High mins? Heigh ho!

I am finally off of "high mins!" "High mins" refers to a recently upgraded captain, or a captain recently upgraded into new equipment. Every airline has rules for new captains, but I think ours is the only one that is retarded about it. I think it's an FAA regulation - for the first 100 hours of Captain experience, you must add 100 feet to the lowest published decision altitude or MDA and 1/2 mile to the lowest visibility requirement to be legal to shoot an approach and make a landing at an airport. In no case may I, as a high mins captain, descend below 300' with a visibility less than 1 statute mile. For the pilot-speak impaired, it means that in order for me to legally land at an airport with shitty weather, it has to be slightly less shitty than what I've been trained to do. Okay, nothing wrong with that. Every airline does that. However, the retarded part of it is that I have to fly EVERY LEG, execute every take off and every landing, for the first 100 hours of flight time. UGH. It wasn't so bad until I started getting 4-day trips with the same crew. I felt so bad for the first officers stuck with me who looked bored to tears. For the record, I never minded flying with a high mins guy, because no one loves the sound of her own voice - especially on the radio with a chance to flirt with ATC and maybe get shortcuts - more than I do, and it was like a 4-day vacation. But that's me. They were all understanding about not getting to fly, and thankfully patient with my excruciatingly slow pace at doing everything. When the opportunity presented itself, I bought the crew a round on the overnights or coffee the next morning as a thank you. I wish I could have done more, but so it goes.

Legend has it that when you are on High mins for the first time, weird crap that you've never seen before suddenly happens to you. After over 5 years in the right seat, I am pleased to say that I'd seen enough that only one thing happened to me that I'd never seen before outside of the simulator. That doesn't mean that the rest of my first 100 hours was event-free, however. Anyway, the weird thing that I've never seen before was the failure of the landing gear to come up normally when requested. I initially heard normal gear-up sounds followed by abnormal gear-up sounds - the a wob-wob-wob of the wheels continuing to turn after liftoff (which is not normal), and the noise of the gear being down in the wind. I had just enough time to say, "what the F***?" before I heard the triple-chime of the aural warning unit accompanied by a red message telling us there was a difference between the position of the landing gear switch and the position of the gear itself.

Crap. "I'll keep it below 200 knots, you run the checklist. Autopilot on, my radios," I barked, feeling like Capt Sully. The ho-hum ending to a would-be thrilling, heart-stopping, news-flashing, hero-making saga is that the problem went away after running the checklist. I wrote it up when we got to our destination and got a roll of the eyes from the maintenance man awaiting our arrival.

While on high-mins, I also got to experience an extended maintenance delay. I was flying with a first officer who was FRESH out of training. The ink had not yet dried on his temporary airman's certificate (issued to him after passing the checkride in our training program), and his epaulettes were still shiny and unblemished from the tears of disappointment and abuse so characteristic of regional airlines. The Flight Attendant had been putting up with jealousy crap from her boyfriend and passenger abuse, and at her wit's end stated to me, "ANYTHING else goes wrong, and I'm calling off!!" This combination in itself was a little tough, but manageable. On his walk-around, the FO noticed a screw needed tightening. So, I call up maintenance, and have them send a guy who could tighten a screw on the aircraft. Should be a non-issue, right?

WRONG. I get back to the plane after getting some coffee, and the gate agent is upset, saying it's a no-go item. I look at her like she's crazy, and say, "It's a screw. There are only 122 other screws in that fairing. I see maintenance out there now. How can it be a no-go item? We'll be ready to board in 5 minutes." Turns out, the screw was loose because there was nothing to tighten it against on the back end. It was, unfortunately, in a portion of the aircraft that Embraer considered crucial. What was troubling, is that our maintenance knew this, and during its last airworthiness inspection, they GLUED it down so it would look like it was tightened upon visual inspection - rather than take the aircraft out of service to fix it properly. After a few flights, of course the glue wore off and the screw was loose again. We waited an hour and a half for a call from the engineering department at Embraer to call our Maintenance personnel with their blessing to put some "speed tape" (AKA "Duct tape") over the errant screw. As luck would have it, they could. The blessing was, this delay allowed us some time as a crew to relax and joke around a bit. We boarded, and off we went to a better day.

Things happen in 3's, so the last adventure of my high mins tenure happened on a flight from Richmond, VA to Detroit, MI. It was a hot summer day, and a line of thunderstorms had developed around Detroit, blocking off the arrivals from the south. We were given a holding pattern, to expect further clearance in thirty minutes. I slow down to save gas. More often than not, when you're given a holding pattern, you barely even get into the hold when they're clearing you out of it. I look in the direction ahead and the weather honestly didn't look THAT BAD, so I told the FO to wait until we're in the pattern to contact our dispatch via the 2nd radio. We enter the pattern. FO is on the phone with dispatch. I ask if that EFC time is going to hold. They answer, "as a matter of fact, we were just about to extend it." I look at the fuel load - about 2,900 lbs remaining, and sigh. We're diverting, all right. Now, where do I want to go? We're over Ohio. I know Cleveland and Columbus can handle the Delta codeshare...... in the meantime, my FO has contacted dispatch - Fort Wayne (we call it, "Fort Fun" in much the same way you'd call a bouncer "Tiny") it is!!

