15 Miles Above

Position: Seven miles above Utah... Westbound

The first of three alarms sounded at 0045 hrs. (circadian time) on the east coast. As I rolled out of the sack, I was thinking this cannot be real; I must be dreaming. Wrong! It is very real and a 10 hour day awaits. Whatever you do, Captain, don't look in the mirror. Yikes! I go on auto-pilot and punch the button for auto shower/shave/pack bags/report to crew van.

Forty-five minutes later, I am drawing a cup of coffee from the hotel provided pot in the lobby. I am glad to see that every crew member looks as haggard as I feel. The crew van driver is missing in action, i.e., he did not show up for work. The hotel manager calls two taxis for us which arrive within ten minutes. I load the flight attendants in the first taxi, and then the co-pilot and I get in the second taxi. As soon as we pull away from the hotel, I can smell alcohol. Uh-oh! I looked at the co-pilot. He is mouthing, "It's not me!" Well, it is certainly not I, so that leaves the driver. Great! There was very little traffic and he was not weaving or speeding... Oh, please, just ten miles is all I ask.

At the airport and unloading our bags, I saw two cases of beer in the trunk. This guy is probably an alcoholic who drinks on the job. Double Yikes! Ten minutes later, we enter a cold and dark A319. The flight attendants are sitting in First Class in the dark waiting for electricity. The co-pilot decides to start his outside pre-flight; I run the power up checklist. When I get to the CHECK BATTERY VOLTAGE 25.5 VOLTS OR GREATER, there is a problem. The ground power had not been plugged in overnight because it was inop at this gate, so the batteries were slightly discharged, i.e., 24 volts on both batteries. My sleep deprived brain thinks, "Ah, it'll be OK. Go ahead and start the auxiliary power unit. That's probably enough voltage." My flashlight beam is on the APU start button. Should I go for it? I giggle and think what an idiot. This is a $40,000,000 dollar flying kerosene tank. Do you really want to take a chance? The flashlight beam goes into my flight bag and out comes the A319/320 Pilot Handbook.

On page 174; Establishing electrical power, para. 2-b: CAUTION- DO NOT ATTEMPT AN APU START WITH BATTERY CHARGE LESS THAN 25.5 VOLTS. Whew! I am really glad I did not push that little button. Outside, I tell the co-pilot about the batteries, and then walk to the maintenance shack. Inside, four middle-aged mechanics are drinking coffee and doing the crossword puzzles. I tell them my sad battery story and ask for a power cart to start the APU. They respond with, "Captain, what did you do to those batteries?" OK, here we go... It's the early morning pilot vs. mechanic dance. I love it...

A few minutes later, we had a power cart plugged into the belly of the A319. Relief! She sucked clean power into her electrical arteries. Fi-Fi is happy! That is a very good thing. I pushed the APU start button, cracked my heavy side window and listened for the tell-tale whine of the little turbine. Yep, there it is... I love that sound. The eastern sky is turning pink.

Four hours later, we are crossing Utah with a quartering headwind of 50 m.p.h. at 36,000 feet. Outside, the sun is at a low angle behind our tail. My eyes are two slits staring at the inertial ref mileage counting down. The co-pilot looks like a bobble head doll in the back of a 57 Chevy. I put my oxygen mask on for a quick wake-up fix. The cool and pressure fed aviator's oxygen bumps my brain and eyes back from the edge of silliness. Much better! A silver glint at 12 o'clock high catches my eye. What the heck is that? Is this my first ever UFO sighting? It looks like a sphere. I reach over and punch the co-pilot back to reality. He sees my O2 mask on and puts his on as a reflex action. I laugh, and then point up and outside. He says something unintelligible inside his mask. I am feeling much better with the O2 fix and can now see detail; it's a high altitude research balloon. Major cool! I grab my flight bag camera and take a quick point and shoot photo as we slip underneath the helium filled mylar bag. Unbelievably, the photo is not bad, considering. The ATC controller told us that it had been up there since yesterday in about the same place. That puzzled me for a few minutes... Until I remembered that there is no wind at 120,000 feet.

