The Sky is a Constant Surprise

Multiple Cap Clouds
Copyright 2006, V1VrV2

Sometimes you see things you just can't explain. And that's good. It keeps you humble and on your toes. The sky doesn't give two hoots about your thousands of hours or your laid-back professionalism. Sometimes it grabs you by your lapels and says, "Look, buddy, you don't know everything, and you haven't seen everything. And here's proof."

The Grandest of Canyons

The Grandest of Canyons
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

I feel fortunate to be able to regularly fly over some of the most specacular scenery anywhere. This photo was taken from only 20,000 feet over the south rim of the Grand Canyon. We were able to talk Los Angeles Center into a medium-altitude "canyon tour," something our passengers greatly enjoyed. Here, easterly winds are pushed up vertically along the rim of the canyon, forming a distinct line of clouds.

Silver Lining

Silver Lining

Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

I seem to have taken a lot of photos featuring rainbows lately. I thought you might like this one. Seen recently near Denver, the rainbow underneath this storm near Denver seemed to be reassuring us that friendlier skies were coming soon.

Happiness Formula

Rainbow's Promise
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

What would you do if you could truly free your mind from its own limitations and reservations? Instead of taking small, tentative steps toward happiness, constantly questioning whether you truly deserve the joy you seek, imagine taking charge of your psyche and creating happiness out of thin air.

Is this possible? Are we capable of programming ourselves for positive thoughts? I believe we are.

It has taken me 41 years to learn the first, faint glimmers of the secret. I have no formal procedure for attaining it, and I have no patent on the concept. I only know some of the elements that seem to work for me. My discovery took place over the past four years, during some pretty difficult times.

Nearly a year ago, I wrote about the career turmoil that many airline employees have faced in this age of terrorism, soaring fuel costs, and companies that reward the top 50 managers but not the "line" professionals who actually do the work and make the sacrifices. The airline industry chaos goes on today. Companies enter and exit bankruptcy with disorienting regularity. Pay cuts, labor strife, poor work rules, fatigue, loss of pensions, and shrinking benefits are enough to make even die-hard aviation lovers like me question my decision to fly for a living. Flying airplane has always been my life’s highest calling, but the changes I experienced since 2001 were demoralizing, to say the least. I admit that I became depressed. I fought to find a way through it and, after a while, latched onto some helpful remedies.

I discovered that maintaining a consistently high happiness level, for me, involves such things as limiting my exposure to negative people and negative influences such as television and the "Hollywood" culture; keeping my home (mostly) neat and clean; eating healthy food as much as possible; getting good sleep; taking time to look at and appreciate the beautiful things of this world; keeping in touch with good friends; slowing down and enjoying experiences instead of rushing through them; making some time each day to do at least one thing I really like doing; and honestly trying to be myself in everything I do. These actions and philosophies may sound very pedestrian, but many of them were missing from my life at the time. Each one was only a minor challenge to implement, but their cumulative effect brought me out of the gloom.

Most important of all, I discovered (or re-discovered) a physical place that has the ability to quickly remove negative influences in my life. It exists as a smooth, mowed field of grass, far from the hustle and bustle of controlled airports with fences and security gates. It is not a specific airfield; it is one of many places where aviation is still what it used to be. It is a place of contrasts -- of peaceful stillness punctuated by roaring engines; a place of light reflecting off glistening wings and fuselage surfaces that beg to be photographed or painted; a place where a stranger can become a good friend, instantly and forever, simply because of a shared passion. It is a place of excitement and occasional awe. It is a Sunday picnic under a wing, a traveling flying circus, a quiet glider flight in the still air of pre-dawn, a gaggle of Lusombes dropping in for pancakes, a solitary homebuilder sanding the wooden ribs of what will be his finest aerial creation; an approving thumbs-up from an old-timer who happened to see your crosswind landing. It is, simply, a small, old-time country airport.

