Marsh's Travel Log
3:50AM - I awake
after an abbreviated slumber, a full 10 minutes before the scheduled tolling of
my alarm. Though quite fatigued, I fail to contain the excitement that
has been brimming… the pure pleasure one derives from aviation's adrenaline
rush. I unset each of my four alarms, enthusiastically shower, lathering
myself in the froth of unbridled anticipation, and eat a hardy breakfast of rotini with creamy parmesan double tuna sauce, topped
with sour cream and melted cheddar jack cheese. If you have your sights
set on making the trek to New Orleans
and back in one day via the east coast, you'd better make damned sure eat your Wheaties. As I towel off, I pop in one of my favorite
cockpit DVDs, featuring a classic Corsair 737-400 roundtrip
from Paris to Palermo. The excitement of sitting proudly aboard a
modern version of this glorious metal beast just hours later begins welling up
in the most profound depths of my being and bellowing up through my solar plexis. The night before, I had obtained hourly
meteorological data for the various departure and arrival points in my
itinerary, and based on wind and projected prevailing conditions,
I estimated the departing and arriving runways, printing terminal procedures
for each. Just before departing, I study the approach plates for each,
memorizing the highlights for each (glide slope intercept height, runway
heading, marker DME's, altitude and visibility
minimums, etc). I will be leaving this documentation at home this time,
as some members of the TSA tend to question the appearance of such items during
random searches, especially if the party in question has filed a dubious
itinerary. If flying to Louisiana from Texas via Georgia, only to check-in
for the return leg only 30 minutes after departure, fails to arouse suspicion,
then I can only reasonably construe that flight manuals printed in Arabic, with
the pages detailing approach procedures torn out, would seem equally innocuous,
but I err on the side of caution.
4:30AM - I set off from my
apartment, using every fiber of self-restraint to prevent my zeal from
impairing my judgment. This morning, my route to HOU will take me east
down Westheimer to Fountainview,
then North on US59 to I-45 South.
5:10AM - The hit
the very first snag of the day. This is why I strive to be the consummate
early bird. I find that 59 North is closed past 610, with no indication
of which further segments may be open. Idiotically, I continue North on a
side street before realizing the harsh reality: 45 is
unreachable from 59.
5:30AM - I turn around, realizing
that 20 pointless minutes or more have been lost to my stupidity. Having
righted the titanic, I embark on 610E towards 45S, counting on very light
traffic. I emerge unscathed from my chance temptation of fate.
6:00AM - After taking stock of the situation, I choose the
economy and security of The Parking
Spot, which provides safe covered parking for $6 a day, though I leave my 5%
discount coupon at home.
6:10AM - I arrive
at the ticket counter and check in at the electronic
kiosk.
6:30AM - I pass through
security. Having seen my Rice golf shirt, the attendant inquires about my
age. "Ah… 25," I reply. “Really?
I wuz guessin' like
13. I wuz lookin'
at your shirt and said to myself, 'He ain’t old
enough to go to Rice'". After suffering this mild
humiliation, courtesy of our brilliant Homeland Security department, I park
myself at gate 56C and begin reading the second chapter of Final
Approach, a critically acclaimed techno-thriller by John J Nance.
I should mention that the tagline of this book reads, "Before you get on
another airplane, read this book!" A reviewer writes "After reading
this book, you will never want fly again." Having finished Nance's
own favorite work Phoenix
Rising in record time, I conclude that reading Final Approach
will either be just a damn good read, one that will ultimately cure me of my
flying addiction, or both. I read the first line and smile as my boarding
zone is called: “The airline told passengers flying to Kansas
City the skies were safe. They lied.”
6:40AM - I am placed in 4D, a seat with very
little recline, and order a Coca Cola as soon as tush
hits the cush. When I appraise my surroundings
it is immediately apparent that this particular MD88 has recently undergone a
makeover as part of the airline's refurbished
interior program. Seats are all-leather and easier to clean, signs
are easier to read, and light fixtures are more modern looking.
7:05AM - We depart runway 12R, with winds out of the ESE,
vectoring ourselves in classic fashion over Galveston Island, before making a
left turn over the Gulf, only to make landfall shortly, over the Mississippi
Delta. Visibility is absolutely gorgeous, perfect for aerial
photography. I ask for a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, snack on
some roasted peanuts, and observe some textbook examples of pseudo-Jeffersonian
river lots out the left side of the aircraft. Their perceptibility from
33,000 ft is astounding. I can't wait to load them into SDE as raster
data. By the way, drop me a line if you need a discounted rate on aerial
photography. Also don't hesitate to contact me if you're having trouble
managing your land and GIS data but you haven't found people or solutions you
can count on. I have just the answer you've been
looking for. As we enter Alabama, I begin reading the fascinating Airplane Flying Handbook,
written by the USDOT. This book is a teaching guide for instructors, and
it contains no-nonsense descriptions of every aspect of flight, presented from
an inquisitive, technically scientific perspective. This is language I
can understand. Just as I finish mentally disparaging every other
introductory flight book in existence and conclude that over-hyped author Rod Machado is one of the most
obnoxious human beings in existence, the passenger in the next seat begins
to question me rigorously about the book. As a frequent flyer who brings a wealth of aviation-related material onboard, I
suddenly lament having left my “I am not a terrorist” tie at the dry cleaners.
