The Fear of Flying
The last thing I would ever want to do is slight the crew of the airplane that made the "miracle landing on the Hudson" a few weeks ago. I've found, though, that if you don't acknowledge the courageous efforts of the pilot to pull off that incredible landing (could we call it a watering instead?) people see you as cynical, at best, and downright despicable at the very least. Believe me when I say that "Sully" did pull off an amazing feat by putting that aircraft down as safely as he did and that everyone aboard survived. However I was much more impressed by the fact that he made sure that everyone got off the plane once they were down. I mean seriously, he was on the plane, too, you know. Don't you think he would have tried to pull off the same "miracle landing" if he had been alone on the plane. I mean c'mon, he wouldn't have just stuck it up in the dirt somewhere now would he?
Truthfully, while I rarely fly these days, I have many stories of flying that would make most people fear it. I can thank a particular pilot for most of them...Capt. Dave. Capt. Dave was the pilot that flew us around in our corporate plane a number of years ago. In my opinion he was not just a hot dog, he was the actual weenie itself. Capt. Dave was all about flying. He saw his passengers as nothing more than the obstacle that stood in the way of conducting aerial maneuvers that would have made Chuck Yeager puke. He often accused me of being afraid to fly. Nothing was further from the truth. I'll admit, however, I was afraid of dying.
On my first flight with Capt. Dave we flew northward in a rented aircraft that had several primer gray paint patches in a random pattern all over the fuselage. Initially I mistook it for body work when within the first few minutes of our flight I realized it was more likely camouflage. When we took off, the passenger sitting in the right seat failed to properly close the door. Once we were airborne the air flow began to pull the top of the door ajar. Capt. Dave and the passenger decided it would be a good idea to simply open the door and slam, just as you would your car door. I happened to be sitting on the right side of the aircraft in the back row of seats, perfectly positioned to experience the exhilaration of being hit in the face with 120 MPH air as we rocketed skyward. As a note of reference, airplane doors don't slam shut in this situation. They bang incessantly open and closed as some poor fool grasps the handle for dear life. I tried to lean forward and help hold the door but after cinching my seat belt as tight as my anal sphincter was as that moment, I could do little other than enjoy the fresh air.
Capt. Dave radioed the tower and told them he had to make a landing to fix a problem, so they sent us to a small runway just outside of the city. He refused to declare an emergency because he said he didn't want to do all the paperwork. This, of course, made me feel warm and fuzzy. We made a touch and go landing, securing the door during the three seconds the plane was on the ground. We lifted back off and flew onward to St. Louis where we landed again. I was a little confused because our destination was in Illinois, but I was reassured when I found out that we had landed so Capt. Dave could "buy a chart" since he didn't have one with our destination on it. See, that makes perfect sense because who would actually think to have one BEFORE they took off? We made our trip and arrived home "safely" late that night. Little did I know that Capt. Dave would soon become our full time pilot.
Another time we rented a Seneca, a small twin engine plane, to fly, once again to Illinois. This plane had a few parts missing, such as an altimeter that Capt. Dave pointed out by placing his hand through the hole where it should have been. Granted we had at least one of all the important guages, it was just the co-pilots side that was missing. This plane had door problems as well. The doors were all closed and latched properly, they just leaked around the edges. We stuffed newspapers in the cracks but every few miles it would get sucked out and have to be replaced. No major problems, though.
After we got our own plane, a nice twin engine job with a freshly upholstered interior, we flew a number of missions, er, I mean trips, all around the country. One morning we were headed to Atlanta and the right engine didn't want to start. Capt. Dave ran the batteries down, then had an APU hooked up to the plane so we could get it cranked. After nineteen minutes (trust me, I timed it) it finally cranked, Capt. Dave gave a signal to the line boy and we were on our way. I pondered the possibility that the engine might have an actual problem, but you know, we had two, so I kept my mouth shut.
Once, we were heading to Augusta from Memphis but severe thunderstorms kept us grounded for a couple of hours past our planned seven p.m. departure time. Once the storms had cleared the area we took off. I'm not exactly sure what Capt. Dave was thinking, but, you know, weather travels from the west to the east. Memphis is west and Augusta is east. We caught up the storm and managed to stay in its midst the full trip. We would drop a thousand feet in about two seconds, then regain altitude and repeat the process. We had our meal catered for the trip and just before things got bad we had taken the platter of sandwiches and appetizers and placed it on the table in front of my seat. When we hit turbulence and the plane plummeted like a rock, everything floated upward. One of the guys told me to hold the platter down obviously not giving consideration to the physics of the situation. As I held the platter, the food flew up toward the ceiling. Coats and newspapers were floating about while we were momentarily weightless, all flopping down over us when we hit "bottom" and began to climb upward once more. At one point I put my headset on and plugged into the audio jack that connected with Capt. Dave. I listened for a few minutes as he was denied one airport after another for an alternate landing site in the event of an emergency. I listened intently as Capt. Dave used expletive on top of expletive to vent his frustration with the situation. I removed my headset and one of the guys asked what was going on. I just told him "not much" and left it with that.
