However the Brisbane-Los Angeles lines are not affected and all Guests, who bought their tickets for the 15 December 2008 and 16 January 2009 can chose from three different arrangements.

There are three options for those who own a ticket for the mentioned period. They can rebook their tickets on any other VBAG flight and also get a 200 AUD voucher. If they want, the airline gives the price of the tickets back. If they want to travel in that period and there isn’t an available VBAG flight, alternative flights will be arranged. Of course in each case without any extra money, all the expenses being supported by the VBAG.

For further information visit the http://www.vaustralia.com.au/ site.

"Porn on a plane? Not if you're flying Delta Air Lines.

The airline, which plans to launch its in-flight Wi-Fi service later this year, has changed course on the controversial issue and now says it will block inappropriate Web sites from its Internet service, according to an article published Friday by the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

Previously, Delta said its flight attendants would handle situations on a case-by-case basis if passengers were viewing pornography in-flight. But now the airline says it's taking a different approach after receiving feedback from customers and flight attendants. The company is currently working with wireless provider Aircell to come up with a filter to block the inappropriate content, the newspaper said.

The question of what to do about porn-viewing passengers has been brewing for months. In September, American Airlines flight attendants and their union asked the airline to consider blocking or filtering traffic on its in-flight service. But American's management has resisted requests for putting any restrictions in place.

American Airlines and Delta are two of several airlines testing in-flight Wi-Fi. American has been offering the service on a limited basis since August 20 on some flights between New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, and between New York and Miami. Delta plans to have its entire domestic fleet of 330 aircraft outfitted with Wi-Fi by the middle of next year."

"You respect the one who got shot, I respect the shooter."

- Jay-Z

John McCain is really bad at flying airplanes.

Best Dressed: On my way to Midway Airport I saw three Asian monks going to the post office on Friday.  They were wearing orange togas or something; like the monks you see on TV.  I was waiting for them to bust out in some crazy karate move.  That was awesome.

Best Place To Find Hotties, Men and Women: The Jewel on Archer was packed with hotties on Saturday, including me-just kidding, but seriously.  I've noticed that though.  There is always some good eye candy when I go to Jewel.  

Best Fundraising Event: On Saturday while jogging around MDW I saw a Channel 5 camera man walking down 55th and I asked what was with the cameras.  He told me there was a fundraising event at Southwest Airlines' hanger called a "plane pull."  I later saw on the news that the event was held by Ronald McDonald House Charities and there were teams of people competing to see who can pull the plane the farthest.  If I would've known that in advance I would've gone and checked it out.  Maybe next year. 

Best Barbecue: While walking around MDW the other day I came across the landscapers who work around the airport.  They were barbecueing by their office/workplace.  They yelled across the street for me to come over, but I told them no thanks because I'm on a diet.  They had a lot of food and it smelled good too.  Maybe next year I'll join 'em, if they're still working there.

Best Coach: I saw the guy who I believe is a Chicago police officer riding his bike around MDW again.  It's been a while since I've seen him and I kind of missed him(in a platonic way).  Whenever he sees me walking he is always motivating me to run and it helps me out a lot.  I feel bad about what I said earlier, calling him a dork because he stops every so often and talks to me.  He's not a dork; I'm sure he means well and he's a nice guy, but I'm still not interested in him.  It's me who's the dork, but being a girl is rough and being a pretty girl is even harder(I'm not conceited, just stating the facts) because men are always trying to get into my pants.  So every guy I meet I'm always on the defense because I know they're only after sex.  I'm not a prude, I just want the guy who's willing to work hard for it and lately I haven't found much of those.

Best Looking Guy: Some white guy who runs around the airport.  He's tall, in great shape, and has blue eyes.  He's my type-physically, except he shaves his head, which is weird because he's a young guy.  I've seen him twice and we nod and smile, but since we're both running I don't think we'll ever get a chance to talk.  Besides, I don't know if he's interested in me or if he has a girlfriend.  Oh well.       