10:05AM (EST) - We arrive ATL on runway 9L and taxi
to the B concourse. Rapidly, the skies that offered nearly limitless visibility
throughout the majority of our journey have formed a thick layer of gray clouds
with 1,000 foot ceilings. Luckily, the ILS approach minimums here are 200
ft. From the puddles, it is clear that rain has recently fallen. We
de-board, and I make the one-and-a-half-mile trek (on foot) to the E concourse
(international departure hall), passing an attractive Korean Air agent.
There are very few departures at this early hour, but I overhear a couple with
small children, apparently en route to Jamaica. It appears as though they
have forgotten to procure the appropriate documentation and will be forced to
cancel their vacation.
11:44AM - I am seated in 4A on this
737-800, whose interior I find much more agreeable, though the seat again saw reduced
recline. The seats boast more legroom, a more easily controllable
reclining mechanism, headphone jacks and flat panel screens. The
gentleman seated next to me inhales a sack of six Krystal hamburgers
(a southern tradition that predates White
Castle) before take-off, washing
them down with a bloody mary, while I stick to
water. The climb out from runway 8R features a left turn that provides
the most spectacular view of downtown Atlanta I have ever beheld. The inflight entertainment features a special edition of 20/20 and recent Friends spin-off
Joey. Practicing strict
self-asceticism, I save my appetite for lunch.
12:16PM (CST) -
We arrive in the Crescent City
with a magnificent localizer (no glide slope) approach to runway 19
(I assume this is simply the back course for ILS RWY 1). This is not the
runway that I had anticipated, but it nonetheless provides a spectacular view
of Lake Pontchartrain, remaining above water until
the last 1,500 ft or so. The airport has been extensively remodeled over
the years, and parts of it appear quite modern. It features the first
Sonic installed at any US airport, a House of Blues store, and a mock Bourbon
Street quarter with authentic Cajun restaurants and shops.
1:00PM - I check
in for my return flight and search for food, ending up at the Acme Oyster House. I order a bowl of gumbo ($6.99) with
bread, and hushpuppies ($1.99) with remoulade dipping
sauce. The meal was splendid, but with airport-sized portions.
Luckily, I had just enough room for a visit to West Beignet, next door, where I
downed three traditional beignets, steering clear of their cream and fruit-filled
offerings and resisting the allure of caffé au lait. C'est dommage. As expected, I
manage to decorate my dark pants with a generous helping of permanent powdered
sugar markings. After lunch, I visit baggage claim, ticketing, passenger
drop-off, and the top floor of the parking garage, which provides a wonderful
view of a departing 737, the same one on which I had just arrived.
2:43PM - I board the wide-bodied 767 for home (ATL). It
is a bulkhead window seat on the first row(1F), which
offers the most
legroom of the day. Flight time is only one hour. I order a
Heineken (entire can) with peanuts and Big Top animal crackers, which are some
of the most buttery, tastiest animal crackers ever to pass these aged
lips. I order a second round. My recollection, after this point, is
limited to my attempt at performing a task that actually required some limited
amount of mental dexterity, and my subsequent failure to complete it.
5:15PM (EST) -
Arrival in ATL, B Concourse. I am far too inebriated to recall which
runway. Luckily, there are no cast members from A&E's
Airline in the
immediate vicinity, so I am immune from prosecution for the moment. I
stumble back to Concourse E. The morning's stasis has been replaced with
the hustle and bustle associated with evening departures for international
morning arrivals, and the weather has improved dramatically. A fully
loaded British Airways 777 bound for Heathrow is about to depart. A Delta
777 headed for Frankfurt is unusually full, due to the presence of well over
100 service men and women.
6:55PM -
Departure from gate B7. I am seated in 2A, yet another bulkhead seat (and
the best
seat in the house) on this MD88 with a retro interior. For the first
time, I have no companion in the adjacent seat. Another seat in row 3 is
untaken. The crew is extremely professional and courteous; they are
veterans. I order another Heineken once we are airborne, but I find it
difficult to finish and ask for water. The animal crackers never fail to
please. The sun is setting, casting playful shadows on my view out to the
South.
8:01PM - I arrive
home, exhausted, but for once with no baggage: emotional, checked or
otherwise. I love to fly, and it shows.
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