Enjoyed it so much, we did it twice...
Its Thursday in late October and I'm in Zürich airport waiting for a “late-arrival” flight to London City airport for a quick meeting with a new client. European flights are always late. Its the mountains and the unpredictable weather that come with them - rain, fog, wind, or some combination. Considering that, I'm always impressed that Europe manages to maintain a rather consistent flow of regular, day-to-day business travelers with international itineraries. The suits come and go like the “bridge and tunnel” crews back home. They arrive with newspapers and coffee - a trench-coat draped over a briefcase and a cellphone blinking away in a trusty pocket. They're ready to tackle the day's business and anxious to return home later that evening for a hot meal with the family. And then its back again the next day. It must be an exhausting lifestyle. But to them - the road warriors - its just a job. Its business. Its normal.
I watch them and wonder how they do it. What are their family lives like? Do they have two (or three) sets of friends? Do they have drinking buddies in one city where they often find themselves on a Thursday afternoon? And do they have golfing buddies in the next city that requires a weekender? I cannot relate but I understand the schedule. I am part of them but an outsider as I work for my own business and make my own schedule. Poor bastards, I think. Then I look up at the display and notice that the flight is delayed another 10 minutes. Time for another quick coffee. Some join me. Others continue to chat away on their cellphones.
Two days ago I was on a day-trip to Frankfurt. That plane was late on arrival too. So we were delayed for departure and destined to be late on arrival - which we did twice. The reason this time was the strong winds blowing over Germany - very strong winds as it turned out.
Once we got off the ground, the flight over was rather mundane although a bit longer than normal as we were battling headwinds. But the closer we got to our destination, the bumpier it got. I've been in planes all my life, having grown up with an Uncle as a pilot. So I'm used to turbulence. Its just blankets of wind. And I understand the science of flight and the fact that a landing is nothing more complicated than a controlled stall a few inches above the runway. I actually enjoy watching the process if I am near a window seat and can see the wings and the various configurations they assume. I like to listen to the landing gear being deployed and feeling the drag they produce - to hear the flaps being extended as the pilot slows the plane for landing. Its cool stuff. My fellow business travelers seem to understand this stuff too and nobody is overly concerned by the occasional bounce or jostle. Its was just a particularly windy day in Frankfurt. I'm glad I brought my overcoat.
About 15 minutes out from our re-scheduled and expected arrival, and after several harsh bumps of wind tossed the plane this way or that, the pilot turned the seat belt sign on. The seat belt sign is the universal indicator that all drinks are to be tossed, that all trays are to be latched back into place, that all seat backs are to be in upright position, that all luggage should be stowed underneath and - more important - that the bathrooms are off limits for the duration of the flight.
If you're an experienced traveler or fly one particular route often (as I do between Miami and Zürich) you can start the anticipate the timing of this event. There is usually an audible “ping” to inform the cabin crew to start gathering up the service items. I use this “ping” as the notice to head to the bathroom before landing - if I need to. I can't count the number of times that I am just leaving the lavatory when the announcement comes over the speakers that the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign in preparation for landing. I happily return to my seat and grin at my understanding of air travel. Sick, but true.
On this flight, there was no such opportunity. There was no “ping”. The pilot went straight for the seat belt sign - early. I hate pilots like that. You hit a few pockets of air, the plane bounces a little bit, and the trigger happy guy up front thinks that the passengers are going to start bouncing out of their assigned seats. So he presses the “button”.
But within minutes, I realized he was right.
Before the crew had chance to gather up all of the service items the plane started bouncing hard. We all fastened our seat belts and grinned a little, as if it were the beginning of a county-fair ride.
Part II
The winds were strong - really strong. The gusts were unpredictable and powerful. We were being battered around like a butterfly near a highway. I watched out the window and noticed that we were approaching at a good 20 degrees or more off angle. It was all the pilot could do to keep us airborne and on glide to the runway. Every few seconds a mighty gust would send our mid-sized jet of 100-150 passengers off to the left or right, or scarier - down. Without warning we would drop what felt like hundreds of feet in a blink. Everyone was quite nervous and no one made a sound. Unfortunately, we couldn't see the crew's faces to gage our excitement level. They had all returned to the safety of their shoulder-strapped, ejector-looking seats. All we could do was look out the window at the bouncing landscape.
[...seat belt, tighter...]
Some showed their nerves - looking a little pale - perhaps thinking of a loved one, or something they forgot to do, or something they wished they had done before this point. Others, like me, didn't show our fear. Instead we focused on the newspaper wrenched in our hands - rereading the same sentence over and over, “wood-borne bacteria kills thousands, threatens millions”. We would then casually sneak a glance out the window and scoff at the 50-foot seas with disinterest.
[...seat belt a little bit tighter...]
