I’m in Florida.

I’m teaching my Uncle how to fly. He’s always wanted to learn to fly, and now turns out to be a good time for a lot of reasons. The best part is that he’s got an experienced flight instructor he can trust that’s otherwise unemployed.

The big downside for me is being away from Jonah. Additionally, I don’t much like Florida, but it’s nice to be able to visit my Mom as well. I flew down here on March 24, the day after Jonah’s birthday. It snowed about a foot that night, and the roads were pretty well snowed-over, with packed snow turning to pretty deep slush further north. Jonah dropped me off at DEN, and I played my role in the Transportation Security Theater, the first time I’ve done so without a crew badge in years.

How do you people tolerate it? I really could have driven down to Florida, and I was seriously regretting my decision to fly instead. The plane ticket was slightly cheaper than the gasoline, but flying is just awful.

As I got through security, I had a voicemail from Jonah:

You’ve got to love the vaguely up-beat, matter-of-fact tone voice as she relates the demise of the car my Dad bought new in 1991. This turned out to be a case of Google Voice’s transcription being totally worthless, though perhaps vaguely amusing:

Both and I’m okay, but the price not ready re bad rap. Yes I when you have a party there. But give me a call. Thanks.



It’s probably repairable, but from what Jonah said, one of the front wheels is badly bent, and the front subframe is probably bent as well. Additionally, “The engine makes bad noises.” Before the wreck, the car wasn’t worth a whole lot, now, I’m not sure. Fortunately, the Bremers are being kind enough to let the car live in their yard until I can get back and figure out what to do with it.

The flight was delayed about 45 minutes, which gave the obnoxious brats a few seats behind me enough time to practice screaming. I can understand that you can’t do a lot about infants crying, but they never do that long. Once your kid is old enough to talk, it’s also old enough to understand commands such as, “Shut the hell up!” If you can’t teach your kid not to scream for the entire 4 hour flight, then don’t put it on a flight. I wish that airlines would put the parents of screaming kids on a no-fly list for the benefit of the rest of us. These are the same people who only fly when they find a $79.99 round trip special anyway, and some customers are worth alienating.

So now I’m in Florida. The weather is surprisingly nice. It’s currently 71°F, and I’m sitting out by the pool. I can deal with this. If it gets much hotter (high of 82ish for the rest of the week), I’m not going to be as content.

I’m teaching in an old (1968) Cessna 182. It’s been a long time since I’ve flown a single engine plane at all, and even longer since I’ve flown a Cessna. Instructing in this thing makes me miss the Diamond with it’s modern airplane manners. That said, the 182 is well-behaved beast and I haven’t seen anything that makes me question it. We started pounding it into the runway with practice landings for the first time today, and it seems solid.

I’ve forgotten how much work and and mental exhaustion results from flight instruction. After 1.5 hours at 8am this morning, I was ready to take a nap. All in all, though, it’s been good and I’m thrilled for the opportunity to work a little bit.

Motorcycles, Airlines, and the Future

It was 64°F here yesterday. I took the opportunity to put another 100 miles on the motorcycle. It’s doing fine, though I still need to replace the throttle cable and put the correct o-rings on the main primary jets inside the carburetors. I plan to do that once I get the new throttle cable, but the USPS seems to have lost it. It went “out for delivery” early last week, and has since disappeared. Additionally, I found out that it drips fuel if you forget to turn the fuel valve off. I accidentally left the fuel selector on while I was in Dallas, and yesterday I discovered a little puddle of gasoline underneath the overflow drain tubes for the carburetors with a steady drip from both of the tubes. The float valves are brand new, so they should be sealing just fine. The floats are clean and have no holes, so perhaps they’re slightly misadjusted. I carefully checked the float height, and they appeared to be right on, but maybe I’ll tweak them just a bit to see if I can make it seal better. I’ve never noticed it dripping before, so it may just be that the float valves don’t hold up to the pressure of the gas tank for an extended period of time. Fun system. Not really sure I want to spend forever messing with it though, when simply remembering to turn off the fuel valve will solve the problem.

It likes to die when coming to a stop, but only if I’ve been cruising for longer than ten minutes. It always restarts immediately after that, so I’m not sure what the problem is. Might be related to the float level setting. When the design regulates an engine idle mixture based on some brass bobs floating in fuel, weird things might be bound to happen after 37 years.