They still exist. Some, like Wisconsin's Pioneer Airport, are smack-dab in the middle of the most unlikely places. Others, like Flabob Airport in California and Creve Coeur Airport in Missouri, have sacrificed some or all of their grass runways for asphalt, but still retain nearly all the other qualities necessary to inclusion in a list of therapeutic airfields. I grew up near, worked at, and flew from a lovely little country airport in Pennsylvania called New Garden. It was place with plenty of dream-inspiring airplanes, fascinating people, and memorable flying experiences to be had -- and it still is.

I now live at an airfield in Illinois called Poplar Grove, where I'm often awaken on Saturday mornings by the blissful sound of a round engine (or two or three) overhead. There are no fences around our runways. No swipe-cards are required to gain access. Kids on bicycles can pedal over to the flight office after school and watch the airplanes, just like kids on bicycles should.

As long as there are airfields like this, I'll have a refuge from many of the cares of the world. My memberships in AOPA and EAA, whose staff members work tirelessly in Washington to defend General Aviation, are becoming my most important investments.

Happiness, for me, will never be found in a bottle, a pill, a sitcom, or a stuffy social club. All I need is a place where aviation dreams take flight. I hope you have a place like this in your life.

More importantly, I hope you’ll explore your inner ability to change your thought processes. Happiness really is in the wiring of our minds and, as such, can be re-connected. I’m living proof.

Cap'n Mac

The biplane slipped down through the air and slid lightly onto the wet grass, with no more drama than you'd find in any normal human endeavor. However, my heart was ready to explode. Not with fear or excitement, but with sheer emotion and joy. I was a passenger, sitting in the expansive front seat of the 1929 Travel Air without a stick or even an airspeed indicator. But I felt more comfortable than I ever have. You see, the pilot in the back seat was an old friend.

We'd never actually met before today, but I felt like I knew him well. Many years ago I'd read about his adventures as he and Richard Bach barnstormed their way across the Midwest in a Travel Air much like the one I was riding in today. Cap'n Mac was just "Stu" back then, a 19-year old college kid with barnstorming stars in his eyes and the ability to jump out of a perfectly good airplane and float to earth under a parachute, a skill that drew crowds from the small towns out to pastures and small country airports all across the Midwest. There, he'd help load passengers, sell rides to the squeamish ("Best view on earth, Ma'am -- you'll be able to see the whole town!"), and even gave rides. Now, 40 years later, he's still giving rides in a stunning, pure-white Travel Air. I'd won a raffle for this ride and, by luck of the draw, I'd been picked to fly with him instead of one of the other four pilots.

After lifting off the smooth, grass runway, we climbed to 500 feet and circled low over town a few times, trying to attract customers to the airport in the age-old, traditional way. I rested my arm on the leather cockpit coaming, and at 80 miles per hour, tiny raindrops pelted my skin like little needles. I didn't care. I turned and grinned at Cap'n Mac as he pulled up gracefully and did a big, lazy whifferdill. After a little more sightseeing, we meandered our way back to the pattern for a gentle landing.

I know what I must do in my retirement. There is nothing else I want to do but spend my summers barnstorming around the country, meeting people and sharing the magic gift of flying in an old biplane.

You never know when a pleasant flight in an 80-year old airplane on a summer afternoon will change your life. Thanks to Cap’n Mac for reawakening my true flying soul, and reminding me what my calling is.

Further Reading:
- American Barnstormers Tour
- Nothing By Chance
- Biplane

Cub Sunset

Cub Sunset
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

"Never stop being a kid. Never stop feeling and seeing and being excited with great things like air and engines and sounds of sunlight within you. Wear your little mask if you must to protect you from the world but if you let that kid disappear you are grown up and you are dead."

--Richard Bach, Nothing by Chance

Chicago Portrait

"Chicago Portrait"

Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

Since it's now high summer, and we're enjoying our warm days and lush, green grass, I thought it would be fun to take a quick look back at winter. Here's a view of downtown Chicago from last January. Lake Michigan has just begun to freeze over. Brrr.

OK, back to your barbeques!

Morning Glory

"Morning Glory"
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

Whether outwardly or inwardly, whether in space or time, the farther we penetrate the unknown, the vaster and more marvelous it becomes.

