Wednesday, August 22, 2018

My New Favorite Joke

In 1703 the worse storm to ever hit England destroyed most of the country. It was called the Great Storm and pretty much destroyed all of London, Bristol, Cambridge, etc. The Bishop of Bath and Wells, Bishop Richard Kidder, who was a very religious man, claims to have predicted the storm based off of God's hatred and wrath against sin.

It wasn't THAT bad of a storm though, it was only as strong as a category 2 hurricane, but it was extremely destructive and deadly because England's infrastructure was built around calm winds and light weather. Most of the buildings were built out of wood and straw with thin roofs, and were easily blown away by the wind and floods. The only structures built out of stone were typically chimneys, and they were poorly mortared so they toppled easily in the storm and crashed into the houses below, killing anyone taking trying to take shelter. 

Approximately 2,000 chimneys toppled, killing thousands of bystanders. Ironically, Bishop Richard Kidder was killed by a falling chimney. This was such a concern, that The Queen feared for her life and was rushed away to the basement of the Royal Palace, far away from any chimneys. 

Despite several chimneys falling in the palace, the queen made it to the basement and ultimately survived, probably because a queen can move in all directions while a bishop can only move diagonally.

Divert Adventure that wasn't my fault

Good evening. I had what was supposed to be a relatively uneventful night flight on Tuesday that turned into an extremely eventful divert-adventure that lasted into Thursday morning.

The plan was to takeoff around 8pm, let Calvin beat up the pattern a bit while the sun set, then head off to AR197L (the classic Mexican-border-straddling horseshoe track) for a double AR to hit two 17s. Then I could hop in the seat and tear it up at KAMA (the last city in Texas that I still haven't been to) and get back on the ground at Altus around 0130. Storms were in the MEF and TAF but it should've only been an issue while we were on the track and at Amarillo. But that proved not to be the case, evidence being a SATCOM call while I was doing my A/P off AR. I quickly punched the SAT1 button on my interphone panel to discreetly listen in. I only listened for a few moments (because I was fucking busy at the moment) but I heard a lot of technical terms like "bigass storm" and "damaging winds" which to me was an initial indication of us having an interesting night. I got a little excited, I mean I was in the left seat and I've written in substantial detail about how much I love the chaos of flying in sporadic weather.

Anyway, we finished up the second AR and ended up present position holding to see if the storms would pass—and they didn't, in fact they intensified. The IB (instructor boom) really didn't want to divert because it was her daughters first day of school the next morning, so the IP and I said if there was a hole we'd at least attempt to get into Altus. Altus weather was telling us a hole was developing if we accepted a tailwind but we'd have to hurry, so we booked it out of holding to give it a try. It didn't go well. We almost got struck by lightning, indicated by all of our glass instruments glitching and glittering. Then a long series of lightning lit up the clouds in front of us and it was just a wall of shit and the IP and I simultaneously said "NOPE!" and peeled off.

At that point we were down to 27k of fuel left and we started looking at divert options. McConnell appeared to be the best option, so the next step is seeing how much fuel it would take to get there... which was also 27k so we thought "hmmm... we should probably get going in that direction." So we did and touched down in beautiful Wichita. And that's how I added Kansas to my list of states!

I was in the left seat (for the very first time in a heavy), so even though the IP landed it I got to do the speedbrakes and rollout braking and then taxi us in. I was expecting the first time taxiing a heavy to be under very controlled and favorable circumstances. As opposed to, ya know, IMC at night with wet surfaces on an unfamiliar field.

Then we spent the night in Kansas, with no change of clothes or any of those luxuries. So I'm becoming more seasoned at being miserable in between flights, just like my college summer days flying to Asia with Karen. Then when we went back to the flightline twelve hours later we discovered the brakes were cracked (I SWEAR TO GOD IT WASN'T MY FAULT, even though I did the landing and taxi braking. Seriously.) So we had to wait another 8 hours which was spent bowling, playing crud, going to the movies, etc. all in dirty flight suits. Then we flew home.

On a side note, I was extremely excited to taxi a heavy for my first time. The reason, other than the amazing feeling of those gentle bumps and sways from the wings flexing that I've always wanted to be at the helm of, goes back to my early days as a pilot. I was in one of my first lessons with Jody in little Piper 2866W. I had never used my feet to steer before and my coarse motor skills weren't yet developed. So taxiing out I was a little squirrelly, you know a few zig zags and a little sensitivity issues with the differential brakes, but hey it's not like I was in a Formula 1 race. I apologized for being a fuckup, especially since I wanted to one day be taxiing giants, and Jody responded by talking out of his ass, "hey those big planes are EASY to taxi. They have hydraulic steering and tillers and everything. It's these little planes that are the most difficult to taxi."

