Catch Me If You Can

The weekend came early.  After nearly two weeks of 8 hours of class followed by studying until it was time to sleep, the Director of Training gave us one last break before the next big push began.  We would be taking Friday off and allowed to enjoy a 3-day weekend. This was an odd feeling.  For the previous two years, with the exception of major holidays and weddings of course, I had worked, flown or studied 6-7 days a week.  Taking three days off in a row would have, at times, been equal to an entire month's worth of days off for me.

Unfortunately, this would be no vacation for me.  When I originally left Florida, I had given myself less than 24 hours to pack, clean and get moved out.  I needed to get back and get everything organized before my lease expired at the end of September.  The 3-day weekend would be the perfect opportunity to get this done. 

The week prior, we received our company pilot/crew badges.  With the badges, we were told that our information had been put into CASS (Cockpit Access Security System) and we were now eligible to jumpseat.  So, I now had a plan; a free one that was, in reality, no plan at all.  

Early in the morning on Friday, I prepared to go to the airport.  Sporting a white dress shirt, black slacks, and my carry-on luggage I walked through the doors to the terminal and made my way down to security.  The most important accessory was hanging from the lanyard on my neck, the ID badge labeled "CREW."  I didn't have a ticket and it was the only way I could get through the checkpoint to the gate. As I approached the security access point, I noticed the twisting and turning of humanity all trying to prove that they were, in fact, not terrorists.  Even at the relatively small airport as compared to Orlando or Los Angeles, there were at least 100 people in line waiting.  At 5am, many were anxiously checking their watches and straining their necks to see what was taking so long.  As older and less experienced passengers struggled climbing through the hoops set forth by the TSA, the people behind them groaned audibly or shook their heads.  Clearly everyone here was is in a good mood.

I checked my phone as I entered the back of the line.  An experienced traveler, I had given myself plenty of time to make it to the flight and not having to check a bag helped incredibly.  As I made my way to the end of the line, a TSA officer pointed at me then beckoned.  "Sir, you don't have to wait in line.  You're crew."  I politely corrected him saying that I wasn't flying today, just trying to catch a ride home.  "It don't matter.  You have a badge, you go through this line."  

There wasn't really any point arguing with the man especially if it would keep me from having to wind mindlessly through the security line.  I walked up, showed him my badge and he put me in the front of the line.  It was an awkward feeling to get any special treatment in an airport.  Even as a cadet in uniform, I never received any special treatment.  Over the years, I had become so numb to the feeling of being just another passenger amongst millions that this sudden movement to the front of the employee line was unsettling.  As I made my way around all those impatiently standing in line, I felt a little embarrassed.  Are they looking me? 

I quickly and effortlessly made my way through security and found myself at the gate.  I had checked the passenger loads of the flights the previous night and flying Delta Airlines to Daytona Beach through Atlanta seemed to be the easiest.  I walked to the counter and met with the gate agent.

"Good morning.  I was wondering if the jumpseat is available today?"  She typed away at her computer and responded affirmatively.  I handed her my badge and my passport.  There was no one else listed for the jumpseat and as long as someone from Delta didn't show up, I'd get it.  The back of the plane (where the passengers sit) was oversold today due to a massive amount of storms that blew through most of the Midwest the day before.  Well, that solves the mystery as to why people were so grumpy, I briefly thought.  How silly of me.  People are always grumpy in airports. This just gives them a good reason to be. 

I was told that 6 flights were canceled out of St Louis and that it didn't look good to be assigned a seat.  I'd most definitely be sitting in the cockpit.  Not more than 5 minutes later, I was called to the podium.  Unfortunately, a Delta pilot had showed up and they wouldn't be able to give away the jumpseat to me.  I've come to learn that 6 am flights are the most missed by people stuck in security or from oversleeping.  Today was no different but, as a jumpseater, I am at the end of the standby list.  Fifteen people missed their flight this morning but I was number 17.  Oh well. 

Have you ever wanted to show up to an airport and just go wherever?  I've often romanticized about being able to show up and get on any plane to go anywhere.  This concept, of course, has always been financially prohibitive.  Today was a different story.  I pulled out my phone to find the next flight out of St Louis.   United Express had a flight to Chicago but it was leaving in less than 20 minutes.  When I arrived at the gate area, it was empty and they were making announcements for passengers to return for boarding.  I politely asked the gate agent if there were any seats available and she quipped back, "Well, if these 10 people don't show up, there will be plenty of room.  Wait around."  

After 10 minutes, only 3 of the people showed and she looked at me.  "Well hunny, this flight has to go.  You're good to board."  I just looked back at her in confusion and asked which seat I was assigned to.  "Whichever one you want.  Well, are you going to board or stay here?"  

Still relatively confused and wide-eyed, I boarded the airplane.  The flight attendant was waiting there in the doorway and I politely introduced myself to her.  She quickly moved out of the way allowing me access to the cockpit.  "Good morning," I said.  "I was wondering if you have room for one more?"  

In the airline world, the jumpseat and any seat to be filled by jumpseating crew members is owned by the Captain.  It is good form to introduce yourself to the Captain and crew so that they know who you are and where you are seated.  As part of the "free ride" you get, it is expected that you help the crew should the need arise.  In fact, the regulations refer to anyone occupying a jumpseat as an Additional Crew Member.  That seems more than reasonable in exchange for being allowed to ride along.

The Captain, first officer, and I exchanged small talk for a few minutes before I politely bowed out to go find a seat.  When the flight arrived, I waited for the last passenger to deplane and made my way to the cockpit once again.  I poked my head back in the cockpit, thanked the crew for the ride and made my way into Chicago O'Hare to find my next connection.  

I felt like a much less handsome and talented Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me If You Can as I walked off the plane and into the jetway (as an aside, if you haven't seen that movie, it is excellent.  Stop reading and watch it now).  It almost seems too easy to be able to go wherever, whenever.  I couldn't believe I had just paid nothing to fly to Chicago, a trip that even by car would cost nearly $50.  

