THE PLEASURE OF FLYING WITH AIR CANADA.

Well it’s my last week back in England. On the 19^th of October I finally swallow my Valium, pour copious amounts of beer and G&T’s down my frightened neck and otherwise gird up my loins to fly again back to my lovely Raven. I can already feel my pre-flight nerves building up. Damn I thought I’d be immune to air travel now after flying almost 20,000 miles in the last year or so.

 

My Chariot Awaits.

 

This time I am flying back to Ohio via Toronto in Canada. I have reasons. Maybe I can avoid the officious immigration controls in Newark, New Jersey. Apparently it is the worst place to fly into if you are a foreigner. See my previous posts for the hassle I had last time. I felt like a suspected terrorist although they did finally let me in. Also the last time I flew in I used Continental Airlines on a reasonably new Boeing 777 but it now seems that with their tie up to United Airlines I would get to fly in a 757. OMG a Boeing 757? Ancient. I had to look up Wikipedia to see if it has propellers. It doesn’t but even travelling to the Seychelles I got to fly on a Boeing 767 and Air Seychelles isn’t the most modern of carriers. I am sure I saw a witchdoctor blessing my flight from Paris CDG to Victoria on the runway before we took off.

 

AIR SEYCHELLES OFFICIAL WITCHDOCTOR.

 

 

But I am flying good old Air Canada this time and I get an Airbus A330-300. Considerably newer. I even think it was built this century. And it’s British don’t-cha know … sort of. I think the cockpit cup holders or something are built in the UK so happy days. But … and here’s the BIG but. Yesterday I received an email from Air Canada. Just the usual confirmation … blah blah blah. Until one thing caught my eye.

The witch doctor is just out of shot.

 

It seems that Air Canada now only accepts Credit cards on it’s flights for alcoholic beverages. Fantastic if you have one but unfortunately I don’t. Me and credit cards don’t co-exist too well. Personally I love them and have had loads. I love to spend all the lovely money on them but then the card companies get a bit miffed when I don’t want to pay them back. Well it’s their fault. They shouldn’t have given it to me in the first place should they? I do tend to treat the credit limit as a personal gift to me rather than requiring repayment. I mean they can afford it can’t they? C’est la vie. So currently I don’t possess one. I have a Visa debit card but Air Canada won’t accept these. It has to be a Credit Card. They also don’t accept cash or travelers cheques.

 

So here’s me, inveterate fear of flying guy looking like I can’t get my on-board glasses of medication. Eek! Terror. Flying sober? It ain’t gonna happen I tell myself. Well not if I can help it anyway. So I look up Pay as you go credit cards. You know the ones? No credit checks, just load up some cash on and away you go? Well no actually. I checked up with Thompson Travel in town today who run just such a scheme. The nice lady assured me I just walk in their branch, lay my dosh down and walk out 15 minutes later with a nice shiny new Visa or Master-card.

 

Arghhhh.

 

 

I told her of my problems with Air Canada and she kindly said she would ring them for me to see if these cards were OK. An hour later she called me back to confirm my worst fears. Apparently these cards are not ‘Credit Cards’ at all but really money cards which are the same as … yes Debit Cards…..arghhh. That was at 11 this morning and so back to the drawing board.

 

Now obviously I can’t carry a bottle of anything on with me. No fluids allowed now as I found out on my last flight back from the Seychelles. A rather unpleasantly grinning French security buffoon in a uniform had my litre of Stolichnaya away from me at Charles De Gaulle airport as I was trying to catch my London connection. I pleaded with him. Tried to explain it was my medication but non. Well not non but NON NON NON! “Bastard.” I muttered to myself as I left to get my London flight vodkaless.

 

Un Homme Francais ... bastard...

 

 

So onwards and upwards. What next? I have already checked my ticket online. It does say I can pre-buy booze before I fly and have credit put on my boarding pass to use during the flight. Fantastic and so I had followed the links to no avail. It seems that option is not available to me. I am getting the feeling that Canada hates me and is daring me to find a way to stay pleasantly sozzled as I fly. Perhaps it’s because I wanted to shoot one of their moosey things on my last intrepid exploration of our erstwhile trusty colony. Hmmmmm. But this guy don’t give up easily.

 

Nice Moosey.

 

 

I thought of soaking my shirt in whiskey before the flight and squeezing it out on board. My mum even suggested I took a few boxes of liqueur chocolates with me and I must admit that I seriously considered it. But, well to be honest I just can’t see me staying pissed on a pound of choccies no matter what is in them. They are just too small.

