DK Photo: Flying to the Moon. 5:36 a.m. 71° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. More luna pictures here.
Tag: airplane
Flying AA1330 on A321S. Need Another Day.
First flight out of Dallas. 6:36 a.m. on-time departure.
Foot traffic unusually light at DFW, as are the lines at Security and at the Gate.
Ah yes, September 11. And, the morning of September 11th.
Pilot gets on the intercom, and announces that we’re flying on an Airbus A321S. 168,000 pounds, 450 mph at cruising altitude.
Plane unusually quiet. More seats empty than usual for this flight.
Pilot dims the lights in the cabin.
Cabin is silent as the plane taxis up to the runway.
It’s dark in the cabin, my seat mate snoozes. Me? Restless. Churning.
Continue reading “Flying AA1330 on A321S. Need Another Day.”
Flying AA 1011. With Chop.
1 hour out from DFW (Dallas) on flight back to NY. 37,000 feet up.
Heavy chop. Heavy.
Seat belt alert pops up.
Cabin is quiet.
Pilot comes on the intercom: “Flight attendants, please take your seats.” Never a good sign.
I close the lid on my iPad. I note that others around me put down their gadgets.
Captain is back on the intercom: “Apologize folks. Bumpy ride here. I checked with air traffic control. Heavy turbulence in both directions, at all levels. We’re over Nashville. Expect this to clear in 8 minutes. Please take your seats.”
8 minutes. Not: We expect this to end soon. Or: We hope this ends soon. Or: We think it will end soon.
8 minutes. God, I Love technology.
I look up the aisle. Left wing drops and then right side counters to stabilize. Back, forth, up, down. Replay. Over and over. How does this Bird not blow apart in pieces? Why is your head going there? How is that line of thinking helpful at all?
Pilot takes the plane up. And accelerates. Plane groans as it grinds against the headwinds. Oh I agree Captain. Too rough here. Let’s get closer to God for help.
Gratitude surges, for living, and for life. Just get me home. I promise I’ll be better. At every thing. A bloody saint. I’ll be nice to Sawsan, and Dale and Kiki. Maybe even throw out a compliment or two and pretend like I mean it.
I grab the loose end of the seat belt and pull it snug around my belly. I’m short of breath. Could I be hyperventilating here? I need to lose 10 pounds. I clutch my iPad with both hands. Can’t possibly damage this device. Hitting another passenger does come to mind, secondary concern behind damage to the iPad.
We’re 10 minutes in. He said 8 minutes!
We’re 14 minutes in. Chop continues to be heavy. But he said 8 minutes! Continue reading “Flying AA 1011. With Chop.”
Flying over I-40 N. With Roy Orbison.
I’m in the same seat, 24E Exit.
On the same plane, an Airbus A321.
On the same airline.
On the same flight.
Returning home from same city, AA1263 DFW to LGA.
To my left, across the aisle, and up one row, is same lavatory.
And here they come.
Wife, I’m guessing, is guiding him. They are 10 rows up, and shuffling down the aisle. He’s tall, 6’4″ est. Middle aged, gray hair. Collared short sleeved shirt. Khaki pants.
Thick, black framed Roy Orbison glasses.
Blind.
The two of them make their way down the aisle. I set my iPad down to watch. She’s smiling. He’s grinning. Not a care in the world these two. And, You? A billion interconnected miracles happening every second for you to be you, and for you to see this moment.
My index finger reaches for the volume button on my iPad to turn off the device. You can see the button. You can see the text on the screen. You can see your bag under the seat. You can see the zipper on the bag as you open your bag. You can see the compartment where you wish to set it in. You can see the two of them approaching. Continue reading “Flying over I-40 N. With Roy Orbison.”
Flying to Michigan. With best-laid plans.
You made a tough call. You considered the various alternatives and consequences, and it turned out badly. Accept it, and move on, right? No. You b*tch at your stupidity, you stew in it, you try to find others to blame, and then you grudgingly lurch into resignation, slide into acceptance, and then drop into peace. But not until you proceed through the steps, one by one by one.
It’s a White Plains, NY to Detroit to Northern Michigan flight plan. A major storm sits on top of Detroit. Our pilot circles around the perimeter hoping it clears. It doesn’t. We divert to Cleveland to re-fuel.
We all sit on the plane as it re-fuels, the pilot looking to get back up and to Detroit.
The scheduled layover in Detroit was short. I fumble through my Delta app to learn that I will miss my connection.
I then proceed to make a critical (and flawed) decision. I ask to get off the plane to see if I can catch a Cleveland to Minneapolis to Northern Michigan flight and arrive late, but on the same day. (I learn that this is a major deal for security reasons as my luggage is in the cargo hold and cannot be retrieved – and, separating passenger from luggage is a no-no.)
They let me off. (After taking a photo of my ID, my boarding pass and my luggage receipt.) They make the same offer to the rest of the passengers. Noted, no one else follows me. The attendant explains: “Sir, now you know that you will not have your luggage and it will be shipped on the original flight path arriving tomorrow.” I shrug, smile: “No problem.”
It’s 2:30 pm. The flight to Minneapolis is scheduled at 6pm, then connecting to Michigan at 8:30 pm.
The storm moves on from Detroit, and guess what? It slides on over and camps right on the top of Cleveland. And it sits, and sits, and sits. Torrential downpours, lightening strikes, and rumors of funnel clouds.
It’s 8:00 pm. With delay after delay after delay.
It’s 9:00 pm and we take-off.
I find a Delta Service Center in Minneapolis to assist in re-booking my flight the next day. The airport is emptying out. I find a McDonald’s (Open 24 Hours!) and wolf down three Cheeseburgers, the highlight of my day. Is there anything more satisfying than a McDonald’s cheeseburger on a empty stomach? My fingers tremble as I unwrap the yellow wax paper.
I find a cab. He’s annoyed. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting in this cab line for a long ride?” Continue reading “Flying to Michigan. With best-laid plans.”