We tell air traffic control that we're diverting to Fort Wayne, IN, and comply with their instructions. We're #3 of about 6 divertees. I notify the flight attendant we're diverting. She asks, "will you make the announcement?" I don't want to, but I think, "as a passenger, I want to hear it from the horse's ass.... I mean mouth." I sigh again and say, "yes." I click the PA button, tell the FO I'll be out of the loop, and pause. What the hell am I going to say? I decide on the truth. Without humor. I feel so stupid on the damned PA anyway. I make what I hope is a commanding, yet compassionate (after all, they have connections) announcement, and return to the business at hand. We land at Fort Wayne and are at the mercy of the ground crew. All we need is gas and new paperwork to get going. It takes an hour and 45 minutes. Their ground crew, while completely competent, is stressed to the max with not only people like us, but normal service as well. To my surprise, they have water for the passengers. Thank GOD, because we were out.

I had to laugh at the captain of the ExpressJet plane next to us. Every so often, he would leap out of the cockpit, stand expectantly on his air stair door, and walk to the terminal. A few minutes, later, he would walk back. Sometimes, he'd look at me and we'd both smile and wave. I was reminded of the days I spent in jazz band in high school and college. When we'd play off-campus gigs, the whole band was called upon to help build and tear down the set. Trouble is, after the music stands and microphone stands were packed, there wasn't much that I could help with, but I didn't want to be seen doing nothing! So, what I did was walk "with a purpose" quickly in one direction.... hide for a bit..... then walk in the same manner the other direction. That way it looked like I was still helping, when in fact, I was not. I don't know if that was what this other captain was doing or not.... but it sure as hell looked that way. It made me smile.

Anyway.

We get fueled finally, and still have to wait another 30 minutes at the end of the departure runway for spacing into Detroit. We also had to fly the scenic route - over GRAND RAPIDS before we could turn south for DTW. It was an adventure, and I had a headache by the end of the day. However, I was blessed with a stellar crew throughout the ordeal. The flight attendant kept the passengers entertained, the first officer kept after ops to get our fuel and paperwork, and I hounded dispatch and kept the passengers informed. We enjoyed a round at the hotel bar before crashing into our respective beds.

After 100 hours as Pilot in Command, I am feeling a lot more confident and capable. It is much less awkward when people (passengers, TSA, my friends) address me as "Captain," though at heart I really don't feel like I deserve it. I wonder if that will change. It's funny, as an FO, I had all kinds of confidence, bordering on arrogance. Why should moving a few inches to the left make a difference? I find that the left seat has made a difference in my attitude. Suddenly, "they don't pay me enough to deal with that shit" is not true anymore. I find that I care a lot more about the people in the back, which shames me a little. I find that even though I thought I was good at talking to people in the first place, I am more choosy with my words. There is a right and a wrong way to talk to people, and every person is different. I try to react to things with patience instead of anger. All I ask is that my crews and dispatchers have patience with me. It's going to take a while for me to get good at this. By then, I'll probably get a call from United!

Most importantly, every day I think about the advice I garnered out of every captain I flew with. I try to remember what I liked and didn't like about their style. So that it sticks, I silently recite what that instructor said to me on my last day of sim training, "Take care of your passengers. Take care of your crew. Take care of yourself - your medical. Take care of your airplane - don't bend any metal. If you do those 4 things, in that order, you'll have no problem.

Sounds like sound advice to me.

Sidelined

A 24-hour layover in the Big Apple!!! I should be out with the crew, running around Manhattan, trying new foods and drinks, watching people, seeing the sights, and trying not to get raped, mugged, or murdered after mistakenly taking a wrong turn.

What I am doing instead is working on my online resume, gathering references, and breaking down my flight time into excruciatingly precise categories between now and the first time I stepped into an airplane over 13 years ago.

I'd like to blame my discontent with my current employer. However, while it is true that the majority of our pilot group is angrier than a midget with a yo-yo, my motivation to work on airlineapps.com stems from the fact that I feel the need to do something productive and I can't do what I desperately want to do any more - Run.

Last year when I was building my mileage, I encountered shin splints. In fact, over the course of my love affair with running, I've dealt with injuries - plantar fasciitis, illiotibial band syndrome, shin splints, runner's knee..... I've had them all. A running store analyzed my gait and said, "you're a heel striker. Change your stride to more of a forefoot stride, and those problems will go away." I started with drills and eventually changed my stride. They were right - my problems went away! However, a new problem arose. I noticed that the balls of my feet felt like they were on fire after a few miles. "No problem," I thought. "My feet will get used to this new stride in time. After all, all the running forums and literature say this is a natural stride and those Kenyans who are natural athletes run BAREFOOT, for hundreds of miles, for Christ's sake!"