I can remember one time sitting up front with Capt. Dave when we were headed to Wisconsin. The St. Louis tower came on and gave a new heading for a plane with a similar call sign as ours. Capt. Dave quickly mumbled a response and changed our heading to match the one just given the other plane. I realized the mistake, but I wasn't going to say anything fearing the wrath of our resident Charles Lindberg, but I did keep my eye open for anything coming our direction. One thing you didn't do was correct Capt. Dave! Once in the air, he was omnipotent, a god and nothing less. A few minutes later the tower came over the radio with a perplexed "Kingair 78...where are you going?" Capt. Dave gave them his heading and the tower straightened out the error. I savored the moment.
Truthfully, while I rarely fly these days, I have many stories of flying that would make most people fear it. I can thank a particular pilot for most of them...Capt. Dave. Capt. Dave was the pilot that flew us around in our corporate plane a number of years ago. In my opinion he was not just a hot dog, he was the actual weenie itself. Capt. Dave was all about flying. He saw his passengers as nothing more than the obstacle that stood in the way of conducting aerial maneuvers that would have made Chuck Yeager puke. He often accused me of being afraid to fly. Nothing was further from the truth. I'll admit, however, I was afraid of dying.
On my first flight with Capt. Dave we flew northward in a rented aircraft that had several primer gray paint patches in a random pattern all over the fuselage. Initially I mistook it for body work when within the first few minutes of our flight I realized it was more likely camouflage. When we took off, the passenger sitting in the right seat failed to properly close the door. Once we were airborne the air flow began to pull the top of the door ajar. Capt. Dave and the passenger decided it would be a good idea to simply open the door and slam, just as you would your car door. I happened to be sitting on the right side of the aircraft in the back row of seats, perfectly positioned to experience the exhilaration of being hit in the face with 120 MPH air as we rocketed skyward. As a note of reference, airplane doors don't slam shut in this situation. They bang incessantly open and closed as some poor fool grasps the handle for dear life. I tried to lean forward and help hold the door but after cinching my seat belt as tight as my anal sphincter was as that moment, I could do little other than enjoy the fresh air.
Capt. Dave radioed the tower and told them he had to make a landing to fix a problem, so they sent us to a small runway just outside of the city. He refused to declare an emergency because he said he didn't want to do all the paperwork. This, of course, made me feel warm and fuzzy. We made a touch and go landing, securing the door during the three seconds the plane was on the ground. We lifted back off and flew onward to St. Louis where we landed again. I was a little confused because our destination was in Illinois, but I was reassured when I found out that we had landed so Capt. Dave could "buy a chart" since he didn't have one with our destination on it. See, that makes perfect sense because who would actually think to have one BEFORE they took off? We made our trip and arrived home "safely" late that night. Little did I know that Capt. Dave would soon become our full time pilot.
Another time we rented a Seneca, a small twin engine plane, to fly, once again to Illinois. This plane had a few parts missing, such as an altimeter that Capt. Dave pointed out by placing his hand through the hole where it should have been. Granted we had at least one of all the important guages, it was just the co-pilots side that was missing. This plane had door problems as well. The doors were all closed and latched properly, they just leaked around the edges. We stuffed newspapers in the cracks but every few miles it would get sucked out and have to be replaced. No major problems, though.
After we got our own plane, a nice twin engine job with a freshly upholstered interior, we flew a number of missions, er, I mean trips, all around the country. One morning we were headed to Atlanta and the right engine didn't want to start. Capt. Dave ran the batteries down, then had an APU hooked up to the plane so we could get it cranked. After nineteen minutes (trust me, I timed it) it finally cranked, Capt. Dave gave a signal to the line boy and we were on our way. I pondered the possibility that the engine might have an actual problem, but you know, we had two, so I kept my mouth shut.
Once, we were heading to Augusta from Memphis but severe thunderstorms kept us grounded for a couple of hours past our planned seven p.m. departure time. Once the storms had cleared the area we took off. I'm not exactly sure what Capt. Dave was thinking, but, you know, weather travels from the west to the east. Memphis is west and Augusta is east. We caught up the storm and managed to stay in its midst the full trip. We would drop a thousand feet in about two seconds, then regain altitude and repeat the process. We had our meal catered for the trip and just before things got bad we had taken the platter of sandwiches and appetizers and placed it on the table in front of my seat. When we hit turbulence and the plane plummeted like a rock, everything floated upward. One of the guys told me to hold the platter down obviously not giving consideration to the physics of the situation. As I held the platter, the food flew up toward the ceiling. Coats and newspapers were floating about while we were momentarily weightless, all flopping down over us when we hit "bottom" and began to climb upward once more. At one point I put my headset on and plugged into the audio jack that connected with Capt. Dave. I listened for a few minutes as he was denied one airport after another for an alternate landing site in the event of an emergency. I listened intently as Capt. Dave used expletive on top of expletive to vent his frustration with the situation. I removed my headset and one of the guys asked what was going on. I just told him "not much" and left it with that.
I can remember one time sitting up front with Capt. Dave when we were headed to Wisconsin. The St. Louis tower came on and gave a new heading for a plane with a similar call sign as ours. Capt. Dave quickly mumbled a response and changed our heading to match the one just given the other plane. I realized the mistake, but I wasn't going to say anything fearing the wrath of our resident Charles Lindberg, but I did keep my eye open for anything coming our direction. One thing you didn't do was correct Capt. Dave! Once in the air, he was omnipotent, a god and nothing less. A few minutes later the tower came over the radio with a perplexed "Kingair 78...where are you going?" Capt. Dave gave them his heading and the tower straightened out the error. I savored the moment.
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