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Thursday, January 10, 2008

Puttin it on autopilot

On a recent flight from Petaluma to Lake Tahoe, I set the autopilot on my Skyhawk for a 600 feet per minute climb to 11,500 feet, and resigned myself to a prolonged climb where the autopilot would be doing most of the flying.  I was going to circumvent the Military airspace (Travis, if memory serves) around there, but decided that I needed the practice with transitions.  Somewhere around Lake Berryessa, I gave them a call.
 
I asked for a transition to Tahoe.  They asked me for the identifier.  It was at that moment I realized something was wrong.  My airspeed indicator was reading around 50 - for the uninitiated, a borderline dangerous slow speed for that plane and close to stall speed.
 
Aviate, Navigate, Communicate.  Travis, standby.
 
Some of you out there realize my error.  A 600 feet per minute climb at sea level for this plane is reasonable - but at higher altitudes, it becomes unsustainable and outside the plane's parameters.
 
The error was easy enough to correct - nose down, gain airspeed, 300 feet per minute with plenty of miles to climb to that altitude.  But my little story does illustrate some of the dangers of autopilot, and taking your will and attention out of the equation.
 
Speaking of putting it on autopilot, I haven't been blogging much of late.  This is probably due to the newest member of the household, my daughter.
 
I'm not one for conventional adulation, so I didn't want to call my daughter "Princess."  So I started calling her Taco.  Because I love tacos - so crispy and delicious, they are so perky, I love that (reference, anyone?).  Then I decided that she was like a shitake mushroom.  I've now taken to calling her Princess Shitaco.  My wife says that makes her sound like an anime character.  Which I'm not entirely against.
 
He's a story I've told at bars, about a strange confluence of events.  Few read this blog, so I'm not too worried about it leaking.  Once, I was running late to work, and just grabbed some clothes to change into at red lights and stop signs and such.  I happened to be listening to the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack, a gift from my wife.  I'm park at a stop sign, when a cop rolls up in my rear view mirror.  And the situation suddenly comes into focus.
 
There I am, sitting there, across from a school, pants around my ankles, listening to the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack.
 
I have never driven so by the book.  No California rolling stops.  Stop dead at the stop signs.  After about 4 blocks, the copper dropped off my 6.  Another disaster barely avoided.
 
I finished reading "Fate is the Hunter."  It's a great book.  It gets me thinking of the early days of aviation, the "Bad Old Days" as I've heard Max Trescott say, when aviation was a great deal riskier, when the lessons we now study were paid for in lives lost.  Reminds me of good old Jeppensen, who said "I didn't create these (aviation) maps to become famous.  I did it to stay alive."  (Side quote, Woody Allen - "I don't want to become immortal through my work.  I want to do it by not dying").  The deaths of pilots were a far more common thing.  Countless deaths were interwove into the narrative.  It is a real meditation on the fickle nature of things, with severe consequences.  It is a fairly haunting book.
 
One must remember to be thankful for the trailblazers.
 
The day George Harrison died, my wife and I went to another funeral.  A few months after September 11th, there was another crash.  Fortunately, there were no ground casualties.  But the brother of one of family friends was a Steward on the flight.  It was quite the picture, all these pilots and steward/esses, in full matching company uniform, in one church.  It was inspiring to hear all the tales of the man these people worked with, admired, loved.  He was a social worker, but loved to travel, which is why he became a steward.  From all the tales of the people who confided in him, relied on him for advice, trusted and loved him, it was clear that his social work continued - just in another form.  Later that day, we went down to Strawberry fields, where a celebration of George Harrision was in full swing.  We sang and drank and danced and lived and loved.  It was a strange, beautiful NYC day. 
 
I miss New York sometimes, but know where we are is where we are supposed to be.
 
Conclusion:  Seize the day, be greatful for your memories, embrace the moment, and be mindful of what you put on autopilot.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Afran, True Love is the greatest thing in the world--except for a nice MLT, a mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich, where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe...

Yeah.

Anonymous said...

I haven't heard from you in a while, so I'm just dropping by to say hello. Say hello back, okay?

*hugs*
Smee