I just got a call from the USPS. My throttle cable is at the post office. They claim to have attempted to deliver it twice. I was assuredly home, and I think I even saw the mailman, but I’m not sure. In any case, they never left a note that they’d tried to deliver, nor did they send a message that the package was at the post office. Without the delivery confirmation number, the package would have simply disappeared. She told me to come pick it up, but I explained that was their job and they should give it to the carrier to deliver tomorrow. She agreed, amazingly.

So while it was spring yesterday, it’s winter today. It’s been snowing all night and morning. It’s only 25° out now, though, and the residual heat in the pavement is keeping the snow from sticking to the roads. There’s a few inches on the grass, but overall this has been a very warm and dry winter. Stupid climate change giving all the snow to the East.

The American Eagle interview has caused me a large level of anxiety. The exceedingly long lead-time before the interview meant that I had a very long time to get worried about it. My previous “failure” at Lynx (why the hell didn’t they want me? I aced that interview!) had me concerned that I wasn’t actually employable. Airline interviews are highly technical in nature, and one is generally supposed to study for them. Three weeks was more than enough time to prepare for an entire oral examination, though an interview is a lot different. There’s not so much nit-picky details about the aircraft (unless the interviewer knows the last plane you flew well), and you can’t be expected to know the specific regulations of the airline you’re applying at. It’s hard to know exactly what they might ask, fortunately folks on the internet will let you know what they were asked at their interview. Obviously, it’s a good idea to know the answer to anything they might have been asked, but there’s no rules about what they might ask. This makes studying for it a rather anxious endeavor.

I looked over the basic limitations and emergency procedures for the Dash-8. I re-familiarized myself with the federal regulations that the airlines operate under. I studied the key to the Jeppesen en-route, arrival and departure charts. Much more than that, I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t start studying until a week before the interview, but I might should have waited longer, because I was able to go through all of that in a day, and I wasn’t sure what to study next. I could keep delving into the regs, but I was worried I’d start focusing on esoteric stuff that I wouldn’t be asked.

On Sunday evening, I started packing. I fretted a lot about wrinkles in the cuffs of my shirt, polishing my shoes, etc. Joanna gave me a stupid-looking haircut and then I hacked off my beard, even the sideburns. I decided I looked pretty dumb and fat, so I tried not to look in the mirror. I decided not to take any study materials with me, except what was on my MacBook.

American Eagle had booked me positive space on an MD-80 from COS to DFW on Monday afternoon. I had to wait in line at security, something I haven’t done in a very long time. I was in an aisle seat at the back of the plane, and fortunately had the whole row to my seat. You don’t want to sit in the back of an MD-80 if you can help it. The big reason is that the engines are all mechanically controlled, thus not synchronized and are deafeningly loud. Additionally, if an engine blows, it’s likely to send little bits of shrapnel flying through the back of the cabin, and the folks sitting in the back next to the engines are going to be dead, or at the very least, shrapnel-impaled. Fortunately, this doesn’t happen often. Still, I have an unnatural, inexplicably uneasiness riding around in MD-80’s. These days they’re old, they don’t have a wonderful maintenance record, and I just don’t like them. I don’t have a lot of terribly good reasons for this, but it’s the way it is. The elevators, for instance, are free and floating. They point in different directions until they get moving. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it looks broken. The first time I saw this from the cockpit of a CRJ on the MD-88 in front of me, I asked the Captain if we should tell them about it. He laughed at me.

I arrived in DFW not-dead, and waited half an hour for the hotel van to pick me up. I stayed where American Eagle told me to, in the Candlewood Suites. They offered me a “discounted” rate of $73, which is more than I think I’ve ever paid for a hotel in my life. I could have tried to stay with a friend in Dallas or found a cheaper hotel, but Eagle had arranged for this one to provide transportation to their headquarters, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it if I stayed where they told me to.

The hotel was nice, at least, and I spent a few hours on the internet. I looked up the answer to a few questions that I figured they might ask that I hadn’t previously thought of, and called Kajuri. I hadn’t given her any notice, because I wasn’t sure that I should do anything the night before the interview. But both Jonah and Sydney thought that I should call her, so I did. She’s got her own dental practice these days, and she and her husband came and took me to dinner. We had a nice time catching up at a middle eastern place.

I climbed into bed around 10:30pm, and read for a bit. I eventually got to sleep, by some miracle, some time after 11:30. I woke up at 4:30am, though, and never went back to sleep before finally get up at 6am.

The shuttle from the hotel was scheduled to leave at 7:30. It left at 7:40, which made me rather anxious. The other interviewees left on a 7:00am shuttle, because they’re more paranoid than me. I just wanted to be sitting in their lobby no longer than necessary.

