I gave wing walking a second try. Different pilot, different plane, different location. Same adrenaline rush. Huge thanks to Mason Wing Walking Academy for making this adventure possible!
I hate flying into and through LAX. But it sure looked pretty from my hotel rooftop.
Flight 126 Cafe made a great place to eat breakfast before a day of grand adventure. I wish we had a restaurant on the Tarmac at LYH. I’d eat write there every week. By the way, macaroni salad makes for a surprisingly-good breakfast side.
I find that a lot of cool memories in my life happen near and on the far side of the red line referenced on this sign. When we have to put away our phones and pay attention, relationships blossom. When we have to keep our head on a swivel, colors grow more vibrant. When we bump into serendipity, Jesus feels more sovereign.
A year ago, on the other side of this mountain, a helicopter crashed with both ordinary and famous people aboard. Mike Mason, my wing walking pilot is both an aerobatic flight instructor and a charter pilot. He had flown Kobe’s family not long before that fateful day and flew Vanessa & the girls not long after it. He knew well the voice on the tower recordings from that doomed flight. That helicopter ride was supposed to be a routine flight. On a very un-foggy day, I was getting ready for a very non-routine flight. Looking through my plane’s wings after I landed made me grateful to be alive—fully alive—and still able to make memories with those I love.
I flew to Los Angeles and drove to Santa Paula not just to wing walk again but to interview Marilyn for my upcoming podcast. She’s a kind human being, a gentle teacher, a mother of six. She is patient and almost always has a smile across her face. She exudes grace and patience. You want to do things right just to honor her. Over 1,000 pupils have completed her wing walking course. Not one of us has ever been injured or even needed to rely on the safety lanyard to stay on the plane.
This was pregame confidence. The first time I wing walked, I chickened out and held on during at least one of the big-G maneuvers—when my fellow students had not. I wanted to leave my arms wide open on this flight. Alas, I actually held on more than I did the first time. When I did open my arms up, though, I was inundated with pleasure and accomplishment, wonder and excitement.
A scenic biplane flight over remote mountains is a worthy adventure in and of itself. But this is where the flight goes from a passive experience to an active one. When you unbuckle your seat belt, rebuckle it underneath your butt, and then stand up … whew, boy! This moment of truth comes with a big inhale and then a big exhale.
I feel like a tourist during the parts of the flight where I’m buckled in, but I feel like an action movie stuntman during the transition moments. James Bond. Lee Majors. Tom Cruise. The pilots slow the plane down to 60-65mph during these transitions. That sounds slow—and it is compared to other moments in our flight—but the wind reminds you that this isn’t the run-through back on the Tarmac.
Because of the wind, the cables, and the transitions, electronic communication would be next to impossible. The only way to communicate with the pilot is hand signals. This thumbs up doesn’t just tell the pilot you’re buckled into the top. It says, “Bring on the aerobatics.”
Mike didn’t wait long after the thumbs up to put us into a dive to get enough speed to start the airshow.
I’ve been upside down in only three aircraft so far. I’m amused that in two out of those three experiences, I was outside the plane when it happened.
Money shot. I’ve experienced a lot of incredible moments in my life. From a physical perspective, there’s just nothing else like this one.
Part of me is embarrassed that I held on during the dives. The other part of me would like to point out the joy on my face. It wasn’t a full surrender to the safety equipment, but I did trust it.
Last time, I wing walked over the Straight of Juan de Fuca—where the Pacific Ocean squeezes between the Olympic Peninsula and Vancouver Island in Canada. I felt a good bit away from danger over open water. Doing this between mountains added the adventure sauce of proximity, of danger looming closer.
This picture symbolizes my personality. Part of me loves to let go, to be spontaneous, to open myself to the wind. The other part of me wants to hold onto the familiar, to resist change, to feel a sense of control. When life throws me sideways, both of these tendencies get exaggerated. This is your prompt to pray for Crystal. Haha.
After each set of aerobatics (six on the top wing, six on the bottom), you get a few minutes of tamer flight to soak up your surroundings. This picture shows my heart in this moment. I talked to Jesus for a little bit up there. I got emotional. I was buckled to the plane and tethered to it by a safety line, but I felt a freedom up there I wish everyone reading this could know.
People assume I’m brave or at least that I’m not scared when I do stunts like this. The opposite is true. I’m incredibly nervous, even scared. My hands sweat. My legs shake. My heart races. My fingers tremble. But that is why I do adrenaline-inducing activities. After the worst of it is over, I feel strong. I feel like I conquered something, that I overcame my weakness. Fear can be a legitimate tool, a warning to keep us safe. It can also be a punk you can punch in the face.
One of the first things I notice in this picture is my wedding ring. I’m so grateful that my wife blessed this trip and told me to have a good time. This adrenaline junkie is not the man she married. That dude showed up six years into our marriage. I know she doesn’t love the idea of me on the outside of the plane, but she knows my heart gets enlarged when I do stuff like this.
If you were standing on the top of a plane during a barrel roll, you’d probably post too many pictures, too. Haha.
