Like a little Okie dustbowl migrant, I stuffed my car with only the
things I loved and am headed out to California in hopes of a better
future and a fresh new start from scratch. It wasn't easy to let go of
the past, particularly of what became an extensive library of paperbacks
over the past two years, but sometimes you have to throw away your
mother's china on the prairie in order to keep going west.
I put on my audio book when I left and this time I chose Steinbeck. The Grapes of Wrath began literally and fictionally in Oklahoma and narrated my journey all the way through the southwest and into the orchards of California.
I finally arrived.
Life in Aviation
Stop hanging out with any friends outside of the industry you work in
entirely. Once a week, pick a random place on the globe no matter how
remote and make it a priority to be there the following morning no
matter the cost. Every year or less, move yourself and all of your
belongings to a place at least 3,000 miles from where you are at the
moment where you have never lived in before, preferably on a different
continent. Give up your personal life. Constantly talk about how amazing
it is to be able to be doing these things. Do this for about 5 years.
Then you might begin to understand what it's like to work in aviation.
Although most people I know have been doing it for over 15 years.
Club Rodeo
Club Rodeo is a nightclub. Nightclub like... a dance club. Think Buddha Bar in Paris, or Boom Boom Room in NYC, or Pasha in Ibiza.
In most ways, it is just another nightclub, but in one way it is different. In one very important way.
It is also a rodeo. With a real rodeo rink. Inside of the nightclub.
The way one enjoys Club Rodeo is the way you'd enjoy any other popular nightclub -- you go there and dance to very loud rap music. Only at Club Rodeo, they intermix the playlist with line dancing, country tunes and every hour on the hour, they turn off the music and some guy rides a live bull.
In most ways, it is just another nightclub, but in one way it is different. In one very important way.
It is also a rodeo. With a real rodeo rink. Inside of the nightclub.
The way one enjoys Club Rodeo is the way you'd enjoy any other popular nightclub -- you go there and dance to very loud rap music. Only at Club Rodeo, they intermix the playlist with line dancing, country tunes and every hour on the hour, they turn off the music and some guy rides a live bull.
I'll take a night there over the hot spots of St Tropez in a breath.
Flippin Ozark Hills
Last time I was visiting Kansas from London, I was looking for a place to fly which was not so far as to have to go overnight, but as far as I could go on a one-day cross-country flight. My friend John remembered that there was a great little airport on the border of Arkansas and Missouri with a funny name but a beautiful approach to landing. What is it? I asked. Don't remember, said John. I think it's called Flippin. 
That settled it. It was clear from that moment on that we were going to Flippin for no other reason than that for an entire week straight when someone asked what we were doing that weekend, we would reply "We're going to Flippin"
To say that Flippin Arkansas is pretty much what you would expect would imply one has an expectation of the cultural differences between Kansas and Arkansas and Missouri. Being able to tell the difference between the two is an art similar to being able to tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. One needs to have thoroughly tasted and loved at least one to know the other.
The Flippin airport is manned by one person only. This is a young-looking fellow wearing clothes entirely colored camouflage and clearly itching to get back to the lake to continue his fishing trip. When he asked us where we were from and we explained we flew in from Benton. He responded "Benton? All the way down south?" No, we clarified, Benton in Kansas, not the Arkansas one. This created disbelief -- "Wow." He said. Well I guess it's no wonder you guys don't look like you're from around here. That's WAYS away. 
Most airports in the midwest have a loaner car that they allow visiting pilots to use during their say for exchange of the credit card. The Flippin airfield manager supplied us with this luxury under several conditions: we were not to exceed 25 miles an hour. This speed was to be approximated as the speedometer did not work. We were not to get on the highway, as he doubted the car would survive the experience, and we were not to park on an incline.
Why not an incline? I enquired.
Because there's a hole in the gas tank and if you park on a hill it will leak out. He explained.
That settled that question.
We asked what sights there were to visit around the town. He showed us the way to the local Wal-Mart and Pizza Hut and we were on our way. 
The Wild Mustangs of Flint Hills
It is completely desolate and quiet and flying over this vast dish of brown expanse, one is taken at full surprise as a thousand horses come pounding, thundering across the prairie, nostrils flared and snorting, manes and tails flying in the wind.
Instantly, you feel transported to another world. In front of you, is one of the most iconic living images of the Old West: wild mustangs running free across the prairie.
These mustangs descended from horses brought to the Americas by the Spanish more than six centuries ago. And by the 19th century, the horses were just as much a part of Kansas wildlife as bison and wolves, mountain lions and bears. But with Euro-American settlement, the horses quickly disappeared from Kansas, along with other forms of wildlife.
