Brian's Long Journey to Jimmy John's.

First there was Amerigo Vespucci, then Lewis & Clark, and finally 20th century contemporaries such as Amelia Earhart, Tenzing Norgay, and Neil Armstrong. But as far as I know, none of them have embarked on the adventure I undertook this afternoon. We touched down in Redmond, Oregon before noon and would not depart until the following morning. The winds were gusting up to 30mph, so the 40 degree temps seemed a bit colder. Nevertheless, I needed to get lunch. First off, the only thing close to the hotel is an Applebee's, which always seems to be the beginning of a story that ends in, "...and then I had to get pulled from the trip for uncontrollable diarrhea."

As I got settled, I debated what to do. Here I was, with probably 10 hours to kill and nothing nearby to eat. The next closest places with food were a KFC, a Carl's Jr., and a McDonald's. I plugged them into Google Maps which said they were about 1.5 miles away. It was doable, even with the wind gusts. I've been in worse . . . and I'm looking at you Idaho Falls. As I set out on my journey, I had the spirit of the explorers in me, or perhaps more likely the guilt of eating more fast food. For just that morning, I had eaten a breakfast that consisted of a "Jumbo Poppyseed Muffin" and a "Big Cinnamon Roll" from the DinoMart next to the hotel. It's difficult to find quick food with any health benefits. Suddenly McDonalds became too much. If I doubled my distance, I could get to a Jimmy John's. At least on paper, it seemed a lot healthier, so I sallied forth with the wind at my sails and a great hunger in my gut.

Now you may be thinking to yourself, "Gosh that Brian is exaggerating his adventures these days. First he couldn't hack it in North Dakota and now we're hearing about a trip to Jimmy John's like it's a trek to the South Pole." Ah, but you haven't heard of the obstacles I faced! You see, Redmond is a town that has only begun to discover these newfangled things called sidewalks. Most of the journey, I had to walk on loose gravel and dirt. The distracted Oregonian drivers tended to drift onto the shoulder as they checked their cellphones for their latest Tindr matches or attempted to improve their score in Farmville. I gave them the stink eye as they dared not make eye contact with the person they nearly ran over. Then, to make matters worse I kept hearing sirens whizz around me. They fanned out in different directions as an Armored car trudged through fields next to me. Basically they were surrounding the area I was walking through, yet paid me no mind. Eventually a Sheriff with an M-4 slung over his shoulder inquired where I was off to. I pointed forward.

The officer nodded. He knew I was on an important mission. A few blocks later, I had arrived at my destination. There it stood -- majestically between a drive-thru Starbucks and a Mattress store. I walked in with an air of confidence. "#5 and a small drink, please." I ate my Vito sandwich with much celebration before getting up five minutes later and retracing my steps back to the Comfort Suites. When I finally got back, it was just about time to debate what the hell I was going to do for dinner.

...to be continued



SLC's A-Squad

Last week, thanks to a faulty FMS and ACARS (fancy words for our computer calculations for navigation and performance), I had to face the daunting task of doing math in the morning (a pilot's worst nightmare). This experience was stressful, so I have some perspective on the stresses doled out by Salt Lake City's controllers today. For starters, there was a light to moderate rain/snow mix going on upon our arrival in Salt Lake, so I shot an LDA approach (an approach not centered with the runway).

I had not done one of these since I was a flight instructor doing training flights to John Wayne in Orange County, but this was not the challenging part. Nay, the issue was in the fact that everyone kept forgetting to relay us instructions until we specifically asked, "Ummm, can we slow down from the assigned 250 kts?" As fun as it is to go flying down an instrument approach at max speed, I did eventually want to deploy flaps and lower the gear. Then they forgot to hand us off to tower until we asked, and later tower forgot to hand us off to ground. Siiiigh. The captain even said, "Not the A-Squad working today at Salt Lake is it?" This was said just as a Delta airbus was forced to go-around because the controllers had not worked out the spacing properly for the parallel approach. Look, people make mistakes. It's human nature, and everything usually works itself out. It's good when people can work as a team to sort it out, but when people start working together as a team to make mistakes . . . it can obviously lead to problems.