 

And then … Eureka! Haha. By George I think I’ve got it. I troll over to the Heathrow Airport site. Click on security checks. Click on what I can take in my hand luggage. And there it is. FLUIDS. And so before getting my hopes too high I ring the Heathrow Security guys.

[Me] “Good evening squire. What can I take onto my Air Canada flight in the way of liquids?”

[Security Guy] “Well it’s anything in bottles of less than 100 millilitres as long as they fit in an 8 by 8 inch plastic resealable clear plastic bag.”

[Me…(mentally calculating)] “And perchance would that include errr medication errr I mean booze.”

[Security Guy] “ Yes. As long as the bottles are less than 100 millilitres.”

I briefly considered asking for his hand in marriage and offering to have his children… but.

[Me] Hallelujah.

 

And so tomorrow I will be visiting my local Sainsbury’s to stock up with miniatures of whiskey, as many as I can fit in an 8 by 8 poly bag and for a lot less than I would pay Air Canada, gods be praised…. Baby, you’re guy is happy and on his way to you.

 

Travel Heaven.

 

 

© 2010 Stan Rogers. All rights reserved.

BACK IN ENGLAND AGAIN.

Continental Boeing 777

June 24^th 2010. Back in England. Heathrow Terminal 4 to be precise. I had landed safely, thanked my lucky small gods of air travel, and I’d made it through arrivals without problems to pick up my two overfull suitcases. OMG,They weighed a ton. Well one hundred pounds actually but it felt like a ton. I’d boarded the train to the central bus station with some difficulty. I mean have you tried hauling two fifty pound cases on those silly little wheels while balancing a hefty laptop on your shoulder at the same time? Escalators are a real challenge I found out, the hard way. But I had made it and now awaited my bus home. I did feel relatively happy. The flying bit was over now at least. No more bloody planes for a while. I sighed with relief.

Heathrow Central Bus Station.

And England Oh My England. After six months in the states it looked shabby. The cars looked small. Even the sky looked small. I noticed the litter and the run down look of the place. I sighed and waited for my coach to Cambridge which I was told would be one hour late. Deep joy. When it did arrive the air conditioning was knackered and so I sweltered all the way back to Cambridge. How the hell was I going to get by without my Raven I thought sadly (and sweatingly). But at least the weather was good and I even managed to keep my tan topped up for the first couple of weeks compliments of the back garden.

One of my first stops back in Suffolk was to Sainsbury’s for one of the few things I had missed in the US of A. A fresh hot sausage roll. I had craved one in Ohio but no luck there and so I mightily enjoyed our being re-united. I also bought a coffee filter machine. I had become addicted to fresh brewed coffee in Ohio and I needed one. I even bought my Starbucks mug back with me. Great stuff. I couldn’t lay my hands on half and half though so I had to make do with Coffeemate powder. But hey I’d get used to it.

Yummy.

Since I’ve been away the UK has had a general election. It got scant mention in the US. But yes I did follow it. The UK now has a Conservative/Lib Democrat coalition. The ConDems? Hmm I give that maybe a year. I must admit I was surprised. I thought the Tories would win with a landslide. Maybe last year they would have. But I can see this coalition ending up like all others. The average ConDem supporter is more inclined to Labour. As times are getting harder the ConDems are seeing a massive slump in their support. Already rifts are appearing. Basically they are getting cold feet. There will be tears before bedtime methinks.

Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee.

And the main culprits for the recession slink away. The labour party knew they were doomed but to be honest I think they were surprised they had such a good result. It was closer than expected. And the other culprits are the banks. Ahem. Who caused this crash which is still ongoing? The banks. Financiers who didn’t think their profits were huge enough and so rolled up enormous and very dodgy debts. Bonuses larger than the average guys annual pay packet were paid out. They turned out to be the school dunces and we bailed them out. Taxpayers bailed them out to the extreme of breaking this countries finances.

But they are big business. Some went to the wall yes but not many. But have you noticed the subtle shift in blame. It is now becoming the peoples fault. They borrowed too extravagantly. They were naïve. They were stupid. And now you will pay with higher bank charges. With less chance of loans and mortgages. Yes YOU will pay. But already I notice that they are paying those huge bonuses again. I am sorry but I put them right up there with the churches. Greedy sanctimonious bastards ….rant over.