Best Chicago Baseball Team: The White Sox, of course.  If we don't end up winning the series at least we won one playoff game.  Take that Cubbies.  God, I hate the Cubs.   

Best Places to Bump Into People You Know Around Garfield Ridge: So over the weekend I've bumped into so many people I know at the Jewel, post office, and the gas station on 50th and Central.  I saw my ex's father, my former neighbor-twice, a lady who works at the Dunkin Donuts on 50th and Central, and a couple of distant friends.  These places are the majority of where I bump into people who I haven't seen in a long time.  Also, when I'm driving around doing errands or jogging I see people I know driving around Archer and Central.  It's always that area for some reason.  I guess that's the heart of Garfield Ridge.  I just hope I don't bump into any ex-boyfriends, that would suck.  

Well, that's it.  Until next time.

Thank God I'm in an airport, I sigh. She almost looks the murdering type with that croonishly evil look of hers.

Still curious, I begin to ponder why she is staring. It's certainly rude, if nothing else. Could it be that I dress strange? I look down at my jeans and Cambodian tee-shirt with the oddly wrinkled collar - its own authentic "I-got-this-from-a-third-world-country" stamp - and my fairly plain brown shoes. No, nothing out of the ordinary. I begin to thumb through my Sudoku puzzle book, looking for an empty one that I can kill time with.

But even after I find one and begin to insert numbers in the little squares, my brain is continually reeling. What is causing her to stare like that? I look around the small sitting room for gate 25-A, searching for another seat to wait in, away from her probing eyes. No such luck. The only seats available are on either side of me...

Wait. Maybe it's not just this woman. Why isn't anyone sitting next to me? This makes me extremely fidgety and self-conscious. I am not wearing anything out of the norm. I am a caucasian, 5'4", 20-year-old female with blonde hair and average build. Nothing about me screams "LOOK AT ME" or even gives the hint that I am noteworthy or above normal. Nothing. Yet no one is sitting next to me, even though all the other seats are taken, and some of the passengers are standing, and this unnerving old lady, this...

"Attention all passengers riding on Northwest Airlines flight 245 to Portland, Oregon. We are now welcoming aboard all first-class passengers, and passengers with children or disabilities."

Maybe she's the reason why no one sat in the seats next to me? I look at the exec next to her, the one in the 5k suit with the sleek black carry-on and high-ranking briefcase. She examines her profile in the compact mirror, and finishes the touches of her cherry-red lipstick. She's not phased by the geezer. Neither is the man on the other side of her, the one talking nervously chatting with his wife on his cell phone and breathing harshly. So why am I?

"Honey, I can't wait to be home. I just don't know how this plane will even make it off the ground. It looks so rickety, and the doctor just didn't sound positive about my sickness being gone. Did you know that we have the highest probability of crashing because..." He is completely red now, with a dripping layer of sweat building on his lip and upper forehead.

The Sudoku puzzle just got harder, and I give up. Sighing, I reach into my bag and pull out my iPod. Listening to Michelle Branch will get her off my mind for a while. Thank God I'm next to the window and can see our plane that's being prepared to take off, the Houston sunset brilliantly flashing in the distance. I wonder if the dust in the air really does make the sunsets redder in Texas. It's almost as read as the Cindy Crawford-esque executive's lipstick is.

At that, my human nature perks up and I steal another glance to the seats across from me, and... God! That lady is still staring.

She needs to take her meds for the day or something, because she is clearly deranged. Why is she alone, in fact? Maybe I should call airport security. But if I do, she might lose it and kill them too. Does she realize how hideous she looks with her pruney face all scrunched up like that?

I guess I just know the truth about who I am... and I hate the piercing look she is giving me. For what it's worth, I've never murdered anyone. No, I haven't. But what I've done sometimes is comparable in my morally tortured and guilty conscience, and I can't wait until the day when it's too seared to feel anything. It's like this hag knows me, knows what I'm doing, knows my past... No. She doesn't. No one does - anymore.