When I was training for the half marathon, I developed a problem in my left foot that had symptoms similar to Morton's Neuroma. It started off as an annoying numbness in the 3rd and 4th toes after about 3 miles, progressing to an electric, shooting pain with every step. When this showed up, I'd walk a few minutes, and I was able to resume running for about another 3 miles. My normal problem-solving strategy of "Ignore the problem and it will go away," didn't work in this case.

I went to a podiatrist. He did an MRI. Couldn't find a neuroma. He said, "that doesn't mean there's NOT one, it just means that if there is a neuroma, it's too small. Try ibuprofen."

Well, it feels pretty big to me. Incidentally, ibuprofen doesn't work. Lots and lots of alcohol is what works! I digress.

After the race, I took some time off. I dedicated myself into studying for captain upgrade. I didn't run a step. Know what? The problem only got worse! It got to where I couldn't walk without an explosion of shooting pain up my toes with every step. My podiatrist gave me a Cortisone shot, which made my foot "Comfortably numb" for a day. The next day? Pain was back, and it was PISSED! Now, he's recommending surgery to remove the nerve. AAAACK!!! No WAY do I want to do that! I'm afraid it might be my only option.

Mom suggested a chiropractor.

I was skeptical, but hopeful. I walked in, and Dr. Chiropractor Lady adjusted my back and made me pop in ways that hurt SO GOOD! She then took a percussive pen-shaped thingy and "adjusted" my foot. For the rest of that day..... no pain!

Such is the success of each visit, yet it always comes back. I'm told that because my foot was out of whack for so long, it will take multiple treatments. Before leaving for my 6 days of work, I went back to the Chiropractor (she was unavailable, I instead was treated by her husband, Dr. Chiropractor Man). He used his hands to adjust my foot and it "popped" in some way. It felt good at the time, but started screaming at me the moment I walked away. Why didn't I go back in and have him undo what he just did? I was running late for my commute to work, and hoped that if I ignored the problem, it would go away <wrong again>. By the time I got to the airport, every step was excruciating. I wondered if he broke something. I almost called in sick.

I will finish the recommended 10 visits with the greatest of hopes and insist on Dr. Lady as my sole foot adjuster. I will also begin the physical therapy recommended by my podiatrist. However, if the pain gets any worse, I might just take a hacksaw to the whole damned foot and instead get one of those springy prosthetic things you see amputees using to complete the Ironman.

I've put on most of the weight I lost this time last year. I can't run, I can't walk, I can't use the elliptical - and it makes me sad. I suppose I could get into biking - but I'm home about 2 nights a week if I'm lucky. I could try swimming, but I must first have the confidence to wear a swimsuit!  Honestly, I just lack motivation to do any cross training when I can't run and these are convenient, even if they are petty, excuses to not work out.

I'm hoping this is just a lesson that life needs me to learn. I'm hoping that this is just an experience I will remember when I'm finally able to run again, or even walk without pain, to use as motivation on those mornings when I am physically capable of, yet too lazy to run. I see my friends' postings on Facebook, using their fitness software, proudly announcing to the world how far or how long they've run. I feel the bittersweet emotions of simultaneously applauding and envying them, and I miss the days when I used to post the same things on my Facebook.. I miss the way people looked at me when I was drenched with sweat, wearing my dripping clothes like a badge of honor. I miss the endorphins and the feeling of accomplishment after a 10 mile run. I miss the scenery and peace of the long runs, and the achy exhaustion after tackling hills and speed drills. I miss having a butt you could bounce a quarter off of. Mostly, I miss the confidence running gave me.

I will get it back, somehow. Keep those quarters handy.

Back to finding those references for airlineapps.com.

Cleveland Rocks!

I haven't been at our company sanctioned Cleveland hotel in YEARS.

As an FO, I was based here in CLE after our company saw fit to close our sacred STL base. I made a fine home at the Crowne Plaza, and have many wonderful  memories there. I found a family there. I am currently in the process of being transferred there, because while a two hour drive to STL only to commute on Trans States to CLE to reserve is dismal, it is still a fabulous improvement over the 20 minute drive to Columbia, MO to 2 leg it through Memphis to Columbus, OH to sit reserve that I'm currently doing.

Anyway, as I've stated, I haven't been here at our CLE hotel in years. I do remember, however fuzzy, one of the most fun times of my life at this very hotel.

It was the Tuesday before the Thanksgiving Holiday, 2007. I was on a four-day trip with a fantastic crew. We fly to CLE, fly to JAX (Jacksonville, FL), and return to CLE. We were supposed to fly to Providence, RI, but never made it due to the extreme weather. I remember telling the passengers on the taxi out of the JAX airport, "wave bye-bye to Mr. Sunshine, folks.... not much of THAT where you're headed this evening." Sure enough, we get to Cleveland, and there is a blizzard!! We taxi up to the gate, there is a message from crew scheduling - we are canceled until further notice. We are to proceed to our Cleveland hotel and wait for further assignment - who knows when?

