Ode to the Toaster

The Toaster at Big Bend

Several years ago when I began my flight training, I didn't quite realize what I was getting into. It was the beginning or a love-hate relationship. Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed flying in light GA aircraft. I still do, as a matter of fact. But I can't deny that zooming around at .75 Mach, at 35,000 feet, with beverage/ snack service, and most importantly, heating and A/C, is a great gig. But I do often miss the days of flight in dad's little "puddle-jumper."

Those who know me well, know that I am usually hot. No, not like " OMG, look at that hunk over there! He's sooooo hot." Nah. More like, going for walks or runs in shorts and a light t-shirt when it's 35 degrees (Fahrenheit) outside. And it not bothering me too much. Or having someone ask if I have a fever (when I don't) because my skin feels hot. Which is why when it's, say, 78 degrees, I'm already sweating and turning the A/C down. 

Why is all this important? Well, for those of you who have never flown in Texas.... in the summer.... in a small trainer airplane.... then you just won't understand. For those of you who have, you are probably cringing and yet, smiling at this very moment, because you know what that can be like. You see, in Houston during the summer, the weather can be described in pretty much one word: HOT! With the highs frequenting 105 degrees and lows usually still around 90 degrees, even at night, and a relative humidity that makes the thought of eating soup unbearable for a good 3-4 months (since you have to swim to work every day), flight training becomes a whole new challenge. With all of the constant heat to supply energy into the air, the weather also becomes quite predictable. Low clouds in the early morning, which form into cumulus clouds and slowly raise to about 2000-4000 feet by mid afternoon and then become thunderstorms right over the metroplex until dusk. Then the clouds start to fade, leaving a beautiful sunset and smooth skies at night. The issue with this is that during initial training, you don't fly in the clouds and sometimes can't even take off if they aren't high enough. And when you do finally get in the air, you're typically below the clouds. If you are unfamiliar, try to imagine that as a kid, while playing hide-n-seek, you find the best hiding spot ever. The dryer! So you wittingly climb in, all content with yourself, and close the door and daydream of how the other kids will declare you "best hider ever!" At least until the dryer is kicked on in tumble mode and you end up being beaten to a pulp for an hour all while your scrunched into a small metal tube with the temperature somewhere around 130 degrees or higher. Got that picture? Ok. That's pretty much the experience. Only the small metal tube is a C-152, C-172, or similar sized Piper aircraft. You almost had to be a contortionist to fit into the cockpit (at least for us 6' or taller folk). And if you think that the 130 degrees is an exaggeration, consider that during one of my summers in College Station, a little northwest of Houston, the ramp temperatures were measured at about 135 degrees, with the runway at about 160 degrees! You could literally hear your shoes sizzle with each step on the hotter days. Coupled with the fact that the persons getting into the aircraft are easily compared with packed sardines, it made for very warm flights. Add in the south Texas summer day turbulence, and ta-dah, you're got the recipe for fun times. Miserably hot and bumpy fun times. 

Even though it's tough flying and hot, there's just nothing quite like it. And it's addicting. It's why, even after all the hot, bumpy, and even sometimes frightening days in those planes, I still have a fondness for them. Especially for "the flying toaster." Over the years, there have been many nicknames for the small GA aircraft that frequent the skies: the "Aerosplat" (C-152 Aeobat), the "Chickenhawk" (C-172 Skyhawk), the "Gutless" (C-172 RG Cutless), the "doctor killer" (Beechcraft Bonanza), the "Scarrow" (PA28R Arrow), and the aforementioned general name "Puddle-jumper." Each of these earned through trials and the general lack of sufficient engine power to get out of sticky situations. But the "Toaster" has a somewhat different origin. Throughout my training and subsequent flights of leisure, dad's C-172 always seemed to be able to do more than the other similar models. It was just like "The Little Engine that Could" or  more fittingly, "The Brave Little Toaster." It always seemed to help me out of tight spots and never quit. But just like most other small GA aircraft, it had no A/C. So it was always hot inside; like a toaster. A small, metal box which you generally came out of a shade or two darker (and possibly about 5 pounds lighter, due to the water weight lost). But I've had some of the greatest experiences of my career, even maybe of my life in that small aircraft. Like my first solo, my first long solo cross-country, the trip that included my first single pilot IFR ILS down to just above minimums, the camping trip out to Big Bend with my wife and our dog, our trips all over Texas during college, winning my first flour bombing contest at the local fly-in, and many, many more. It's funny how an inanimate object could hold such an important place in ones heart. And this one has definitely cemented itself firmly into my memories. So our name is not one of insult or disdain from the short comings of the aircraft, like so many others. It is more of an affectionate name, like one would give to their pet (unless you hate your pet). We love that plane and the memories we've gained through its use. And to us, it will always be our "Little Flying Toaster." 

I'm Going to Disneyland!