Within the hour, I had repeated the process, only this time on a United Airlines mainline flight to Orlando.  The crew, much older and much less friendly, still gladly obliged and I found myself a comfortable seat in the rear.  

After having spent the better part of 24 hours in Daytona Beach packing, I made my way to the airport one last time.  Most of my friends had already made plans for Saturday night, so instead of waiting until early in the morning, I hopped on the last flight out of Daytona to Atlanta on Delta just in time for me to make the last Airtran Airways flight to St Louis.  As I boarded the last flight at 10pm, the flight attended grabbed my shoulder as I left the cockpit to find my seat.  "Here ya go." she said as she handed me a mini-bottle of water.  Thus ended my first and most assuredly not last trip as a stowaway.  

It begins...

I pulled into St Louis, Missouri much later in the evening than I originally planned on Sunday night.  Even though I only spent an hour in Nashville with family on Sunday afternoon and wanted to spend longer, I still had 5 hours of driving left.  Just as my aunt warned, the most boring part of my drive was ahead.

By 8 pm, I could vaguely see the St Louis Arch in the distance. As the "Gateway Arch," a symbol of American expansion into the western frontier became larger in my windshield, I hurriedly reached up to my phone mounted on my windshield so it could capture the rather majestic view of the tallest monument in the United States.  Not long after setting up the camera, the city of St Louis became distinctly visible behind the Arch as the interstate began to twist and turn down toward the mighty Mississippi River.  The river was larger than I remembered it being when I crossed through the city on my way to California following graduation from USAFA and I caught myself staring in awe at the Arch on the west bank.

It was just then that I heard my phone screaming at me to exit.  Cruising in the left lane, I watched my exit whiz by and shrugged while I waited for Google to fix my silly mistake.  The next exit was only a half mile ahead and as I turned another tight turn away from the Arch toward the south side of the city, bright red lights lit up my car.  It was there that I hit gridlock.  I swore to myself for missing my turn as I sat in traffic for the next hour.  After working my way through the jam, I arrived at my hotel to check-in only to find out that I didn't have a room.  I felt a slight panic and just stared at the lady behind the desk.  "I'm sorry, I don't understand.  This is the hotel for Trans States, right?" She replied in the affirmative but didn't have a reservation for me on file.  It had been a long two days and I didn't feel like arguing so I pulled out my credit card so I could get some rest before the long day ahead of me on Monday.

I laid in my bed that night, heart racing.  I couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed by the rapid succession of the events of the week.  Then, after a few quick thoughts, I drifted to sleep.

****

At 6 am, I found myself wide-awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.  The shuttle to Trans States left at 7:30 but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get back to sleep.  After quickly showering and more ceiling staring, I walked down to the lobby where I bumped into some of the other pilots anxiously awaiting the van.  I originally planned on driving myself, but decided against it once I started talking to some of guys in my class.  

After a few exchanges of "heys" and "how are yas," all 12 of us piled into the van and rode in silence the entirety of the 5 minute drive to the building.  I wasn't sure what the facility looked like since the interview was held at the simulator facility owned by a private organization.  The classroom training would be held in the "headquarters" building for Trans States Holdings.  

As a brief detour, Trans States Holdings owns 3 different airlines (Go Jets Airlines, Trans States Airlines, and Compass Airlines).  As we rounded a turn, a large, 4-story, red brick building sat on top of a hill overlooking the St Louis Lambert International Airport.  Built in the 1980s as a training facility for TWA, it looked like little had changed since it was originally built.  The windows were nothing more than long vertical slices spaced far apart across the front of the building.  As I walked into the lobby, four 8 foot long replicas of the various airplanes Trans States Holdings owns sit atop a sleek looking stand.  After signing in as a visitor and given badges, we are escorted to our classroom where we will spend the next 5 weeks. 

One of the first things we did was introduce ourselves and briefly explain how we ended up here in training.  Much to my surprise, the experience in my class ranges from a 63 year old Air Force Academy graduate to a 22 year old recent college graduate with many different types of experiences in between.  I was the second to introduce myself and as I listened to the last 10 people tell a brief history, I couldn't help but chuckle.  

One-by-one, each person stood up and told a story.  Most had stories of heartbreak and disappointment revolving around either 9/11 or the Great Recession of 2008.  One person was furloughed; another's airline shutdown and he was so bitter he left aviation completely for a year.  A gentleman in his late 40s flew a cell phone mogul around and the man decided this year to give it up.  He sold his airplane and, subsequently, needed to let his pilot go.  The USAFA grad bounced in and out of airline aviation in the 90s but ended up taking a lucrative job overseas teaching other countries how to fly their new F-16s.  Each person's story was so incredibly unique, but in some weird way, each of them were all the same.  They could all be summed up by saying, "I was hired and something happened.  I wanted to give it up but just couldn't.  I love flying too much.  So here I am."  Every single person in the classroom, with the exception of the two people fresh out of college had gone through significant setbacks, frustrations, and financial hardship but, no matter how hard they tried, found themselves back in the game.  It sounded surprisingly like a support group meeting.  "Hi.  My name is Chris and I am addicted to flying."  

As a whole, the next two weeks went relatively smoothly.  Of course, there are many stories I am going to tell over the next few weeks but, in order to save you all from reading a mini-novel, I will keep this dedicated to the classroom only.  

The fire hose was only partially opened as I absorbed new regulation after new regulation.  As it was all new and mostly common sense, the new information stuck.  It was like adding water to a dry sponge.  I have yearned for years to get to this point, to learn about professional aviation and my brain was up to the task.  My memory, often times akin to a goldfish, quickly digested and cemented the information in an easily accessible location.  In fact, on Wednesday, we took our first 100 question test over the information presented over the preceding week and a half, and I scored a 98%.  It should've been a 99% had I gone with my instinct on one question, but alas, 98% will have to suffice.  I guess I'll have to spend more time in the coffee shop.  