Since last summer, one of the most important songs for my heart has been, “Champion” by Dante Bowe. I’ve wept listening to it until I could barely see to keep hiking. I’ve lifted my arms during long showers while listening to it, wanting its lyrics to be true. I’ve prefaced prayers by listening to it first. A little after 3:00 PM PST on February 12, 2021, I felt like a champion atop a red Boeing Stearman.
This part makes you feel like Houdini. You have to unbuckle the seatbelt, arch your back, and then re-buckle it behind your back. It’s an old school hook-and-lock buckle like on old helicopters.
This part takes concentration. You can step only on the tiny pieces of black tape. The wind tries to sweep your lifted foot. The flat cables are sharp enough that many wear gloves for this. And you have to lean back to get your left leg over that javelin.
This motion looks awkward—because it is.
On the bottom wing, you don’t get a safety belt. The instructor asks you to hang on during the aerobatics. Without the pressure of going hands free, I can relax into the surrender to whatever the pilot decides. I think that’s why I like the bottom wing experience so much. I just shouted, “YEAH!” over and over and over while we barrel rolled, hammer stalled, and pulled a loop.
This picture cracks me up. I hope you get a kick out of it, too. To get the momentum we need for an aerobatic maneuver, the pilot has to drop us into a stout dive. When we got on the ground, Mike said we were flying at 140-150mph during those dives. Don’t listen to Superman or Iron Man. This is the face you get when flying outside an airplane.
When the mountains are on the top of the picture, you’re doing something right with your day off.
And here’s that same moment from behind.
My hands are sweaty as I type this. I’m on an Airbus 321, flying through turbulence. One the P.A., the captain announced a while ago, “We’ve hit some bad air!” I’m a flipping paradox, because this is also me while my 78-year-old, canvas-covered plane was heading straight toward the ground.
“We’re going to turn before that mountain, right?”
I have bruises today on the front of my arms and the insides of my legs. This is not the most comfortable way to travel. But those purple marks are a small price to pay for a story that will last for years and an accomplishment nobody can take away from me.
In case you thought I was exaggerating about flying straight at the ground …
When the wheels are on the top of the picture, you might just have something to talk about at your next social gathering.
That’s the Pacific Ocean on the horizon. I found these rugged mountains to be beautiful.
What would you yell while in the upside-down part of a barrel roll?
The pandemic has turned a lot of things upside down in my life. I’d guess the same is true for you. During the past year, though, I’ve experienced beautiful moments I may have missed had my routines stayed at what had been normal. “Normal” in an airplane is right-side-up in a seat with an overhead light and access to ginger ale and a tiny bathroom. Normal is good—don’t hear me wrong. But normal is even more comfortable after we spend some time outside of our comfort zones.
It feels weird to post pictures of my butt. Unlike a Kardashian, though, I’m hoping that’s the last thing you notice in these photos.
When I look at these pictures, there’s a part of me that wishes we could just ride around upside down a bunch. Physics would make that very difficult to hold onto an old biplane. These GoPros were snapping a picture every half second in order to capture the moments of transition between right-side-up and right-side-up again.
People tell me I’m crazy. Maybe I am. Maybe it’s the maniacal laughter in precarious situations that earns me that diagnosis?
I’ve backpacked iconic mountain trails on multiple continents. I’ve been proud to stand, sweaty, in places that required a lot of physical effort. But if there’s ever a choice between exploring canyons and mountains with skinny shoes on a biplane wing or with clunky boots on a dusty trail, my backpack will stay in the garage.
Perpendicular all but requires an intersection. Perpendicular can lead to conflict or even collision. Flying perpendicular to the horizon line is no different. I had to intersect with my fears, with unfamiliar sensations, with the realities of physics. I collided with my inhibition and the walls around my comfort zone. I had to leave the status quo to breathe rare air.
You don’t have to worry about hat hair while on a biplane wing. You do have to worry about looking like you’re from New Jersey, though. Haha.
This is what contentment and peace look like on my face at 5,000 feet above sea level. For a partial explanation of how that’s possible, here’s an excerpt from the wing walking chapter in my upcoming book:
“When most of us hear the word peace, we usually picture a quiet calm, a tranquil place, a smiling exhale. If peace were an image, you’re probably picturing morning mist rising off a secluded pond, a field of wildflowers and butterflies, or a beach all to yourself at sunset. Erin didn’t misuse that word, though. Peace can also feel like a thumping relief along a ragged seam where warring has just stopped. She, my fellow students, and I had just witnessed the battle between our fears and our faith. We saw it end in real-time. That ceasefire wafted like catharsis, raining on the smoldering rubble of new territory we had captured for our legacy.“
All good things come to an end. As an Enneagram 7, that’s usually a hard reality for me. I regularly test (and prove true) the law of diminishing returns. I get real ceremonial at goodbyes, even on small goodbyes like a sunset. But I wasn’t gluttonous in this moment. I didn’t need or even want more. I got what I came for, and it was enough.
Back in my seat and seatbelt, the weight of what I had just done hit me. This wasn’t a dream. This was real. This is my life. I’m alive for this! Man. I’m so grateful for all of the sovereign intervention in my business, my relationships, and my heart that made this moment possible.
This little dude will never know the freedom of the skies, the speed of exhilaration. On the sidewalk next to the Tarmac, this snail had no idea what he was missing.
