I flew through the air with the greatest of queasiness

01:00 AM EDT on Saturday, June 24, 2006

Having not been born for motion, I swore off things like roller coasters years ago. A man has to know his limitations. So I'm not sure why I agreed to go up in an aerobatic plane.

Technically, it was to get an advance feel for the Rhode Island National Guard Air Show, which goes from 9:45 a.m. to 3 p.m. today and tomorrow at Quonset Point.

But for someone who gets queasy on merry-go-rounds, this was not a good idea.

One of the featured performers of the show is Mike Mancuso, a 36-year-old pilot who flies an aerobatic plane called an Extra 300.

I met him on the tarmac at Quonset, near a line-up of Air Force F-16C Thunderbirds.

Mancuso nodded toward them, and assured me that the rolls and loops he planned for me would approximate the feeling of being in a fighter jet.

That's just great.

I began with a key question. Given my weak stomach, did the plane come with . . .

"Yes," said one of Mancuso's team, "it has a yak-sack."

The plane had its sponsor's name on the side -- Klein Tools -- and looked very high tech. Mancuso explained that it's made of carbon composite and specifically designed for such things a flying upside down.

You know how some people's greatest fear is snakes? Or public speaking? Or quicksand?

Mine is flying upside down.

Mancuso went on to say the plane is rated to reach 10Gs. I've always wondered the precise meaning of G-forces. He explained that during tricks, the resistance would be so great that if I was against a scale, it would register 10 times my weight. But don't worry, he added; he wouldn't go over 6Gs.

What a relief.

I asked if there was a way we could not do this and say we did.

Mancuso promised it would be a beautiful flight. The sun was out and we'd fly over the Pell Bridge. Besides, the maneuvers would be so smooth that if I closed my eyes, I wouldn't even know I'd done a roll.

I touched behind my ear to make sure the motion sickness patch I'd put on that morning was in place. It was. But I didn't expect much of it. I wasn't kidding about the part where I get queasy on merry-go-rounds.

When I am nervous, I make lame jokes, so I asked if could eject if I couldn't take it anymore.

"If we need to," said Mancuso, "we can squeeze the trigger and blow off the canopy."

At that point, a Klein Tools team member named Mike Bellenir came over with what seemed like a long, flat backpack. It was a parachute.

Tell me again why I have to put this on?

"Back in the early days of aerobatics," Bellenir said, "the planes would sometimes break and you had to jump out, so they made a law saying you need a parachute."

Everyone assured me this would not happen, the Extra 300 being state of the art.

But I had to buckle on the chute anyway. Bellenir showed me the ripcord.

Once clear of the airplane, I was supposed to pull it straight out with two thumbs.

Mancuso, the pilot, asked if I could swim.

Frankly, if you gave me a choice between parachuting into the bay, or flying upside down, I'd have to study on it.

The Extra 300 has no door. I climbed onto the wing and lowered myself into the cockpit. There were only two seats, front and back. I was in the front. It was the kind of tight fit where you bang your knees trying to force your legs into the spaces.

They buckled me in with about a half dozen straps and ratcheted them so tight I couldn't move. They said this would keep me from falling into the canopy when upside down. They had already taken my wallet, keys, and even a pad and pen. You can't have any loose items in an aerobatic plane. They put earphones over my head. They pointed out the airsickness bag.

One tip: They assured me no one has ever had to bail out, and neither would I, but if I did, I should make sure not to confuse my seatbelt buckles with the ones for the parachute.

They closed the canopy and we began to taxi.

Quonset has a wide runway, so we took off side-by-side with the chase plane, a Cessna carrying my newspaper's photographer.

We got up quickly, and the planes flew in tandem. At one point, we were within a few feet of each other. I'd never flown so close to another plane, but was told that the Thunderbird fighter jets get even closer .

The Extra 300's canopy is a big, clear bubble, and it was as good a view as I've ever had from an airplane. Basically, I got a 15-minute scenic ride. We flew over the bridges and the shores of Jamestown and Newport. If there's a prettier coastline anywhere, I haven't seen it.

Then we did our first stunt. Mancuso dipped the wing about 30 degrees, while still flying straight. To him, that's nothing. But I held on for dear life. He did that a few more times. Then he dipped it a full 90 degrees. We were flying sideways. I was looking directly down the wing at the water. I could feel my weight held up by the belts. We were about at 1,500 feet. I began to feel not so good.

But I recovered quickly when we straightened. We did a few more of those.

Then Mancuso said he wanted to cool us off, so he edged up the nose, and pretty soon, we were at 4,500 feet.

He asked if I was ready.

I was feeling good now. Bring it on, captain.

He did a smooth 360 roll -- the wings twisting in a complete circle as I went from upright to upside down, to upright again. You know what's weird about it? It's like you're standing still and the ground and sky rotate around you.

I began to feel queasy.

Did I want the same and a little more? I didn't want him to think I was chicken, so I pushed my talk button and said I was ready.

He did a roll again, but instead going the full 360, he held it at 180. We were flying upside down. The ground went past me where the sky was supposed to be.

I swear it was for at least three minutes. He later told me it was three seconds. But that was enough.

I broke into a nasty sweat. I pushed the talk button again. I know Mancuso was still hoping to show me some barrel-rolls and backward nose-up loops. I didn't care. You know how you can tell when you don't have much time left? I could tell.

"I'm done," I said. "Can we go down? Like now?"

He knew I meant it, and took mercy on me. He turned and headed back. Because of wind direction, he would have to overshoot the runway and come back into it.

He later told me he faced a choice: He could get me down fast, but that would mean an almost-dive. Or he could make a lazy turn, but by then, it could be too late.

He chose a middle-ground and did a semi-tight as we descended fast. Semi-tight by his standards. By mine it felt like a hard dive. I put my forehead on my knees.

As we taxied, Mancuso pushed the canopy open to get me some air. By then, I was perspiring like someone who just ran a mile on a hot day. It wasn't from the heat.

I climbed out. I would have kissed the ground if it didn't involved movement. I somehow managed to not "get" sick, but I felt sick the rest of the day. I'll never understand how aviators do it.

If I were you, I'd try to get to Quonset to watch what this plane, and others, can do.

In one sense, it was the ride of my life.

Most people would probably love it.

I won't forget it.

I plan to never do it again.

mpatinkin@projo.com / (401) 277-7370