Week 3 begins tomorrow and we will start delving into the more complicated topics of airplane systems.  Jet engines, electrical systems, pressurization, and hydraulics.  From everyone I've talked to, this will be challenging.  One of my friends is at another airline, started the same day as I did and will be flying the same airplane.  He said to me after day one of systems, "shit just got real."  Nothing like a little foreshadowing for my long 3-day weekend.  

Every good thing must come to an end to make room for great things

Last Tuesday was just like any other day.  As I was plodding through my day in New Smyrna Beach, I received a phone call from a St Louis area number.  Instantly, I knew Trans States was calling.  Several weeks ago, I had put my request in to be moved to an earlier class date.  I was hoping this was the call; only 6 day remained before the earlier date was scheduled to start.  Much to my dismay, the conversation was just a confirmation that I would still be showing up to training on the 23rd.  Indeed, I was.  "Oh, and one more thing," I chimed in.  "If anything opens up on Monday, I'd be willing to be moved up a few weeks."  She said she'd look into it and let me know the next day.

In the airline industry, seniority is everything.  As has been witnessed by the last 10 years of bankruptcies and instability, one additional person below you can be the difference between having a job or being on the streets during a furlough.  On a positive note, if you can get ahead of just one more person, you can make Captain that much sooner.

The following day, HR called back and said it wouldn't be possible to move my class date.  After a relatively lengthy explanation as to why not, I resigned to the fact that I'd just have to wait an additional 2 weeks.  Instead, I'd be joining my best friends from Montana in Vegas for a mini-reunion.  I suppose if you can't have one, you might as well have the other.

The rest of the week was relatively painless, all things considered.  On Friday morning, I joked with the Starbucks barista I usually talked to in the morning that the previous day was one of "those" days.  "As I was sitting there talking to a student, I almost threw up my hands in frustration and just walked out of the job.  So, I decided to go to Las Vegas today," I embellished.  I did in fact have one of those days and I was in fact going to Las Vegas in the afternoon.  The two, however, were completely mutually exclusive.  Note to self, your "game" still sucks.

Friday was shaping up to be just like Thursday.  I was sitting there staring at a student while evaluating him on his instrument knowledge.  "So, how to GPS work?" I asked the student.  He merely shrugged back at me.  "Well, look it up," I said exhaling and rubbed my head in frustration.  Another one of those days.  I really wish...

My phone started ringing again and the screen lit up with that familiar number.  The student started talking but I wasn't paying attention.  As I stared at the screen, my heart skipped a beat. Could this be what I think it is?  I quickly rejected the call to send it to voicemail and tried to concentrate on the student as he stuttered through the answer.  My phone buzzed again as Google sent me a text with its best guess as to what the voicemail said.  As with all new technologies, it wasn't perfect, but I got the meaning fairly quickly

Transcript: "Hi Chris, Is got this instead, and we can get you in class if you wanna come on Monday, so call me back."

"I'm sorry, can you hang on for a second?" I asked the student as I walked out, nearly heart racing.  I listened to the voicemail to confirm what the text was saying and Google heard it correctly.  Class starts in less than 3 days.  I'm in.  What about Vegas?  What about my stuff?  After a few quick phone calls to my mom and my uncle, I quickly made my decision.  I was going.

I walked into my boss's office and sat down.  "So, I have good news and I have some bad news."  The fact that I was leaving wasn't news to him.  He knew it was coming and I had told him 99% chance it was on the 23rd with a remote chance on the 9th.  He leaned back in his chair and looked at me.  "Well, go with the bad news first."

"So, Trans States just called me and they want me to start on Monday."  He tilted his head to the side,  told me that it was a good opportunity and that he was happy for me.  

"Okay, " he smiled, "now tell me the good news."

"Trans States just called AND THEY WANT ME TO START ON MONDAY!"  I couldn't hold back.  As I walked back to finish the day I had scheduled, I couldn't help but feel a little bad.  I'd grown comfortable and become successful here.  I caught myself thinking that I should stick around for something better but as soon as those thoughts entered my mind, I remembered all the reasons why I wanted and needed to move on.  It was time.

After the biweekly meeting at the end of the day, I picked up my check and walked out the door for the final time.  I never thought it would happen so suddenly.  I drove home in silence and reflected on my last two years in Florida.  I would be back briefly to pack my things, but the next day I would be essentially leaving forever.  The thoughts were no less humbling than when I left Colorado or Montana.

Exactly two years ago tomorrow, I packed up my little car and headed down to St Pete, Florida to begin this journey.  It was a weird time in my life and, to this day, I can't bring myself to read the blogs I wrote back then.  I'll let you all judge my insecurities, my frustrations, and my sadness.  What I can say, however, is that my time in Florida turned my life around.  I now walk taller, laugh harder and am proud of what I have become.

On my trip to St Louis, I made time to visit family.  My cousin Frankie and his new wife Claire welcomed me for dinner in their new home town of Atlanta.  It had only been a few weeks since I visited Nashville to witness their union and only the third time ever that I'd met Claire.  Even still, I found myself wanting to stay all night to talk and joke. It was something that I would've never done two years ago on the trip down to Florida.  In fact, I remember specifically avoiding places where my family was out of embarrassment of what I had become.  As I left Atlanta, I made a mental note to visit again.  It was clearly apparent that night, on my next day's brief lunch with my Aunt and Uncle in Nashville and after spending the weekend at the wedding with my whole extended family that no matter how poorly I thought of myself, they were always there, standing behind me in support.  Never again will I make an effort to avoid them; on the contrary, I will go out of my way to seek them out.

So, today I begin a new journey.  The last 30 years of my life have contained many challenges but none that I did not conquer.  This will be no different.  As I listened to the overview of the course, for once I looked forward with anticipation.  This is my time to shine.  I smiled.  My, how things have changed.

I want to thank each and every one of you who continue to read this blog.  Every so often, I check to see if anyone is actually reading by checking page views and each time, I am stunned by both your quiet and oftentimes vocal support.  Each and every one of you have kept me going and your support means the world to me.  As I stand at the doorstep of my dream, knocking, I will continue to share my every experience.  I hope you all will join me as I start this new and exciting journey.