— Charles A. Lindbergh, "Autobiography of Values"

Flying Justin Home

I don’t know much about Army Specialist Justin L. Odonohoe, but I know enough about him and his family to feel very good about America. Until recently, Justin was a cavalry scout with the 10th Mountain Division, serving in Afghanistan.

A few weeks ago, I flew him and his younger brother, Kyle, from Chicago back to their parent’s home in San Diego. Kyle is an Ensign in the Navy who’s finishing up Naval flight training at Pensacola -- an accomplishment of great note that otherwise would have captured a lot of attention on this day (especially since he was wearing a full Navy dress uniform on an airliner, a somewhat rare sight.) Justin, however, was the focus of our interest on this day.

Justin’s impact on my life happened unexpectedly. The Captain and I knew he was onboard, and we knew of his circumstances, but we didn’t talk about him much during the flight. In our private thoughts, we pondered Justin and other brave soldiers like him who fight our nation’s battles so bravely and willingly.

We touched down in San Diego, a little nervous for Justin and his brother, knowing their reunion with their parents would be emotional. We did not, however, expect to participate in something extraordinary.

The Captain and I finished our post-flight checklists and gathered our bags. We stashed them on the jetway and, mostly out of curiosity, walked down the steps to ground level.

There, in the deepening light of dusk, we watched as Kyle stood at attention near the tail of our 757. Beside him were six TSA agents and a cadre of various station personnel, military representatives, and observers. In a few minutes, the young men’s parents drove up and joined the small group.

Kyle, maintaining perfect military bearing, saluted his older brother’s flag-draped casket as the TSA personnel lifted it off the belt-loader and solemnly moved it to the waiting hearse. Kyle's subsequent, tearful embrace with his parents said everything that could ever need to be said. Killed in the crash of a Chinook helicopter on a mountainside in Afghanistan, Justin was home at last.

His “homecoming” affected me in a way that I have difficulty explaining. The event was sad, for obvious reasons, but for me it was also an extraordinary honor to have provided him with aerial passage home. I wish I could have done more, but I had only one skill to offer this brave young soldier and his family. I’m not a diplomat, so I couldn’t have worked to secure an end to the war before his accident happened. I’m not a helicopter mechanic, so I couldn’t have inspected the chopper one last time before they set out on their final flight. I’m not a corpsman, so I couldn’t have been on-scene to attend to injuries. I’m no longer an Air Force pilot, so I couldn’t have provided Search-and-Rescue or Close-Air Support. However, I am an airline pilot, and I feel lucky that I was able to use my skills to at least bring him home one last time.

I’m proud of Justin and the sacrifice he made for all of us. I wish I could have known him.

I'm also proud of Kyle who, on that difficult day, epitomized the professionalism and steadfastness of our military. Our safety and security are truly in good hands.

* * * * *

Justin L. Odonohoe was lost in a helicopter accident in Afghanistan on May 5, 2006. More information on Spc. Odonohoe is available at: http://livinglegendteam.blogspot.com/2006/05/army-specialist-justin-l-odonohoe.html

Reluctant Devotional

Damn you, airplane.

I wish you hadn’t pulled that contrail over my four year-old head as I sat in the grass on that warm spring morning.

I wish you hadn’t flown low over the apple orchard in my parent’s back yard, your Cub-yellow skin reflecting in the sun, and your engine making that lovely, Continental pop-pop-pop sound.

I wish you and the other F-100 hadn’t screamed up Initial at that airshow when I was six. You broke hard to downwind, landed, and parked directly in front of me as I looked up at my Mom’s face to gauge whether the unbelievable howl of your J-57 engine was something I should be scared of. She held her ears, but without much concern. I saw no need to cover mine. Your sound was an utter tonic.

I wish you hadn’t allowed me to grease the landing on my first solo.

I wish you hadn’t help me find the lift so easily along the ridge at Harris Hill, allowing me to stay aloft for over three glorious hours with no engine and less than 20 hours of experience.

I wish you weren’t such a perfectly photogenic beauty, your wet, sensuous frame looking so perfect in the early morning sunlight that I could not help but touch, despite the sign that said Do Not Touch.

I wish you hadn’t growled at me so throatily on the grass at Duxford as you came to life, twelve hundred vintage horsepower at my command.