Snouts in the trough time again for the bankers.

And back in England? Coming home. Well not really home anymore. I am staying with my mum. And life is boring. I have been looking for some kind of job to top the old pot up a bit but apart from the odd week temping I haven’t had that much luck so I have been mostly making do with David Cameron’s Tory beer vouchers. I have read a lot and pottered in my mum’s garden. Seeing my new grandson Kian was one of my few pleasures along with my kids. But mostly I have missed my Raven.

Teaching my grandson about Costa's coffee.

After spending six months with this fantastic lady it is kind of hard and kind of lonely to be on my own for a while. Waking up alone hurts. Going to bed alone hurts. Pretty much everything without her hurts. I suppose all that has kept me sane has been her voice on the telephone and Skype. Our constant exchange of cards and small gifts has helped too. I actually look out eagerly for the postman now for mixed amongst the advertising bumpf and job application refusals I so often find wonderful cards and letters from my lady. It also helps that I know I will be returning to her in October and so immediately on my return I started planning for the day.

But until then I have to endure a mediocre English summer on my own.

Missing my baby.

RETURN TO BLIGHTY. Part 1

The months counted down and became weeks and then days. Arriving in Ohio for the first time back on that cold January day seemed so long ago. Me and Raven had done so many things together. Shared so much and seen so many places. But the time drew nearer and inexorably closer till I had to leave.

Last days. Still an eejit.

I suppose I started getting worried round about the beginning of June about three weeks before my departure. Apart from the fact I was going to have to leave my baby there was the flight. People who know me are well aware of my absolute terror of flying. I start worrying weeks before I have to fly and of course all possible disaster scenario’s parade through my mind. The usual terrorist bomb, an in flight fire raging out of control. The pilot and flight crew dying of food poisoning mid flight, even mid air collisions. More even bizarre scenario’s and every news item about aircraft and their mishaps is followed by me with ghoulish and unreasonable fear. Also we’d just had the Icelandic volcano ash cloud. That didn’t help. By the final week I was a gibbering wreck inside barely keeping it hidden from Kit, but she knew.

Just what i needed.

Every time I fly one of my first visits is to the docs for Valium. My little pre-flight sweeties, usually washed down with beer and G&T chasers. Even that seems to do little but I MANAGE IT. I am what is known as a stubborn git. No way will I give in to this unreasonable fear and I MANAGE IT. The funny thing is that as soon as I’m on board the latest metal behemoth of choice and possible death I am OK. All my worries seem so far away as the Beatles once sang. I become Matt Spears, seasoned international jet-setter. And I have certainly flown a few miles over the past year or two.

Great stuff...lol

But flight nerves aside as the clock ticked down to my leaving Ohio I would sit on the deck and looking out into the warm night I would remember. As crickets cricketed and fireflies performed their bright flights of love I looked back. Incredible times together as our love for each other grew stronger. We had visited Niagara Falls in Canada, The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum in Cleveland and other fantastic places but the times we spent alone together were the greatest. Watching TV snuggled up together on the sofa. Laying in bed at night talking and me reading to her. Making her lunch for work and slipping little love notes in. All of these times were so precious to me as I looked back on them as I sipped my beer on a warm Ohio night. But I looked back in sadness that this had to end for now at least. I did shed the odd tear as I remembered all this but I never showed them. I kept them to myself. But Kit knew this.

Lightning....not lightening...lol

And eventually the final morning came. Wednesday 23rd of June dawned hot and hazy. Humid with a promise of rain later. I hadn’t slept much as I rose and made tea for us. All of my nerves jangled. My mind was a mess and so I took my Valium. It seemed to help and soon we left for Columbus Airport. England were playing their last match of the group stages as were the USA that morning as we sat in the departure lounge. A small group watched the action in the bar. We had coffee and then I had beer. The nerves started to disappear but the sadness got worse.

On the way to the airport.

Eventually the Football ended. England and USA were through but narrowly and we all know how that ended but Kit and I sat and talked. We kept it upbeat although I was breaking inside. I visited outside for a smoke break and returned to find a Gin and Tonic. OMG I think there was about four measures in it. Kit knew my frailties and had issued me medication. Gawd bless her. The waitress we thought had to be related to Bette Midler. She was a young spitting image of Bette and we asked her to take pictures of us. She did.