It was as if we - the seasoned travelers - were saying to our worrisome comrades that, “all was fine; this is normal; happens every day; this guy's a pro; he's got a family to go home to; no worries.”
I thought of the story my Uncle once told me about commercial airliners. He said that today's modern airplanes require two things to make them fly: a pilot and a dog. The pilot's job is to feed the dog. The dog's job is to bite the pilot if he touches anything.
[...bam! - plane drops another 100 feet in a flash - plane reacts - engines roar...]
My stomach was in my throat - knuckles white around the newspaper, “bacteria kills thousands, threatens millions of trees in western America's forests”. Oh, trees!
[...whoosh! - plane knocked sideways - seats shake violently...]
Crap! What the hell did I need to fly to Frankfurt for anyway? Wouldn't a fax or phone call have worked just as well? “Steady on there, buddy,” I secretly told the pilot.
[...wham! - another gust - buildings on right side of plane disappear - too much ground visible on left...]
“Come on, man. You can do it.”
[...seat belt a little tighter still - engines roar - plane levels...]
You could feel the power of the plane as it fought the wind. Lower and lower we went - the ground steadily moving toward us - layer upon layer of wind testing our ability to stay afloat. Each layer was a bit different in strength and direction. I thought of a Mother's Day lasagna my sister and I once made when we were too young to cook.
[...bam! - plane drops another 100 feet in a flash...]
“Come on, man. Feed the dog.”
Quickly we were down toward the runway - way too quickly. The wheels were out - full flaps - still 20 degrees off angle but we were hovering above ground. We were the height of the tallest of the airport buildings to our right.
“Steady on buddy. That's it.”
The ground was getting closer and closer. “That's it. Feed the dog. Just feed the dog. You can do it. Keep her straight. Steady on.”
[...whoosh! - plane shakes - seats rattle...]
I remember the on-flight safety video of the crash-position and gradually start leaning forward, ever so slightly so as to not alert the already frightened passengers next to me. Do I put my feet in front on beneath me, I wonder? I opt for under.
[...seat belt, tighter, cutting off blood flow...]
“Steady on, buddy. That's it. Keep her going.”
[...a gust of wind...]
I think about how if we slide off the runway and catch fire, where do you exit? I check for exits - closest one is forward and to the left.
“We're a little sideways, buddy...straighten her out. That's it. We're with you. You can do it.”
[...one wheel makes contact...]
“That's it! You can do it. Just feed the dog.”
[...engines roar - plane bounces - second wheel - another gust...]
“We're drifting sideway, man. Straighten her OUT!”
[...another gust - Dammit! - don't these seat belts get any tighter? - plane slides - wings rock...]
“COME ON, man! Wings, FLAT! Nose, FORWARD! I want OFF this plane!”
[...BOOM! - a massive gust smacks us sideway and from underneath - one wheel again - buildings slanting downward and we're running out of room...]
“LAND THIS FUCKING PLANE, BUDDY!!!”
[...WHOOSH! - ENGINES SCREAM - NOSE UP, WAY UP...]
“Oh, fuck...we're done...”
And then you could feel it - the air below us again - no more contact with the ground. It was moving away from us. We were airborne again. Higher and higher. We had aborted.
Part III
“Great job, man! I would not have enjoyed the fiery mess we would have surely become at the end of that runway. Terrific job. Well done. Smart move.”
“Now what?,” I realized.
“What's your plan, buddy?”
“We're up here again. I'm glad I'm not sitting in a burning mess trying to remember the exit procedures or how I would contact anyone to tell them I was alright - if I had managed to escape without my coat containing my phone, my passport and my insulin. I'm wondering, just what is the plan now?”
“How about we just head back to nice, safe, beautiful Zürich?”
“I like it there. Its happy there. I like the people, the food, the wine. Its clean.”
“So far I don't care too much for this windy, nasty, German city.”
“We touched down once. That counts. I don't really need another stamp in my passport.”
“Let's go home, buddy. How 'bout it?”
The passengers grew restless but relieved. We were climbing higher and higher - away from the dangerous ground. But we were still in a plane that had to land somewhere to let us off.
Finally the electric-sounding voice of the pilot came overhead. It started in German but I knew what he was saying, “Crap, that was a close one! Thought we were goners for sure. Anyone for sunny, Spain? I know a great little place by the sea - been thinking about retirement anyway. By the way, are there any military on board who could call in a refueling tanker as we're gonna need to top off?”
Then came the English version, “Ladies and gentlemen, our apologies. There was a strong gust of wind on approach and we've decided to come around for another pass. Thank you for your patience.”
Jeepers! This guy is good - quick and to the point - telling us: “We were all going to die. We didn't. Let's try that again. You've got places to go as do I. So, let's do this thing. Won't be but a sec.”
Eight hours and one meeting later, I flew back home to beautiful Zürich without a second thought. I slept on the plane.
End
