#162 Chuck Yeager

**David Senra** (0:00)
I want to tell you about a one time only limited event that I don't think you're going to want to miss. I am doing a live show with Patrick O'Shaughnessy from the Invest Like the Best podcast in New York City on October 19th. Patrick has interviewed over 300 of the world's best investors and founders for his podcast. I've read over 300 biographies of history's greatest entrepreneurs for my podcast. We'll be talking about what we learned from seven years of podcasting, sharing our favorite ideas and stories, and doing a live Q&A. There will also be special event-only swag. If you live in New York City, I think it's a no-brainer. But if not, I think it's a great excuse to fly in. I've already heard from a bunch of people that bought tickets, they're flying in from other cities. Some people are flying in from other countries. That's setting the bar really high, so I will have at least four shots of espresso, or four energy drinks before or during the show, so we can make it a night that you'll never forget. If you're interested in attending this unique live event, I will leave a link down below. I highly recommend you get your tickets today, and I hope I get to see you in New York on October 19th. I reached the top of the Ark and began to level off. I could have shaken hands with Lord Jesus. 80,000 feet, a nighttime sky with flickering stars at 10 in the morning. Up there, with only a wisp of an atmosphere, steering an airplane was like driving on slick ice.
I dropped my nose slightly to pick up more speed and watched the meter register Mach 2.2, then Mach 2.3. I was accelerating at 31 miles per hour per second, approaching 1,650 miles per hour, the fastest any pilot had yet flown, and the fastest that any straight-winged airplane would ever fly.
My outside wing began to rise. I put in full aileron against it, but nothing happened. The thought smacked me. Too high, too fast, Yeager. I might have added, too late, Christ. We began going haywire. The wing kept coming up, and I was powerless to keep from rolling over. And then we started going in four different directions at once, careening all over the sky, snapping and rolling and spinning in what pilots called going divergent on all three axes.
I called it hell. I was crashing around in that cockpit, slamming violently from side to side, front to back, battered to the point where I was too stunned to think. Terrifying. The thought flashed. I lost my tail. I've had it. G-forces yanked me upwards with such force that my helmet cracked the canopy.
Without my seat straps, I probably would have blasted right through the glass.
My pressure suit suddenly inflated with a loud hiss. I was gasping, and my faceplate fogged. Blinded, being pounded to death, I wondered where in the Sierra Mountains I was about to drill a hole. We were spinning down through the sky like a frisbee. Desperate to see, I groped to the right of the instrument panel, trying to find the switch to turn up the heat in my faceplate. But then the ship snapped violently back on itself, slamming me against the control stick and somehow hooking my helmet onto it. As I struggled to get free, I had glimpses of light and dark, light and dark, through the fog visor. Sun and ground, sun, ground, spinning down. I had less than a minute left.
Through some sixth sense, I remembered that the stabilizer was set at leading edge full down, and I could find the switch in the dark. Still fogged over, I reached for it and retrimmed it. Still groping, I found the rheostat and the heat flicked on. My faceplate cleared, and I saw more than I wanted to. I was spinning into the Sierras. Without even thinking, I set the controls with the spin. The ship flipped into a normal spin at 30,000 feet. I knew how to get out of that. I had spun every airplane imaginable, including the X1, at 25,000 feet, I popped out of the spin. I radioed to Ridley. My voice was so breathless and desperate that I doubted he could understand me. Down to 25,000 feet, I don't know whether or not I can get back. I can't say much more. I've got to save myself. I didn't know what was going on. I was so dazed and battered, I wondered if I could still fly, and I worried if the airplane could still carry me.
I sobbed. I barely remember the next moments, but then my head cleared and I was at 5,000 feet, lining up with the lake bed. I was gliding in from the other side of the Mojave, doing 270 miles per hour, and I started to believe I was going to make it.