As we stroll through the airport on our way to the ground transportation area, we come upon our passengers - gathered around a gate agent as if it was a revival in southern Mississippi. Our flight attendant notices a 16 year old girl traveling alone - face all torn up in tears. "What's wrong?" she asks. The girl responds with, "I'm trying to get to Providence, RI. My flight's been canceled. I don't have any money. I don't know what to do!! I can't get a voucher because I'm a minor!" My flight attendant and I exchange glances, and she says, "We can't just leave her. Should I call my manager of inflight?" I say, "NO!!! Better to ask forgiveness than permission." We take the poor stranded passenger with us. We buy her dinner, she stays in the flight attendant's hotel room for the night. We buy her breakfast. She ends up making a flight home in time for Thanksgiving! It was a holiday miracle! We are still stuck at our Cleveland hotel for another night - with a hotel full of stranded Southwest crews and distressed passengers. A friendly smile and a wink is all it takes to earn a drink courtesy of Southwest Airlines. And the wine flowed like..... well..... wine.

It was a party I barely remember, but will never forget!!

I remember a packed bar full of our crews, Southwest crews, stranded passengers, and hotel staff. I remember having a BLAST, but little else.

God, I love this career.

I am reminded of that special week every time I come here to this special hotel. I can't wait for the stories to come, and the adventures that await!

Milwaukee hotel brews... I mean blues.

This bleeping hotel.

I just somehow magically found my way back to my Milwaukee hotel room, after roaming the halls for more than 20 minutes. I swear, the hotel we stay at here in MKE was designed by none other than David Bowie's character in Labyrinth. It's as if he tired of tormenting young adolescent girls in movies and moved on to tormenting innocent flight crews ambling back from the hotel's pub like the star of an early Tom Waits song. I must have wandered these halls in a circle at least 3 times, looking for the building that holds my humble room. My tried and true technique of hanging the "do not disturb" sign on my door to at least narrow my choices during an alcohol-induced state of confusion was of little use this time. It's a puzzle, and the 3 beers I had should have earned me some kind of handicap, like in bowling or golf.

Nope...... they just made me more handicapped.

Seriously. When I look outside my hotel room window, I see an adjacent building roughly 15 feet away that looks like a group of engineers got high together and thought, "DUUUUUUDE.......... let's put another F-ing building RIGHT THERE, MAN!! HAHA!! That would be totally GROOOOVY!!!! People could like, peep into each other's windows and stuff!" Kind of like when you're really schnockered and think you're the Dos Equis guy - the MOST interesting man in the world..... then when you sober up the next day you find out that you in fact were a total JACKASS. This hotel is a gumbo of afterthoughts, a village with its own zip code thrown together into one steaming pile of multicolored moldy fermentation and creaky floors. Every time I stay here, I see a different kind of mold on the ceiling or a different mystery stain creatively placed somewhere in the room. To be fair, I'm sure the rest of the hotel is excellent. Each one of the 5 buildings connected together via hallway is named - The Presidential, the Executive, The International..... I kept thinking...."Where's the GHETTO?!?" That's where the airline crews stay!

Please don't think I'm complaining. I am, in truth, having a freaking BLAST on this 4-day. AND.... my moldy hotel room at least has a fridge so I can store the rest of my grilled chicken. It's gonna be a total of 10 days on the road for me this time. Poor Sweet Cheeks and Clara the Cat won't remember me when I get home.

My FO comes from a background of corporate. He just made 2nd year pay, which is about a third of what he made at his corporate job. I felt guilty that my in-flight meal today was home-cooked chicken breast (grilled under a brick by yours truly) and spinach drizzled with garlic-infused olive oil and half an avocado. His in-flight meal was a few pieces of bread and some peanut butter with a tortilla chip chaser.

Day 1 of our 4-day had us arriving in Omaha, NE at around 10am, with nothing to do but entertain ourselves until 1600 the NEXT DAY. Oh.... AND there was another crew with the same layover. Needless to say, we went out. We had a Tex-Mex lunch (during happy hour!), went to a casino, and then went back to the hotel for dinner and a nightcap.

It was reminiscent of the "good ole days" in St. Louis. It wasn't like I was at work. It was like a few friends and I took a plane up to the Midwest to hang out and have fun.

THAT'S what this career is all about!!

Today, we spent the day fighting the gusty winds and building storms in Wisconsin. Our last flight of the day (leg 5) from Rhinelander to Milwaukee had us deviating a great deal East, hugging the coast line of Lake Michigan before we were clear of the storms. It made me long for my freight hauling days - instead of flying around the storm, I'd just pick the best spot and fly THROUGH the storm and hit the bar early!! I really miss those days sometimes. Who am I kidding, I miss those days ALL the time.