It turns out there was only 3 other people interviewing with me. Usually they try to have more like 8, from what I’ve read. There were 2 people who’d interviewed the day before there for the 2nd day medical exam. They didn’t want to tell us how many people they’d started with. Probably a good idea. Two of the people interviewing with me were Piedmont Dash-8 drivers. One of them, a girl, had been furloughed not long before I was furloughed from Mesa. The other guy had was still actively working for Piedmont, but he was pretty sure he was going to get furloughed before long. The third guy at the interview had never worked for the airlines, though he was an experienced flight instructor. I was surprised he’d gotten the interview, but I found out from him later that he knows a chief pilot for American who was able to personally secure the interview for him.

They started by telling us a bit about the company and how the interviews would work. We sat in a waiting room while we took turns going to various parts of the interview. I started out with the technical portion. This turned out to be good because it was probably my strongest section of the interview, so it put me in a cautiously confident mood for the rest of the interview. I was asked just a few questions about the Dash 8, and then a lot of very detailed questions about how to read Jeppesen charts. It seemed like a strange focus for the interview, but it was good that I’d studied it. I didn’t know the answer to one of his questions about the chart. I also answered wrongly to a regulation question (for some reason I stated the width of a federal airway was 7 miles, the answer is 8). I knew I’d answered wrong immediately by his response, though he concealed it well. It was only because I’ve given these sorts of oral exams before that I was able to detect just a slight difference in the way he repeated my answer and move on to the next thing. I got a few nit-picky questions correctly, including one that he rather quietly said, “Wow. No one’s ever gotten that one right before. You’re a smart guy.” I may have acted a bit exuberantly when he admitted that, because generally they’re not supposed to admit whether I get the answers right or wrong.

So I left the technical interview convinced that I’d done well. Additionally, they liked my electronic logbook printouts, though they did want to see the paper versions with the signatures, so it was good that I’d brought those along as well. I nearly didn’t. After a very short wait back in the holding area, I was summoned to the HR portion of the interview. Here they collected the endless photocopies of documents that I’d brought, while comparing each one to the originals. I was asked a few HR-type questions, and wrote my answers down on some paperwork. He didn’t seem concerned about my speeding tickets, since I’d disclosed most of them, and had brought a driving record like I was supposed to. He allowed me to pencil in the 2 that were missing from my original application, so no one would think I was trying to hide anything later. He asked for a brief explanation of my failed checkride. Eventually, he sent me back to the holding area where I paced around for a little bit before the guy who runs the simulator evaluations came in to brief me on the sim.

He explained how it was going to work, gave me a profile and approach plate to study and left for 15 minutes. When he came back, I asked him to clarify that he would be acting as my non-flying pilot and making standard non-flying pilot callouts. He said that he would be.

The aircraft being simulated was a brand new Baron, which is a twin piston engined light aircraft with a glass cockpit. I’ve never flown anything like it. Fortunately, I didn’t have to know anything about the aircraft for the evaluation except that I had to fly the approach at 120 knots.

Shortly after takeoff, I was waiting for him to call positive rate so that I could tell him to retract the gear. A couple hundred feet later, I was totally distracted by trying to figure out the instrument display and the flight director which seemed to be pretty lame. That’s when he asked me, “Was the last aircraft you flew not a retract?” Oh, CRAP. “I, uh, thought you were going to call positive rate?” “Nope, that’s you!” This is totally backwards from every airline I’ve ever flown on, so I was a bit surprised. I wondered if that was enough to fail, but tried to forget it and press on. At 1,000 feet, he called acceleration altitude, and I asked for, “flaps up, climb check”. He ran a checklist and I moved on.

I managed the level-off at 2,000ft very well, within about 10 feet, thanks to the flight director. He had me turn left to intercept a radial and track it to the VOR. About 3 miles prior to the VOR, he told me that he was going to pause the sim and give me holding instructions. I copied the instructions, drew out the hold on the approach plate, thought about it, double-checked it, then briefed him on how I’d fly the hold. He unpaused the sim, and I flew the entry. Fortunately, it was a direct entry, the easiest. He gave me a descent while I was turning inbound, and I remembered to ask for a “descent” checklist, which is not a normal airline thing. Before I even crossed the fix back inbound, he gave me vectors for the ILS to 17R in Memphis. I briefed the approach, and flew it with the flight director. At around 500ft, he told me to go around, maintain 2,000ft and runway heading. I pushed the power up, mumbled something about flaps up, eventually got the gear up this time and asked for a checklist. The flight director switched to roll mode, and because I wasn’t holding enough rudder, I drifted left of course about 35 degrees before I realized what has happening. Fortunately, I caught it and corrected, and he seemed okay with that, but who knows. He paused the sim, set me up for another approach, this time raw data to a landing. I did okay, though made the rookie mistake of looking up too early after breaking out of the clouds, but managed to not get too absurdly far off. He said I did a good job, and he’d recommend me for the sim. If he hadn’t said that, I would have been sure that I’d blown it. Apparently, interview standards are not quite airline checkride standards. Which, given the fact that I’m flying something I’ve never flown before and never gotten a chance to practice with, makes sense.

