When I did this - it was in an ultralight aircraft called a 'flex wing ultralight' or 'weight shift aircraft' - a fancy way to refer to a motorized hang glider. When I hit the rhubarb I was doing somewhere around 20~25 knots. This guy was probably well north of 100! And what a pro - after the dust settles and he counts his limbs to make sure they're all still with him - he's on the blower telling his buddies he's down and fine. I hung upside down in my mangled bird, gasoline pissing all over me, counted my limbs and then scrambled clear of the wreckage. It was a point of pride for me that I hadn't pished or shat myself in fright! HAR HAR HAR!
In Hollywood the wreck always explodes into flame but mine didn't. It just sat there in the middle of a canola field - a raised middle finger to me from the aviation gods. I was unworthy, and my aviation dreams died that day... probably for the better I suppose. But that's the difference between a real aviator (this guy) and a fake (Yours truly): he'll get back in the next plane and hit the throttles again. My aviation career ended in less than 20 hours air time whereas this guy has wracked up thousands - and will probably accrue a couple thousand more before he retires.
The aviation gods are fickle and will turn on even those that love them most. Flapz had an uncle in BC that had been flying for over 50 years. He was a registered AME (glorified aircraft mechanic), a high time pilot - and crashed in the forest one day. They had to put his leg and face back together, he spent over a year in the hospital and on disability... and when he got out... up he went again. He flew another couple years without incident until he failed a medical and was retired for good.
Today I fly RC crapcopters and aircraft where I can crash with impunity and flip the finger back at the aviation gods. Passions and dreams are great, but some of 'em can get you killed.
Have a great Humpday.