Oh.... this "high mins" crap is getting old. I don't know if every airline does this, or just mine, but for the first 100 hours of Captain Time for me, I have to fly EVERY leg, and execute EVERY takeoff and landing. I feel so sorry for my poor FO's who are reduced to radio jocks and gear swingers - BORED out of their MINDS. Although, I never minded when I flew with a high mins Capt when I was an FO, because it was like I didn't have to work at all - PLUS, I could flirt with ATC!!! Totaling up my time.... I only have about 75 more hours before I'm off high mins!

Anyway. Time to find some baseball on the tube (Preferably the Cardinals, but I'll watch any team). I've run into a couple of people lately who've asked me how I like being captain. I always answer truthfully, "I love it!" It's like a whole new job. At last, I get to make the calls I want without worrying about carefully watching my words. I don't have to remember how every captain likes certain little things. I get to control the mood of the plane - which is jovial, or at least sarcastic and witty. I finally get to control the things I hated about flying with guys I didn't like, as well as do and say the things that the guys I loved flying with did. Does that make sense? Even though the commute, the schedule, the same complaints that come with working for a regional airline - they are all legitimate and ever-present, I have a renewed sense of gratitude that I am in this profession. I wouldn't trade it for anything!

Yep, I'm in charge now.

All tests passed, training is complete! I am now officially "Captain Willes!" Or "Cap'n D?" Or "Captain Squeaks?" Or "Capt. Squeaky D?"

Or maybe just the Bitch in charge! We'll see what my crews really call me after a 4-day.

The last blog update was written during a very stressful time. I don't remember the last time I was that miserable. It was probably during my initial training. Looking back and comparing the two, I will say that while the initial training was more emotionally taxing, Upgrade was more unpleasant and painful than a simultaneous root canal, hysterectomy, colonoscopy, appendectomy, and surprise amputation of a body part of the surgeon's choosing. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl during upgrade, and I thought it would never be over. I have a new respect for those unfortunate folks who are just above me on the seniority list who went through Upgrade years ago, only to be downgraded to FO a few months later, and then upgraded again. They went through the process TWICE! I'd rather have my toenails removed with a putty knife. Granted, a lot of this stress I placed upon myself because of how much it meant to me to be given this opportunity. It wasn't just about the much-needed raise in pay. It was a new certificate (ATP) and a type rating - just the possession of which opens doors that were closed to me as an FO with just my commercial pilot's certificate. It's another step up the career ladder; one step closer to my version of success. In short, it was kind of a big deal.

Since I was simply making a transition from the right seat of the EMB-145 to the left seat, I was given the "short course." That means a week and a half of ground school, 4 simulator sessions, an oral exam, and a check ride. Followed by 25 hours of IOE (Initial Operating Experience) and a Fed ride (a revenue flight with a check airman acting as my copilot and the FAA in the jumpseat). The whole process started on April the 2nd, and ended with the Fed ride on May the 10th.

The first simulator session was a disaster. Everyone said it would be, but I didn't really believe it would be that bad. I expected my hands to be confused; I didn't expect my eyes to be lost, too. Think about it: my hands have been trained to make certain motions when my mind commands them for the over 5 years I sat in the right seat. All of a sudden, they have opposite duties. Which is bad in itself, but add to that the fact that now I can't freaking FIND ANYTHING with my eyeballs. The screens are in the wrong place. Even stupid stuff like the autopilot and flight director buttons were difficult to find. I found myself glancing at the FO's displays just to set the altitude. What's worse is that I was so paralyzed by the fear of that stupid simulator, I was wound up too tight to do any thinking at all. Couple that with continued self abuse of my mind screaming, "Delia, WTF is wrong with you?? You fly!! This is what we DO! Why are you losing 200 feet in the steep turn, you moron?!?" I walked out of that box holding back tears and frustration because I felt that I didn't belong in ANY airplane, much less a jet that carries 50 trusting people. I thought I'd slipped through the cracks. I thought about quitting and going back to school to do something else.

Then I had some wine. I called my friends, vented on facebook, and wrote to my mom, and prayed. We had the next day off, so I spent the day in my room in front of my cockpit poster, chair flying and slowly going through everything mentally from the setup check to the shutdown check. It took hours.

It worked.

I got progressively better each day. I was able to finally relax in the sim. It's easier to control the thing when you're not shaking! When it came time for the check ride, I walked the long walk to the sim telling myself, "You've got this. You've already earned your ATP and type rating. You just need to step into that box and get them." The check ride itself was a piece of cake. Well, except for the stalls, which were pretty ugly. There was a tense moment after my completion of the stalls when I listened for the beeping of the simulator bridge to lower. When I didn't hear that, I knew I was home free. I kept my head about me, slowing down, doing things in a deliberate manner, planning what comes next. I finished the ride with the most beautiful visual approach to a no-flap landing I've ever done. Of course, upon landing, the entire plane caught fire (not my fault!!!), and I had to execute an emergency evacutaion. I performed the memory items and shut down the plane. There was a beat or two. I turned around to face the examiner and he said, "Congratulations Delia. You passed!"