That caught me by surprise, considering...

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

N6627X/H

Good afternoon. Evening? Nope, 13 minutes left. So good afternoon. Well it finally happened yesterday. I strapped into the right seat of a 185,000 pound aircraft and got to use the "heavy" suffix when I called up Altus Ground. That's something I've wanted to do since I learned that was a thing, which was a while ago. In fact, I forgot about it since I was accustomed to the un-realism of the sim where we left it off the callsign for some reason. So I punched ground into com2, "Oiler 15, spot 65, ready to taxi with alpha." They came back with "Oiler 15 heavy taxi hold short runway 17R via charlie bravo kilo-1." And it hit me with a rush of joy and responded proudly, "17R charlie bravo kilo-1 Oiler 15 HEAVY." It seems they don't really use "heavy" that much locally since everyone knows at Altus that you're in a big plane, but goddamnit I earned it! So I'm gonna use it!

I remember sitting in the warrior, getting through my long ground ops checklist of ten items before taxiing. Then I'd call up ground to get cleared out of the non-movement area and onto the fast and busy taxiways of Bowman Field but was stuck with using not only a tail number as my callsign (gross, never again), but also leaving off the "heavy" addendum. But the dream was alive for that one day I'd be using a badass military callsign (e.g. Devil 31) and, if it all fell into place, it would eventually end with "heavy".

Callsigns are an interesting convention, not even including the Air Force tradition of naming. I've always felt a status associated with the callsigns used over the aviation network. Air Force One and maybe to a lesser extent Thunderbird One (through Seven) have the most powerful callsign in the US airspace; you'll probably never hear them as a civilian though since they'd almost certainly be talking on Uniform, but it's still satisfying to hear ATC (who transmits on all of the frequencies they're listening to) give them a clearance or acknowledgement. I overheard Air Force One over Chattanooga while flying with my dad home from Charleston and got excited, I mean it's like spotting a celebrity in a coffee shop—except it's the president, and he's flying in the same airspace as you. Military callsigns are typically significantly cooler than pretty much all others, for instance: "Dark 5 check - two! - three! - four!" versus "Southwest 1454" or the unfortunate "Cessna 7562 Sierra". And that goes without saying since the military typically is cooler than most other traffic.

However disregarding the badassery of the Air Force for a moment, there's also the "heavy" connotation, which in my opinion supersedes a lot in the coolness of callsigns. Whether you're "Emirates 1 Heavy" or "Delta 1 Heavy" or cargo-something-heavy or something-Russian-heavy, you just can't say "heavy" on the radio unless you're in a flying neighborhood—something so big it will literally destroy all of the 62-Sierras behind it, simply by how much air it fucks with in it's path. I don't know why I'm so drawn to big planes, but it's nothing new and probably just how I'm wired. You know what? Pause analysis. I'm gonna read something I wrote on the tarmac of LAX in a 757 waiting to push circa 2010.

Disregard. I thought there was something in there about being jealous of a United 747 (RIP) taxing out while I'm in a measly domestic 75. I was right, there is a sentence alluding to that, but I mean it's literally one sentence at the end of four pages discussing how great I am. Anyway, resume analysis.

Yet still, even as a high schooler playing on flight simulator the flights in a sub-100,000lbs-er just didn't have the satisfaction on being in a large plane that's a pain in the ass to taxi and who everyone has to wait on after taking off or landing. And even hearing the ridiculously-obviously-computer-generated ATC call me "heavy" made me happy. But now it's not the sim and it's not ridiculously-obviously-computer-generated ATC calling me "heavy", and thus I can let the satisfaction of both hearing and saying it carry me through the next handful of years. I can get impulsively accustomed to it and then over Christmas when I fly with my dad, I can finally make my favorite mistake of calling Bowman ground as "Duchess 6627X-ray heavy" and all laughs will be had and life will be good.

So, here's to life as "whoever-the-fuck heavy", and perhaps one day "27X-ray heavy" for a radio call or two. Until then...

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

"Contact ya boy at 121.1 CYA"

Good evening. I don't have a super-well-thought out post for you tonight. Tonight we get to test our skills of spontaneity, just like to good old days. So... I guess we'll just get started.

