.
Did a few summers as a fire spotter in Evergreens 34 Charlies.
Big fun, prop hanging them over the mountains.

Skippy · #4 10-31-2009, 11:42 PM

Back when I had officer aspirations, there was a program called CORTRAMID, or Career Orientation Training for Midshipmen. One of the phases of the program included a flight in either a T-34 or an F/A-18. They used a swimming test to select the lucky few who got the Hornet. I got the T-34 and still had a great time, at least until the disagreement between my eyeballs and my inner ears threatened to cause a rebellion in my stomache.

Hatterasguy · #5 11-01-2009, 12:08 AM

Two bags works.

One of these days maybe I'll pay for a ride in a Russian Mig or something else very fast so I too can puke down.

Skippy · #6 11-01-2009, 12:19 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Hatterasguy

Two bags works.

Somewhere in the U.S. Air Force, there is (or was) an F-16 pilot with the call sign Polar. While that doesn't sound like too unusual of a call sign, the way she got it is kind of funny. On long flights, pilots sometimes have to answer the call of nature. As there is no restroom aboard an F-16, this requires some other solution. Apparently, they have little plastic bags that they do their business in. This is hard enough for the gentlemen, but Ms. Polar is equipped a bit differently and must consequently encounter even more difficutly with this method of "relief". It turns out she didn't do so well on the first try, as Polar is short for "Peed on leg and returned to base."

WVOtoGO · #7 11-01-2009, 01:20 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Skippy

Back when I had officer aspirations, there was a program called CORTRAMID, or Career Orientation Training for Midshipmen. One of the phases of the program included a flight in either a T-34 or an F/A-18.

I think the T34C ride would actually be more fun.
There’s a heck of a lot more that can be done in one by someone who isn’t already a pilot anyway.

When I flew them for the USFS as a fire spotter, I loved them.

The money I could make really depended on how much the fire boss in the back seat liked to fly and how much of it he could take.
He had a flat table over his lap with the maps on it and a panel full of radios. He talked with the fire bosses on the ground and relayed what he saw from the air. He coordinated the bomber drops and we often led them in to the DZ or along the run.

We had four levels of pay:
The first was the base pay we got just for being there. TTL hours, hours in type and hours over fire were factors here.
The second was “on call pay”. If we either sat suited up to fly or actually in the aircraft on the ground, this was bonus pay on top of the base.
The third was the flight time pay. If the fire bosses on the ground needed eyes in the sky, that was a good thing. So long as the fire boss in the plane was happy flying, we made pretty good money.
The fourth we called “Blue Ribbon Pay” or “BuRP”. There was a smoke detector of sorts on the bottom of the plane that was rigged to a Hobbs Meter (time clock) in the aircraft. So long as the guy in the back seat didn’t mind the smell of smoke, we’d spend as much time short cut running through the smoke as possible. The BuRP pay was a BIG bonus on top of the flight pay.

R Leo · #8 11-01-2009, 09:28 AM

For a while I was a branch manager for a Tempe outfit that had an office in Austin Aero's FBO building at the old Austin airport. Austin Aero had the government fuel contract and at some point just about every kind of government aircraft made it through there for fuel or a stop at AUS for a trip to Matt's el Rancho for Mexican food.

Anyway, the close proximity to NAS Corpus Christi meant there were plenty of opportunities to observe the antics of low-hour naval aviators.

One time a couple of turbo Mentors show up about noon (obviously an el Rancho mission) and are parked on the apron for a couple of hours...about 2:30, the pilots and GIBs show up, preflight and climb in their orange and white planes. Light off, diddle with things in the cockpit, wave at each other, cob on some throttle and Mentor Two moves and the other doesn't...hmmm, More throttle, still nothing!!! Of course, from where I'm sitting on the 2nd floor, it's pretty easy to see that Mentor One neglected to remove the chocks from his mains during preflight. You can't see that from the cockpit and Mentor Two sureashell wasn't going to give it up to Mentor One.

It took a couple of high-power setting attempts before pilot or GIB did the math and figured why it no go. Had to shut down, climb out, pull chocks and then light off, diddle with things in the cockpit, wave at each other, cob on some throttle and go.

This wasn't without an audience. By the second attempt just about everyone in the building was standing at their windows wondering why the government had installed a big 'ol JET-A powered fan in front of the FBO.

Budding naval aviators. Heh.

mgburg · #9 11-01-2009, 12:29 PM

In college, our ROTC unit would do 4-5 day trips to various bases around the "relative" midwest...one such trip was to Fort Campbell, KY., home of the "Screaming Eagles" - the 101st Airborne...

The "highlight" of the trip was the whole class getting to ride/fly in Huey UH-1s...

Cool!

But, as luck would have it, the morning of the flight, winds were steady at approx. 22 knots...just under the ceiling for flights, particularly with ROTC-students (about 28) as passengers...

Oh, BTW, the wind peaks were about 43 knots...as the added kicker...

