Sun Sentinel Palm Beach Edition
A ride into the DANGER ZONE
First chills, then thrills aboard a US Air Force Thunderbirds flight
I looked up, and I saw the city below me. I was suspended nearly an inch off my seat, strapped into an F-16 fighter jet, cruising upside down off the east coast of Fort Lauderdale. Driving was Maj. Kevin Walsh — better known as #7 — a pilot for the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds who agreed to let me tag along.
“You ready?” He told me over the radio. “Here come the Gs!”
By trade I am a crime reporter. That’s why it came as a shock that my boss asked me a few months ago if I wanted to fly with the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds as part of the Ford Lauderdale Air Show — the official name for this weekend’s airshow, thanks to Ford signing on to be the title sponsor. Members of the media got to meet with the pilots on Monday, and I was lucky enough to actually get to fly. The Thunderbirds, based out of Las Vegas, are called the Ambassadors in Blue. With a traveling staff of more than 150, they have a rigorous schedule meant to entertain and
educate people about the Air Force and its various functions.
Twelve of those 150 are experienced fighter pilots, and six of those get to show off their skills in front of thousands of people every weekend.
I applied to fly with the Thunderbirds weeks before my flight and had to undergo a physical exam to make sure I was healthy enough to fly. When I got the phone call that I was one of two members of the media selected to fly with the Thunderbirds while they’re in Fort Lauderdale, I let out a scream of joy.
After I told my dad, he nearly cried with jealousy.
I was standing at the Sheltair Terminal, located at the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport, when I saw them — the fighter jets — land. The other reporters, mostly men, started amping me up. They told me stories they’d heard of reporters getting sick or passing out. They shot off a list of stats: how fast the F-16 goes, the types of tricks it can do, the force on your body.
Then, as we waited on the tarmac, the Thunderbird pilots got out of their planes and walked toward us. There they were, in their crisp blue uniforms, their aviator sunglasses, the sun to their backs. It was straight out of Top Gun.
The next few hours seemed to fly by. I was inundated with information and debriefings. The extremely patient and professional staff of the Thunderbirds helped me get suited up in a G-suit, an anti-gravity suit that inflates to prevent blood from pooling into your feet and legs.
The pressure from the gravity forces blood down away from your heart and brain, which is what causes some people to pass out.
I learned how to breathe correctly, how to prevent passing out and throwing up and how to eject from the plane on the off chance something were to go wrong.
In case of emergency, Walsh told me, there’s an ejection lever between my legs that would shoot my seat out from the plane. Staff Sgt. Madeline Davis explained to me how to use my parachute. In the worst case scenario — like Walsh becoming incapacitated behind the wheel, for example — I would have to grab the controls, aim the plane into an uninhabited place and, in official terms, “Bail out! Bail out! Bail out!”
“But do you think that will happen,” I asked Walsh, half laughing, half trying to remember if I had told anyone what I wanted done with my belongings if, you know, something tragic were to happen.
“The jet hasn’t surprised me yet,” Walsh smiled back. “Don’t worry — this is going to be awesome.”
Awesome doesn’t begin to describe it.
Imagine every roller coaster you’ve ever been on combined into one, times that by 10, and then add 12,000 feet in the air. We shot up into the sky — Walsh in front, me behind — before rolling out into a turn over the ocean.
Walsh did turns and circles, loops and rolls. He hung us upside down, went side to side, and even glided past fluffy white clouds. We did all of the maneuvers featured in the Thunderbirds’ air shows across the country, too, from the barrel roll to the butt drag, a move where the plane travels at an even speed while at a 45 degree angle.
Despite being in a heavy G-suit and strapped in for dear life in the back of a fighter jet — not known for their spaciousness — I never felt more free in my entire life.
The gravitational pull on your body, known as Gs, are high when you’re going so fast and moving so quickly.
On land, the pressure on your body is equal to 1 G. A 12-pound object under 1 G weighs 24 pounds under 2 Gs, and so on and so forth. While doing the maneuvers, Walsh and I hit 3 or 4 Gs regularly.
The pressure on my body felt like nothing I had ever experienced, but thanks to the training I had before hand, I never passed out.
I felt a little queasy after going upside-down for a long time. Walsh had asked me preflight if I wanted to hit 9 Gs, nine times the normal force of gravity, and I enthusiastically said yes. But now, my stomach moving around, I wasn’t sure.
When he asked me up in the air, I told him I was a little apprehensive.
“Do it,” Walsh told me over the radio. “You won’t regret it.”
So up we went — we pulled 9 Gs. My G-suit inflated; it felt like 1,000 pounds of pressure push on my body, locking me into my seat. My vision almost cut out but I kept breathing, fighting to stay awake during this once-in-a-lifetime experience.
We pulled out, back to normal gravity. My legs felt weak but my heart was pumping.
“How did it feel?” Walsh asked.
I looked outside the window, slightly in a daze, but laughing to myself. How to describe what I felt? It was incredible, amazing, terrifying, stunning.
“Wow,” was all I managed to say. “Wow.”
Despite being in a heavy G-suit and strapped in for dear life in the back of a fighter jet, I never felt more free in my entire life.