I had the day off today—well, almost. My sim check is coming up so I have to get a few exams done before I'm opted. Today I knocked out my first closed book test, the dreaded (not really) EP test. I missed one. "Do not operate the __________ and the landing gear at the same time." I was going too fast and answered "aft A/R pumps". Fucking idiot. It's the forward A/R pumps because they're both on the left hydraulic system. I also had to take a boldface test. It cracked me up, because A) it was just boldface, didn't even have to worry about the ops limits because, I guess, well that would be far too stressful; and B) at the top of the handout it said "spelling mistakes will be accepted as long as the procedure/order are correct etc."

That is a stark contrast to pilot training. I remember sitting in a windowless room sometime before T-6's trying to fill out a boldface in ten minutes using a manila folder as a clipboard. I got one wrong because a "10" looked like a "70" or something. Later on in T-1's I remember somebody getting a boldface wrong on like week 14 so he had to turn in 14 correct boldfaces the next day. Sometimes I wonder if all that was necessary, but then I also remember when my parents came for graduation and my dad tried to fly a closed pattern in the T-1 sim and was so hopelessly behind due to not having gone through pilot training. Poor guy.

Anyway I guess the gauntlet is behind me now (can't say the same for fighter pilots) because KC-135 training is really not that difficult.

It feels weird being a "professional". Like my dad is a professional actuary, but it's not like there are amateur actuaries out there taking it up as a hobby. There's just a ton of shit I know now. Way earlier on in my documenting I mention being hot fucking shit because I taught myself how to start the engines in the 767 in flight sim. I think it's the same post where I mention getting delayed on a turn because I killed external power before powering up the APU or something to that effect. So of course I lost all power and was sitting there like "what the fuck!" Come on high-school-Decker that's rookie shit! If you unplug a lamp while it's turned on the lights gonna go out; that's why you fucking check it. But at the time I was all "ahh yeah the bleed valves on the carpet converter are set to dilate, that's probably what happened." I think you just unplugged it, I think that's probably what happened.

Anyway, here I am. Actually knowing what I'm doing when I hop on FSX for a quick flight. You know what I wanna do? I wanna be friends with a controller in like the next town over, so that whenever I'm flying home and go through their airspace I can be all like "Oh hey Barbara! How are the kids? Still living in Orlando?" That probably sounds very strange. But... you know what? Storytime.

I remember on my first T-1 checkride Josh Harold and I flew to Mafghanistan (Midland, KMAF, cute right?) It was windy as shit with the typical blowing dust and handful of Southwest flights, but it wasn't anything crazy, we did fine. Anyway I was in the seat second so handled the departure out of MAF and arrival into DLF with a stop in the MOA. We got our departure clearance in the pattern from tower, probably runway heading to 4,000 like it is everywhere in the entire fucking country when there's no SID. So we're climbing out, passing 2,000 or so and get switched to Midland Departure. Cool, the check IP checks in with his personal call sign and we get an immediate "Rake 21 Midland Departure good morning, turn left heading 147.5, maintain at or below 3,211 feet until 2.67 kilometers, passing 4,012 feet cleared direct 31 degrees 36.18 minutes north, 101, 26 minutes west."

Without ANY hesitation the IP quickly read it back, I mean, impressively, "left 147.5, at or below 3,211 until 2.67 kilometers, passing 4,012 cleared direct 31-36-18 north 101-26 west Rake 21." I started my slight left turn and looked at him uncomfortably, "I'm gonna need you to read that back to me Sir."

He laughed and told me to just fly straight ahead. "Mike I'm flying a checkride." Midland Departure responded, "oh sorry, climb and maintain seven thousand cleared direct TAELR, how's Abby?"

"Seven thousand direct TAELR Rake 21, she's good, we're going to the biergarten downtown tonight."

"Nice man, well come back and see us soon, contact Ft Worth Center 132.075"

"Yeah good talking to ya, Ft Worth 32-07 CYA!"

I want a bro like that in the next airspace over from mine! I could see some people thinking that whole conversation is unprofessional and clogging the radio but come on it's Midland fucking Departure. I'm sure they don't have time for loose friendships and shit shooting in the TRACON at Heathrow but I mean maybe if I'm flying to Ft Myers a lot I wouldn't mind having a buddy to catch up with between approaches. That's all I'm asking. This sounds vaguely familiar, like I've written about this before. Maybe it's the "Welcome to Dade" post.

Speaking of which... I was looking at the high and low charts near TPA for the factual integrity of this post and noticed something. Well, first of all KTPA is a Class B which I didn't know but that's not the good part. The good part is that MacDill is actually in Miami Center's airspace! I thought it was in Jacksonville's but the cutoff between the two goes right over KTPA and everything south belongs to Miami. Hence meaning, anytime I fly east or south I'll be checking in to Miami Center! That's great news. Fuck Jacksonville Center.