You spin me right round...

"Okay, your turn," my instructor told me.  We were flying straight and level a mile off the ground when I had to demonstrate to him how to get into and successfully recover from a spin.  What is a spin, you might ask?  Well, if you've seen Top Gun, it's how Goose died but not quite so dramatic in a Cessna.  When an airplane slows down, lift over the wings is greatly reduced.  When there isn't enough lift to support the weight of the airplane, it begins to "stall" or sink.  In a spin, one wing is stalled more than the other and airplane begins to plummet and "spin."  All instructor candidates must go through some form of training in how to recover from the dreaded condition.

I took controls of the airplane, added full power and pitched up for the sky.  As the stall warning horn started to scream in my ear, I stomped as hard as I could on the rudder.  In less than a second, the sky turned into ground and that ground was spinning.  What a spin looks like.  Click the link for a video!

Flight instructing is an interesting venture.  In most skill oriented professions, the teachers are usually experienced and knowledgeable.  Now, I'm not saying I'm neither, but last January, I barely had 300 hours in any type of airplane and was teaching the next generation of pilot how to fly.

When you first start teaching, you are quick to make corrections.  The only way to a let a student learn, however, is to let them get scared. As students get more familiar with ways to recover from stalls, we start putting them in various attitudes to make the airplane stall; some of them make the airplane enter the early stages of a spin.  As I've gotten more experience and confidence in the airplane, I've let them take situations further so that they can see what happens if they don't use the techniques they are taught.

It is very easy to become comfortable from the right seat, doing the same routines over and over again.  Then, in an instant, that all changes.  As I quickly approach my airline start date, I know there are many things I will not miss about instructing, my students trying to kill me being a big one.

Last week, I had my most recent brush with terror.  Mom, this is where you should probably stop reading.

As the student turned the engines on, I continued to stare outside the cockpit.  This was a "progress" check and my role was to evaluate the performance of the student and give feedback to the instructor.  As we lined up for take-off, the student added full power and launched the aircraft down the runway.  He pulled back on the controls to get the airplane airborne, and pulled too hard...and continued to pull.  I quickly put my hand on my controls and firmly pushed them back to an acceptable setting.  Had he continued to pull on the controls, the airplane would have surely run out of speed and come crashing down to earth.  This is a common error for most students and I rarely let it get anywhere close to that, today being no different.

As we climbed out over the ocean, I told him what he'd done wrong and told him that I would not be interacting with the controls during this phase of the evaluation.  If he did something wrong, it would be a failure.  As we ran through various maneuvers, it appeared as if his nerves had gotten the best of him on the ground.  The remainder of the practice maneuvers were fine.  Then it came to one of the hardest maneuvers for students to do.

For those that are familiar, the particular maneuver is an accelerated stall.  Essentially, we have the students bank 45 degrees in one direction then pull on the controls to load the wings, inducing a stall.  When done properly, it is a very simple and easy maneuver.  For whatever reason, our students just can't figure it out.

The student on this particular day set up the maneuver just fine.  As we slowed to stalling airspeed, he smoothly rolled the airplane onto its side and began to pull.  I was looking outside over the nose and noticed that he hadn't quite banked enough.  I'll have to remember to tell him to bank more when we land, I thought to myself as he started to pull on the yoke.  At this point, I noticed that he hasn't quite pulled hard enough and the nose, instead of sitting nicely on the horizon, begins to point up into the air.

This isn't of concern to me.  Most students at this point stall the airplane, even though not correctly, and return to cruise.  This time was different.  As the nose started to rise, the wing that was pointed up began to stall.   I felt the aircraft start to buffet as the wing slowly dropped to level.  I now had a decision to make.  Should I tell him to recover and fail him on the maneuver or see what he does next?  Not wanting to fail him yet, I let it continue.  I wanted to see what he would do to rectify the situation.

With the stall horn blaring and the aircraft buffeting, the student started to panic.  The worst possible thing he could have done was pull harder on the yoke and try to roll the airplane to regain its originally bank.  He knew he had done the maneuver wrong, but instead of recovering, he tried to make it work.  This would slow the airplane further and him trying to make the airplane roll would make the stall on the sinking wing worse.

As I looked down to see why he wasn't recovering, I saw him lean back in the seat posturing to pull harder and saw him crank the controls to try and make the flailing airplane roll.  My curiosity had turned into confusion.  Wait, what... In the split second it took me to figure out what he was doing, I felt the familiar sinking and turning feeling I'd felt in the past.  With him using all his might to roll the small twin-engined aircraft to the left, it stubbornly stayed level...a very bad sign.  Then, in an instant, the right wing succumbed to the stall and gave up on flying.  The nose of the aircraft start to swing to the right and I quickly and firmly grabbed the controls.  "My controls," I said calmly and the student, feeling helpless, quickly gave in.

At this point, the plane had uncontrollably rolled 60 degrees to the right as I quickly tried to fix the situation.  I yanked the throttled to idle, and stomped on the rudder to stop the airplane from rolling upside-down.  We were still pitched up and I pushed the yoke into the instrument panel but, with adrenaline pulsing through my veins, pushed too hard.  Out of nowhere, I and everything else in the airplane shot to the ceiling.  My head quickly bridged the 10 inch gap to the ceiling and I could see books and charts that were formerly on the students lap floating in front of his face.  The fuel in the carburetor also became weightless.  I heard the engine start to surge and sputter as they were starved of fuel.  Oh shit.

Those two words are never what you want to hear or even think in an airplane.  Here I was, floating above my seat, and listening to my engines give up.  I had a mile below me but knew if I was floating, we were coming out of the sky in a free fall.  I sat there for what seemed like minutes before I was able to get the airplane back under control.  I sank back into my seat and the books and bags came crashing back down to the floor and seats.  The sound of the bags falling made a crashing sound behind me.  I was sure I had broken something.