I exited the simulator in the slow motion manner of a cheesy film. I swear I could hear Freddy Mercury singing, "Weeeeee are the champ-ions....... my fri-end...." Randy (my sim partner and upgrade partner through it all) was coming down the long walkway towards me. I gave him a thumbs up and a huge smile. He hugged me and said, "Congratulations, Captain Willes!" I responded with "Congratulations to you, Captain Crider!!" It was the best day of my life.

The last day of sim is called "LOFT." It's supposed to stand for "Line Oriented Flight Training," and is supposed to be a flight from point A to point B with just a small malfunction. Yeah, a real snoozefest! We had an instructor who knew we had already had 5 years of that already, so he let us play with the airplane a bit. Short field takeoffs, dead-stick landings, that sort of thing. It was a lot of fun, and I felt it was really beneficial, too. At the conclusion, I asked him if he had any advice for us, since he'd spent 30+ years as a captain for Ozark, TWA, and American. He said, "Four things. Take care of your passengers, take care of your crew, take care of yourself, take care of your airplane. In that order. You will never have any trouble if you do those four things."

As for IOE, I had the benefit of flying with 3 seperate check airmen during my experience and learned a lot from each one. I finished up my training with a gal who was sharp as a tack and didn't take crap from anybody! Everyone who has flown with her just loves her. She is a really good teacher and constantly had me thinking with her "what if" questions. She knows the rules, the takes care of her crews, she sticks to her guns. Everything about her exudes confidence.  In short, she's exactly the kind of captain I want to be.

Fed ride day. My Fed ride was also another potential check airman's Fed ride. This means that while I'm going for Captain, my acting first officer is a captain going for Check Airman cert. The FAA observes him as much as he observes me, and in the end gives him the FAA's blessing to go forth and teach. So, it was a big day for both of us! It was a revenue flight from Indianapolis to Chicago. A dear friend of mine, Adam, had just passed his Check Airman ride and knew he was bringing the plane for our ride. He was kind enough to leave the MEL book open so I wouldn't have to stumble around to find the deferred maintenance item. Plus, he gave me a hug and left me a good luck note to "kick ass!" It really meant a lot to me. The flight itself was nothing significant. The weather was perfect. I was nervous, but did ok. The FAA examiner was very cool. He was from Louisiana, how could he not be cool?

When it was over, I hugged the flight attendant, high-fived the newly certified Check Airman, texted Sweet Cheeks, and called my parents. I didn't stop smiling the rest of the day.

Now, I'm on reserve at my new home away from home in Columbus, OH. It appears that Scheduling doesn't need me today, but I already have a trip assigned for tomorrow for a round trip from Columbus to Boston. I'm excited about my job for the first time in years! I spend half my time not believing this has really happened, and the other half praying I don't f**k up! I don't think you're supposed to use the F word when you talk to God; looks like confession time for me again!!

I want to thank each and every one of the people I emailed, called, texted, complained to, cried with, and otherwise leaned on who really believed in me when I didn't believe in myself - especially my Mom and Dad.

Thank you for your continued support and for always being in my corner. I am so happy that now I can go on to reading things for the simple joy of reading that have nothing to do with airplanes!!!

I think I'll start with the Pilot Reserve section of our contract.

Report from training

12 days into Upgrade training, and my mind feels like it's going to explode. I have become intimately familiar with the Airplane Operator's Manual, the company's General Ops Manual, and the airplane's Pilot's Operating Handbook. I can tell you that with as much as I know about the airplane now (which still isn't a lot. It seems like the more I study, the more questions I have), I have NO IDEA how I passed the initial oral exam as a First Officer because back then, I didn't know SQUAT.

During my studies, there are occasions when the light bulb comes on. For example, I have discovered only 2 days ago that the precooler and the primary heat exchanger are not the same thing. Plus, who knew the hydraulic system had a manifold? These things were huge discoveries for me!! Years of memorizing the rote answers to questions in the study guide have finally led to a basic understanding of aircraft systems, yet there are a lot of things I still don't understand. No amount of reading the manuals is going to help, either. I was trying to explain the problem to my friend and only upgrade classmate (yep, that's right. We are a mighty upgrade class of 2) what the problem is. My mind works differently from the dudes who wrote the book. My understanding of words like "solenoid," "manifold," "torque tube," etc. are boxes from crudely drawn schematics. I understand that fluid travels from one box labeled "reservoir," through tubes into a box labeled "manifold," and into somewhere else where it actuates a cylinder-looking thingy labeled "torque tube," which does the thing that we are requesting. I've never actually seen these things, because I'm doing more interesting stuff like drinking wine, cooking, and socializing, while the boys are in the yard drinking beer and trying to take apart and rebuild the lawnmower. It's not my intent to sound sexist, it's just the truth. Yes, I know there are exceptions, and I know several awesome super-hero chicks who are exceptions. Sadly, I am not one of them.