In flight training, we would call this the accident chain. Many things have to go wrong for an aviation accident to occur. If you can just break the chain at one spot, you can recover and save the day. So when the windshield wiper on my side of the plane started moving on its own after it was turned off, one's instinct is to troubleshoot it and look down and fiddle with the knobs, but the more appropriate thing is to look outside and make sure we don't taxi into a luggage cart.

I was glad to exit the aircraft and we made our way to the good ol' Hotel RL, a hotel in Salt Lake that seems to specialize in airline crewmember lodging, and evidently little else. I mean it's fine as a hotel, but I seem to have bad luck with my rooms there. The temperature control was set to 74 degrees, but the room was showing 55 degrees as it blasted out freezing cold air. I called down to the front desk, and miraculously someone was able to go into the vent and fix it.

Things finally came together after the rain had subsided and I ventured out for a walk. I was expecting it to be cold outside, but compared to my room, it actually wasn't too bad. I walked by the Mormon temple, where I found some trees budding for the spring and then made my way to the City Creek Mall for some dinner at Chick-Fil-A.

As much as I usually hate on SLC, it isn't a bad downtown area. I mean, if you compare it to Cincinnati, for example, Salt Lake City is like the bright center of the universe. Everything is pretty clean and safe. People are actually out and walking around.

With any luck, we won't have to deice tomorrow, and it should be a much-deserved easy day of flying as we make our way up to Oregon.

Same Time Next Year?

Perhaps I previously mentioned, my March schedule is not ideal. I have been spending far more nights in Best Westerns and Hiltons than I have in my own bed. Every once in a while, I'm at least in one place for a decent amount of time. Today we flew four legs and ultimately arrived in Monterey, California around 2pm. Nicole was kind enough to join me by managing to snag the last open seat on the plane. I flew the last leg, which culminated in a smooth landing. Phew. Unfortunately for Nicole, it was just a CRJ-200, so the plane was an uncomfortable temperature the entire flight.

When we got settled at the hotel, we walked down to the wharf which was relatively close. We braved the crowds of tourists as we walked to the end of the pier and then to Cannery Row. It wasn't really our scene. Neither of us is keen on things that are essentially built purely for tourists. I was also getting quite hungry despite it being only 3pm, so we decided that we had to leave our current area to find anything worthwhile. We summoned a Lyft and went to Carmel-by-the-Sea.

It too had its share of  tourists, but it didn't seem as tacky. In fact, Carmel seems like a make-believe land where quaint little buildings line the streets and people can make a living selling fudge or glass lamps. We browsed some of the stores before ultimately eating our dinner before five. It's just as well since we ate off the bar menu instead of the more expensive dinner menu. It's quite expensive in Carmel. The hotel attached to the restaurant was evidently $275 a night. Oy vey.          

After dinner, we walked down to the ocean.  I was hoping to see some whales, and even called to them, but there was no response. Nevertheless, it was a nice view, but it was a bit chilly. Not like Minot cold, but it was in the 50s with a stiff breeze. It was quite a bit different from Santa Barbara the day before despite having not even left the state for the last 24 hours. Tomorrow I have three more legs and finally get back home for a whopping two days and have to go back for more.

 

Santa Barbarians

For the second time in as many months, I had double Santa Barbara overnights. The previous time, I was here, it was grey, cold, wet, and rainy, so it wasn't terribly enjoyable. This time, however, it was sunny and warm. The first day I went for a run, logging 8 miles from the hotel to downtown, the pier, and back. As it was St Patrick's Day, the streets were littered with amateur drinkers and slow walkers marching 6 abreast. The sidewalks were wide, but I still had to Barry Sanders my way through the crowd.

