Muffins on my Mind

 And I find myself once again with double Santa Barbara overnights. There are certainly worse places to be. After arriving late in the evening last night, I walked across the street to Von's and set out to find some breakfast since it is not included at the hotel. I saw a box of 4 muffins for $5 and also a box of 9 muffins for $8. As I carefully calculated the microeconomic marginal utility of each muffin in comparison to the diameter of my stomach and carried the one, the choice was obvious. I found myself walking back to the Best Western with a box of 9 muffins. (One chocolate chip muffin met its demise before I could take the picture).

The following day was one of my most stressful flying days to date. It consisted of four legs - all of which had some sort of anomaly. We were delayed going to San Francisco due to a ground stop. We were supposed to have 2 hours break in SFO, but that was quickly whittled away to nothing now that the bay area was clogged up with strong winds favoring runways that are almost never in use. I had planned on acquiring a proper lunch in the terminal, but there was no time. Like any sensible professional pilot, I had packed three muffins and a package of Lorna Doones in my flight bag and was prepared for just such a scenario.

Now the rain was beginning to fall hard at SFO and there was a conga line for the runway about 16 planes deep. As it neared dinner time, I downed a blueberry muffin and did a crossword puzzle where (and I swear I'm not making this up), the answer to one of the clues was LornaDoone. It was a sign. After finally departing SFO, we were rocked with turbulence all the way to Reno. This was naturally my leg and we experienced wind shear on final approach. Well, next leg was to LAX, so things should be easier . . . or so I thought.

 Enroute to LAX, we encountered St. Elmo's fire, essentially electrical current swirling around the aircraft. I can't accurately explain the science behind all this without copying and pasting from Wikipedia, but the short end of it is that it's completely safe. It's just . . . really weird. Every five seconds or so, my side of the windscreen would be engulfed in a bright white light. Having landed at LAX many times before, I was now lined up for a familiar landing on 24R . . . or so I thought. An aircraft was slow to exit the runway (Allegiant naturally) and without adequate spacing, LAX tower gave us a Go-Around command. And with that, we launched back up to 5000 feet as I called for Go-Around thrust, flaps 8 and almost laughed to myself. "No easy day, huh?" After getting vectored around a bit, I made a smooth landing on the runway and we departed to Santa Barbara after a quick turn at the gate. People often ask me if I've ever been scared as a pilot.

The short (and honest) answer is no. I have been under large amounts of stress, but never scared. There's not enough time to be scared. Any sort of high pressure situation I've been in has required quick response and near muscle memory that has been indoctrinated into us from simulator training. I have experienced all kinds of failures and anomalies, but my reaction to them is more like finding a parking ticket on my car than of actual fear. It seems that the fear of flying is one of the most common phobias, but I can assure you that a lot can go wrong and the plane (and its occupants) will still be fine. It's those personal electronic devices you have to watch out for. My flight display is always getting screwy when someone can't stop snap-chatting on their iPhone. Why just the other day, my altimeter told me I was 200ft underground and inverted . . .all because the guy in 4F was playing Words with Friends. When will they learn? Now back to my muffin . . .

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!!!"

Yesterday Santa Barbara, tomorrow the WORLD (or Fresno)

Time wise, we are looking at an entire month between my last training session and now. Accordingly, to stay fresh, or at least make myself feel better by doing something during the day, I headed up to Santa Barbara. I struck up conversation with the flight attendant, who cringed a bit when I told him my current base is Minneapolis. To be perfectly honest, I've actually had pleasant experiences on all my Skywest flights. The flight attendants have been very friendly and the pilots have been professional. So there you go...an airline pilot not complaining about their company. Rare it seems.

Anyway, Santa Barbara is not new to me. I've flown there
dozens of times during my GA and flight instructing career. And because of that, I knew there was a small sandwich and snack stand on the beach, about a mile walk from the terminal. Of course I was wearing my uniform and it was over 80 degrees out. This is, by the way, not typical weather in Santa Barbara. After enjoying my turkey sandwich while gazing at the ocean, I worked my way back to the terminal, where I was asked lots of questions about gates and departure times etc. I don't get it. That's what the screens are for, people. Anyhoo, I rode the jumpseat for the 18 min flight back to LA. In a Cessna, this would take an hour and a half. Crazy newfangled jet technology!

The following morning I received a call from the company asking if I was willing to do some flying out of Fresno. Having been paid to do nothing for the last month, I didn't feel I could say, "Nah, I've got to go to Paris next week." It all happened very quickly after that last flight. It's as if the crew schedulers were talking amongst each other and said, "Did you read his blog and see where he went now?!" "Can someone get him in a plane? If we don't stop this soon, he'll be in Dubai by the end of the week. He'll bankrupt the company!"

So Fresno it is. I don't know much about it to be honest. I only know they have a minor league team called the Tacos, whose jerseys and hats are simply a taco with no text. You're alright, Fresno. You're alright.