"Now boarding all passengers for Northwest airlines flight 245 to Portland, Oregon."

It's about time. I cram my iPod back into my bag and and fiercely march toward the growing line, boarding pass in hand and still feeling the burn of her eyes. You know who I mean.... HER eyes. They're on the back of my head now, probably still reading my mind.

--

I'm seated on board, in a window seat as usual. I buckle up and stare at the last golden-red rays of sunlight, the breaths of a world about to plunge into darkness.

How could I do that to him?

My thoughts consume me. My guilt overwhelms me. All of the emotional pain of the last few days terrorizes every waking moment. But I have to pretend that it's ok - those were my orders, sent from the logical, objective side of my brain to the depths of my soul, where the trauma lies. My life depends on it. I need to remember that.

...I look to my right in terror.

She's sitting next to me, still staring. She leans over and whispers...

- Excerpt taken from Briefly (A short story by Sarah Lynae)

A dizzying visual representation of one day's worth of air travel over Europe. Stay tuned for the 'flip' that shows a cross-section revealing the density of the air traffic. That's a lot of planes, passengers, cargo and C0².

Related: an info-vis of 24 hours of global air traffic and an interesting visual overview on airport wayfinding signage. It's good to see one of the classics of that particular field of design endeavour mentioned there too: the masterful wayfinding signage of Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport, designed by Mijksenaar.[Link]

Way down in South Africa,  a recent airshow saw two flying Lightnings performing, and I am sure they put on an amazing show. I only know about it through the wonder of Flickr's myriad photographers, and this week saw a wonderful series of pictures come appear. Marked with sponsorship decals for Vodacom Business, these planes look simply fabulous, and my hat is off to all the sponsors who have put them in the air. A certain amount of googling suggests that the return to flight was in 2004, but I cannot pin that down for sure. No matter - Friday pictures are about aeronautic eye candy, so with no further ado, and thanks to silver~halide, here are this week's shots (shots below are thumbnails; please follow the link to the photographer to see larger images).

If you like this, I encourage you to check out this summary of all of the aviation photography I have featured her

Finally, Steve Fossett's wrecked plane was found today at about 10,000 feet of elevation in the Sierra Nevada Mountains in the vicinity of the town of Mammoth Lakes, California. Wreckage found today in California has been identified as the Bellanca 8KCAB (N240R) aircraft piloted by adventurer and famous aviator Steve Fossett.

The town of Mammoth Lakes is around 90 miles south of hotel magnate Barron Hilton's Flying M Ranch where Fossett, 63, was last seen alive as he set off in the single-engine light aircraft on September 3, 2007.

The crashed plane was located thanks to the contribution of a local ski-shop owner, Preston Morrow, out walking his dog, stumbled upon several items of the 63-year-old adventurer's personal belongings in a patch of thick undergrowth, including two ID cards, a black sweatshirt, and $1,000 in cash.

"I came across the ID Card, another card, and the 100 dollar bills in the dirt and the pine needles and stuff and I went, 'wow'," Morrow told reporters. "There wasn't a picture of Fossett, but there was a name and ID. And stuff ... It didn't pop in my head right at that time who that was."

The aircraft's discovery may finally reveal what happened when Fossett, who had set more than 100 world records in several adventure sports, failed to return to the Flying M Ranch, a remote private airfield owned by the hotel magnate Barron Hilton, after what was described as a routine pleasure flight.

Soon after Fossett's mysterious disappearance, conspiracy theories began circulating that he might have faked his own death in order to escape personal or financial problems, or to secure an insurance payout for his wife of 39 years, Peggy. Other theories were as absurd as saying he was abducted by extraterrestrials.

Meanwhile Fossett's wife Peggy, issued a statement on saying she was monitoring the situation. "I am hopeful that this search will locate the crash site and my husband's remains, and am grateful to all of those involved in this effort."

