Yeah, I know that bloody drill all too well. It's not the going up that causes me problems. Nothing like skimming across the stratosphere in a flower-powered minutes-are-hours mind-the-satellite towers euphoria without an iota of fear in your body. It's when the fuel gauge suddenly drops to zero and the plunge begins so fast you don't even feel it until you're a human debris field scattered across the dark side of the moon that the yang to the yin rings across the bits of your skull and you relearn what you've learned so many times before: what goes up, way, way up, Chuck Yeager in the X-15 up, comes down hard. Still, you're right. I never care about that when I'm star-tripping. Think I would've learned by now. But tomorrow is another day, and the next hour is a million years in the future to a rapid cycler riding comets. Ta. Cheshire Cat