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Paris, Meridien Hotel, Saturday 1995-11-18 10:00 local (Z+1)
A bright, sunny Saturday morning here, but cold. The temperature is only a little above freezing.
I have, since the 23rd of last month, operated 121 block hours. I'm now illegal for any further international revenue flying. However, they can use me for ferry flights, flights with no passengers or cargo, and in a few hours I'll operate an airplane coming off the Air India contract, returning it empty to JFK. I'm hoping to continue straight on home. They won't be able to use me for any domestic flying because I've flown more than 30 hours in the last 7 days. Actually I've flown more than 30 hours in the last 5 days. So, I should be able to come home. The fly in the ointment is that I'm due for a simulator check. It's been scheduled and cancelled 4 times so far—they just kept me flying.
It was my leg yesterday from Cairo to here. Things were going well until the landing. It was a clunker in a heavy crosswind. Not only that, but as I was coming out of reverse, I got a compressor stall on the # 3 engine—helluva noise, big flash (nighttime). At first I thought some tires had blown, but then when my mind registered the flash, I knew it was a compressor stall. The weird thing was that it was on an upwind engine. Compressor stalls, when they happen in a crosswind, are usually on a downwind engine where the airflow is more disrupted due to the fuselage blocking the crosswind.
The captain was not happy. He felt I had stayed in reverse too long. I had played the reverse to the last possible moment trying to save the brakes (which I did, they were nice and cool for the quick turnaround). However, when we found out that same engine had had another compressor stall a few days ago, he and I were a little bit less unhappy. Amazing how one's mood can go from good to terrible based on a single incident. In this business, to a considerable degree, you're only as good as you're last landing. Damn!!
What happens in a compressor stall is that the airflow through the front of the engine stalls, stops essentially. Nature abhors a vacuum, and there's a momentary reverse flow in the engine. Flames shoot out the front, unburnt fuel explodes as soon as there's available oxygen, etc. This one was quick, so quick there were no indications whatsoever on the engine gauges. Prolonged compressor stalls show up as a rise in EGT (exhaust gas temperature). If you get that, you have to write it up, and there's a lengthy inspection of the engine required.
Our wakeup call just came a few minutes ago. Time to shower and shave...Terry
As Henry Fonda once said in a movie, “Damn, double damn, triple damn.” I was about to unplug the phone to send this when it rang. We've got a four and a half hour delay. That pretty much eliminates my chances of continuing on home when I get to JFK even if they've not rescheduled me for the sim. If this was a weekday, I could get on an all nighter on UPS, Fedex, or Airborne Express. However, they don't run on a Saturday night. So, Sunday morning is the soonest I can get out of JFK, assuming no sim check.
The movie was “Spencer's Mountain” released in 1963. The actual quote was, “Damn, damn, double damn, triple damn, hell!”
I meant to relate a number of things that I found interesting on this whole trip, but the press of time prevented that and they've pretty much faded from my memory. Some of the things that stick follow. They're taken at random.
Croatia—it's actually the REPUBLICA HRVATSKA according to them, at least that's the sign as you enter the terminal at Split. Split and the adjoining environs were very popular as a vacation destination. Immediately offshore are a number of islands in the Adriatic Sea (I checked, or at least asked, and was told it was indeed the Adriatic). Tourism has, of course, dropped to zero now. The hotel we were in had a huge dining room. They had roped it all off except for a small corner, and that was more than enough for the few people there.
The town is also a major cement producer. Three large cement plants get their raw material from limestone cliffs in back of the town that run for miles. The city busses there are articulating (I think that's the word), they bend in the middle, accordion style—helps them negotiate the corners on narrow streets.
The last morning there I was laying in bed for a few moments after the wakeup call, and I noticed I was hearing a very faint rumbling. I got up and went out on the balcony. The rumbling was still very faint but clearly discernable. The only logical explanation I could think of was artillery in the far distance. Bosnia is only 30 miles away.
While we were on the ramp at Split a Russian YAK-40 landed. It's a small tri-jet, looks like a miniature 727 except for its huge wheels. The Russians like big wheels. The YAK pilots came on board and asked if they could visit the cockpit, which they did. One of them spoke enough English that we could communicate, and we had an interesting conversation for a few minutes. They were very friendly.
Most of the time the scenery from above 30,000 feet is forgettable. However, there were a couple of nice sights. I got a clear, clean view of the island of Sicily of the boot of Italy and also the Greek island of Crete south of the Greek mainland. Crete, by the way, is responsible for the expression for uncultured people that they are a “cretin”. Consult your dictionary for a better definition.
Also, saw some beautiful sunsets over Saudi Arabia, and it's always interesting to look down and see where C.J. and I lived in Saudi. At night the Ras Tanura refinery, the company town of Najmah, and the Arab town of Rahima are easily discernable because of the light patterns. Aramco's landing strip at Ras Tanura is even on our maps. I used to drive by that strip when I was there eating my heart out I was missing flying so badly.
Bombay is a mess. The Indians are over populating themselves straight to disaster in my opinion. Our last landing there was with a visibility of 2000 meters (a little over a mile). The only reason for the reduced visibility was pollution. When we got off the airplane, the stench was incredible. I heard some of the flight attendants mentioning that their bags retain the smell for a few days after leaving.
I'm writing this while looking out the window. I just realized that one of the buildings I've been staring at is the Cathedral of Notre Dame. To have taken this long to realize what I was looking at obviously indicates that I am a cretin. <g>
Mark, if I have to stay in New York tonight, I may show up at your place to retrieve that black, long sleeve sweater I left there—depends on how bushed I am and whether they've scheduled me for the sim. If they've done that, I'll have to spend all available time studying. We don't carry the necessary manuals for that with us, far too heavy and bulky. They're at home. So, the only thing to do is to stay at Tower and use the manuals in the pilot's room there.
Terry
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