Steve Fossett was an an American businessman, aviator, sailor, adventurer, and the first person person to fly solo nonstop around the world in a balloon. He made his fortune in the financial services industry, and was best known for many world records, including five nonstop circumnavigations of the Earth: as a long-distance solo balloonist, as a sailor, and as a solo flight fixed-wing aircraft pilot.

A fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and the Explorers Club, Fossett set 116 records in five different sports, 60 of which still stand, as of June 2007.

Source: The Independent - Fossett's wrecked plane found in mountain area

Goodbye Italy. Hello 11 Hour drive back thru beautiful Brenner Pass. Gas stations are closed on saturdays. Car driving on fumes. Sister freaks, nephew screams. McDonalds in Garmisch. Taste of fatty foods and america. They must have some weird standardization in the cooking of their fries at Mcdonalds because they taste the exact same worldwide. These were pretty good I remember. Finally we arrive back at my sister's home in sleepy Seubersdorf. Face plant into pillow. Commence stillness for nine hours. 

It was definitely a shell shock being back in a real bed, in germany and without a camera always in my hand. This was the first of many shell shocks on my way back to St. Louis. The next day I ventured out to Regensburg with 3 of the camp counselors who had come from Germany. It was the championship game between Germany and Spain and I did just happen to be in Germany for that one day --- awesome. Regensburg was electric and dead all at the same time. The streets were completely empty untill you passed a bar where 150 people would be sitting outside watching the game with a projector shooting on a sheet. It was a great experience, everytime there was a goal or a good play, the crowd would erupt in cheers and start to chant like they were at the game. We hit up a few of these bars before ending at a bar with a small tv on the roof and about a hundred people staring skywards. And then... Germany lost. But you really couldn't tell. We walked to the city square where people were celebrating regardless of the loss and happy to be drunk and German. There was the occasional spanish crowd that was taunting and cheering but instead of acts of hooliganism and violence breaking out, the Germans just kind of smiled and congratulated the Spaniards. Very civil. You'd get beat up in St. Louis for sure if the Cardinals had just lost to the Cubs and a bunch of Chicagoans went parading around downtown.

After this fun spectacle, we ended up in and Irish pub where we met three irish friends who bought us endless beers all night. Pretty soon, one of them whipped out a harmonica and we were all singing irish folk songs with big, splashing beers in hand. I felt like I was having multiple cultural disorder.

Two more quiet restful days in Germany before the madness of traveling would become altogether real for me, for maybe the first time ever.

How it took me 3 days to get home ~or~ Why United Airlines Sucks More Ass Than Enemas...

The day started off peacefully. Peacefully packing. Afternoon flight. No rush. La-de-da-dee, who want's to pahdee? Quick wonderful flight to Frankfurt from Nuremburg via Lufthansa (the best airline ever). Casual stroll to the next gate about half a mile way. No worries, no stress. I had finally made it through the 2 or 3 security checkpoints and was walking the final leg to my gate when I heard over the loudspeakers "Flight 933 to Washington D.C. has been canceled, There are no more flights to the United States today". I don't know if it was my sublime, blissful feeling or the mimosa from the previous flight but something didn't click inside my head when I heard this and I thought nothing of it besides "Man, that's gotta suck for those people". The reality became clear when I walked to my gate and from the faces of the first few people I saw it seemed as if their children had been kidnapped by United Airlines. People were freaking the hell out. 

I walked in and looked around before finding a little nook up by one of the information desks and just started to listen. People would all come up with the same story, "No, you don't understand I like realllly have to get back to the states", and "I DEMAND to talk to your MANAGER and GET ME A FLIGHT OUT OF HERE NOW"! If not for the amazing patience of the people working the tables it would've been insanity bordering on hilarious. I learned from perching in my nook that there was in fact no way to leave Frankfurt and I would be here for the night. This was rather annoying as I had my own reasons for returning, mainly Black River Lodge.