Heart-racing, I kept flying the airplane for a few more minutes and started looking around to make sure everything was fine.  The plane, recently out of maintenance, had a few pieces of plastic and dirt on the floor from replacing an instrument.  All of that had become airborne in the chaos and made it appear as if something important had shattered.  After a thorough examination of the airplane, we finished the evaluation and headed back for the airport.

It had been a long time since I had been that afraid.  In the end, it really wasn't TOO big of a deal but the combined shock from the engines surging, the bags crashing and being pressed against the ceiling scared me.  I really do look forward to the day when I no longer have to worry for my life.  These "scares" happen two to three times a month and they are getting old.  One month left...

The Dream

As long as I can remember, I've wanted to fly.  Hours upon hours of my life have been spent looking up at the sky in hopes that one day I would be there.  I don't remember when the formation of the dream started.  I believe that you are a sum of your experiences and that each one, no matter how small and insignificant they may seem, ultimately shape the person you become.  So, I will start at the beginning.

My second cousin, Bobby, graduated from the US Air Force Academy in 1987.  My grandma, being his aunt, flew out for his graduation and purchased a child-sized Air Force Academy shirt and gave it to me as a birthday present the following August.  Subconsciously, this would be the beginning of the journey.  I don't remember wearing the shirt or even knowing Bobby went to the Air Force Academy.  In fact, when I first started looking into Service Academies my freshman year in high school, my parents reminded me that I had a cousin who went to USAFA.  It was a surprise to me. 

My first real memory of aviation happened several years later when I was probably around 6 years old.  My Aunt Connie had recently become a flight attendant for Northwest Airlines.  She invited our family to the airport in Cleveland where she was on a layover.  Being my first real memory of flying, I'm sure my parents would have a more accurate version of the story but I'll do my best.

This was a time before terrorism, before stuanch security.  Anyone could walk through the metal detector and sit at the gates.  Airports like Cleveland and Akron-Canton had observation decks beyond security where ticketed passengers or their friends and family could sit and wait for flights to arrive and depart.  I don't remember walking to the gate on this occasion, but I do remember walking up to the gate and seeing a jet in person for the first time. I stood there at the window looking at massive, strange object in front of me.  To a small child, this was the biggest thing I'd ever seen. With my face pressed to the window, I stared wide-eyed at the plane staring ominously back at me.  The windows to the cockpit were its eyes and they were dark and soulless.  I was scared. 

I wasn't quite sure how airplanes worked but I knew when you got on them, they flew and went places.  My aunt walked up and wanted to take me on board to see the cockpit and meet the pilots at which I staunchly refused.  I remember someone, probably my aunt, grabbing my arm and trying to coax me into the jet way   As I closely examined the gate door, the hallway seemed to be never-ending as it curved out of sight toward the plane: an abyss.  I knew that if I walked through that door, I was never coming back and the thought of the plane taking me away brought me to tears.  "What's wrong sweetie?" I vaguely imagine my mom asking.  "I don't want to get on the airplane.  I don't want to leave" I said hysterically.  No force in the world would get me on that thing and my family eventually gave up. It was a near miss for me.

Not more than a year later, my aunt started dating a man named Charlie.  As a fighter pilot in both the Navy and Air National Guard flying A-6s and F-16s, as well as an airline pilot for Northwest Airlines, he would become the manifestation of my dream.  For your viewing pleasure, I've included a link to his epic crash.  Yes, that's him (A-6 Carrier Landing Crash).  My fascination for aviation started at a very young age but he would be the one to give it legs.

When I was 9, my parents drove the family to Detroit where Charlie would be performing an F-16 demonstration in the Selfridge ANG Air Show.  In a time before cell phones or GPS directions, my family showed up late as always.  To this day, being late unsettles me and this was no exception.  I don't know how we met up with my aunt, but I do remember we found her just in time for Charlie's demonstration. She wanted us there earlier to meet him, but alas we didn't make it. At some point, a strange man in a flight suit showed up, introduced himself, and took us up to his squadron where we could get some food and a better view of the show.  It was fascinating seeing the jets flying so loud and so fast. The most vivid memory I have from the event followed shortly after we arrived in the squadron.  As I sat in the wood paneled room, I watched a jet come screaming down the runway and disappear into flames as it struck the ground. (Selfridge Crash) I don't know that my young mind understood what happened that day, but it is a memory that has stuck with me and one that surely has impacted my life.

At some point during my childhood, my grandma met a man who worked for Goodyear.  They traveled all over the world and even lived in places like Turkey and Jamaica.  When I was in 3rd or 4th grade, my family flew down to Jamaica over Spring Break to visit my Grandma for Easter.

This was my first ever trip in an airplane and boy what a trip it was.  We arrived at the Akron-Canton Regional Airport, a small airport servicing the two small cities in NE Ohio early in the morning.  At the time, the airport was very small and served only a handful of flights each day.  Our particular flight was on Northwest Airlink with service to Detroit.  My dad, always quite the joker, called it a "puddle jumper" and "mosquito plane" based on its relative size and the noise the propellers made compared to the rest of major airline jet fleets.

The engines started and I remember thinking how loud they were for such a small plane.  Our family was in the back row of the merely 30 seat airplane as it took off and "puddle-jumped" us to Detroit for the 30 minute flight.  I sat in the window seat and stared in awe at the ground.  Everything I'd ever known, the houses, the cars, the roads, were so tiny.  I watched as people went off to work but their movement reminded me of a world brought to you by Mr. Rogers.  The view was fascinating, so fascinating that I still remember staring down from my seat in the sky to this day.  And then it was over.  As we walked off the tiny prop plane and into the incredible Detroit Metro International Airport, I couldn't believe how fast it went.  It seemed like only minutes had gone by since we took off and here we were, in another state.   "Dad!  Time flies when you're having fun!" My dad, never serious and always joking responded, "time flies when you're on a plane!" Oh dad.  