So when the book uses these words to describe the aircraft systems, my mind is only able to generate an abstract understanding of the system they are trying to describe. By the same token, I have no problem understanding the rules and regulations governing pilots. The performance data is a piece of cake, and I'm textbook perfect with the callouts and flying profiles.  I guess everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. Let's hope my weaknesses are strong enough to pass and keep myself and everyone else safe.

So far, my classmate (Randy) and I have been through 2 weeks of ground school. Well, 1 week and 2 days of ground school in Indy. The instructors have been top-notch and I have learned a lot. Everyone I've talked to said to go in to Upgrade training ready to take the oral exam, because you won't learn anything. This isn't true. I think that due to our small class size, Randy and I were able to tailor the class to fit our needs, and we both came out of class much more knowledgeable than we went in. It could not have been a more positive experience and I feel extremely lucky that things turned out the way they did!

However, I do have a complaint. In the company's haste to get by God get a class going NOW, they left the scheduling to someone else who didn't do their job. Surprise, surprise. They had us scheduled to do doors and windows training in Louisville on Wednesday the 11th, but neglected to line up an instructor for that date. So, we were rescheduled to do Doors on Friday the 13th, but they also had us scheduled to take our oral exams on Friday the 13 in St. Louis at the same time. Then they decided that it was impossible for us to be in 2 cities at the same time, so they rescheduled the oral again for Monday the 16th. Turns out, the check airmen are all busy, so we've been rescheduled again for next weekend. Of course, no one thought about communicating these new schedules to us until a day or so before the events. I feel like Columbo trying to track down the right people just to get our freaking schedules solidified. As if studying for the damn thing wasn't stressful enough! I think we've been issued the final draft. Oral exam for me will be on Sunday the 22nd, with the Check ride on Monday the 23rd, followed by 2 days off, and a LOFT on the 26th.

I can't wait for all this to be over, so I can read far more interesting stuff that has nothing to do with airplanes and begin bitching about commuting to sit reserve in Columbus!

Back to the books.

Here Comes the Sun - or - my big weekend

Beatles fans know that song to be one of George Harrison's contributions to the world's greatest album known to man - Abbey Road - second in Harrison's awesomeness only to "Something," which, lucky for us, is on the same album. Okay, some of you will argue that it is not the world's greatest album, but you have to admit that it certainly is in the top 10. Anyhow, the story behind that song according to George (also mentioned in Clapton's autobiography), is that the year in which it was written was pretty stressful and wrought with frustrations for George - namely getting arrested for marijuana possession, having his tonsils removed, and temporarily quitting the Beatles. So one day, he decides to scrap all his responsibilities and head out to his good friend Eric Clapton's house. It was such a beautiful day, and it felt so good to be free from responsibility that day, that he walked around Clapton's garden playing one of EC's acoustic guitars, where he ended up writing "Here Comes the Sun." A classic is born.
 
I can remember hearing that song on the am radio - years ago while flying freight - after popping out the other side of a rain shower into the sunny, clear day. I was struck by not only the timing of the song but its message of hope and better things to come. Usually, I heard songs like Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire." I couldn't help but laugh at my morbid interpretation of the lyrics as I was shooting an approach into Kansas City, hearing Cash sing, "I fell in to a burnin' ring of fire... I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher...."

I heard "Here Comes the Sun" again just before Don and I left the house bound for Little Rock during my vacation. That extended weekend turned into a trifecta of Spectacular. First, we went to the Jimmy Buffett concert on March 1st - which always officially ends Winter and begins Spring. The weather in Arkansas was unseasonably warm - in the 80's, and the sun felt so good on my skin. Even on the drive along the winding highway, I could feel my winter funk melting away. There was just something so great about the warmth and listening to Radio Margaritaville. As a born and raised Parrotthead, I know every song Buffett ever wrote or performed. The acoustics at the concert stunk, or maybe it was our seats, but it was still great to watch Jimmy perform. There's a guy who truly loves what he does! He has so much fun at his job, you can't help but smile when you see or hear him play.

A few days to recover led me to the real reason for heading to Little Rock - the half marathon! I'll tell ya.... that half marathon training is what kept me from falling completely off the diet/exercise wagon. I tend to get the winter blues. Although this winter wasn't nearly as bad as last, the blues still came. First comes the desire to drink a lot more. Then, the comfort eating starts. Finally, the lack of motivation to do anything physical sets in. And STAYS. For about 3 months. If not for my obligation to the race, I probably would have become a complete slob, and undone everything I worked so hard for physically all summer.

Race day came March 4th, and I was nervous and excited! The Little Rock marathon/half marathon/10K was sold out at 12,000 runners!! I was in the back of the pack. I think the Kenyans in the front actually finished the marathon before I even made it to the starting line. I waved to my little group of cheerleaders (Dad, his friend Kelli, her daughter Sarah, and My Sweet Cheeks) just before I stepped across the mat that activates the timing device attached to my shoe. Off we go!! The first mile went by in a flash, and I thought, "Hell, this is going to be EASY!"

