Bumps in the Road
A friend once told me that getting on a plane was like strapping yourself into a rocket and trusting your life to someone you’ve never met. That’s true. It is. But it’s also true that most of the time, it works. You get to where you’re going. We trust the rocket, the pilots, and the computers that guide them so completely, that we forget how miraculous it is that we’re taking off, zooming through the actual sky, traveling, for instance, 2600 miles at 500 miles per hour to get from Portland, Oregon to New Orleans like I did on Thursday to attend my Aunt Bonnie’s funeral on Friday afternoon.
Flying home Saturday morning, the pilot, a woman, told us before we took off that there’d be some turbulence along the way. I wasn’t sure I liked knowing in advance, but it was too late to un-know it. My friend Donna is a commercial pilot and has assured me that turbulence is like bumps in the road for a car. Disconcerting for passengers, but nothing to worry about. I’ve always imagined that she and other pilots rather like turbulence, that it adds a little excitement to their trip.
Meanwhile, our plane was full except for one seat, and the most welcome miracle of all was that it was the seat between me and the young man sitting by the window. He was traveling with his small dog in a blue nylon carrier, the kind with a curved zipper around the top. When the middle seat was clearly ours, I encouraged him to put his tiny dog on the floor between us to give them both a little more room. As he did, the sweetest, smooshiest, pug-dog face poked out with cataract-white eyes and a get-me-outta-here expression. The man instinctively reached down to soothe her, let her know he was there.
I couldn’t help myself. What’s her name? I asked. Treble, he said, she’s blind. She goes everywhere with me. All the while he’s got his fingers rubbing her 4-inch head. Can I pet her? I asked. Sure, he said, she’d like that. She’s deaf too but she knows you’re there. So I pet her, and she seemed to like it, and I got weepy because it doesn’t take much these days. And when our rocket started to move, I tightened my seatbelt, thought of Donna and her not-to-worry bumps in the road. Minutes later, as we sped down the runway, I thoughts about the rocket that shot four human beings to the moon two weeks ago. I wondered what it was like for the four of them as the thrusters kicked in, and later, as they traveled 700,000 miles in a minivan at a cruising speed of 25,000 miles an hour.
Imagine that.
Later when our plane hit turbulence, I looked down at Treble. She was finally asleep, rocked by the wind and the trusted pilot sitting in the seat beside her.
Yes, turbulence. Do you want a heads-up? I think so. Flying from London to Denver on 9/11, our pilot warned us of turbulence. We were to fasten our seatbelts. We did so, but no sooner had we done so, the pilot's voice came on again. I wish that I remember what he said, but what I do remember is that mid-sentence his voice cracked. Something like, "I have bad news... (15 second pause) the Twin Towers in New York are under attack." He promised to get back to us when he knew more. And at that point, everyone who had moved in the half-filled plane, returned to his assigned seat. (Security however frail at any cost?) Eventually, the pilot addressed us again. He gave us an up-date and then reassured us that he would leave his radio on - whatever he heard in the cockpit, we would simultaneously hear in the cabin. Absolutely brilliant! We were one of 26 flights that flew to Halifax for a three-day layover. Those who were on my flight were at-ease because of the pilot's thoughtfulness. The passengers on the other flights knew little or nothing and verged on hysterical.
Who was our pilot? Is he still alive? Is it too late to write a thank you note? One of my life regrets.
What a great description of the similarities between flying here on earth and flying out in space. And a common thread of trust in the pilots and builders of the amazing machines.
Our species is a funny one. Dysfunctional in many ways. But also, we can take thousands, actually millions of electronic, pneumatic, mechanical and other physical parts, and thousands of calculations and millions of lines of code, producing a 737 or an SRS launch vehicle and Orion space capsule. We put members of our species in both and then touch off those powerful jet and rocket engines and complex controls trusting in our work. And it does it work! Awesome!
Bar, you were so entranced with the whole Artemis mission I think you naturally captured what was surely a shared moment for you and the Artemis astronauts. When the whine of the 737’s jet engines spinning up and the vibrations from the airplane’s wheels coming to speed began, and when the rumble and shuddering of the entire space craft began as the huge rocket engines ignited and it started to lift, I think you were sharing a shiver of excitement, a touch of apprehension and trust. Your trips coincided.
Also, I firmly believe there is an ancient innate bond between dogs and humans. Dog get us. Treble knew she was safe because she trusted her humans.
Welcome back!