over France, Thursday, 1999-07-29 21:30Z
We took off from Luxembourg at almost twenty to the hour, which was the curfew limit. I'm sitting in the upper deck, deadheading on this leg to Sal Island, but it's not the Plan E of the last message, and I'm mildly disappointed in how it has all turned out.
First of all, Plan F, which didn't happen but gave me an emotional time. They decided yesterday to replace me on the flight since under what they had planned and with the additional delay, I would be flying into August 1. So, I was supposed to commercial on Luxair this morning to Paris and then catch Tower's Paris to JFK flight, and then, of course, jumpseat home.
That meant that my last flight had already taken place, that Tuzla was my last landing, Tuzla to Paris my last leg in the left seat of a 747. Yesterday evening I walked over to the Terminal, picked up my Luxair ticket, and stood around at the outside observation area watching the planes. Tuzla as a last landing would be okay. It wasn't a greaser, but it was a good landing, quite good actually considering the conditions.
My plan, thinking there would be a number of landings over the last few days, was to stop if and when I got a greaser, which I can usually count on doing 10 to 20 percent of the time. At the next greaser I planned to stop; after that it would be the f.o.'s legs. Sitting in Lux ruined that plan.
Walking back to the hotel I must admit I got a little teary eyed, even decided to walk past the hotel for a bit for time to compose myself before going through the lobby. It is hard to give up something I have loved so much even when I know it's best, and good, and time to do so. I got farther as a pilot than I ever thought I would, and I saw more of the world than I dreamed I could, so I have no complaints.
And I really wanted to get home to C.J.
They woke me up in the middle of the night with Plan G: don't start home, deadhead on the airplane to Sal Island, operate to Curitiba, layover and then commercial to Sao Paulo and then JFK. So that's what it is to be unless we have unforeseen problems.
Okay, so did I want Tuzla to be the last landing or Curitiba. Should it be passengers, albeit troops, into a European destination or freight to a mid-sized Brazilian city. I liked the sound of troops to Tuzla better than boxes to Curitiba. However, that is not to be. The runway at Curitiba is only 7200 long, very short for a 747, and Tower has a rule that Captains must make the landing when the runway is less than 8000 feet. I really don't care about the rule, but I sounded out the f.o., and he's obviously reluctant to do it, so I will end my 747 landings the way I began them, as a freight dog. <g>
Oh, well.
There is, however, another aspect of Plan G that is truly disappointing. It allows me no layover in Sal Island, and I was looking forward to investigating at least one of the beaches in the sun. I voiced this disappointment to the captain who will be getting off there. The conversation went something like this.
“Terry, it's your kind of place,” he said.
“Nude beaches?” I replied, aware that my beach preferences are well known among the pilot group.
“There aren't any beaches that aren't nude. It's a European playground and nobody wears clothes.”
Later he informed me that there are no doors on the hotel rooms, just curtains—often open—and nudity is no big deal. So, I am truly disappointed. However, C.J., what do you think of vacationing there? <g>
Oh, well, but this is going to make freezing in Curitiba very hard to take. Of course, there is the possibility that the airplane will break down at Sal Island. As captain, I can guarantee that we will not be carrying any maintenance items. <g>
In the Tower tradition, our departure out of Lux was not without confusion. No one bothered to tell our local operations people that two crews were involved. Consequently no wakeup was set or transportation arrangements made for the deadheading crew—my crew. Had I not started calling around when I had heard nothing with only an hour and one half to go before departure, there would have been a problem. I called New York and advised them that the ground handlers were perhaps not aware of the second crew. They gave me the cell phone number for the handler they thought was working the flight. I called the number and he answered, but he was in Skopje, Macedonia. He gave me the procedure for getting to the airplane—I hadn't done one of these flights before—and the necessary phone numbers, and we got to the airplane thirty minutes before scheduled departure. A fueling delay slid our departure another hour, right up against the curfew.
When I boarded the airplane, the mechanic on the flight asked me if I wanted the money. A Cargolux rep had come aboard with $10,000 in cash for the captain operating from Sal Island to Curitiba. As I was not yet there, they had given it to him, and he had signed for it. I told him to keep it, that since he was coming back to Lux he could also deliver the receipt for using it. The money is for government fees at Sal Island. It has to be cash and in U.S. dollars. It doesn't take much insight to realize that it's really just a bribe to local officials, but that's how things are done in Africa.
Gee, if I worked for another month, would they guarantee me some Sal Island layovers. Nah, my only hope is to break the airplane when we get there.
Well, my laptop's battery is about used up. The others here on the upper deck are either sleeping or trying to sleep, three of them in the other three first class seats and one in his sleeping bag on the floor. It's dark except for a little moonlight/starlight coming in from outside, the glow of the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign, and my computer screen. I'm glad it's dark because I'm getting a little teary eyed again.
Everybody take care. I'll add a bit to this when we get to Curitiba and send it at the next opportunity.
Back again and still in the air enroute to Sal Island. We're 74 minutes out.
I decided to use the aircraft's electrical system to recharge the battery. There are outlets for things like vacuum cleaners, etc. when the aircraft is being cleaned. They're 115 volts, but 400 cycles rather than the 60 cyles in our homes. I've always been reluctant to plug into them given Tower's maintenance record, always a little wary of what the voltage and cycles really are. However, I won't really need this laptop when I'm not traveling, so the risk is acceptable, and the recharge seems to have worked fine.
This whole evening, actually coming up on morning now, is unreal. I spent the last hour and one half in the cockpit sitting in the flight engineer's seat while he was up stretching, trying to stay awake, or on the side of the folded up jumpseat immediately behind the captain. Both seats afford a good view of the flight engineer's panel, with which the pilots don't normally need to concern themselves. However, the captain has to know how to run it in case he has a weak flight engineer or in the unlikely event the flight engineer is incapacitated. When an FAA inspector gives a prospective captain the oral exam for a 747 type rating, most of the inspector's questions concern that panel, so I've spent a lot of study time on it. At home I have a layout of it on poster board. I can tell you what every light means, what each switch will do, what's important and what's not. The unreality is that when I shut down the engines at Curitiba, knowing that panel will no longer be useful.
Hey, I'm home now, and apparently the aircraft electrical system did zap my laptop battery. It took just those few preceding sentenes to exhaust it and now it doesn't want to charge. In a day or so there will be one LAST ABSOLUTELY FINAL ENDING flying journal message. The very last was interesting—at least to a pilot type like me.
Terry