It is hanging in the cold blue sky 15 miles above us. That is something to think about!

Life on the line continues...

Smoke

Position: Northwest of Big Bear

Altitude: 33,000 feet

We departed KSFO on schedule with 136 folks and are flying the southerly route to KMIA. The fire at Big Bear is quite impressive from our viewpoint. A thick smoke plume extends northward hundreds of miles. We are 6 1/2 miles above the surface, yet the plume looks close. That is an indicator of the sheer volume of smoke. Wow!

Soon, though, it is behind us and receding at 9 miles per minute. Ahead of us lies two thousand miles of beautiful skies, followed by a few hundred miles of thunderstorm infested skies between Pensacola and Miami.

We are only two weeks away from the best flying weather of the season... October thru the middle of November. It is six weeks of easy living for the pilots and the flight attendants. Schools are in session until the Thanksgiving break and the weather is taking a breather between thunderstorm season and the winter snows.

Where did the summer go?

0655 hrs.

It is 0655 on the ramp at KDCA (Reagan National, Washington, DC). Six air carriers are pushing metal for the 0700 take-off, i.e., the end of night time noise and security restrictions. We have number one started and are spinning number two... Checklists to follow during the taxi.

We arrived yesterday evening, on schedule, with a full aircraft and are leaving this morning with a full aircraft. Our overnight was very short and against three time zones. When the clock on the night stand says it is 11:00 P.M., your circadian clock thinks it is 8:00 P.M. and time to do anything but sleep.

This morning, in the dark, my crew and I waited, along with seven other crews for the airport crew bus. The flight attendants were chit chatting amongst themselves, but the pilots were not saying a word. Small talk between fellow aviators seems to be strained nowadays... Unless, of course, they are requesting a jump seat. This unfortunate state of affairs is a result of the continuing downward spiral of the career path.

As I was contemplating such things in the darkness, somebody said, "Hey Captain, how's it going this fine morning?" I turned around to see a Brigadier General (one star) with a toothy grin on his face. It was contagious; my morning gloom evaporated instantly. We talked a little bit about flying... Two minutes later we shook hands, and then boarded separate airport buses. Over the years, I have met a lot of interesting folks waiting on the crew vans. Amazing...

0703 hrs.

We are next for take-off; both engines are warm (oil above 50 C.) and sucking fuel from wing tanks only. The co-pilot finishes the last few items on the checklist as we are cleared for take-off. The sun is piercing a hole in the cloud layer forcing me to position my sun visor on the left side of my face. My mental fuel calculator is up to speed considering distance, winds, and volume before we are airborne. It is an involuntary reaction and is a compartmentalized part of my psyche.

It is going to be a long day on the line. The headwinds are waiting for us...

Perpendicular

Position: Eastern New Mexico
Groundspeed: 602 mph (524 kts)
Altitude: 37,000 feet
Destination: Chicago's O'Hare

For the month of September, I threw all the weight of my seniority toward acquiring specific days off duty to attend important family events. Good-bye Anchorage, San Diego, San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, Vancouver and Redondo Beach. Hello Chicago, Newark, New York, Atlanta, Philadelphia, and Boston; in other words, back to reality.

The sun is setting behind my left shoulder, which is an indication I am not on my coveted course lines. It is amazing to me that almost everything in life can be explained in mathematical terms. For example, the compass headings that I fly are a direct result of the outcome of a monthly bid for schedules. The bid is totally controlled by numbers, i.e., seniority and numerical values applied to the wishes of each pilot. After Mother's H.A.L. 9000 kicks out the monthly awards, in turn, I enter the result into Fi-Fi's nav computers and the result is a course line perpendicular to my norm; a right angle.

Such are the things I think about eastbound at 10 miles per minute...