We were shuttled like sheep to the hotels. I overheard someone telling their friend to wait and not get on the first bus for it was headed to the airport hotel whereas the second bus was headed for the nicer Downtown Hotel. This is really not a fair comparison but I always think of Schindler's list and those types of movies where families are being split up by trains and which one will be better than the other. Luckily, I chose right. We ended up at the 5 Star Reichenberg Hotel (I Think?) in a fairly nice room with huge ceilings. There was no plan to any of this, we learned everything from speculation and overhearing things from other travelers. I mean, there was a rather large squad of us, two Tour Busses full in the downtown hotel alone. Dinner was served shortly later and here's where I met my friends for the night.

Walking into the dinner room, you kind of eye everyone at each table and quickly, mentally decide - "Who will be the most fun/interesting/worth sitting next to while I eat" in a devious Seinfeldian manner. I chose the table with 3 young multicultural travelers that looked like they had done this before. They were Van from Laos, a grad student that has probably been to over 1/2 of the countries in the world, Jonathan, an american of Indian heritage who had been living in Turkey for the past 5 months, and some girl who I can't remember her name who was turning 21 at midnight and was annoying as hell. She was a mix of a bunch of cultures that she kept reminding us about all night along and now I can't remember what it was. We ate dinner with a funny family from Boston and then headed out to find some adventure in the evening. 

Just, except, it didn't really happen. I mean, we found a great rowing club and had a few beers while watching the sun set on the river and it was beautiful and magical and everything that meeting new people should be and then... we got lost in the residential areas for probably 90 minutes. The annoying girls hopes for getting fabulously drunk in germany on her 21st birthday began to fade as her back, and then her feet, and then everything started hurting. We rounded back up to the hotel and happily unloaded her before heading back into the Frankfurt night. Still no news had arrived from United. We came upon this awesome looking corner bar that seemed as if the door would shut at any moments, blinds noisily clattering over the windows and the 4 locals inside would stab, kick, and beat the shit out of us if we said anything negative about Germany at all. We didn't care. We were having good conversation and people-watching out of the corner of our eyes and it was fun all around. Finally we head back to the hotel around 2 a.m. Stilll, no news from United.

By now, my clothes were starting to gain a little funk. I mean, theorhetically, I should have almost been back in St. Louis by now. And here I was, in a hotel room in Germany, by myself. I stripped down to my birthday and through on the terry cloth robe and laid down - feeling fairly alone for the first time in a month. Normally I like being alone quite a bit but this was unsettling for some reason. I slept for 3 hours. Woke up, showered, through on my slightly less stank clothes and headed to breakfast. Still, no news from United.

After a 40 Euro (free) breakfast and tons of coffee, I was ready to get the hell out of dodge. Finally there was a sign in the lobby 'PASSENGERS OF FLIGHT 933 - MEET HERE AT 10 AM'. Finally. Some proof of life. An hour later, we were back on the busses headed not to the airport. Wait. WTF!? We were being shuttled to the airport hotel! No! This can't be true! The Horror! I talked to my friend Van and the lucky dog said that he had called United and booked a flight out to Chicago. That was all I needed. I checked in to the hotel, just to be safe, and booked it right back out the door to the shuttle that was headed for the airport. Van and I scurried up to the Lufthansa desk and were treated like we were the victims of genocide, in a good way. They asked us "OH, your the passengers from flight 933?? Where have you been, we've been waiting for you??" Van and I looked at each other and laughed. The desk clerk, who looked like Ali G, was awesome and booked me on a flight to London, DC, then STL racing around behind his desk like he was in an action movie. Van and I hugged and were on our own separate ways. I still to this day think that some of the 933 passengers are still stuck in Frankfurt.

Unfortunately the story doesn't end there (just like this entry which is rivaling the Talmud in length).
To be continued...

Sorry, but this is game, set, and match in the Cribs battle. I just became a Scientologist after seeing this.

Pictured above is John Travolta's Florida home.