   It never ceases to amaze me the amount of characters and wit one can come across in this world. And in my little world of aviation, I feel that sometimes this fact is truly exemplified since it's possible to cross paths with literally hundreds of these individuals in a single flight just during the required radio communications. Typically, in the world of professional aviation, there is standard phraseology for just about everything spoken across radio. Most of us are taught from the early days when we are just "young, little baby pilots" who can't tell a wing from a window that everything on the radio must be spoken both quickly and concisely. There's just no place for jargon or urban dictionary type slangs on professional radio. And to be honest, I probably felt like a five year old kid who just got away with stealing a free sample from the grocery store the first time I accidentally said something "non-standard" on a radio call. My palms got kinda sweaty and my brain started rushing in circles. "Oh crud! I don't think I can say that. Should I correct myself? Am I gonna get in trouble?" Then the air traffic controller, like the mother of that little five year old who has "absconded" his spoils, acts like nothing happened or maybe even gives a little sarcastic critique with a snicker and goes about shopping, er...um... directing multi-million dollar aircraft rather. Then usually soon after, some jet jockey comes on and just when you're thinking "here comes a great example of professional use of standard phraseology," (cause that's how my brain works... Don't judge me) the jumble of words that come across the frequency are barely recognizable, definitely not standard, and ended in something like "Okey dokey good buddy. Have a good'un." Which is by no means "standard," just in case you're wandering. And right then, in that very moment, you learn something. Suddenly that dim little landing light  (read: lightbulb, for any non-pilots) above your head comes on and you figure a few things out. One: ATC really doesn't care too much if you screw up a call once in a while. Two: ATC has way more high priority (read: expensive, faster, and shinier) aircraft to be concerned about than your little four-cylinder, getting passed by cars on the ground, "flying toaster" you probably trained in. Three: if you could just get to where that "jet guy" was, then someday, you too could be so cool that the rules won't even apply anymore. You'll be king of the world! And about this time, just as reality is slipping from your grasp, a sharp smack to the back of the head brings you back and your instructor reminds you that day-dreaming has no place in the cockpit. Nonetheless, you dared to dream of one day owning the skies and being above all other life on earth (take that as you will); of being the cool, old guy captain on the radio whose years of experience and grit have seemingly made him above all reproach. What no one tells you though, is that often, it's not ATC that's corrects you when you screw up on the radio. Most of the time, your slice (or entire pan as it may be) of humble pie comes from your fellow aviators. The aviation community is full of those just waiting for the proper time to less loose their one-liners and zingers upon their fellow airmen. And often, those are the times that bring us back down to earth from our permanent residence on cloud nine (cause nobody has ever met a hot-headed pilot before). And the reason for captain "cool, old guy"  being just that, is simply because he's been around long enough to mess up more than everyone else. But again, nobody tells you that. Cause as pilots, they've never messed up before............. Riiiiiiiight.

   Anyway, the mix of people and situations can sometimes make for very interesting radio conversation. Just recently, I was on a trip which ended with a early morning flight from Columbia, Missouri to Chicago, Illinois. It had already been an interesting trip since I had told our Columbia, South Carolina that we were arriving in Cincinnati, which can cause post-apocalyptic chaos for the flight attendant. And not but two turns before, our Jackson, Mississippi passengers were suddenly very attentive when I misstated our destination as Missouri! Now usually I pride myself on my professional radio communications, but this trip seemed to be just one humble pie after the other. So needless to say, on the morning of our Chicago flight, I was ready for a day off. Nevertheless, I completed my preflight duties like a good little first officer and readied myself to copy our departure clearance as I keyed the mic.
   "Columbia Tower, Regional 1234, ready to copy clearance for Chicago."
Without hesitation, "Regional 1234, you're cleared to Disneyland via the Mickey Mouse 5 departure."

Knowing that somewhere along the way, I had missed something prior to opening my mouth, I checked my radios. "Dangit! I'm on Guard." (The emergency frequency) Some hot-shot funny guy cruising along at 30-something thousand feet had the oven on and the pie made and was just waiting. Knowing what I did, I took my face full of humble pie and congratulated the wise guy on the other side of the radio, switched the frequency, and looked over to see my captain smiling. He then reassured me that the controllers at Chicago would only be worse........ "Crud" 

   I've got several other stories as well, but those can be recounted later. Looking back at those instances now just makes me smile. Cause I've learned more and know they won't be the last time I eat pie. And now that I've made it up through the ranks of instructor to regional airline first officer, I can look back and laugh at several of my blunders, as well as many of the hilarious blunders of so many of my fellow aviators, both student and professional alike. And thinking back over all the experiences I've had, whether good or tough, even with all the crazy and stress, I can't help but conclude that, I quite possibly have the best job there is.
  
P.S. > If you were expecting some story or tips or pinterest-y things about ACTUALLY going to Disneyland, I am sorry to disappoint you. As penitence, I give you permission to have a cookie.......... or ten. Enjoy!