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The Eagle Might Land
Apr. 15th, 2008 09:25 amI told you about the Death Flight from Hell, right? Well, wash, rinse, repeat.
Actually, it wasn’t that bad. Yesterday’s American Eagle ATR 72 flight from San Juan to St. Thomas boarded about half an hour late because allegedly (a) they were late getting in from their previous flight, and (b) they had to go through customs.
Eventually we get to the runway and start rolling and… oh, an indicator light came on. We aborted takeoff. Again. Boy, doesn’t that sound familiar? We’ll just taxi back to a holding area and wait for half an hour while the pilots try to diagnose the problem.
No, that didn’t do it, we have to go back to the “gate”—actually a portable generator sitting alone out on the tarmac, a quarter mile from the terminal—and have a mechanic come on board to look at it.
Another half hour passes before the pilot comes on and says, in effect, “Well, we’re not sure why, but it works now. But if it comes on again, we’re going to ignore it. After all, it’s nothing safety-related… just the control of the flaps. Your safety is our top concern here at American Eagle.” Yeah.
So we taxi out to the runway, and wait. We’re number two to take off, but we’re sitting there for about fifteen minutes before the pilot turns back to the gate. The loudspeaker informs us that after all that sitting around, they happened to notice that the plane doesn’t have enough gas for the 20-minute flight to St. Thomas, and we need to go back to fill up.
More waiting! Brill! At least there was interracial lesbian schoolgirl action going on a couple rows ahead of me. Welcome to the islands!
From that point on, things actually went pretty well. We took off, and despite heavy rain, the short flight wasn’t too bumpy, and the landing was reasonably—and surprisingly—smooth. We got in late, but safe; although the sheer number of glitches makes me very happy that this was the last flight I’ll have to endure on American Eagle for a long, long time.
Wind Shorn
Mar. 19th, 2008 05:03 pmWow. I’m alive. I would have put money against that not too long ago.
It’s really funny how most flights are fine, and then some flights are just cursed.
Case in point: Tuesday’s American Eagle 5162 from San Juan to St. Thomas.
The boarding process went pretty normally. Once everyone was seated and ready to go, the flight attendant (male) came on to tell us that we’d be delayed because only one of the two pilots had reported. The missing crewman arrived after about fifteen minutes.
We finally got out onto the runway for takeoff, but we never got up to speed and wound up aborting the takeoff. Apparently an indicator light had gone off, and the pilots decided to abort and tinker with it a bit before going on.
After another 15 minutes or so, we did successfully get off, but from then on it was a 30-minute roller coaster ride, as our little ATR 72 prop plane got tossed around in the wind. The airport at St. Thomas recorded sustained 25 mph winds and 35 mph gusts, and it was much worse aloft, with the wind coming over the island’s high ridge and directly across the airport’s one runway.
Making our approach, the little commuter plane was tossed twenty feet in a random direction every few seconds. Everyone knew we were going to crash: some swore, some assumed the crash position, and others—myself included—had a death-grip on their seats. The flight attendant (male) who was seated facing us mouthed the words “OH MY GOD!” We somehow managed to get within about ten feet of touching down, but we were traveling sideways above the runway at 200 miles per hour, and the pilots gave it the gas and thankfully aborted the landing.
However, even climbing out of the area was a terrifying ride, as the plane was thrown around in the crosswinds. It didn’t seem to be getting any better when the pilot announced that we were going to swing around and try again. It was at this point that I accepted the idea that we were 90 percent likely to die.
So we turned and made another approach, and it was just as horrific as the first. Thankfully, we didn’t get within 1000 feet of the ground before the pilots waved off again. Within a couple minutes, they announced that we were headed back to San Juan. That was a relief, although I was concerned about the winds in San Juan.
That was a bit prescient, because the approach and landing in San Juan were pretty rough, although nothing like the imminent death that landing in St. Thomas had been. I had chills and was shaking from head to toe as we deplaned, and I was looking forward to a long break in the terminal while the airline waited for the weather in St. Thomas to improve.
Just ten minutes later, American Eagle had us re-board that death trap. As I stepped onto the stairway, I thought for sure that it would be the last time I would touch the Earth alive.
And then we waited. Eventually the flight attendant (male) announced that a party of four had left the flight, having missed their connection (in St. Thomas???) to Las Vegas. But that meant the airline had to unload all the luggage, retrieve the departed people’s bags, re-weigh the remaining bags, and load it all back into the aircraft. Wait, wait, wait; for about an hour. The only good thing was that it delayed my certain death, and gave the weather more time to (dear god please) improve.
We left San Juan, and the 30-minute flight to St. Thomas was noticeably smoother, although it might have been a bit rough by normal standards. Everyone’s nerves were on edge as we made our approach, and everyone prayed and assumed the crash position. It was really rough, but there seemed to be a 50 percent chance of our getting down safely.
