We finally had our first tornado warning of the year here on the outskirts of Peoria last week. The area is fringe at best for the rotating bastards, and they never approach the insanity that they do in Kansas. I chased the system for a while, only catching wispy glances of anemic funnel clouds.

So I made a movie anyway. It’s nothing great, and some would say downright sucky, but here it is no less.

Also notable was the fact that it happened mere minutes after our aborted aerobatic flight. That might have been slightly terrifying if we had actually left the ground.

I’m a classic over-thinker. A worrier.

So there I am, being strapped into a harness in the back of a single-engine Beechcraft with the back doors off. A reporter of ours gets fitted with parachute and squeezed into his aerobatic plane. This has been a long time coming, much like any airborne experience. Instead of being at the mercy of commercial gridlock, we were suddenly spending a whole day trying to film this piece after rain and the Thunderbirds (yes, the F-16 planes) delayed it. All for some loops and rolls. The postponement was giving us too much time to think.

So we’re finally strapped in, with our pilots looking anxiously at the black clouds closing in on us and their red and orange-covered radar screens, and that’s when I pretty much just gave up. We’re going to do this, there’s no turning back now. The propellers whirled to life, and I look over to see Gary in his “I’m ready to die” position.

I don’t want to spoil the fun, so you’ll need to watch this week’s episode of River City Roundup for all the details. We’ll just say that things went awry. You know what they say: “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley.” Or something.