I have friends who absolutely hate to fly. One is so afraid of the concept of being in the air that he needs a serious amount of tranquilizers to where he's higher than Timothy Leary at a Dead show in order to step on a plane. Another pal just white knuckles it, but will only do it when it's not possible to drive or take a train.
I guess I'm lucky that I'm kind of fearless when it comes to aviation. Of course I make fun of those two calling them pansies for not accepting that flying is the safest way to travel.
As usual I eat my words with a side of sole.
Dad and I were flying into Costa Rica. The turbulence from the tropic air combined with the high winds was causing us to a big queasy as the plane bounced like a ADD child on a Pogo Ball. My waist started to hurt as the seat belt ground into me and kept me from levitating into the cabin. I've had some hairy flights before, but nothing like this.
The guy sitting next to me couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed the seat in front of him and started moving his lips. Perhaps he was converting to the faith of his fathers if he wasn't religious already. I couldn't blame him as I wanted to pick up my phone, FAA rules be damned, and call everyone and tell them I love them.
The plane started its descent and was swaying back and forth while jockeying for position. It still rocked up and down and I started to get more ill. We didn't actually land per se. We bounced down the runway till finally it stopped.
As we exited the plane the pilot stood there with a nervous smile. Dad thanked him for getting us there safely and the pilot nervously said it was his pleasure.
I was never so happy to be on the ground, but looking back I kind of wished I just sat back and enjoyed it. It was better than any roller coaster I've ever been on.
"Flying might not be all plain sailing, but the fun of it is worth the price." - Amelia Earhart