The rear wheels touched down and one of the more religious women started clapping. Her friend shushed her immediately, knowing that getting two wheels down hardly equated with safety. We stayed on the rear gear for an uncomfortably long time while we waited for the gust that would push our wing over and flip the aircraft, but it never came. The pilot eventually slammed the front gear down and we stayed down. Then, after another long moment of waiting for them to activate the air brakes, the flaps came up and we started to slow.
It might tell you something that the first sound to be heard after we touched down was the sound of our flight attendant (male) clapping over the airplane’s intercom.
The flight, which was supposed to land at 12:12pm, got in at 3:05pm. And even on the ground, outside the airport, the wind was blowing a gale.
Sadly, I’ve got at least two more of those flights to go, and you have no idea how much I’m dreading them…
When I was a kid, I thought Jeeps were kind of cool. They were the kind of rough and tumble go anywhere vehicles that appeal to the same kind of spirit as cyclocross: someone who revels in being a little strange and getting a bit dirty.
That was about as far as that unspoken desire ever went, at least until last week, when I found myself in sole possession of a rental Jeep Wrangler for a week on the mountainous little island of St. Thomas.
Needless to say, the thing is stupid fun. It’s small and light, which makes it vastly preferable to the four-door behemoth we rented at the same time, which does nothing to earn its “Wrangler” nameplate.
There’s no way you can beat driving under the stars with the soft top down, with ska and 80s tunes playing through the stereo via your iPoo. The Wrangler took to the rough, windy, narrow, hilly roads like a drunk, top-heavy gazelle, making it a, uhh, pleasure to drive.
Between the sheer fun-ness of driving it, plus the liberating ability to drive over just about any kind of terrian, it felt very much like the first thrill of freedom I got when I first started driving back in high school. And if it gets dirty, just drive it back and forth through a small lake a few times!
Like I say, it was stupid fun. I’ll miss it when we eventually have to leave Fantasy Island.
Teleolodging
Mar. 16th, 2008 04:10 pmFrom the welcome sheet that came with my Wyndham Hotels affinity program card:
At the new Wyndham, thoughtfulness and intelligent design define everything we do, so you can be well fed, well rested and well treated. Be well.OMG… You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. This is a good example why the management aphorism that “Anyone can write copy” is false.
Friday What?
Mar. 14th, 2008 11:29 amBeen a while, huh?
- What do you see when you are looking out of the window closest to you?
- Nisky!
- Who was the last person coming into your room?
- Eshea the Coworker.
- What is the most predominant colour around you?
- Lime green.
- What is right behind you?
- An empty desk.
- What is on today's calendar sheet?
- American Airlines flight 856 from St. Thomas to Boston. Yeaaah!
Sunrise on Provincetown
Mar. 8th, 2008 08:04 amSorry. I just had to share these two images of Provincetown, Mass, at the tip of Cape Cod.
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They were taken with my little point-and-shoot at 7:30am one morning, shortly after my flight from Boston to St. Thomas took off. They are the same photograph, but one is framed by the 757’s cowling, while the other is a cropped close-up.
In both, but especially in the close-up, you can easily see Pilgrim Lake at left, but if you look closely you can also see the Pilgrim Monument, the Provincetown Wharf, and even the causeway across the bay at Wood End. Click on "Original" to see the big full size images.
I’m really pleased with how they came out. One can only imagine what my dSLR would have captured.
More photos, of course, on my Flickr page.
Snow Fortitude
Jan. 16th, 2008 10:08 pmWell, that was a flight. Probably second only to the Josh-cursed flight to Dallas back in 2006 that I wrote about here.
Let's start with getting out of bed at 4am. In a word, I'm too old for this shit. Verify that my 6:20 flight is still "on time"; the later 9am flight was cancelled last night in anticipation of a big Noreaster headed up the coast.
The good news is that the promised snow hasn't happened. The streets are wet with rain. The bad news is that it's just starting to turn over to snow, which pastes me pretty heavily as I walk two blocks to the nearest cab stand. I cover my head ineffectually with a local paper, mildly regretting my decision to leave my winter jacket at home this week.
Cab to the airport never exceeded 30 MPH. Most timid cabbie I've ever seen.
Get to airport, where my online check-in allows me to go straight to security. I'm quickly through and at the gate, where I meet my two coworkers, one of whom is cursed. It's dumping outside, and the snow is piling up, but we board the 757 on time at 6am.
I'm sitting next to an old woman who bathes in perfume. At least I'm not sick and not in the middle seat, as was the case last week.
We head out to get de-iced. If we take off, we'll be the last flight out. But they just closed the runway for plowing, which takes a half an hour. And in half an hour's time, we'll need to be de-iced a second time, so we're not going anywhere for an hour and a half.
Time passes.
Actually, the snow's coming down at a rate of two inches an hour. After the half an hour to clear the runway, there are two planes ahead of us in de-icing queue. De-icing each plane will take 20 minutes. By the time those two planes are de-iced, they'll have to shut the runway down again for another cleaning. See the cycle?
More time passes.
Three or four hours in, they decide to let people leave the plane. If you leave, you have to take all your belongings with you, and you cannot re-board. You also have to stay in the gate area, because the plane will depart on a moment's notice. There's no way I'm getting off this plane unless the flight's officially cancelled.