I wish you hadn’t been such a satisfying challenge as you taught me how to fly faster than sound, curve upward through ten-thousand foot loops, and fly formation only 36 inches from your brothers.

I wish you hadn’t protected me so valiantly when the enemy wanted me dead.

I wish you hadn’t been such a mighty and impressive weapon, mated with such perfect control harmony.

I wish you hadn’t flown hands-off on your first test flight.

I wish you hadn’t allowed me to see the world from eight miles up and more, the sky darkening and luring me even further upward.

I wish you hadn’t blasted my face with that smell of oil and fresh-cut hay, your upper and lower wings framing a perfect sunset as we touched down in a perfect three-point attitude and the blades of grass swishing gently under your tires.

I wish you didn’t cause a lump to form in my throat every single time you fly a missing man formation.

* * * * *

I wish these things not because I wish you ill. I wish these things because my life might have been easier without you. I might have become a computer programmer, a technical writer, a highly-paid consultant, or someone else less subject to the whims of chance, nature and Big Business. I might have had a stable, predictable, easy-to-explain career, with no great attachment between what I do for a living and what I do for recreation. I might not have been so emotional about life and love.

Instead, I am wedded to you and everything relating you. Very few of my many friends are not “airplane people.” I often note with alarm that most of the artwork in my home is aviation-related. My bookshelves are full of aviation titles. I have to work hard to keep aviation jargon out of my conversations with non-aviators. You have interfered in more than one of my romances.

My thoughts are wired to the sky. When I dream, the backdrop of my mind’s wandering is often vast space and sunlight. I drive my car as if I’m flying on instruments: Precise, watchful, and trying to be smooth even when there’s no one else along for the ride. It's almost pathetic.

Like a parent or spouse, I hurt for you when things take a bad turn in your industry, and I cheer your successes and glorious moments.

Though I complain today about your overriding influence on my life and all its components, I am not willing to change my level of commitment. I tried once. The experiment was a dismal failure. I knew I wasn’t being true to the things I love. So I quickly returned, humbled at the human soul’s inability to deny its true calling, regardless of good intentions.

Damn you, airplane. You have me for life.

Because I Fly

Because I Fly

Because I fly,
I laugh more than other men.
I look up and see more than they,
I know how the clouds feel...
What it's like to have the blue in my lap;
to look down on birds;
to feel freedom in a thing called a stick.

Who but I can slice between God's billowed legs
and feel them laugh and crash with His step?
Who else has seen the unclimbed peaks?
The rainbow's secret...
The real reason birds sing...

Because I fly, I envy no man on earth.

--Anonymous

Rattlesnake Bomber Base

Rattlesnake Bomber Base, Pyote, Texas.

If you know where to look, you can find remnants of extraordinary times. Rattlesnake is one such place, and a while back I flew in to pay a visit. It was an eerie time-warp of an experience, with lots of ghosts and swirling half-memories I’d inherited from years of reading WWII books.

As I walked through the hangar, now roofless, and looked out across the vast, weed-studded ramp, I marveled at the events that took place here. In 1943, this place teemed with life and activity. Boys fresh out of high school, tasked with no less than saving the world, trained and flew in B-17s and B-29s. They came to this remote base to begin their defining adventure, and you can still feel the tension and excitement in the air.

The facility is derelict now. Mother Nature is slowly but efficiently reclaiming all signs of it. I’m glad I live at a time when historic locations like this can still be found and studied.

I took off and made one fast pass down the runway, then a “duster turn” back to overfly the base, wagging my wings in salute. I imagined a hundred faces upturned, surprised to see a man in a garish, red-white-and-blue Citabria rocketing across their 1943 sky.

[More information]

Flirtation

"Flirtation"
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

Maybe we've evolved too far, too fast. Mankind has learned how to create powerful machines -- devices that thrust us with seemingly unlimited ease into the sky, where we are able to freely cavort, soar, dip and turn at will. Commercial air travel, by contrast, provides us with reliable transport, without care and without import. It's routine and sedate, because "routine and sedate" sells tickets.

