El Paso to Phoenix, 11:30 p.m., cruising at 12,000, we could barely hear the radio calls from all the laughter in the cockpit. It was the second leg of three, after taking delivery of our newly acquired Twin Comanche in Dallas. The winds aloft were warmer than normal.
We were positively giddy that neither the heater nor jackets were needed. That wasn’t the only thing we found funny. The infinitely black night sky. The hilarious way the Milky Way flung itself across the night, like a Jackson Pollock brush stroke. The way “Pollock” sounded almost like “polyp.”
We spent another 20 minutes unable to contain ourselves over our sudden and persistent farting attacks. When radio calls did manage to pierce our howling good time, imagining what the person connected to the disembodied voice looked like just incited more eye-watering, belly rolls of laughter. Just two guys in the cockpit acting ridiculous. Or was it? [Read more…]