The following day, we got back a little later in the afternoon, so I wasn't as ambitious. I walked over to the Old Santa Barbara Mission to take a couple pictures and walked back to the hotel (stopping at Chick-Fil-A enroute). It's a very pretty place (Santa Barbara, not Chick-Fil-A), but it is also very expensive and a bit yuppie. It is known as the American Riviera, a gateway to wine country, and its populace has earned the nickname of Santa Barbarians. Many a flight attendant have been turned off by the entitled ways of the Santa Barbarian.

I have not encountered these attitudes firsthand, but I have heard many a war story. Anyone who is flying on a CRJ-200 should not take themselves too seriously, but perhaps the Santa Barbarians get confused and think it's like a private jet because it's small. The CRJ-200 is the great equalizer in society. It's Marxism put into practice. There is no first class. In fact, there are no good seats. Overhead bin space is rubbish. You can't really see out the window. The temperature control is hot when you want it cool and freezing when you want it warm.

I can't tell you how many times the flight attendant has called up and asked for the temperature to be lowered, which we all know is just a gesture for the passengers so they get the illusion that we're doing something about it. "Sorry folks. This is a 20 minute flight, it's almost summer weather, and our cooling system was designed by Canadians. I have my transfer bid in for the hot, new jet, the Embraer 175. Don't get me wrong, the CRJ-200 is a fun little plane to fly, but those Santa Barbarians are hurting my ego when they get on and yell out, "Wow, this is so small!!!"

Cincinnati: At Least it's Not Dayton

We landed at CVG (Cincinnati's airport) after 10pm. From the beginning of the day, we had crossed three time zones and were now in eastern time zone. Much like the rest of Ohio, Cincinnati's airport is a sad shell of what once was (or perhaps never was). I had a previous post from last year complaining about how terrible CVG is. I do not change that opinion. A pet peeve of mine as a professional pilot is going to airports where there is some sort of detail or procedure that you are just supposed to know. It is not on any chart, but you are simply supposed to know all of its procedures just because . . .

Anyway, CVG is one such airport. The ramp was barely lit and it was nearly impossible to see any of the taxi lines leading toward the gate. After some confusion, the ramp controller was like, "You guys must not be from around here." Nope. To simply exit the airport, we had to go up and down numerous escalators, take a train, and so on. All of this should be unnecessary because CVG is a rotting carcass of itself with barely any flights anymore. It should have 12 gates and be done with it. Anyway, this experience didn't stop at the airport. The hotel didn't tell you which way to go to get to your room. You're just supposed to know.

Since I had such a long layover here, I decided to go for a walk in the morning. Technically, both the airport and hotel are in Kentucky, so I walked across the Roebling Bridge to get to Ohio. When I first saw the bridge, I thought to myself -- Ah, a poor man's Brooklyn Bridge. There was a sign nearby that says this bridge was like a prototype for Brooklyn. I had done a little bit of research before heading out and discovered that anything of interest is closed on Mondays. Pretty much every museum in the city is shut down, but there was very little activity around the downtown area in general. I saw almost no one. It's like a ghost town. But then again, so is the airport. It's a perfect fit. After meandering for a little while, I crossed back across the bridge into Covington, Kentucky, a sadder, more run down version of Cincinnati, which in itself is a sad run down version of itself. It was now lunch time, so I thought I'd do as the Cincinnatians do and try some skyline chili. I stopped at a fast-food-esque place that was descriptively called . . . "Skyline Chili."

Now if you've been following along up to now, you realize that the kind folks of this area insist that you should know how to do things a certain way . . .just because. Skyline Chili is no different and I suspected as much. I googled, "How to eat skyline chili," so as not to give myself away. It is nothing resembling traditional chili that you would get elsewhere in the country. The base is spaghetti and sauce and there are "ways" you order. 2-way, 3-way (with cheese), 4-way (with beans or onions), and 5-way (with everything). I went 4-way with beans. Then per the instructions, one is supposed to drizzle hot sauce on the top, lay your oyster crackers, and then use your fork to cut pieces of the chili. Swirling it like spaghetti is very faux pas! What was my verdict? It's ok. It wasn't bad, but it didn't blow my socks off either -- which is good, because it was cold outside. I spent the rest of the day warming up, burping up skyline chili, and relaxing before flying back to the west coast. I'm sorry, Cincinnati. You tried.