Even counting on the improbable
to occur
is safest, sometimes;
and most things tried are true;
and most lying words do
nothing but strike at reality's flint
in futility and are doused by their own
unshakable impossibility.

Traffic will always mean dominoes of flaring taillights,
muttered curses and blaring horns
like kites of weathered strings and polymers
that carry the fumes and the din
and any doubts as to Man's lot
up into the maw of the sky,
to float alongside God's pipesmoke
and be returned to the earth
by great silver birds
that can be expected to land
but never on time.

These are things I can predict;
causes and effects with no affection
for quantum physics.
The short straw will always poke its head out above the others for us.
First breaths shall have their last breaths,
and good things their ends,
and millions of tiny absurdities shall assert their common nature
and shall certainly nibble noisily on certainties
dangling from our ears like great silver talismans
that can be expected to land at our feet
but only when least expected to.

I know that footsteps
can only lead to a corpse or a cliff
if they are followed to their good ends,
and I can tell you that if a screaming comes across the sky
it's unlikely we'll hear the sound when its great silver tip parts our skulls
like the Red Sea.
These are things I can safely predict
because I have read about them in books,
because I have watched them,
because I have induced them into forming patterns,
and made them into sensible accounts, and dependable things,
kites on strings
and great silver wings
and the years of a tree
spelled out in rings
and plain on the face of a tenth-generation squirrel
nibbling noisily on some things he stole off the abacus
I use to count off the animals I've seen on the backs of clouds,
the probabilities,
things I expect that never arrive on time,
the good endings of movies, the cliffhangers,
all our short straws,
all the patterns picked out from amongst storms of uncertainties,
and all the things I hate but know to be true.

And I count here on these fingers what I'm sure of:
the sun,
the stars,
and you.

1. Get on the radio, and tell whoever's listening that you are landing a 747.

Read rest here.

[Via]

The person sitting next to you on the airplane will be amazingly sexy and seriously attracted to you.

single scoop: I'd be happy if they offered me their dessert.

double scoop: Hey Mr. Fly! There is some very delicious plastic spaghetti over to your left too!

triple scoop: the idea for this one goes to Kelly Pettit.

quadruple scoop: If you've missed the last 2, they are still here and here.

http://humor-blogs.com/

Cool!

Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone with SprintSpeed

Mobile post sent by JcOlivera using Utterli.  Replies. ]]> http://americanfootsteps.wordpress.com/?p=318 Sun, 28 Sep 2008 04:45:13 +0000 americanfootsteps http://americanfootsteps.wordpress.com/2008/09/28/victoria-and-the-elusive-moose/ From Seattle we took the "high-speed katamaran service", the Clipper, into Canada to stay with friends in Victoria, British Colombia. Actually, they're closer to being family than friends, and we had the chance to take a break from the constant whirl of hotels-driving-traveling-flying and to enjoy some relax time. It was perfect.

This was my second visit to Canada and this time, just like the last time, I failed to see either a mountie or a moose. This was quite disappointing on my first visit, but now I have come to the conclusion that maybe neither of them actually exists -- it's all just a big joke invented with Canadian humour to keep the other people in the world guessing. Check the photos -- they're both smiling... clearly they know something we don't. Oh yes....

We spent some really great days there and while Victoria is very tranquil place, there were still loads of cool things to see and do. The city is strikingly British. It has British gardens, old-English style houses and Union Jacks abound: it actually feels more English than England in lots of respects. It has majestic parks, greenery flows around and mountains rise up in the distance; it's a beautiful place. More than just being pretty, it's also very "livable". It has lovely shops and restaurants all enclosed in the smart downtown area.

I really appreciate cities being "human"; that is, made to human proportions with buildings and infrastructure designed for people to use. Cities needn't necessarily be small to achieve this; often small ones aren't so human at all. I love places that have something of a center where you can walk around of a Sunday afternoon unassailed by roaring traffic. Or perhaps go out on Saturday night and have bars and pubs in one place, so if you want to change locale you don't need a designated driver: you can walk! And Victoria is first and foremost, human.