But pilots are constantly reminded how small and insignificant we appear in our travels through the vast ocean of sky above. We flirt with, but do not touch, massive storms whose power and scale escape accurate description. We see the perfection of nature in all its many forms. We see sunsets and sunrises unlike any down below. We see sights of such beauty that we cannot speak of them fully, even to each other. In the air, the components of light, color and form become art without even trying. We gaze in awe at these sights, and we hope our passengers are also watching. We know from experience that most are not.

The next time you fly as a passenger, leave your window shade open and let the scenery wash over you for a while. You may be surprised what aerial sightseeing does for your outlook on life.

Lenticulation 2

This textbook set of lenticular clouds east of Denver explains why local police departments were swamped with UFO reports on this particular afternoon. I took this shot from the crew van on the way to the hotel. This photo was taken facing north, and the previous photo (below) was taken facing south.

Lenticulation

A dramatic stacked-lenticular (lens-shaped) cloud formation hovers over Denver. Clouds along the Front Range of the Rockies seem to be more vibrant and eccentric than most other places I've been. More lenticular cloud photos coming soon!

Wavy Contrail

Sometimes the air surprises us with its capriciousness. This contrail, left by a westbound 757 at our altitude and just a few minutes ahead, began rippling like this as we watched it. Ordinarily, I'd think we would experience some turbulence in the vicinity of a sight like this, but on this day the air was a smooth as glass.

The Finger of God

"The Finger of God"
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

This roiling band of clouds near Denver seems to point the direction one should fly to escape the wrath of the fully-delveloped thunderstorm beyond. The rain shafts underneath this cloud formation were bright red on the radar, indication their extreme intensity.

Snow Clouds

"Snow Clouds"

The only clouds in the sky on this particular day east of Portland, Oregon were hanging low around the peak of this one particular snow-covered mountain. None of the other similar, nearby peaks had such a companion cloud. I'm constantly amazed and intrigued by natural phenomena like this.

Hall of the Mountain King

"Hall of the Mountain King"
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

It's late afternoon over Iowa. Exploding with the power of a hundred Hiroshimas, a ten-mile high thunderstorm provides stark contrast to the sedate field of sun-dappled cumulus clouds that lies beyond. We drink in the glory of it all, our passage around the storm made peaceful by our distance from it. A poet's words come to mind: "With silent lifting mind I've trod the high untrespassed sanctity of space..." [John Gillespie Magee].

Mt. Adams Twilight

"Mt. Adams Twilight"
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

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Mount Adams, Washington glows in the clear light of post-sunset, as seen from 80 miles to the south at 19,000 feet.
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Nestled between the imposing Mount Ranier, the famous and petulant Mount St. Helens, and Portland's lovely Mount Hood, Mount Adams (12,276 feet) is one of the most overlooked and under-appreciated volcanoes along the Cascade chain. The fact that it hasn't erupted in over 3,500 years doesn't mean it's not capable of more attention-getting someday in the future.

Night Companion

"Night Companion"
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2
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Night "transcons" can be quiet and slightly lonely. The other pilots with whom I fly usually aren't as talkative at night as they are in the bright sunshine. With far fewer aircraft in the air at night, the Air Traffic Control frequencies are silent most of the time. We have plenty of time to think deep thoughts and contemplate the vastness of this world. We are sometimes kept company by the moon. It is our friend, our silent overhead companion, and a reassuring beacon that lets us know the sun is still shining on the other side of the planet. To us, it says: Tomorrow will come; daylight is coming.

Canyons and Mesas in Winter

"Canyons and Mesas in Winter"
Copyright 2006 V1VrV2

Our country has thousands of lovely sights like this, and I feel extremely fortunate to be able to see them on a regular basis from a vantage point most people never get to experience. I'm also happy to share them with you when I see them.

Ripples

Here's another recent shot that illustrates the fascinating repeating patterns found in nature. It was taken from 33,000 feet over central Ohio. This cloud pattern extended as far as the eye could see -- probably 100 miles. It looks like wind-generated ripples on a sand dune, doesn't it? [Click photo to enlarge...]

