Having sex in a cramped and unsanitary bathroom on a crowded commercial airline, is to some, a right of passage. Calling it the mile high club may be overselling what it really is. What if I said the real club is to jump into a plastic airplane with no engine and be dragged to that mile high destination by a crop duster. Does that sound more enticing? No, I do not have a death wish.
We hit 6000 feet indicated, 780 foot sea level minus 6000 feet you get the mile. I pull the little yellow rubber nob, the plane breaks left we break right and the fun begins. We circle, climb in absolute silence. There is no turbulence, no bumps, nothing just flight in it's purest form. A red tail hawk finds a cloud and circles above us.
I try my hand at piloting and after about 10 minutes I am happy to leave the work to the pilot as I gawk at the clouds and the ground below.
At 49 minutes a thump indicates the flight is over with a perfect landing.
The other mile high may not earn you a trip to the doctors for whatever itches later and no frequent flyer miles will follow. But you won't really care, it's that good.
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