I did not lose my lunch. Let’s go ahead and answer that question right off the bat. I did consider it, though. People who have never been in a two-G rolling dive have no idea what that can do to a person’s stomach.
My wife planned and secretly squirreled away money for about five years to pull this one off. She knew one of my lifelong dreams had been to fly in a P-51 Mustang, the apex fighter plane of WWII. She kept the secret amazingly well. I did not know where we were going until we pulled into the airport just a short way outside of Atlanta. War Bird Rides and the Commemorative Air Force had their fleet set up and ready to climb, and my jaw dropped in amazement when I saw the red-nosed P-51D.
The P-51 had a storied career in the biggest war in Earth’s history. It arrived later to the contest than the Spitfires, P-47s and P-38s, but when it arrived, it was a game-changer. It was the then-perfect combination of speed, maneuverability and range. It could fly 1,650 miles, farther with external tanks, reach flat-line speeds of 440 mph (550 mph in a dive), could fly as high as 41,900 feet, had a climb rate of 3,200 feet per minute, and was just a bit below the nimble Spitfire on the maneuverability scale. It came outfitted with six .50 caliber Browning machine guns, and pilots claimed 4,950 air-to-air victories with it.
Yes, I am an unabashed fanboy on this one.
The plane I flew in was 81 years old. In human terms, this would most commonly be found on a walker in an assisted living center. But this bird was not looking for a comfy nest somewhere. When the pilot threw the throttle on this warbird that had been modified for a passenger, the passenger, me, had his head involuntarily pinned back against the seat.