Sun Dog

Some non-pilots have trouble believing me when I describe all the various interesting phenomena I get to see on a regular basis. One of them, the "Sun Dog," is formed by the sunlight refracting off the bright aluminum fuselage of the aircraft, and out onto whatever visible moisture is in the air. If the moisture takes the form of a thin, misty cloud, you might see a weak halo. If that moisture is a full-blown cloud, you sometimes get to see a bright aura around the aircraft's distinct shadow. Either way, it's called a Sun Dog. Here, you can see a good Sun Dog, along with our contrail shadow. What's really neat about this scene is that the bright corona that's reflected on the cloud indicates that we are sitting in the very front of the aircraft. Passengers in the back would see the corona centered more toward the back of the aircraft's shadow. Cool, huh?

Gone West: Robert L. Scott

Retired Brig. Gen. Robert L. Scott, the World War II P-40 ace who told of his exploits in the China-Burma-India theater in his book "God is My Co-Pilot," went west today at the age of 97.

I read a tattered paperback copy of "God Is My Co-Pilot" when I was ten. At that age, I thought that flying a P-40 in combat had to be one of the most exciting and intense things anybody could ever do. I still do.

Maybe it's time to read the book again -- not just because the author has left us, but because it truly is an interesting, inspiring story, and a reminder of how great the "greatest generation" was.

Cloud Streets

I'm fascinated by clouds, unusual meteorology, and the sky in general. I could live my entire life looking down on this beautiful planet, and I feel sorry for those who rarely, if ever, get to see it from aloft. A common theme in my ground-bound photography lately has been the discovery of repeating patterns, and I've even found this theme in clouds. A beautiful example is found in this photo of "cloud streets" along the Irish coast, which I took recently on a trip from Paris to San Francisco. [Click photo to enlarge...]

High Altitude Merge

I've been a little lax about writing lately. I'll write something substantial soon, but I've been in more of a photographic mood lately. In the mean time, I hope you've been enjoying my photo postings. Here's another of my favorite recent shots, a United Airlines 757. Approaching fast and pulling a nice, thick contrail, he's at a cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, going west. I'm at 34,000 feet, going east. I was fortunate to capture this photo, as our combined closure speed was over 1,000 miles per hour and the subject was less than a mile away.

Often, Air Traffic controllers will point out impending closures like this. They try to give the pilots of each airplane a "heads-up" a minute or more before the event. Thanks to today's super-accurate GPS and INS navigation systems, aircraft following established airways often cross each other's paths with little or no lateral offset, a fact that allows me to attempt to get photos like this quite often. In the "old days" of VOR-only radio navigation, such crossings were much more rare.

California Sunrise

Here's another nice scene, this time off the coast of California, looking back to the east, just after the sun begins to peek over the mountains. We're just south of Watsonville, California. I love the way the sunlight and the mountain shadows have colored the haze layer that settled in the valleys overnight, and the way little blobs of steam rise from various factories and industrial buildings. A light ocean breeze has kept the thicker clouds several miles inland. I imagine that people down there are just waking up, stretching, yawning, and looking out the window. My work day is 20 minutes from ending, with a smooth landing in San Francisco, followed by a mad dash to the hotel, where I'll pull the curtains closed and try to sleep while attempting to convince myself that I didn't just see the sun rise.

Phoggy Philly

When you think of thick fog flowing over downtown buildings, you usually think of San Francisco, but other cities sometimes get it, too. This is what Philadelphia looked like, early on a recent morning. The fog extended all the way out to Harrisburg! (Click to enlarge photo)

UAL 2.0

United Airlines has exited Chapter 11 bankruptcy as a viable entity, making them one of only three airlines out of 166 since 1978 to ever successfully pull off this significant feat. I've watched the process closely and intimately for the past 1,150 days, and I still know next to nothing about what actually transpired in the courtrooms and conference rooms. Maybe I never will. I do, however, know a bit about what it was like for the grunts in the "trenches." Someday, someone will have to write a book about the drama, heartache, and tension that have gripped the employees of United for the past four years.

I'm proud of all the United employees who slogged through what will go down in history as one of the largest and most costly bankruptcies in U.S. corporate history. It also resulted in the largest pension default in history, setting an appalling standard for all other domestic airlines to follow.