As we walked into the terminal, I took control of the boarding passes.  I'd been checking out the same 3 books in the library over the past year about airplanes.  It was a picture book and detailed jet engines, passenger jets and their various configurations.  At one point, my teacher came to me and told me that I had to check out something different.  I'd been rotating between two or three books for the majority of the school year.  Well, if they would've had more plane books, maybe I would have checked out a different one!  This newly gained expertise somehow gave me the confidence to take over the trip.

I marched out into the terminal and looked for the signs to our new gates.  My mom smiled in amusement as I, completely serious, lead us to our next gate.  Surprisingly, without hesitation or even the slightest hint of being lost, I guided us through the endless caverns of Detroit-Metro to our transcontinental flight to Miami.  For those of you who remember the old Detroit airport, you would know how big of a feat this actually was.  I walked straight to the window to see what kind of plane it would be.  To my surprise, it was the same plane as the one I had faced-off against in Cleveland not long before.  The large jet was sitting at the gate and it wasn't long before it was our turn to board.  I held the boarding passes and when our row was called, instructed the family to get up and get in line.  Never a smile, never shy, I marched us onto the plane and to our seats.  Present day Chris really wants to go back in time and tell young Chris to CHILL OUT!  When we got onto the jet, I was amazed at its size.  There were three rows on either side of an isle that seemed to go on forever.  Naturally, I took the window seat again and couldn't help but couldn't help but notice how quiet the engines were when they roared to life.

After several minutes of taxiing around the airport, I felt us line up and stop on the runway.  In seconds, the engines spooled up to a near deafening roar as the brakes were held.  Then, as the pilot released the brakes, the jet launched down the runway seemingly on the verge of being out of control.  I sank in my seat as I felt the world fall below me and watched in amazement as I watched it do just that.  No longer could I see cars or buildings.  I just saw a vast earth below, devoid of life but scarred with fields and roads from some ancient civilization. It was then that the exhaustion from the early morning and the excitement of the previous several hours caught up to me.  Within minutes, I was sleeping soundly against the window.

The trip back was uneventful until we arrived in Detroit.  A spring storm had developed and the plane had gone in for maintenance or was delayed into Detroit, I can't be sure of which one.  I remember my dad and mom getting frustrated at the lateness of the flight.  Day soon turned into night and the world outside the airport suddenly seemed ominous and scary.  We eventually boarded the plane in a light rain with lightning off in the distance.  As we made our way to Cleveland, I can imagine the pilots picking their way through the storms.  The ride was incredibly turbulent and passengers around me were getting sick.  I was scared but did my best to focus on the seat in front of me and not on the flashes of lights appearing in the dark nothingness of the clouds around the mosquito-shaped propeller plane.  Behind me, someone seemed to scream that our wing had hit by lightning but I never lost composure.  I never let any weakness show.  On my birthday, my dad called me and, not knowing I was writing this, reminisced back to that day.  It was nice sharing that memory with him and I chuckled to myself as he told me he'd never set foot on a tiny plane like that ever again.

From a very young age, aviation has had an incredible impact on my life.  Outside of a few direct interactions, it has lived mostly on the periphery of my life.  From time to time, my grandma would take my sister and me to the nearby airport and let us roam around the observation deck.  I would stare at the magnificent planes as they sat dormant at the gates.  Every so often, one would taxi out to take off or land and taxi in to the gate.  As a gift, she also gave me a radio that could tune to Air Traffic Control frequencies.  I would spend afternoons on my bed listening to the  radio chatter while I played with a model of an F-16.  Even as a young adult, this fascination didn't fade away.  No matter where I was at, whether on the football field or the baseball diamond, when the gentle roar of a jet could be heard approaching, I would stop what I was doing and see what it was.

I took some time to reflect on my 30th birthday.  So many things have lead up to who I am today.  As 18 year old Chris stepped on the plane as a civilian for the last time before heading to the Air Force Academy, you couldn't have told him that more than a decade later, he would have left the Air Force to pursue the dream of aviation.

I am pleased to let you all know that I have made a decision.  After considerable reflection and exhausting research, I've decided to head to Trans States Airlines based out of St Louis, Missouri.  They do most of their flying as "United Express" and I will be stepping foot in an Embraer Regional Jet (ERJ-145).  In a little over a month's time, I will say goodbye to the Cessnas and Seminoles of Eastern Florida as I head to five weeks of training in Missouri and most likely ending up in Washington D.C.  I haven't arrived at my dream yet, but this is one very important and significant leap in the right direction.  For the first time in a long time, it seems like the ball is finally bouncing my way.

This is the airplane I will be flying

The World is My Oyster

It is weird to think about what I was doing two years ago.  At the beginning of July, much of my time was devoted to the Squadron's fireworks booth.  I was a peddler of explosives; they were colorful but explosives none-the-less.  In the early days leading up to the 4th, a kid on his bike would show up each day to buy snaps or firecrackers.  After reluctantly relinquishing his dollar, he would scurry across the street to promptly blow them up.  The more I think about it, the more I realize how truly bizarre my time in Montana was and it was only fitting that I should end it working in a temporary shed selling fireworks.  

After the epic climax of explosions on the 4th, I began to slowly leave the Air Force.  In a week, I would seemingly step in every single building on base and have my "Out-processing Checklist" signed by yet another organization I'd never heard of before that moment.  It was a frustrating, yet necessary evil.  After a few final appointments, I left Malmstrom AFB for the final time.  

On July 16th, 2011, I packed up every belonging I had into a Penske Truck with the help of a few friends, attached the vehicle carrier and pulled my little white Subaru onto it and strapped the car down.  I drove down to my hotel room which was conveniently next to my favorite pizza restaurant, showered, and had my last meal in Montana.  Several friends came to say goodbye that night.  We all shared pizza, beer, stories and not long after it started, goodbyes.  I walked the hiking path back to my room and couldn't believe it had come to an end.  My best friends had left me months ago, but so much of my existence had been the Air Force that it felt weird to be leaving.  