Shortly after getting back to the waiting room, the instructor guy pointed out that the Piedmont guy’s bags were gone, which meant he’d been sent home. As I was processing this information, one of the recruiters came and and called my name with a very small piece of paper. I immediately figured they were sending me home as well, but it turned out to just be a $5 coupon for lunch. The American cafeteria had a lot of choices, but I settled on the salad bar. It was sold by the ounce, so I loaded up trying to make sure to get my $5 worth. With a soda as well as my salad, the total came to just over $7, whoops. So I had to give them a couple bucks, but not a big deal. I didn’t even finish the salad, because then I realized that they were probably going to give me lunch before they sent me home so I wouldn’t talk about how mean they were.

I got back to the waiting room, and for a long time was the only one there. Then the other guy came in, and we talked about lunch. He’d done the salad thing too, but had managed worse than me and topped $8. The girl from Piedmont came in after her sim, and seemed in pretty good spirits. Shortly after she got back, they called her out again. 2 minutes later she was back and said, “Well, I’m going home…. Good luck to you guys!” We tried to commiserate with her and I was a bit on edge as she left. When she was gone, both recruiters walked in. We looked at each other to see who was going to get sent home next.

“The elimination process is over, you guys made it,” they told us. Whew. They collected a lot more paperwork, fingerprints, and called the Admiral hotel to get us rooms and send a van to pick us up.

We got back to the hotel just before 4pm. I was exhausted, but decided not to sleep for fear that would keep me from sleeping that night. I met Daniel, the other guy who got through, in the hotel for dinner. It was a pretty mediocre meal, but we were both pretty excited and talked about what the future might hold.

I couldn’t sleep anyway, and woke up just before my 6:30am alarm. The morning was spent with a pretty intense hearing test and two drug tests, along with some more paperwork. They gave us an official “conditional offer letter”. I had to redo my fingerprints, because the FBI had rejected the set transmitted the day before. That done, we went back to the airport. We had a lot of time to kill before the flight, and grabbed lunch at the TGI Friday’s, and exchanged phone numbers before Daniel headed for his flight. Mine left a few hours later.

As it was explained, the Captain’s Review Board looks over everyone’s files before giving them the final nod to allow them to work for Eagle. Some people have indicated on the internet that they’ve been rejected by the captain’s board with no real explanation. So while I’m cautiously optimistic, I’m not going to count my chickens just yet.

I had more, but it’s no longer morning, and Jonah is home…

Logbook up to date!

I’ve finally gotten all my paper logbooks entered into my electronic one.

This means I can do terribly useless things like give you a Google Earth file that shows everywhere I’ve ever piloted an airplane.

I’ve now got 2,236 hours flying airplanes. 999 of those hours are flying multi-engine aircraft, and I was pilot in command for 1,181 of those hours.

Now I’ve just got to find a job. If I’d had the time I have now two years ago, I could have gotten a job just about anywhere. Now, I can’t even find a job flight instructing!

L.A.

I’m busy distracting myself from my pending unemployment by traveling. So far it’s working.

My last trip was a good one. I had no more than 2 legs per day, and even had a Saturday night Jackson Hole overnight, which means times for a trip to both the brewery Saturday night and D.O.G. in the morning for a breakfast burrito.

The Captain I was flying with let me fly almost all the legs on the flight, which was awfully nice of him. My first landing on the trip was one of the worst I’ve ever done in a Dash. The last one was one of the best, fortunately.

I’m going to miss it. I’m addicted to geographic displacement, and being an airline pilot is an easy way to feed the addiction. I loved flying over the mountains (relatively) low and slow in that tank we call a Dash. I loved the peace and quiet of long flights at night. I liked the search for beer and breakfast burritos in quaint corners of Colorado, and I liked being missed when I got home. I loved the noise and vibration of 5,000 horsepower turning a couple of 13-foot propellers when I pushed the power levers forward for takeoff, and the way the Dash would climb at a seemingly impossible 15 degree nose-up attitude all day long. I loved the satisfying kiss of the absurdly stiff landing gear against the pavement after a job well done. I loved the noise the props make going in and out of the beta range while we taxied.

