The Mister is the Aerospace Engineer. He understands all the logistics of flight – lift coefficient, ground speed, flight ceiling.
All I know is I’m inside a 27,000 ton hunk of plexiglass and metal that is hurling down an asphalt runway, and is supposed to lift off the ground, into the sky, and stay in the sky cruising at 500 mile per hour.
And! I’m supposed to take it on faith – since trying to explain the science would be useless – that this racing, hurling, soaring hunk of metal will stay in the air because the
wizards guys behind the curtain say so.
I’m not afraid to fly. There is no white-knuckle, hyperventilating, Dramamine-induced drugged state of panic. It’s more a suspension of doubt.
My mantra becomes, “we’re flying through the air with the greatest of ease.”
I’m still looking for the wires.