Very early the next morning, I woke up, hopped into my truck and drove to Starbucks.  If I was going to drive for 8 hours, it would have to start with a cup of my favorite coffee.  I had become a regular there and said my final goodbyes to them as well.  Within minutes, my giant yellow truck drove out of Great Falls for the last time.  The sun was just rising over the Great Plains of the United States as I headed east away from the Rockies, back to Ohio for the first time since leaving 9 years before.  

On the afternoon of the 21st, almost exactly 2 years ago to the minute, I drove through my hometown and pulled up in front of the house.  It is weird to think about.  Why is this significant?  I sat down today in the Starbucks next to the beach to do my usual routine.  As I grabbed my cup of Earl Grey tea, I let the little Netbook I had bought from Target at the beginning of July 2 years ago boot up.  When I sat down to get started, I downloaded the last week's worth of flights from the app on my phone to the program on my computer.  As the bytes traveled from my phone, to the nearby cell tower, to some server on the other side of the country, to the Starbucks wifi and to my computer, I made my schedule for the next day.  When I opened the program again, it greeted me with a relieving sight:

HOURS: 1501.1

For the last 2 years, my future has been in doubt.  With the exception of a few holidays and weddings, I've worked 6 days each week for the better part of two years.  I am exhausted and burnt out.  I've clawed and begged each day for more flying.  Finally, it is here.  While my future is far from certain, my options seem limitless.  In the last week, I've been offered class dates at one airline and have set up interviews at two others.  It seems like my life is headed that way and I think it will be a good thing.  I've done my research; I've narrowed down my choices.  The only thing left is to make the decision.  Just jump. 

On the 2 year anniversary of leaving Montana, I think I'll take another giant leap into the unknown.  After applying for and graduating from the Air Force Academy, after sticking it out through 4 years with nuclear weapons, after 6 months of training, and a year and a half of 10-12 hours days, 6 days a week, hopefully I will land on my feet: staring at my dream.  There is a lot more work ahead of me and you better believe that I'll continue to share it with you.  Thanks everyone for your support.  It means more than you could ever know. 

A Conundrum

For those of you that know me, you know that I don't take many decisions lightly (except traveling abroad apparently).  When I first decided to make the leap into aviation, I spent hours upon hours each day researching flight schools, loans, and the airline industry as a whole.  After several weeks of scouring the internet, I made the decision to attend flight school and eventually ended up instructing in New Smyrna Beach.

Now, I face another incredibly important decision, one with so many unknowns and an overwhelming amount of information and variables that my head is spinning.  As my Aunt used to say, write it down...get it off your mind.  So, I'm going to do just that. It would also help to have an outside opinion as well, so feel free to give me your 2 cents! 

History

Following September 11th, 2001, the airline industry took a major hit, understandably.  With a combination of an unprecedented drop in passenger demand combined with an equally unprecedented rise in fuel prices, one-by-one, major airlines (Delta, Continental, United, Northwest, etc) fell into bankruptcy.  For those that remember, it wasn't unheard of to get on a plane outside of busy travel seasons and have them be half empty.  

As the major carriers started to fall into the red by the hundreds of millions, many analysts said the demand would never rebound and that small jets would the wave of the future.  Before 9/11, very few regional jets existed and most regional airlines comprised a very small fraction of air travel in the United States using mostly propeller driven aircraft.  Then, there was the explosion in the regional jet market.  Major airlines began furloughing pilots and subcontracting out some of the short-haul flying in small markets to regional airlines. 

Odds are, very few of you have actually heard of many of them (Expressjet, Skywest, Trans States, etc) because when you fly, you just think of them as the name on their tail (United Express, US Airways Express, Delta Connection, etc).  In reality, the major airlines have contracted out flying based on a bid produced by the regional carrier.  Because regional pilots are less experienced, they are able to provide the flying for much cheaper than the more experienced pilots in larger airplanes at a major carrier. The plummeting profits combined with the lack in demand accelerated this "out-sourcing" of flying over the past 10 years.  

At first, most of the regional airlines used 50-seat or fewer jets.  Prior to the economic collapse in 2008 and subsequent record high fuel prices, these jets were fiscally more reasonable with the extreme lack in demand.  It made more sense to fly a mostly full 50-seat jet compared to flying a half-empty 130 seat jet, even if the former was less fuel efficient per seat.  As the industry began to recover, regional airlines kept taking a larger and larger share of the flying (50% of all flying today is done by a regional carrier under the name of a major one).  Financially, it only made sense.  A regional airline could pay a 300-hour first officer $16,000 a year and back the incredibly low wages by saying the pilot had to "pay for his training and experience."  Some regional airlines even had a pay-to-fly contract where the co-pilot would pay $24,000 a year to sit in the right seat and gain experience.  It's a stepping stone to the majors, they would say.  Suck it up. 

Unfortunately, these low wages combined with a staggeringly low amount of experience in regional airline cockpits caused the underlying problem to become exposed.  In the late 2000s, there were several fatal crashes involving inexperienced regional airline pilots.  Now, Congress has mandated that anyone occupying a flight crew member position at an airline have an Airline Transport Pilot rating (many requirements, 1500 total hours being one of them).  This has driven demand way up and supply way down but regionals are slow to react.  Facing a potential pilot shortage, 5 years ago, Congress extended the mandatory retirement age for pilots from 60 to 65.   This bought the airlines a few years to try and come up with a plan.  Unfortunately, this also halted all retirements from the major airlines.  Stagnation ensued.  Without retirements, very few people were being hired by major airlines.  As a result, the average age of regional pilots began to increase, and with that came an increase in wages paid to those pilots (the longer a pilot is with a company, the more he is paid).  This is combined with what some analysts were saying when regional airlines were buying 50-seats by the hundreds; that they were not financial viable over the long term.

So, where does that leave us now?  With a conundrum.  There is an incredible amount of instability right now in the regional airline industry.  As regional airlines become less competitive due to seniority, the major airlines pit the contracts against other regional airlines.  Since a pilot is paid solely on seniority, many are continuing to accept pay cuts in exchange for not having to start over.  This has created a "race to the bottom."