About mile 3, I came across a band playing "Jambalaya." I give them the rocker sign and keep on running. I passed the 5 hour marathon pace group. The streets are lined with people cheering, banging cowbells, holding signs for their favorite runner (usually someone's mom or dad). Somewhere along the way, I pass the 4:50 marathon pace group. Boy, I'm really hauling ass!! Open the box of raisins I had brought along and eat a handful of them to keep up my energy. Give a raisin-y smile to a photographer who probably thought - "That chick is chewing tobacco during her race?? Well, this is Arkansas!!"

I made sure to high-five every child who held his or her hand out to the runners. I stopped at every water stop and one porta-potty. I gave a fist-pump or a rocker symbol to every live band along the way. I thanked every volunteer. Every time I saw a photographer, I ran extra hard and put on a mean face so they could get a good picture, hoping it didn't make me look constipated. I couldn't believe how many people lined the streets of the course to cheer on the runners. I marveled at their ability to maintain their enthusiasm for hours. I thought, "well crap, they're working harder than I am!"

Mom later asked me if there was a time I wanted to quit. That time came around mile 7. I looked at my GPS watch and thought to myself, "Mile 7?!? That's ALL?!!? F@#K!!!! This was a mistake. I'm never going to make it. Oh my God, there's another hill!" Just then, I came across another band, playing a song I've never heard. I do, however, remember the lyrics they were singing, "She puts the 'HO' in 'Jose Cuervo..." That little laugh and another handful of raisins gave me the strength to keep going. About mile 10, my feet no longer felt like feet, but instead bloody, beaten, toe-less stumps being ground against the pavement. I thought, "just 3 more miles.... come on, 3 miles is just a warmup run! Come on... step step step.... breathe breathe breathe. You can do it!!!"

A lone trumpeter played a jazzy version of "When the Saints Go Marching In." I was sure it was Gabriel playing to alert St. Peter of my arrival at the Pearly Gates. I was so thankful instead to see the sign directing the marathon folks one way, and the half-marathon folks another. I laughed and waved goodbye to the 26.2 milers, "See ya!!! If you need me, I'll be downing ice cream and beer. Have fun with that extra 13 miles."

Mile 12.8 - I saw the finish line. I heard the crowd. I saw the giant clock and heard spectators shout, "keep going! You're almost there!!" For a second, my eyes went blurry, my throat closed, my breath caught, and I got incredibly emotional. I'm really going to do this!!!! I then thought, "I'll get emotional later. Now I need to breathe!" I picked up the pace and could no longer feel my legs or bloody toe-less stumps posing as feet." I crossed the finish line in 2 hours and 20 minutes - 10 minutes faster than my goal!

It was an experience like no other. The volunteers wrapped me in mylar and handed me my finisher's medal as they directed me to the bananas and crackers. I walked around in a daze trying to comprehend what I had just done. As I did my stretches I thought, "That wasn't so hard. I can even do better! Oh, how I want to do another one!!"

So.... Buffett and half-marathon. On to the third "spec" in our trifecta of spectacular.

The night before the race, my dad and his friend Kelli took Don and me out to an Italian restaurant to "Carb load." That's where runners eat a bunch of carbs to give their bodies the energy to run a good race. I don't know much about the science, but I'm always looking for an excuse to eat pasta. I turn off my phone for 2 hours. 2 hours! That's it. When I turned it back on again, my world changed! I see texts from several people - "congrats, Captain Willes!!"

WHAT?!?!? It's not even April Fool's!

Yep, the bid award was finally published. Yours truly was awarded the very last captain slot. I'm the plug. I'm the runt. I'm the absolutely most junior person to get the award. Call me whatever you want, but BY GOD, CALL ME "CAPTAIN!!!"

Today, I spoke with Crew Planning, and my class date is April 2nd. That's not set in stone; they were waiting to hear from a few guys who may or may not take the April 16th class. Given my history with this company, I won't celebrate until I am actually on the line, captaining an aircraft. But it gives me hope. I am humbled and touched by how many people have congratulated me and wished me good luck. I hope I don't let you down. There is a lot to study. No doubt, this will be difficult, but I know I can do it.

My winter blues are gone. I'm back on the diet/exercise wagon, giving running a break (hoping my black toenails on the right foot will heal and that weird shooting-pain sensation will stop in the toes of my left foot). I'm deep into my first week of P90X. We have sprung forward and can look forward to flowers, sunshine, and baseball. I feel like there may be an end to what seemed like nothing but perpetual spinning my wheels regarding my career. At least I have a shot at it, anyway.

"Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces. Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here."

I know this was a long blog entry. Thank you to the ones who made it this far. You're my cheerleaders - always there when it feels like I've come so far, I'm running out of gas, and I still have so far to run. Without my friends and family, there is no way I could make it through the marathon of life.

I hope the sun shines for all of you this Springtime.