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Flying in an F-14 Tomcat


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http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/inside_ga...life_of_reilly/

 

On a Wing and a Prayer

 

Now this message for America's most famous athletes: Someday you may be invited to fly in the backseat 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 nail Nicole Kidman, that 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.

 

Jason Dooley/U.S. Navy

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."

 

Don't you dare tell Nicole.

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Rick Reilly is one of the great sportswriters of our time. I read my SI back page first every week.

 

And yes, I'd pay a million dollars to have that experience. Hell, I'd probably be three bags, but man what a rush!

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Rick Reilly is one of the great sportswriters of our time. I read my SI back page first every week.

 

And yes, I'd pay a million dollars to have that experience. Hell, I'd probably be three bags, but man what a rush!

 

They just retired the last F-14 recently (a few months ago, I think). You can probably buy your own for a million dollars by now.

 

I know old Czech MiG-21 recon planes can be had for half a million...

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They just retired the last F-14 recently (a few months ago, I think). You can probably buy your own for a million dollars by now.

 

I know old Czech MiG-21 recon planes can be had for half a million...

 

 

I'll contact you tomorrow, after I win the $355 Mega Millions here!! :lol:

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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.

 

That was priceless.

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I'll contact you tomorrow, after I win the $355 Mega Millions here!! :devil:

 

You can get half-hour flights in Russian fighter planes for about $3k or so (plus travel costs to Russia). If you're a pilot, they'll even let you take the controls, I think. The SU-27 and MiG-29 are probably better handling birds than the F-14 anyway...

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You can get half-hour flights in Russian fighter planes for about $3k or so (plus travel costs to Russia). If you're a pilot, they'll even let you take the controls, I think. The SU-27 and MiG-29 are probably better handling birds than the F-14 anyway...

 

 

Wow, that would be amazing.

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You can get half-hour flights in Russian fighter planes for about $3k or so (plus travel costs to Russia). If you're a pilot, they'll even let you take the controls, I think. The SU-27 and MiG-29 are probably better handling birds than the F-14 anyway...

Given the way the Russians take care of their equipment you might to update your will before you take off. Remember...there are old pilots..and there are bold pilots...but there ain't no old, bold pilots!

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If you're a pilot, they'll even let you take the controls, I think.

 

Handles just like a Cessna 172, huh?

 

I read in that article that they went up at a rate of 10,000 fpm. If it can go up that fast, it can go down faster.

2000 fpm makes my ears/head uncomfortable; I think my head might explode if I decended that fast.

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Given the way the Russians take care of their equipment you might to update your will before you take off. Remember...there are old pilots..and there are bold pilots...but there ain't no old, bold pilots!

 

And keep in mind that reasonable risk is implied when climbing in to a high performance jet...so your heirs can't sue the company chartering the flight after you die.

 

Those Soviet planes are beautiful flyers, though. The newer versions of the SU-27 can do somersaults - literally. :devil:

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