Short, But Sweet

I believe we are all familiar with the popular idiom, "Better to have loved and lost than to spend 24 hours in North Dakota." Don't know that one? Oh well, we can burn that bridge when we get to it. Point being, I was none too happy last week being stranded (on an off day mind you!) in scenic Minot, North Dakota. I could not leave the hotel for fear of being blown away. This week, I am in a much better mood. My overnights aren't amazing because I am still stuck with Fresno at the end of the trip and Cincinnati tomorrow, but I got to have some sun at least for today.

Although brief, I was able to spend the morning in Palm Springs, where the temps quickly jumped up to 90 degrees. LA's weather has also been lovely. It hasn't been as hot, but the rain has stopped, the clouds parted, and the sun returned to Southern California. My disposition has improved. My landing at Palm Springs was one of my best of all time. See? My performance improves when the environment is better. I had a nice breakfast at the Jewish deli down the corner and then sat by the pool for a spell. Ah.

Birds were singing, children laughing. The world was happy and gay. And on that note, I will share with you an account of one of Palm Springs biggest annual events -- the White Party. No it's not a gathering of Trump supporters, but rather one of the largest gay extravaganzas in the country. You see, the captain I was flying with had been here during said event and said that she saw photos of men's faces on every door going down the hallway of the hotel. She asked the flight attendant (who had specifically bid to be overnight during the white party) what the photos were for...

He said that you post your picture outside the door and gentleman callers (if you will) peruse the options as they stroll the hallway and will knock on your door if they like what they see. The person inside the room will then check the peephole and decide if they fancy you and welcome you in if the feeling is mutual. It's like Tindr, but with immediate results. I found it all quite fascinating.

Anyway, said event was not happening while I was there, so the atmosphere was fairly mundane. Today it's my leg from PSP to Houston and then we go from Houston to Cincinnati. It is supposed to be rain mixing with snow there, but at least I had some time to soak in the sun before leaving the beautiful weather behind. It is like I am solar powered. There should be enough saved up to get me through Ohio. In any event, I'll be here blogging here for you, as the expression goes, until the cows freeze over.

Why Not Minot?

Yes, I've waited years to post that as a blog title. But why not Minot? I'll tell you why. In a convoluted change of events, my flight from Idaho Falls to Denver was canceled due to high winds in Denver. While enroute from Idaho Falls to Minot on a ferry flight, we picked up the weather which was reporting 45mph wind gusts, heavy blowing snow, 1/4 mile visibility, freezing fog, and snow covering the runway. It was my leg (naturally) and I told the captain that even if the visibility improved enough to make us legal for the approach, I wasn't comfortable with landing in Minot. If it was one of those things, ok, but all five of those combined? It didn't seem safe in the least. After holding for 20 mins above Minot, we diverted to Bismarck.

Bismarck was the most appealing of the alternate airports because they didn't have heavy blowing snow and freezing fog. All I had to contend with on approach was a 40 mph wind gust. You could feel the plane shaking from side to side after we landed. My arms really got a workout muscling the plane onto the ground. Initially the company wanted us to gas up and try again, but the weather wasn't forecast to improve for hours, so we would spend the night in Bismarck, take off around 830am and ferry the plane to Minot. The unfortunate part of this story was 1) We had basically the minimum rest in Bismarck, and 2) We would have to sit in Minot Airport for four hours as we waited for our next scheduled departure to Denver. Here we see a deserted Bismarck Airport. Like most North Dakota airports, it was clean, modern looking, and completely empty. And unhelpful to my attempt at rest was a 6am call from the front desk asking, "What time did you want your shuttle to the airport?" I thought we had clearly stated this the night before and also why was I singled out for the phone call?