I hope United's leaders will not squander or take for granted the incredible sacrifices made by their employees over the past four years. United's front-line employees were, in my opinion, not just instrumental in rescuing the company from oblivion, but almost totally responsible for it. We'll see if that fact is remembered at contract time in 2009.

Ah, flying. What a romantic endeavor...

Large Art

If you're ever flying east of Austin, TX, look for this landmark. A land owner carved his last name, "Luecke," out of trees and bushes. The letters are half a mile high, and the word is two and a half miles long, big enough that it can occasionally be seen from the Space Shuttle as it passes overhead. I saw it for the first time about a decade ago as I flew a DC-10 from Orlando to Los Angeles. From 39,000 feet, it was so big it startled me. (The photo above simulates what it would look like from 60,000 feet up!)

Google Earth allows you to zoom in on the carving and examine it in great detail. The closer you get, the more you appreciate the work that went into creating it, and how utterly huge the thing is.

Isn't it amazing what some people do with their spare time?

Government Killing Aviation Downunder

The Australian government has killed another aviation business, this time an aerial safari company whose tours were on my list of Things to Do in Life. Read about it on the business' own website.

We have to be vigilant here in the U.S. for this kind of misunderstanding about General Aviation. There are more than a few politicians who'd like to see every airplane that's not a business jet or airliner grounded permanently. It can only happen if we let it happen.

Incredible Words from an Incredible Bureaucracy

Let's imagine, for a minute, that you're a successful business person, a wealthy adventurer, or just an average person with big dreams. (Maybe you already are, in which case you'll be even more interested in this.)

You learn about the rapid advances in technology which have allowed private Space Tourism to begin blossoming as an actual, viable endeavor. You watch in fascination as Burt Rutan and his talented crew from Scaled Composites devolop Space Ship One and win the Ansari X-Prize by launching it to the edge of space (not just once, but several times!). Every week, it seems, you read about some new effort to develop a private spaceplane. You dream about the day when you might be able to actually buy a ticket for such a flight. You learn that Rutan is, right now, developing Space Ship Two, a commercial space plane, and that several others are close to actually taking advance reservations for suborbital flights.

You're a smart person, though. You know that despite the apparent ease with which these first, fledgling privately-funded steps into space have taken place, anything involving space travel will come with inherent risks. You know that a million things can happen. However, you're savvy enough and intelligent enough to weigh the risks against the rewards, and you decide for yourself that the risks and financial costs are worth it. To see the blackness of space, view the majesty of the curvature of the earth, and feel the freedom of Zero-G while you take in a spectacular view of our home planet would be an experience beyond words.

You'd be forgiven for laughing out loud (or maybe crying) if you read the FAA's recently proposed regulations for space flight. Someone out there might be able to wade though its weighty 120 pages and count the number of times that it addresses "Release of Liability," but I don't have the patience to do so.

Its final irony -- the paragraph that brings the lofty endeavor and magnificence of spaceflight right down to ground level, as only the FAA could do -- is the final one. Here it is:

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Federal Register: December 29, 2005
Docket Number FAA-2005-23449

AGENCY: Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), DOT.
ACTION: Notice of proposed rulemaking (NPRM).

Human Space Flight Requirements for Crew and Space Flight Participants

Sec. 460.53 Security.

An operator must implement security requirements to prevent any space flight participant from jeopardizing the safety of the flight crew or the public. A space flight participant may not carry on board any explosives, firearms, knives, or other weapons.

Issued in Washington, DC, on December 22, 2005.

Patricia G. Smith
Associate Administrator for Commercial Space Transportation.
[FR Doc. 05-24555 Filed 12-23-05; 10:26 am]

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Kinda brings a lump to your throat, doesn't it?

Thanks, FAA, for reminding us that travel in any kind of moving conveyance is a dangerous activity, and for looking out for the safety of future space travelers who might be tempted to bring along a sidearm, or maybe some fireworks, to celebrate their $200,000 trip to the edge of the atmosphere. We'll all feel much safer about the experience now.