But the minutes counted down. My flight was called and I had to go. We embraced and I couldn’t hold my tears back any longer. I didn’t want to leave but I had to. My visa had run out almost or I’d have stayed but well… that is life shitty though it is and we would see each other again soon. After the goodbyes were done I picked up my laptop. Straightened my hat and headed for the new full body scanner that had just been installed. Belt off. Laptop out. Pockets emptied and I walked through into the departure lounge without a beep. I could still see Kit and wiping my eyes I waved one last time. The sadness in her face mirrored mine but then I walked. Off to my flight and Newark Airport.

Ohio from 19,000 feet.

The flight was on time. The same Brazilian built Embraer aircraft we had arrived on. Just 57 seats. Just like a coach with wings. Sadness trumped my fear as we took off for the 90 minute flight to New York. The weather was good. I even took photos from the aircraft window and as we came in to land I got to see New York and the Statue of Liberty. We had missed it on the way in. And the flight was uneventful. I got myself a beer and the obligatory pack of salty pretzels before we landed.

Tis little. And noisy

New York was a nightmare. I phoned Kit to let her know I’d got there and searched for somewhere to smoke…..Nowhere….nada. So I made do with coffee and bought my duty frees. No temptation there at least as you only picked them up at the departure gate. So there I was The Only Living Boy in New York. Walking onto the enormous Continental Boeing 777 armed with booze vouchers. My medication. I didn’t want to fall for the same thing as on the way in. You can only get drinks on the flight with a credit card. Great stuff but the bloody visa machine broke down mid Atlantic so no more ‘drinkies’ for this guy on the way to the USA. This time I was armed with pre-paid vouchers (thank you baby). No bloody electronic failures would thwart this kiddo on the way back. Little did I know.

The take-off was smooth and I was still enjoying the tail end of my Valium/G&T . As I said before as soon as we were airborne I became Matt Spears, international frequent flyer and all was going well. I trolled through the seat back screen looking for films to watch and joked casually with my neighbors. The effects of my medication were wearing off ie the Gin and Tonics and I watched eagerly as the drinks trolley approached slowly, drinks voucher clasped tightly in my sweaty little mitt.

[Cabin Announcement] Please fasten your seat-belts. We are expecting a bit of turbulence ahead.
[Me] Eek!
The drinks trolley was just two rows in front of me. I willed it closer. We bumped.

[Cabin Announcement] Would all cabin crew please return to their seats and buckle in we are about to experience bad turbulence till we get over the Atlantic.(Sound of alarms in the flight deck)

[Me] Oh fuck!
I watched as … just out of reach the drink trolley was closed up and put away and the cabin staff beat a cowardly (in my view) retreat leaving me in a terrible condition … ie sober.

[Me] Oh bollux!

It started. Outside all looked good. The sun was a fiery ball setting behind Canadian clouds. The clouds looked cute grey and fluffy and many thousands of feet below us. And we hit it. As I said I have flown many thousands of miles recently over various continents but this was a cracker. We went up. We went down. We went up as we went down. We went sideways. We rolled. I even think we looped the loop. God knows how many hundred tons of metal and humans were tossed about like a ping-pong ball in a spin drier. Never in history have I gripped seat arms so tightly.

I tried to mentally will the by now securely strapped in flight attendant to bring me booze. No luck and then I realized that in a perverse kind of way I was enjoying this. People were swearing and praying as overhead lockers were popping open and I smiled. I was the Columbus Cowboy and I turned my mp3 player onto full volume and ‘Yehawwwwww’ . And an hour later it all went quiet.
The seat belt signs went out. The cabin crew resumed serving. I got my large one and breathed a sigh of relief. We even got dinner.

I even slept a little although aircraft seats are not designed for this. I am sure they just want to make sure you enjoy every damned minute. But the hours passed quietly and we saw the rising sun over Ireland. Shortly after we started our descent into Heathrow. After six wonderful months away I was almost back in blighty. What would it hold for me?

To be continued………….

TO OHIO Part Two.

Great. We survived the landing in Newark, New Jersey. Next the small matter of a two hour flight to Ohio.

As the Boeing 777 slowly taxi’s to our gate I sigh in relief and let go of Kit’s hand. “It’s OK babe I reassure her, they will soon heal.” I am referring to my deep fingernail imprints in her palm caused by my vice like grip of terror. “Can’t understand what I was so worried about really.” Yes the landing was a tad bumpy but I console myself with the thought that any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.