Minot's weather had not improved all that drastically since last night. The wind was still full force and the blowing snow still limited visibility to about two miles, but it was legal now. Fortunately the next crew was on hand to take the plane from us when we arrived. I don't think I've ever been so grateful to see the other FO. I told him I was very glad that I didn't have to do the walkaround and promptly exited stage left. With the conditions as they are, I imagine one would get frostbite for anything more than five minutes outside. The snow had even blown up and inside parts of the jetway to give you an idea of how gusty it actually was.

We encountered another deserted terminal -- clean, modern, and empty in Minot. I had some breakfast from the one café in the terminal and then set up camp next to a power outlet.

After about an hour, I heard the whine of a jet engine. Turning into a nearby gate was the plane that I had just turned over to the new crew. Evidently Denver is delaying flights . . . again. This does not bode well for us as we are already scheduled to time out enroute from Denver to Fresno. With any luck, maybe they'll just deadhead me direct from Denver to LAX, but the way things are going the last 24 hours, I'm not terribly optimistic.




UPDATE: IT GOT WORSE

Shortly after posting this blog, I logged into the airline's website to research some travel destinations because it kills time and gives me something to look forward to. Sadly, it also alerted me to a schedule change. I would be deadheading to LAX once I got to Denver . . . tomorrow. That means I get to spend the entire day in Minot. I guess the inbound flight from Denver was canceled so we have no way of getting out. With the wind still blowing in strong, going outside was out of the question. The crew hotel in Minot is physically attached to a shopping mall, so that became my only refuge.

After grabbing lunch with the crew, I came back to the room, where the wind was so strong it was forcing itself through the air conditioning unit in the wall. I felt it was healthier to go for a walk around the mall. It wasn't a very big mall, nor was it busy so I kept seeing the same people over and over again. There were stores that I wasn't even sure were still in business.

The center kiosks had interesting wares to peddle as well. There was one that was entirely samurai swords and large knives. Another had primarily confederate flag t-shirts. Finally there was this one claiming to be some kind of massage thing, but it looked more like a torture device that would shoot 10,000 volts straight to your nips. In any event, I was constantly reminded that I was a long way from Los Angeles.

 I have an app on my phone that has little health "challenges" that I check off and earn gift cards. Some involve exercise or getting a certain number of hours of sleep etc. One of them is simply titled, "Be grateful each day."  I didn't think I would have any reason to check it off today, but after a few hours of mall walking and feeling cold air force its way through the wall of my room, I opened up the app and checked it off. I am very grateful to not live here. I'm sure the much manlier looking men of North Dakota would look at me in my skinny jeans and look down at me as some soft little sissy from California, but you know what? I'm ok with that. I look forward to 80 degrees and sun tomorrow . . . if something actually goes right. 

 

 

I Dunno About Idaho Falls

I'm back to holding a line after bidding reserve last month in hopes of having some time off. This backfired when I had a whopping two full days of not being called. To start the month off, I had my first overnight in Idaho Falls, Idaho. It's a place. Our hotel is in the middle of a mall area. I was a bit concerned about what I would do for the next 24 hours. Yes, the layover was an entire 24 hours . . .in Idaho Falls. We arrived in the evening and I needed some dinner. The van driver recommended a 50s-themed diner next to the hotel. He said it was the best place to eat in Idaho Falls.

Always the skeptic, I took to yelp to make sure I wasn't going to get food poisoning, and found it is a very popular place indeed. It was bested only by the nearby Burger King. I put on my jacket and hat and walked across the parking lot to Dixie's Diner, where they serve Breakfast, Lunch, and Ner according to their neon sign. It was a pretty good crowd for a Sunday and just as white as a Billy Joel concert. I made an attempt to order the most diner-y thing on the menu. I had chicken-fried steak with eggs and potatoes (I'm in Idaho ya know), and a large pancake on the side. A random combination of food perhaps, but filling.

