into the wild blue yonder.

This weekend, while visiting College Station, I let my loving boyfriend convince me to go flying in a small 4 seater prop plane. Piloted by his best friend, who is a licensed pilot with 1+ years experience.

I would have been much less apprehensive had it not been for a few minor things:

1. I had only met said pilot the previous day.
2. Said pilot, while being unbelieveably nice (and jolly), is not only younger, but much funnier than me.
3. The plane was smaller than a Ford Focus.
4. The plane's fuel sensors wouldn't read accurately and prior to take off, continually said that our right wing did not have any fuel.
5. The pilot "fixed" this gage issue by shaking and kicking the wing of the plane. He claimed this was the "Russian fix". He was indeed Russian.

Ummmm....I'm about to die in a private plane crash. AND I don't have my driver's license or any other form of ID on me. They'll have to identify my charred remains by my dental records. AAAAAND oh my gosh, what pair of underwear am I wearing?!?!

Well, needless to say, I didn't die and I didn't vomit (which was an achievement because it was so hot in that little plane). It was quite an experience. My job was to watch out for birds and other planes in the air.

Really all I did was say things like "Roger, pilot. We are go for manuever oh-niner-niner. 10-4." into the headset.

That's enough to call me co-pilot, though (even from the backseat!)

Our pilot, Anton, who kept singing Cher's "Do you believe?" over the headseats and Trace, the actual non-licensed, terribly afraid of heights co-pilot.













Me in the backseat pretending to be important, but actually taking pictures and trying not to be sick.









The campus of Texas A&M from 2,000 feet.