ROCKYVIEW, COUNTY — The unexpected invitation for a ride in one of the planes scheduled to perform at the Wings Over Springbank Airshow last week included a list of planes.
One was the F-18.
Barely able to contain my glee after googling the F-18 Hornet, my first call was to my niece’s husband, a pilot, to confirm that was the best choice.
“That’s the plane Maverick flies in Top Gun, take it,” he said.
The F-18 would be the most appropriate choice for an intrepid journalist from the Eagle.
I emailed the organizers of the airshow media day that my preference would be the F-18.
They offered a tandem parachute jump as an option, which I told them would only be my second choice – after all, real men don’t jump out of planes tethered to someone.
I texted my oldest buddies – whom I used to build model airplanes with – that I was about to enter the Maverick club.
They responded with that uniquely male taste in humour – barf jokes. It’s a class of wisecrack men (boys?) seem to have a monopoly on, along with things like the Three Stooges. My ex-wife didn’t even like one Stooge.
But I digress.
The night before liftoff I went to Top Gun: Maverick to get in the mood.
I was already feeling the need. The need for speed.
Note: that was the catchphrase for the original 1986 cult classic. One of the signature phrases for the sequel, is “Don’t think, just do.”
After very little sleep, I arrived at the airstrip a half hour before the allotted time, and there she was – sitting quietly next to the fence, reeking speed at a standstill. The F-18 Hornet.
We were told plane assignments would be sorted out. I suppressed my excitement until it was confirmed I’d be in the Hornet.
Maintaining my cool over the next hour or so was a challenge.
Conversations with ‘pilot types’ included unsolicited advice, mostly around pre-flight diet.
“Bananas are OK – they taste the same in both directions.”
Women roll their eyes, men smile and nod.
When the clipboard-toting organizer called my name and announced, “You’re in, come on,” I was hoping she’d say, “I don’t like the look on your face,” to which I’d reply as Maverick, “It’s the only one I got.”
That didn’t happen.
As we strode towards the tarmac, I pointed towards the F-18, but she pointed at another plane, as it all came plummeting to earth. I must have misunderstood the communications. Apparently, they haven’t done civilian fly-alongs in F-18s in decades.
I wasn’t going up in the star of Top Gun. I was slotted to cram into the smallest, slowest, funniest-looking “plane” in sight – the Long EZ.
Sixteen feet and 115 horses of ‘I-hope-I-don’t-see-anyone-I-know’ blazing yellow glory.
Remember that feeling on Christmas morning when you tore open the present in anticipation of the coolest thing on your list (insert BB gun, PlayStation, or your dream toy here) and out popped a sweater? This was worse.
The Eagle reporter had landed with a plop.
My initial reaction was “No thanks,” as I did my best to hide my profound disappointment.
But then I thought ‘Don’t think, just do’ and before I knew it I was trying not to laugh as I headed towards the contraption that looked like something someone put together in their garage. That's because, as I discovered later, you can.
My apologies here, to pilot Kyle Fowler. He was an ace.
I put my life in this man's hands five minutes after meeting him and hearing his pre-flight spiel, delivered as he somewhat indelicately adjusted the harness on my parachute – wait, my what?
“Don’t worry, you’ll only need this if the controls suddenly don’t work, or we hit a really big bird or the engine starts on fire and I can’t put it out,” he assured me.
Easy for him to say – I was shoehorned into this little yellow canary between him and the rear-mounted engine, so I’d fry first.
Oh well, parachuting solo would be much more exciting than tandem, so ... walk towards the danger.
The last thing he handed me before takeoff was the air sickness bag. “And here’s your boarding pass.”
For context, the F-18 Hornet flies at 2,400 kilometres per hour (km/h). The price tag is about $86 million. That’s more than I make in a year.
Kyle’s puddle jumper is about $70,000 and when we dove, we hit around 190 km/hr.
And I couldn’t have had more fun.
The barrel rolls and flying upside down were the highlights of our 20-minute cruise over Cochrane.
Despite his considerable aerobatic skills, Kyle didn't pull a Maverick. He refused my urging to buzz the tower before landing.
But he put up with me, provided a bucketful of thrills and chills, and my “boarding pass” even remained folded.
I’ll turn and burn with you anytime, wingman Kyle.