The engines wind down and everybody stands up expectantly. After about 15 minutes lots of them sit down again. It becomes clear that we aren’t going anywhere in a hurry. Eventually though there is movement and people slowly start to disembark. Welcome to the USA I think to myself and embrace Kit. My smile must give away my relief at being on Terra firma again. We kiss and exit the 777 happily.

Next… Immigration. What jollity. I join what seems to be a 3 mile long single file queue that snakes its way slowly to the immigration desks. Kit and I are separated now. She is a US citizen and joins a different queue. I of course am a member of Al Qaeda till proven otherwise and I assume the blank look of the typical queue dweller as we inch our way towards the desks. I strike lucky briefly as a new clerk comes on duty and I am directed to the front of a new queue. I wait behind the red line till I am beckoned forward. I greet the clerk in my best American. “Hi Buddy. Have a nice day.” I say hopefully. The clerk looks at me dubiously as if I have just greeted him in Afghani. “Passport please Sir.” I proffer my passport. “Form D156 (I think) please Sir.” I proffer my form D156. “Blue customs declaration form please Sir.” “Err what? I ask limply. “Blue customs declaration form Sir? He repeats. I look crestfallen. “What the f**k is one of them I think to myself and why didn’t they give me one on the plane when they dished out the other forms?”

The clerk points to a table where I can pick up the said form and fill it in and rejoin the BACK of the queue. I shuffle away from the clerk muttering under my breath. “I’m sorry sir? Asks the clerk. “Have a nice day.” I grin weakly.

I go to the table and find the form. At least I have a pen on me. Lucky as none are provided and I dutifully fill in the form. It could be asking me if I am importing Bin Laden’s into the US but I just tick all the NO boxes and rejoin the back of the queue again. Eventually I get to the front and I am summoned forward to the clerk again. I can see Kit waiting for me a mere 10 yards away. I turn to the clerk and proffer my Form D156, Passport AND bloody blue customs declaration form with a smile of victory. I am asked to place my fingers and thumbs on a scanner to have my fingerprints taken. Great. Now let me in I think hopefully. But no. This is not my day.

“I see you have a FULL visa Sir.” I nod proudly. “ I sure do.” (And your Embassy wallahs had me over for about 300 quid for it I think privately to my self). I smile happily at the clerks powers of observation. “Why Sir?” he asks suspiciously. My stomach sinks into my boots as I once more explain my misdemeanour’s of about ten years previously. No convictions I explain fruitlessly. The clerk smiles in victory and closing his booth I am led away to ‘upstairs’. Kit looks on helplessly as I just shrug and smile weakly.

I am handed over to a couple of new uniformed guys who take me ‘upstairs’ in a lift. I am instructed to take a seat and wait till my name is called. I sit helplessly and watch as a female customs officer leads a beagle out to sniff the bins for bombs or drugs I presume. They walk past me and it seems that even the dog looks at me suspiciously. As they pass I flip it the bird. It would be just my luck I think to be refused entry and put on the next plane back to blighty. I just hope I can get a drink on it this time because I am going to get so bloody pi…… My thoughts are interrupted when I hear my name called.

I stroll nonchalantly up to the desk. The uniformed guy behind it asks me my occupation? “Writer.” I tell him. He grins as if I am spinning him a line. His smile says “Prove it.” Briefly I think of showing him my pen but decide this may not be the best course of action. I reach into my bag and pull out a copy of my novel ‘Love Sex and Time Travel.’ This seems to fascinate him. He even asks if he can buy it on Amazon. I assure him that he can and sincerely hope he will. He calls his buddy over and they both snicker over my books title. As long as they are happy then so am I and I chortle along with them and after a few brief pleasantries it is over. My passport is duly stamped allowing me into the country till July. As I turn to walk away one of them says. “Hey Buddy. I see you are going to Ohio. Nothing much happens there you know.” I smile and think to myself, “That’s cos I haven’t arrived there yet.”

©2010 Stan Rogers

TO OHIO.

So here I am. Columbus, Ohio, USA.

OK so I arrived on Sunday night and it is Wednesday already and hardly a word written yet. Gimme a chance wontcha?….lol.
So here goes. Sunday was an early start especially as my daughter texted me at 04:30 wishing me a safe trip from Haverhill Suffolk. I nudged Kit’s cute warm butt as my alarm sounded at 05:00 and we were on our way. Showers, cups of tea, last minute packing, bound to have forgotten something.

