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.
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
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.
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.
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