Most major airlines are forcing or giving benefits to those regionals whom park their 50-seat jets in exchange for much more efficient 76-seat jets (thus reducing the demand for pilots--more seats = less flying needed).  US Airways and American Airways are merging and with any merger comes lots of changes.  Below I will have listed the pros and cons of many of the regional airlines I am considering including the one I have an offer from, American Eagle.  Keep in mind the following in terms of quality of time.  

-Captain time is considered much better than co-pilot time.  A quick "upgrade time" is critical.

-Jet time is considered more valuable, depending on which source you talk to, than propeller time.  It also pays better.

-Being on reserve (aka a back-up) does not guarantee any flying at all and if you don't fly, you don't get per diem (could lower pay by as much as $600 a month)--you also don't get the coveted "jet time."  

-Flow-through agreement is with pilots currently at the regional allowing them to move up to the major it is owned by as needed, no interview required.  This isn't a big deal for me, but would drastically shorten upgrade time and time on reserve.  Without a flow through, the top of the seniority list because crowded and stagnation ensues.  

American Eagle

Pros: Excellent pay and benefits; flow-through agreement; decent bases (Chi, Dallas); good reputation; advertising a need for 500 more pilots this year (get in early, get pushed to the top); owned by American Airlines; Recently added larger 76-seat jets;

Cons: 5 year upgrade time; very senior; fly many older 40/50-seat jets (only regional with jets that hold less than 50 seats); not able to hire as many as expected; bases in NY and MIA make living very expensive.

Rumors:  new CEO of American says they are too expensive (looking for contract concessions); American looking to buy more larger regional jets (may go to Eagle);  American may shrink the airline instead of replacing jets and give away flying to cheaper regional airlines.

PSA Airlines (US Airways Express)

Pros: Owned by US Airways; so-so pay/benefits;  bases in Ohio

Cons: Mostly inefficient, old 50-seat jets; future uncertain in merger; no future aircraft agreements; 4-5 year upgrade; no flow-through.

CommutAir (United Express)

Pros: Youngest crew force/2-3 year upgrade; bases in Ohio

Cons: Prop-planes only; very low pay; no flow-through; no expansion or new planes.

Compass Airlines (Delta Connection)

Pros: Good pay/benefits; flow-through; youngest of the regional airlines; large regional jet fleet (only regional without 50 seat jets); expansion possible if Delta gives them more flying.

Cons: Very high minimums; not very active hiring (perhaps much longer reserve);

Air Wisconson (US Airways Express)

Pros:  Great company (only privately owned regional); great pay and work rules; been around for 40 years (lots of cash on hand and best suited to retool their fleet, if needed); considered by some to be one of the top 3.

Cons: Only flies older 50-seat jets; unable to get any new flying in the last few years; senior and expensive pilot group (perhaps longer reserve, prime for contract renegotiation to lower pilot pay); contract with US Airways expires in a year with no negotiations for renewing.

Trans States (United Express)

Pros: Decent pay/work rules; Signed agreement for large regional jets (delivery TBA); decent bases (DC/STL)

Cons: Very active hiring recently (last class of 20--might put me at the bottom of reserve list); only 50-seat jets (newer and more fuel efficient but still 50 seats).

Republic Airways (United Express, Delta Connection, American Eagle)

Pros: Signed big agreements with American for additional flying; majority of large 76-seat jets currently in demand by major airlines

Cons: Incredibly poor work rules and labor relations (haven't signed a contract in 5 years with management); low wages; canceling flights due to lack of crews (could lead to a loss of flying contracts); very negative reviews from other pilots (taken with a grain of salt since most of this info comes from message boards)

Skywest (United Express, Delta Connection, Alaska, American Eagle)

Pros: Considered the best regional to work for; variety of aircraft; dominates the entire West; signed big agreement with United for large regional jets

Cons: Not hiring hardly at all; 2-3 year reserve; very long upgrade times; when they start hiring, might hire only into prop aircraft, not jets.

______________________
So, where does that leave me now?  Each day I scour the message boards and news to find out the latest and greatest.  What I've decided it comes down to for me is the following:

1) Pick a semi-stable regional even if it means reserve.  Many analysts say that the top is going to blow off this stagnation any minute.  When it starts, I'll move up the seniority list quick.  I won't, however, move up any list if the company goes bankrupt.
                    Good: American Eagle, Skywest, Compass, Republic

2) Choose a regional with bases in a place I want and can afford to live.  While I'd love to live near NY for a little while, the pay at a first year in a regional would be brutal.  I'd be forced to commute to work (live in another city and fly to work to start my trips) which is expensive and exhausting for a junior pilot.  

                     Good: Trans States, Skywest, Compass, Republic, PSA, Air Wisconsin, CommutAir

3) Get in early.  A seniority number is everything, so I'm told.  Every airline pilot I talk to emphasizes this.  That means, it would be better to go now than wait 6 months for my "dream job" to open up.  So, that leaves me with options that I already have been offered a job, been in contact with, or have connections at.
                      Good: Air Wisconsin, American Eagle, Republic, Trans States, CommutAir

So, here I am.  Sitting in a Starbucks chasing my tail.  With as much negative that is around, it make decision-making difficult.  Let's be honest, most pilots that have never held any other job whine and complain a lot.  They want glitz and glamour and want to do very little work to get there.  So, I have to take everything that everyone says with a large grain of salt.  Enough people shouting, however, and I start to listen.

In reality, I am still leaning pretty heavily toward American Eagle.  I could start training right away and they still are looking to hire many more.  That's good for me.  The others that are seriously in the race for me are Trans States (my former instructor is there), Republic (two coworkers went there and are okay with it even though lots of anger coming from pilots there), and Air Wisconsin (another coworker went there and seems really positive about it.)

So, what do you think?  I know most of you are hearing this for the first time, but a dialogue from an outsider's viewpoint could be useful.  Feel free to comment on the facebook post or inline below and share your thoughts.  Let's have a discussion!