We're flying out for the Georgia-Arizona State football game in September. I asked a couple I know that goes to a lot of games if they were planning to go, as well.

"No," the wife said. Turns out she's afraid of flying. Terrified of flying might be a better description. She believes that if God had intended for human beings to fly, he never would have created the unlimited-mileage rental car.

So they'll watch the game on TV.

The husband, as it turns out, has tried everything he can think of to get his wife on an airplane. He searched the Internet and found out that nearly one million flights took off or landed last year at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport without a single crash.

He cited studies that she's statistically safer in an airplane that she is in an automobile. He tried to tell her there are places in this world you can't easily get to if you don't fly.

None of it worked.

It didn't help that we were selecting some no-frills airlines for our trip to cut down on the cost. We're flying out on Air Tran and we're returning on Frontier Airlines.

Perhaps the name "Frontier" didn't sound modern enough for her. Perhaps she envisioned a cloth roof over the passengers like a covered wagon.

We tried to make light of it, joking about the spittoons on board and the card games in the back.

"You'll love the can-can girl outfits the flight attendants wear," we said. "Perhaps you can even order a saspirilly."

In some ways, I can understand her apprehension. I'm not afraid to fly. If I had my choice, though, I'd probably rather drive to most places. But driving to Tempe isn't an option because it would take about 30 hours behind the wheel and, at today's gas prices; I would need to drive a Brinks truck.

I suppose my biggest concern about flying is that I don't understand it. I don't know enough about physics and aerodynamics to understand how something that is little more than a Greyhound bus with wings can take off and stay aloft. I don't understand how anything that big can come down and land softly.

I, too, have seen all the studies that say I'm safer flying in an airplane than I am driving a car. And I have no reason to doubt them.

But if the engine conks out on my trusty Honda, I can coast safely into the handy emergency lane that the Department of Transportation constructed for just such an occurrence.

But there are no emergency lanes at 30,000 feet, and there's really no place to coast safely when you're flying over Brasstown Bald.

Then there's the matter of the seat belts. I'm required by law to use a seat belt when operating my car. This seat belt not only wraps around my lap, but also around my shoulder to keep me secured in the event I hit another car.

In the airplane, though, I have to wear a lap belt that is supposed to protect me if we fall 30,000 feet out of the sky and crash into the ground. Yeah, right.

At least I can use my seat cushion as a flotation device. But exactly what body of water will we crash into between Atlanta and Tempe?

Plus, flying has become a huge hassle. The airlines want you at the airport hours before your flight leaves so you'll have plenty of time to check your bags and get through the security checkpoints.

After standing in line at the security checkpoints, you have to practically strip before they'll let you through. I've had to remove my sports coat, my belt and my shoes, as well as emptying in pockets, just to get through security. It would be easier to just show up in your pajamas and get dressed once you reach your destination

And prepare to be handcuffed and hauled off to the pokey if you attempt to sneak a bottle of shampoo or a can of deodorant onto a flight.

Despite all of this, I'm not worried about flying, and I'm already looking forward to my trip. I just wish I could convince my friend that she'd survive the flight and have a good time with us in Tempe.

"Nothing doing," she says. "If flying is so safe, why is it that the first word you see when you get to the airport is ‘terminal'?"

Mitch Clarke is executive editor of The Times. His column appears Sundays in The Times. Read previous columns at gainesvilletimes.com. Originally published April 20, 2008.