Your Captain Squawking

It was most important that we get the flight out 20 minutes early for two reasons. Firstly, the early departure would allow us to use a more favorable altitude for the long flight from Japan back to the US. Due to traffic, that altitude would not be available at our scheduled departure time. Secondly, a vicious winter storm was moving across the middle of the North American continent, and we needed to get to our destination as early as possible to beat the low visibilities, high winds, and piles of snow.

            Getting a 747 underway is something akin to the launching of the Queen Mary (particularly from a foreign base). A million things, large and small, are happening in the background that the passengers never see. All seemed to be going well for our early departure until the purser called the flight deck to announce that all passengers were loaded, but one lady might be having a heart attack.

            As senior captain and second scheduled to fly (we were an augmented crew for the long flight), I went down to the lower deck to check out the situation, fully expecting to have the lady quickly removed from the flight so that she could get immediate medical attention and we might still have a chance at our early departure.

            The subject “heart attack” lady had been late arriving to the airport necessitating some serious hustle in order to get to the gate before departure. The lady, while not grossly out of shape, was no athlete, and the mad dash down the long corridor left her flushed and sweating. The flight attendant, taking note of her condition, asked if she was OK. Her somewhat thoughtless response as she flopped into her seat was, “I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

            The flight attendant, fully aware of the more than 12-hour flight in front of us (much of it over open ocean) did not find this amusing. Much of the massive machinery in full motion for the sole purpose of getting the huge flying machine off the ground and into the air came to a screeching halt.

Situations of this nature can often languish in total confusion for inordinate amounts of time while the facts are sorted out. But in this case, all concerned, including the doctor who was kind enough to respond to a PA call for medical assistance, seemed pretty well on top of it and a potentially serious situation soon became somewhat humorous.

            Fortunately (in more ways than one), the lady was not having a real heart attack, and this was established fairly quickly thanks to the good doctor’s kind assistance. However, said “massive machinery,” having screechingly halted, does not start up again immediately. Rather than early, we were three minutes late off the gate, which cost us our more favorable cruising altitude, which cost us an extra 54 minutes in route, which put us into our destination just as the storm hit, which very nearly caused us to have to go somewhere else to land, which would have been a huge inconvenience for everybody.

            Traveling is fun. Flying can be fun. But there are certain aspects that are serious. Be careful about firing off flippant or thoughtless comments within earshot of the professionals concerned with getting you there safely. They may take it seriously.

see Rules of Etiquette for Flyers (Frequent and Otherwise)

Your Captain Speaking 

My buddy, Captain Calhoun C. Treadaway, got me again. Last year (April 2007) my daughter decided to run the half marathon in Nashville. Cal’s daughter was working the race. This appeared to be an excellent excuse for an enjoyable weekend of overeating and lounging about in Music City while visiting with the girls. 

It was a grand weekend. The race was fantastic. My lovely daughter did well and enjoyed the whole thing. Before and after the race we committed ourselves to the above-mentioned eating and lounging. 

And overeat we did, in grand style. I think we visited every eatery in Nashville at least twice. Two of my favorites were Monell’s and Maggiano’s Little Italy. 

Somewhere along the way, while waddling from one fine dining experience to the next, Cal says, “We ought to run the half marathon next year.” 

In light of the fact that it is every aviator’s duty to keep him/herself in top physical condition and because my mind was somewhat dulled from the exertion of dealing with mountains of delicious food, I replied with a lethargic, “Let’s do it. Burp.” 

So, for the next twelve months or so I submitted myself to the rigors of training for the long-distance race (see favorite running routes). Somewhere along the way, another moment of insanity (probably induced by something Cal said) made me decide to run the full marathon. Actually it was my daughter’s fault. She decided to run the full, and I couldn’t let her outdo me, but it’s more fun to blame Cal. 

Hours and hours of pain ensued. And it was all Cal’s fault. Aching muscles and sore joints were the norm. And it was all Cal’s fault. Miserable mornings in the cold and rain of Seattle (there for training) were regular fair. And it was all Cal’s fault. 

Then this year (April 26, 2008) it was back to Nashville.  

It was a fabulous race. Extremely well organized and managed, with bands playing and cheerleaders cheering all along the way. Both my daughter and I had a great run. I finished in just one little tick more on the clock than the last marathon I ran, which was 25 years ago. 

Now, I’m in the best physical condition I’ve been in for years. I feel better, sleep better, and enjoy more than I have for a long while. And it’s all Cal’s fault. 

Oh, Cal? He sprained an ankle his first week of training and didn’t run the race at all. 

I’m really proud of that one little tick, even if it was Mickey’s little hand.

    You will kindly note that there are no wheelchairs involved. The subject is still, for the most part, upright and moving under his own locomotion.

I feel a lot better about myself now. And these days feeling good about one’s self is all-important.  

You see, I read, studied, researched, and seriously cogitated. And now I feel better. Not because I learned anything or in any way came to some problem-solving conclusion. No, I feel better because I now know that a whole bunch of folks a lot smarter than I am don’t have a clue either. 

The price of oil (read that: jet fuel, avgas, and auto go juice) has doubled in the last year, gone up by about a third in the last few months. Big questions: Why? And who profits? Has the intrinsic value of the black gooey stuff jumped that much? Has the amount available suddenly dropped? Are we earthlings all at once screaming for more of it? No, no, and no. 

It seems there is a slight over supply. Demand overall is fairly flat and in the US has declined a bit (even before the most recent price rocket ride). (Supply is up, demand is down.) So, with all due respect to Adam Smith, it should be apparent even to the ignorant masses (of which I am a proud member) that the law of supply and demand is not fully in control here. 

So, what is going on? 

Those in position to know… don’t.  

The big oil company CEOs don’t know. Congress sure as shooting doesn’t know. All kinds of experts, pundits, talking heads, consultants, and pontificators extraordinaire don’t know.  

So, I’m in good company, because I don’t know either. 

It has been suggested that, while there are other contributing factors, it is mostly the fault of wild-eyed and crazy speculators. Michael Masters, portfolio manager of Masters Capital Management, has said the tons of speculative money pouring in “has nothing to do with the real world supply or demand for crude oil.”  

Is this like the Dot-com bubble? Just a few years ago in utter amazement, I watched folks making huge fortunes buying into companies that had nothing more than a website and a promise. Many times I was tempted to jump in too. But there was no value there. It made no sense to buy something that was totally worthless just because some other fool might pay even more for it. It had to stop somewhere. And it did. Big time. 

There is a difference between the Dot-com bubble and the oil bubble though. We common folk didn’t much care one way or another when crazy people paid wildly exorbitant prices for nothing.coms and lost their shirts when the bubble burst. And I really will not care WHEN the oil speculation house of cards goes up in a roaring blaze. No, for this bubble burst, I will likely dance a gleeful jig, because this time the bubble builders are costing me right in my own personal little wallet, whether I like it or not. 

So, what do we do about it in the mean time? The long-term solutions may be somewhat complicated, but in the short term it’s pretty simple. Don’t buy the stuff. Or at least don’t buy as much of it. After all, it’s not like food. We don’t have to have it to live. It’s just gas, not oxygen. Drive a little less and, yeah, don’t fly your airplane as much (sob). 

I would write more on this very important subject, but my wife wants me to go to the grocery store (8 miles one-way) for a quart of milk. If I am to get back before dark, I need to start now. It’s dangerous to walk these roads at night.