Daryl turned up early, about 06:10 on that cold Sunday early morning and we were off. Good old Daryl was our taxi service for the morning. My normal guy had pranged his cab and thankfully my ex boss from Falconer Plastics stepped in to speed us on our way. The road was clear, the weather cold but precipitation free and we were stepping out of his car to a bright, clear but freezing cold Terminal 4 at Heathrow by 8am.

Now the fun began. Checking in then a brief respite for coffee and security check time. Belt and shoes off. Now why didn’t I wear slip ons I thought as I unlaced my boots but hey ho. Laptop out, through the scanner and luckily I didn’t beep. And into embarkation lounge land. Statutory luxury car to be won with just the purchase of a ticket. Err. No ta. So we look round the shops and even get a free sample tasting of Baileys at one. Quite pleasant at about 9am on a Sunday morning and it helps to calm my frazzled nerves.

My nerves? Oh yes I am terrified and Kit, bless her, has put up with my fear of flying for the last day or so. Yep I am a very nervous flyer. The thought of hot needles in my eyeballs is a comforting one for me compared to my fear of flying. Well actually the flying doesn’t bother me. It’s the possible crashing that gives me the heeby jeebies and has me waking in a cold sweat most nights for weeks before a flight. But hey. I do it. Too stubborn to give in to mere mortal fear I suppose.

But I do need back up and beer is my medication of choice. OK just one valium as well but mostly beer as the minutes tick by. Then as the moment of truth arrives a couple of large G&T’s and I am ready. Another security check. Belt and shoes off. Laptop out. OK done and on to the plane. A nice big metal coffin called a Boeing 777. Big. Very big. Nine seats wide and as me and Kit are a row apart we have to haggle. Well Kit does. I can do little more than gibber by now but my baby sorts it out and we are seated together thankfully.

After the extra security check we are an hour late taking off and I try hard not to look out of the window as a cold sunny London disappears rapidly beneath us. I risk a brief peak after a while but we are above clouds by then an soon we are levelling off at 36,000 feet. Hmm there are video screens in all the seat backs and lots of films and programs to watch. Brilliant except my sound doesn’t work. No. It really doesn’t. I try swapping headphones, twiddling and fiddling but resolutely no sound. I ask the cabin staff but it never worked all flight. I played a couple of games of Solitaire but eventually settled for the map. You know the one? Shows your position, height and out side temp. I derive some comfort from the fact that if we have a mid air disaster I will probably have frozen to death before we hit the ground. Small mercies and all that.

But worse things are to come. Oh yes. I numb my fear of flying by frequent top ups of wine but about 2 hours into the flight the airline credit card machine dies. No more wine. They can’t accept cash. Has to be a card and so no more wine. Sob. Luckily I had just bought 2 measures just before the machine went ‘tits up’ but it won’t last I know. But at least the flight is smooth and the weather good. I even snooze briefly. Having Kit’s hand to hold also helps tremendously. She really is a star and tries not to take the piss out of me too badly. I count myself lucky to have met this wonderful woman. But as I said a while back, worse things are to come on the flight.

We approach the States over Canada and I breathe a sigh of relief as I know that we are over land again. I don’t know why. We will be just as dead if we crash here as out at sea I suppose but nevertheless I feel better. And so we fly down the Eastern Seaboard of Canada and then into the USA. The first time for me as it happens and I look out of the window with interest as we lose altitude ready to land at Newark, New Jersey. Soon we are in cloud and I can see nothing. I can feel my ears popping but of Uncle Sam I can see nothing. And then the fun begins. We hit turbulence. We go up. We go down. We go left. We go right. Rapidly, in quick succession and in no order. The large metal behemoth I have called home for the past 6 hours or so shudders and wobbles as it is caught in the side winds and updraughts. I am sure that my stomach and I part company a few times. I grip Kit’s hand tightly my palm soaked with slick sweat and I even consider converting to christianity briefly but naaa. No hypocrisy in this guy so I grin and bear it.

Soon we are below the cloud layer and New Jersey is below us white with snow. We are still doing the bucking bronco trip as we get lower and I wonder how the hell our jockey is going to land this thing in a straight line. I close my eyes as the ground gets closer but I can’t do it. I have to watch in grim terror as the tarmac approaches. A thud. A squeal of brakes and the roar of the engines in back thrust slowing our lurching landing…… We are down. A relieved cheer and applause from me and my fellow passengers. We made it. I am in America.

©2010 Stan Rogers