Anyways, the whole class stood on the tarmac...waiting...waiting...waiting (typical ARMY...hurry up and WAIT...), when finally, the WO in charge of whole flight comes out and yells "MOUNT UP! EIGHT TO A..." No one could hear the rest of what he was yelling cause 5 UH-1s are doing the "winding up/screaming" bit behind him, exhaust hitting us (which actually, felt sorta' good that morning...being warmer than the day would ever dream to be...).

As we split up and headed for our birds, we were all doing the "duck and run like a duck" to the doors of our respective rides...as we got there, we were issued a "bucket" (for our heads) with attached wiring for plugging into the IC. We all started looking like we actually belonged on these things...

But, there were these nagging words & phrases in the back of my mind...something about a "ceiling" and "gusting" and "...shouldn't be flying in this..."

"OH WELL..." my mind was yelling at myself, "THERE'S 5 OF US OUT HERE!! YOU'VE NEVER READ ABOUT A 5 HELO-CRASH IN THE PAPERS, HAVE YOU???"

After the pre-flight, sitting in the bay, side-doors open, "don't-put-your-foot-on-the-round-button-on-the-floor" speech by the co-pilot, and re-iterated by the pilot, and a "thumps-up" from the crew signifying that all of us were PROPERLY buckled in, wired up and toss-proofed, we lifted off, nice and gently...all at the same time, positioned that you could see everyone do this in a precision-type ballet move. It was beautiful.

Then the fun ended...

Instead of being in the lead craft, we all went from pointing in the NW direction, to a CCW turn to start heading south. I'm now in the last UH-1 in a string of five..."OK!" I thought..."We'll be the last to land and we'll have some more 'air-time.'"

We lifted off the ground...about 20 feet and floated down the tarmac until we started off the concrete...then the "fun" began.

It was like someone snapped a towel on the ass of a cat.

We went nose-down, rotor-forward and the sound was deafening, even with the helmets on...eventually, I could hear either the pilot or co-pilot yelling something about "...FOOT OFF THE FLOOR SWITCH..." and eventually, it happened...

Now, we're about 500 feet over Fort Campbell, and were flying what I would call "crab-style"...forward, but canted about 45° so you could see everyone else ahead/behind you (as long as your side of craft has "lead"). In our case, it was ahead only...and being the 5th in a line of 5 helos, you get 4x's the rotor wash than the guys in the lead helo.

After the "leisurely" tour of the upper air, we suddenly lose the cant, line up single-file and increase speed to BLUR and we're only 10 feet above the trees...and as most Ft. Campbell visitors eventually find out, those trees are living, breathing organisms that are growing on the sides of Kentucky hills...and as the co-pilot mentioned (in a "AAMOF-type" way) that we are now participating in a flight manuever referred to as "Nap-Of-The-Earth" as in "If you're not paying close attention, you'll be taking a "Dirt-Nap-In-The-Earth" - as if flying a helicopter just screams "I'm OK, relax!"

We're "gliding along" (as the 5th in the line of 5, that term was strickly over-stated) and I'm starting to get a whiff of what smells like pine from the trees tickling the runners...when the PILOT comes on the headsets and TELLS EVERYONE (It seems like he screamed it, but it could have been just me!!!), quote, "HOLD ON! WE'RE GOING DOWN!"

"HOLY PINE-NEEDLE-ENCRUSTED-CORPSES BATMAN!!! IT'S ONLY TREES BELOW US!!!"

Just as the bile is starting to percolate, there's a freshly-plowed field below us...and our bird is heading for it like a 4-helo-rotor-washed rock...we land "survivorably"...just as the HAIL starts pelting us...

The pilot then comes on the headsets and, in a MOF-type voice, announces the following; "Sorry 'bout that folks, it's just a little thing that we HAVE to do now and then down here...you see, helicopters and hail don't care too much for one another. And so far, when it comes right down to it, hail WINS every time. Hail's batting record is a perfect 1.0."

As the hail passes us, it's was like someone decided to "yawn" - and it passed through the whole class...every helo that was in the dirt had classmates unbuckling, hopping out and heaving...dry, techni-colored, mono-colored...you name it, it was being planted...we, for some reason, had to "ask" the pilot for permisison to puke...he yells back "You puke in my bird, you're l***ing it up!!!" That's all we needed...dry-heaves, all around...

Once everyone was back on board, buckled and bucketed, we all took off, in unison and headed back to the tarmac...

Upon landing on terra-really-firma, it was REALLY quite...a few of us thanked our "tour guides" (I think it was the ones that drew the short straws...'cause I was the designated one to "thank" our crew) and the rest headed for either the buses or the hanger restrooms...with permission of course.

Everyone of the crew (including the other 4 crews) all had nice, broad grins on their faces...

It was such a nice thought that we made their day after they had made ours.

BTW, haven't been up in helicopter since.

I just don't look that good in green. Pre- or Post- morgue.

truckinik · #10 11-01-2009, 12:56 PM

"I got shot down, in world war 1, in three planes, on three seperate missions. I was shot down several times in world war 2, Three more times in Korea, and four times in Vietnam also....Come to think of it, I've never landed a plane in my life"