There was plenty I don’t think I’ll miss about being an airline pilot, but things had gotten pretty good by the end. I didn’t have to fly to work, sit reserve, or even work too many early mornings. While I was certainly grossly underpaid, it was good enough to get paid to do a job I love.

I haven’t decided what I’m going to do next. I’ll worry about it on Monday after I apply for unemployment. It looks like I should be able to make enough on unemployment to get by for awhile.

After I landed in Denver early on Monday morning, I turned in my books and epaulets to the local operations manager in DEN. I arranged to mail my badges back after I was done traveling, then carried my now startlingly light-weight flight kit to my car and drove home.

Jonah came home for lunch and we had another Thanksgiving that couldn’t be beat, went to sleep and didn’t wake up until 40 minutes later, when I had to do laundry, send the rebate off for my Droid, and print out my pay stubs in case Mesa has already locked me out of the system on Monday morning.

Then I drove to the airport where I didn’t manage to get on the flight to Burbank that Todd wanted me to take. I called Todd and asked if he wanted me to go to LAX, and he said he’d much rather I go to Ontario. I scanned the board, and there was a flight leaving for Ontario in 40 minutes. I was anticipating that the flight would be on a Skywest CRJ, but when I got to the gate, there was an Airbus A-320 waiting. It suddenly occurred to me that it was entirely possible that this was a flight to Ontario, Canada, and I didn’t want to accidentally go to Canada. The gate labeling didn’t help—it said the destination was “ONTARIO, CA”. Really. I listed for the jumpseat, but didn’t ask if the plane was going to California or Canada. Instead, I got out my Droid and looked up the flight which was, thankfully, going to California.

The flight was uneventful, and I actually got a nice window seat in economy plus in the exit row. Though it was one of only 4 seats on an A-320 that do not recline, I at least had plenty of legroom. I slept fitfully until we got to Ontario.

Tuesday, Todd informed me that he and Tiffany were currently down to one car, which meant that we’d have to drop Tiffany off at work, which took 1.5 hours in LA rush hour traffic. We made our way to the Getty where I was sufficiently impressed with the collection, grounds and architecture. I was sad that I’d forgotten to bring my camera, but I spent some time uploading pictures to Facebook with the Droid. I picked the right time to go to the Getty because there just happened to be an Irving Penn exhibit. The exhibition was title “Small Trades,” and it’s a huge collection of 252 portraits. Irving Penn shot them all in the early 1950s as a side project while he was working for Vogue. The photos are all of workers, from icemen to welders to barbers to organ grinders. They were all photographed in natural light in Penn’s studio with their work accouterments. The series is wonderful and the body of work is one that Penn spent years printing. Almost all of the prints in the exhibition were done in the late ’60s on either Platinum/Palladium or Gelatin Silver, and often both. Some exposures were printed many times throughout the exhibit, often side-by-side which allows a photography geek like me to compare. Some were printed by Penn as late as 2003; it was obviously a consuming project for him. It was by far the largest collection of Penn’s work I’ve ever seen, and it’s well worth seeing if in you’re in LA anytime in the near future. It’s also far more pleasant to look at than, say, his shots of fat naked dancers.

We also headed to the Griffin Observatory, which is the only other place in LA that I had much interest in seeing. It’s geared a bit at the non-scientific or younger crowd, but the building was still worth seeing, and a Focault pendulum is always cool. The building itself is nifty, and there are some pretty cool views.

I spent the day traveling as an airline passenger, which is a pretty miserable thing to do, but at least I didn’t have to pay for the torture. And I flew American and American Eagle today, which means I at least got to drink Dr. Pepper. I made it to Mobile, where I had a wonderful barbecue dinner with Robert, Sarah, Ben and Amanda. After dinner, there was much beer and beer cake! Then there was beer on the porch and some yelling from the folks walking down the street which made Ben say, excitedly, “Oooh! Domestic Violence!” Which was pretty funny, but not as funny as the domestic dispute itself. I was going to type out quotes, but I don’t remember them well enough, and the ones I typed out don’t seem as funny as I remember them.

So, instead, I give you the Ben quote for the day: “I don’t have the right glasses, but would you like to drink it out of a Bourbon Sifter?”