Then of course there are the real humans. The quickest way to upset canadians is to mistake them for their United States neighbors (though probably this is also true vice-versa). They feel that Americans are overwhelming, always in a rush, preoccupied with being a superpower. Canadians are far too chill to even want to be a superpower. They are friendly, polite, low-key, have a very particular sense of humour and are just genuinely nice people. In Victoria people even say hello in the street! How old-school is that!?

They might not want to be a superpower but they do have their military jets which gave us a cool display over the Strait of Georgia. The Canadian Snowbirds did a 45 minute show as we watched from a seaside balcony on a glorious day. This wasn't our only airplane experience; on our way back to Seattle we went on a seaplane! It was an awesome experience, taking off and landing on the water in a plane with only eight people on board, you could smell the airplane fuel, feel the tremors as the plane changed from flying low over the sea to cruising just above the trees when we went over land. I was a little apprehensive about it but it was eye-opening and a ton of fun. And we avoided the sickness you feel after the katamaran voyage, which was even better.

[caption id="attachment_331" align="alignnone" width="225" caption="The pilot of our plane as seen from my seat"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_332" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="The view from the airplane window as we approached Seattle"][/caption]

And well, I've already said it, but I'll say it again, to our hosts -- thank you so much for everything, it was fantastic.

My five-month journey has begun! Today, I safely landed in Madrid, Spain. It was the scariest flight of my life, just waiting for my lung to pop!

(30 days before I left for Europe, I suffered a spontaneous numo-thorax, a small bubble in my lung that popped and caused my lung to slowly deflate. Doctors told me not to fly for 60 days. When I assertively told them I was flying in 30, they showed me how to poke a hole in my chest with objects ranging from the plastic needle they gave me, to a ballpoint pen, to a plastic fork- All of which I should have disposable to me in the air.)

Needless to say, these were three long, scary flights.

I am staying with my group at Hotel Husa, in the center of downtown Madrid. Tonight, we just checked out the town and walked around. Tomorrow, we begin!

Comments I have received so far from various airport personnel:

Are you joining the army?

Wow, you are a warrior!  Well, but you don’t have warrior shoes.  OK, take care of you!

Sorry, I must take your tire-bouchon, it is illegal.

A front-page story in today's New York Times reports how airplanes pilots use Shea Stadium as a landmark.

Hope they'll still be able to find their way.

As for the guy I went on the date with, that was the first and last time we went on a date.  We had a lot in common, but he's not what I'm looking for in a guy.  Oh well.

Until next time...

I was discharged without having to serve an enlistment in the Air Force because I had spent four years in the Marine Corps. At Lackland I enjoyed counting cadence in the salty leatherneck fashion as we marched before daylight to the chow hall. The upperclass cadets in charge of us asked me to do that on several occasions as we took the "scenic tour" by the women's barracks.

Falling in before daylight in front of our barracks, we would be quizzed on things we were expected to memorize as part of our training. I still remember having to say a portion of General Washington's farewell address to his troops:

The general is sorry to be informed that the foolish and wicked practice of profane cursing and swearing–a vice heretofore little known in an American army--- is growing into fashion. He hopes that officers will by example and influence endeavor to check it.

Several of my brothers were interested in flying too, and we found ourselves one Saturday at the Miller Airport in Mooresville. It was located on the road to Salisbury heading east out of the town. The airport was on the Miller family farm and the strip in those days—scarcely longer than two thousand feet— lay in the cow pasture. When I visited the strip recently, I saw that the cows are excluded now and a row of houses stands along the strip. The residents are aviators and several of the houses have hangers as well as carports.

The three Miller brothers---Jim, Howard, and Harold---were pilots. Jim lived on the place and managed the business. He flew regularly to the Statesville Airport where he had other aviation interests. In addition to instructing student pilots, he did freelance flying around the country. Howard and Harold were both working pilots too. One flew for Eastern Airlines, and the other flew a company plane for Krispy Creme Doughnuts. But the two younger brothers were often on hand at the Mooresville Airport and helped Jim instruct student pilots.