Be right back I need to salt my steak.

Alright preparation for steak searing checklist complete. Anyway, I hope living and flying in and out of Florida is everything I dreamt it would be when I was younger. I imagine it will be a relaxing gig to say the least. I mean you can't land at home without flying over the Tampa Bay, one way or the other. And then it'll be a chill ride home down I-75 in the 370 back to Apollo Beach. I love that my house is in a suburb with the name beach in it.

Lol. On the Tampa/Orlando Terminal Area Chart there's a big caution box next to MacDill's airspace that says "CAUTION: Heavy fast military jet traffic over Tampa Bay".

Yup. That'll be me.

Friday, July 13, 2018

The Tale of the Fancier Logbook

Good afternoon.

Today I sit in a different chair, at a different desk, to the same computer, in a different state. With a fancier logbook, and a higher security clearance, I report to the same document that I started seven years ago. Recently I've looked back at everything I wrote in high school, and there is one overt fact that stares me down the more I read: I have changed.

I've always found it humorous when people exclaim that people never change. Write something down, anything from a single thought to a year-long stream of your consciousness. Read it five or ten years later. You will not agree with every word. People change. It's unavoidable. People fall, people stagger back up. People ride highs, and a year later find themselves doing everything in their power to avoid lows. We may fight to hold on when our atmosphere changes around us, but then we become a plant that has failed to evolve and gets swarmed and defeated by the weeds that thrive between cracks in the concrete.

I married my wife in June of 2015. Four years prior to that, in high school, I wrote in her yearbook: "I have something very important to tell you on February 9th, 2018." High-school-Decker spoke in riddles. A lot of people at the time wrote it off as jackassery—something fun and intriguing to write in a girlfriends yearbook, assuming she'd be nothing but a distant memory in seven years. That was a fair assumption, knowing my lust for antics at the time. I did have something to tell her, however, regardless if we stayed together or broke up that summer, but that's between her and I.

I never forgot what I was going to tell her, but the significance of the date February 9th, 2018 slipped my mind for years until Doug reminded me one evening over bourbon. He claimed I confided in him to hold onto and remind me of this theory I'd come up with, as I was sure to forget the details. Apparently in high school I'd taken a long hard look at my personality, my tastes, passions, beliefs; and how they've changed. The theory was that there are peaks in life, coupled with periods of rapid change, experienced roughly seven years apart. The specifics of how I landed at this conclusion are long gone, but the conclusion itself remains intact: the first peak is at age 18 followed by rapid change in college. The second peak would be seven years later, at 25, when you're not just beyond college, but actively starting to travel your professional path. February 9th, 2018 was exactly two months before my 25th birthday.

To add further significance to February 9th, 2018 I attempted to predict my drop night as an Air Force pilot, as that would be the single most significant event in my professional life. I missed it by 3 weeks, which was impressive in my opinion. It still worked out, as the date ended up being the wing award ceremony at Laughlin, when Karen won her Key Spouse award. That coincidence seemed... uncanny.

I think I knew who I was seven years prior to that date. I think the first hundred-or-so posts in this document make that clear. For example one belief I long held onto in high school was that one day I would fly big planes and have a house in Florida. One day I'd pack a button-down, throw on a flightsuit, and jump in a jet with my friends to go to nightclubs on the other side of the country. One day I'd get paid to fly a plane and come home to a hot wife. Life was structured around "one day". A long time ago I was built on ambitions and daydreams to one day experience; I spent seven years anticipating the fantasy while enduring the wait with optimism.

And then, in total silence, the wait ended. February 9th, 2018 came and went months ago. I accepted my wings and took a picture in front of a Beechjet like I always knew I would. And then I actually forgot my birthday when I woke up and became 25 years old. I may have had insight about life's peaks and changes over seven years, but I made a damning assumption in the process. There are no fireworks when you reach the peaks. There are no road signs warning you of the changes coming and the speed bumps aren't painted yellow. You simply wake up in the morning, and you are 25 years old. And unless you made a note to remind yourself, Facebook will be the one to tell you about it.

Today is July 13th, 2018. I'm a rated and winged Air Force pilot, I get paid to fly big planes, and by the end of the year I'll be probably be flying myself from my beautiful house in Florida across the ocean to Turkey. If you piped through time to myself seven years ago, sitting in that squeaky wooden chair I hated in Hobbs' classroom, he would be taken away by that fancier logbook. He would tell you that I have made it and my life is bliss and I will never feel sad or frustrated or disappointed again in my life.

And he would be wrong. But I wouldn't hastily correct him.