Whether the Thunder Bird rode head down or tail down he neither knew nor cared.

Nor did Johnny.

As he yelled he looped and he dived, he did tail spins and every other spin that occurred to him.
For the time being he was "riding straight up and fanning her ears," and his aerial bronk was pulling off stunts he would never have attempted in cold blood.
He thought it a shame to have to stop, but North Island was there beneath him, a flock of planes were keeping out of his way and forgetting their own acrobatics while they watched him, and Johnny, with an eye on his gas gauge and his mind recurring to his parting words with Captain Riley, straightened out reluctantly and got his bearings.

There was room enough for one more nose dive, and he took it exuberantly, trying to see how many turns he could make before he must quit or smash into a building or something.
There was the field, just ahead of him.

He flattened, banked, and came down circumspectly enough, considering how his head was whirling when he finally came to a stand.