The guy in the seat behind one of my coworkers has a diabetic episode. Fortunately, they get him stabilized.
They get the passengers back on who had deplaned earlier. Are we getting ready to leave?
No. More time passes.
A stewardess comes on to explain that due to the chemical slush on the runway, the plane cannot take off at the planned weight. Everyone expects this to be the end: they're going to cancel the flight.
But no, what she says is like the punchline to a joke that's dragged on for too long. To reduce weight, they're going to take some of the bags off the plane and leave them in Boston! They have no idea how many bags or whose bags. Nor do they care. And, to be honest, neither do the passengers, as long as the plane takes off. Cue the sound of two hundred people laughing hysterically.
Last week, and earlier today, my coworkers teased me mercilessly for being able to fit everything I needed for a week into a medium-sized backpack that was my carry-on. Who's laughing now, huh? Huh?!?!
There's no way we're making our 1pm connection from San Juan to St. Thomas. My coworker uses his phone to book us on the 5pm.
Time passes.
About half a foot of snow has fallen, but we get de-iced again. In fact, we even taxi out to the runway. It looks a lot like Antarctica, actually. Before global warming.
I've been sitting in the same seat of this 757 for over six hours. It's past noon, but the 6:20am flight finally does it: we lift off! Maniacal applause breaks out as the wheels lose contact with the ground. Now we just have a four hour flight to endure. And the third time I've been on a flight showing "Ratatouille".
Time passes.
As we approach Puerto Rico, we realize that we'll be landing at about 5:30pm (Atlantic time zone). Our flight to St. Thomas is listed as leaving at 5:50. We have to hoof it, and if we don't make it, we'll be staying overnight in the cesspool that is San Juan. We run, and we catch the little commuter plane. Mind you, it's not as little as last week's Cessna 402, which is another story unto itself.
The half-hour flight went well enough, and we were almost giddy to finally land at St. Thomas around 7pm, five hours late and a mere 13 hours after I left home. My co-worker's bag, of course, never showed up, but he was well beyond caring by then. We were in St. Thomas and mere minutes away from food and drink, which was key, because my entire day's food intake had consisted of two vitamins, a small pack of Twizzlers, 8 oz. of water, and 24 oz. of orange juice.
Thankfully, we got our car, had hotel rooms waiting for us (unlike last week, which is again another story), and found a tolerable restaurant. And the warmth of a Virgin Islands evening erased much of the irritation caused by Boston's snow and the day-long travel misadventure.
In which Orny wins, and loses
Jan. 8th, 2008 10:24 pmIn December I spent a couple weeks in Columbus Ohio, scoping out a new project for work. But things got kind of quiet after that, so the holidays made for a nice little break.
However, you knew that would end. The consulting business usually picks right up again in January, and I was quickly staffed to another project, since the Columbus gig didn’t need my specific skill set.
So yesterday I flew to the client site. Did I mention that it’s on St. Thomas, in the US Virgin Islands? Yeah. That’s a good 500 miles further south than Miami, yanno.
The flight from San Juan to St. Thomas was particularly interesting. I’ve been on small planes before—most notably when I commuted from Boston to Scranton Pennsylvania in 2006—but this one took the cake: an eight-seat Cessna 402. It was the pilot, me, and one of my coworkers, and we sat right behind the pilot. Others who have taken that flight have been allowed to sit in the copilot’s seat! I got some real dramatic video footage of takeoff and landing, which I might share later, and we had a great view of the islands, since we never climbed above 3900 feet during the 30-minute flight. When we de-planed, it felt like we ought to have tipped the cabbie for the ride. The van we rented in St. Thomas could hold more people than the plane we arrived in! Really!
At least in theory, it’s a consultant’s dream to work the winter months on a Carribbean island. And, to be honest, what I’ve seen of the island so far is nice: beachside bar at the hotel, huge looming mountains just inland, swaying palms, and 80° F, of course. Nice change from last week in Boston, when it was just 7 degrees, or -9° F if you take the wind chill into account. Fun. I will conveniently ignore the fact that today Boston set an all-time record high of 66° F. Figures!
On the other hand, I am and have been sick as a dog. I could feel a cold coming on all last week, and it really took control Friday night. I spent the weekend shooting golf ball-sized balls of crap out of both my lungs and sinuses. I travelled anyways, since I thought I’d turned the corner on this thing, but the four-hour flight from Boston to San Juan was a major trial. The cabin temperature was kept at a steady 95° F, which meant I spent the whole day fighting nausea. And last night my throat hurt so badly that I couldn’t swallow, which limited me to about three hours’ sleep. Euhh. Zombie Ornoth. Hopefully tonight’ll be better, but indications aren’t good so far.
The other negative is that the project seems like it’ll be pretty strenuous. Euhh. But so far, so good. If I was healthy, this’d actually be pretty fun.
Photos and more stuff will be forthcoming, I’m sure, but give it time.