The following day, I did not have to report until 4:30, so I figured it was as good a time as any to get a haircut. I began my quest to get my hairs trimmed at around 10:30am. There was a Fantastic Sams about 0.9 miles away, so I braved the 25 degree temps and briskly walked to Fantastic Sams where I found the door locked and a sign that read, "Closing today at 1:00." I checked my watch. It was 11:00. I checked my phone and saw there was a Master Cuts inside the mall. I briskly walked for another 1/2 mile. Once inside the mall, I found one hairstylist who said they were booked solid until after 2:00. It was 11:30. I returned to the hotel to regroup. I decided to make one last attempt - a Great Clips 1.1 miles away. The winds had now picked up and I felt like I was going to get blown over. Finally, I reached the Great Clips and found I was #5 in line. Popular day for haircuts in Idaho Falls. People have been very friendly here. An older gentleman even offered to let me go ahead of him if I needed to get back for work. I told him I was in no hurry.

I got back to the hotel to discover my schedule had changed. Due to strong winds (no surprise there), more than 250 flights in and out of Denver had been canceled. I would now be flying from Idaho Falls directly to Minot, North Dakota. I imagine this not a regularly scheduled route, though I imagine the two towns are very similar. Idaho Falls reminds me a lot of my old hometown of Appleton, Wisconsin. There's enough shopping and restaurants to keep you busy, but in the end you're still wind burnt, cold, shivering, and wondering why the hell anyone would ever choose to live here.

 

 

Back in the "City"

For what would be my longest amount of time off for the entire month of March, I double-legged it from Seattle over to Newark by way of Minneapolis, my old stomping grounds. Doing it that way allowed me to arrive at a reasonable hour instead of 6am after a red-eye. Thanks in part to loud refrigerators in my hotel rooms and faulty climate control, I didn't sleep well for the previous few nights, so sleep was a priority.

I touched down in Newark, where the pilots said the temperature was 70 degrees, albeit very windy. It didn't last. The following day was in the 30s and then 20s. I can't seem to find decent weather anywhere. My first day in New Jersey was spent relaxing. But my main purpose for being on the wrong side of the country was thanks to my girlfriend's parents buying us tickets to see Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden.

He does performances at the Garden once a month and plans to do so until people stop coming. By the looks of things, it may be a while before this happens It was notably an older crowd, and very very white.

I had recently watched a documentary about Billy Joel going to the Soviet Union as one of the first American artists to be welcomed in under Gorbachev. In it, they kept remarking on how the Soviet party leaders were holding their ears and walking out of the performance because it was not a sound they had heard before.

The documentary credits him for bringing rock to the Soviet Union, but it's just odd for me to think of Billy Joel as a "rocker." To me, he's mostly a piano player who gets played on easy listening radio stations. One of his band mates from the Soviet Union tour was the guy in this picture who has aged markedly better than Billy Joel himself. Let that be a lesson kids -- don't turn to a life of alcoholism. It turns you into a humpty dumpty potato face.

At one point, Billy got up from his piano to "rock" out to We Didn't Start the Fire while holding a guitar. Not playing, holding. I'm not sure why he was given the guitar if he wasn't going to play. He had the appearance of an old drunk uncle at a wedding, playing an inflatable instrument. At other points, other musical relics of the past made brief appearances to perform with Billy. The Young Rascals came on stage to perform Good Lovin' and John Mellencamp also showed up to do a song. (Not to be confused with John Cougar Mellencamp).

Needless to say, the mostly older crowd, reached for their knee braces and pacemakers to sway slowly back and forth to these nostalgic reminders of what once was. I exaggerate only slightly. As much as I poke fun of it all, he really is an impressive performer. When back at the piano, he was in his element, playing the keys aggressively and with purpose. No sheet music whatsoever. After performing for almost 2 and a half hours straight, he performed a few more of his hits and called it a night. He slowly got up from the piano and made his way off the stage to standing ovation. The years have not been good to Billy Joel.

We set out into the cold Manhattan night and back to beautiful New Jersey. For the rest of March I will not really have any downtime. I will be working for most of the month, with just two days off in a row at any given time. It's not ideal. Who works five days in a row and only gets two days off? That's just craziness. I'm not sure how anyone can live like that.