Several other interesting pilots were regulars at that airport. A teenager named Mike kept his clipped wing J-3 Piper cub hangered there. I remember he flew it to the west coast one year. Another fellow named Outlaw worked at the Statesville Airport but flew his big yellow Stearman double-winger to Mooresville occasionally. I watched him fly it in a local air show at Statesville once. Outlaw moved down to the North Carolina coast and took a job crop dusting and was killed doing that work.

My brothers and I decided to buy a J-3 cub. Jim talked us into it when we told him we were wanting to get pilot training. He said, "You're going to need something to fly after you get licensed." The cub cost us twenty-one hundred dollars. I'd like to find one now for that price. Of course, that was more money then than it is now.

The Piper Cub is fun to fly and lifts off at about forty miles per hour. The story is that when that plane was introduced to the public, someone asked a company man who was telling about its features, "But will it kill you?" The company man responded, "It just will." Because of its high-lift wings it wasn't as much fun to fly on windy days, but when the air got still at dusk on summer days, you could hardly tell you were moving.

One day Harold borrowed our cub and took it up about six thousand feet. He cut off the engine and did a near stall to stop the propeller from turning. Then he glided around over the field while we watched. Jim and Howard were there with us. They watched and grinned, but I could tell Jim was a little nervous about his little brother's stunt. After circling the field a while, Harold brought the cub in on a perfect landing and rolled without the help of an engine up to the hanger.

The instruments were few but good enough. The plane had dual ignition with two magnetos. We would check each magneto in pre-flight, switching to right, left, and then back to both. There was no radio, of course. We could tell when we were getting low on fuel by looking at a stiff wire that stuck up through the lid on the gas tank. It was directly in front of the windshield. That wire ran down into the tank and was attached to a cork that floated on top of the gasoline. Besides rudder pedals and a stick in front and back seats, it had an altimeter, an air-speed indicator, a ball compass, a trim-tab crank, throttle, and a carburetor-heat control. When flying alone the pilot operated from the rear seat to give the plane better weight distribution.

Once near Statesville, I was surprised to look over my left shoulder and see a DC-3 flying almost as low as I was–-a couple thousand feet--on the same heading. About the time I looked, the pilot rolled his plane back and forth to check to see whether I knew he was there. I rolled the cub the same way to let him know I saw him.

We enjoyed flying the cub over our farm and buzzing a little store over on the Mooresville-Landis highway where a young woman liked to sunbath in the backyard. Since we had just "student tickets" we took turns flying alone. Sometimes one of the Miller boys would hail a ride with us when we were taxiing out. I guess it was a chance to check our flying and curb any bad habits we might have developed. Jim and Harold checked my flying a couple of times that way. One day Jim pretended he wanted a ride when I told him I was going to Statesville.

I took off and was lining out northwest when he reached over and put the throttle back to the idle position, and said, "Where would you put down if your engine quit here?" I started looking for a smooth cornfield ahead of us, and he asked, "Why not the airport?" It involved doing a 180-degree turn without power and coming in over the electric power lines at the high end of the field, but I managed the landing to his satisfaction. Jim was a fine fellow. He always made us laugh when he walked up to us around the airport and asked, "Why aren't you boys flying?"

We enjoyed those couple of years, but then we moved on to other things. A few years after that, I heard that Harold had died of a brain tumor. Then in the early 1970's Jim was taking off from the Mooresville airport in his twin Beechcraft. Someone had siphoned gasoline out of a wing tank and left the lid off the tank. Jim had not noticed that when doing his pre-flight check. He had just got airborne when the partial vacuum over the wing pulled fuel out, and it was ignited by the exhaust from the engine on that wing. He tried to bring the plane down in a field beyond the strip. He had made emergency landings there before, but this time the plane was enveloped in fire before he could get it down safely.