But a decade ago, a handful of ranchers in the Flint Hills began contracting with the Bureau of Land Management to bring the horses back home to Kansas. And with the contracts, the wild horses have begun to make their presence in Kansas known.
All told, more than 7,000 horses now run free over 60,000 acres.
Instantly, you get a real glimpse into the way it used to be, more than you would through photographs or old Western films. This snorting, stomping mix of bays and sorrels, blacks and palominos, pintos and whites transport you to the once was -- when, the buffalo roamed out here, and you couldn't get to the next town without a three day's ride.
You see these wild horses roaming and you realize... They are truly free...
Kansas wineries
Today I found out Kansas has wineries. Kathy brought a bottle of wine to dinner.
I asked her what kind of wine it was.
"Table wine!" she said. "It means it's fancy, cuz you can't just drink it on the couch"
I asked her what kind of wine it was.
"Table wine!" she said. "It means it's fancy, cuz you can't just drink it on the couch"
Small Towns and the World's Biggest IMAX
Flight to Oklahoma and back. I'm flying with a guy I just met. It's warm, even at 4,000 feet. Underneath us, cars and trucks are crawling on the interstate I'm tracking back to Kansas.
"You know," I say to my new friend "I could live in like, a small town, like Benton. Or I could live in like, a big city. But not like, in between" I say
"Yeah.." He says. A pause.
"A big city, like.. Wichita?" he says
"No. Not a big city like Wichita" I say
"A big city like San Francisco, or London" I say
A pause. my friend thinks
The motor monotonously hums through the air
"Wichita IS a big city" my friend says. "It's got the world's biggest IMAX" he says.
I think about it and realize there is no reason that he's not absolutely right.
"You know," I say to my new friend "I could live in like, a small town, like Benton. Or I could live in like, a big city. But not like, in between" I say
"Yeah.." He says. A pause.
"A big city, like.. Wichita?" he says
"No. Not a big city like Wichita" I say
"A big city like San Francisco, or London" I say
A pause. my friend thinks
The motor monotonously hums through the air
"Wichita IS a big city" my friend says. "It's got the world's biggest IMAX" he says.
I think about it and realize there is no reason that he's not absolutely right.
Mike-isms
Mike is a colleague of mine and possibly my favorite. Mike is from Houston and approaches his life as if it were a Mark Twain novel; humerous and full of opportunities to point out moral truths about life as he sees it.
When he talks about his grandchildren, which is very rare, one gets the feeling that they receive a treatment not far from that applied to the listener himself -- as Mike puts it, he likes to tell them about "all sorts of stuff that is neat."
The first trip I got to enjoy with Mike (in my profession, one gets to really know someone after traveling with them somewhere), was to Little Rock, AR.
Having endured a particularly turbulent approach to landing, Mike patted the pilot on the back and thanked him for the ride "just like a rodeo!" he exclaimed walking out the little jet.
That's how they started. The Mike-isms. Working with someone named Brian "Wildman" H. was described as "like havin' a pet racoon. You just never know what he's gunna do next."
Listening to a particularly long presentation on avionic systems left Mike feeling like "a cat watchin' TV. I'm just lookin' at pictures moving across the screen"
Purchasing an engine re-upgrade program was described as "like putting a pool in your new house"
A particularly hot day in Kansas was explained by likening the sensation to "walking on a grilled tortilla. Flat and hot as hell"
Kansas, in general, became a place where you could "watch your dog run away from you for 20 minutes" and a mis-spoken conference call with a client dismissed as "well.... you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube."
Before working for my company, Mike used to run a large group for another aircraft manufacturer. He became familiar with airplanes on an intimate and thorough level. Becoming an expert in the industry and knowing every broker in the US by name allowed Mike to have particular insight into the world of aviation unattainable to most. He became to me, a person I could approach on any subject, no matter how seemingly trivial.
"Why did they never make the supersonic jet, Mike?" I asked him once. "Well..." He thought about it. "because of how expensive it is" he said "And, of course, because of the turkeys." he added. "The turkeys?" I said. "Yeah, you know the turkeys -- when a jet breaks the barrier of sound it pops all loud-like and does all sorts of nonsenses, like breaking windows, for example. Well one major problem is that it scares all the turkeys down in the turkey farms. They run to huddle together and suffocate themselves because they're such stupid little animals." I laughed "So, no supersonic jet because of the turkeys?" He acted surprised I was laughing. "Well yes! You can't be goin' breaking the sound barrier and scaring turkeys all over the place! That's why they have laws -- you can only break the sound barrier over water."
And that was the world according to Mike which was opened to me in Arkansas on a cold spring morning. Where noise abatement laws were there to protect turkeys and people were pet racoons.
Walking away from the sales meeting, we wandered onto the tarmac waiting as the ramp personnel loaded our luggage onto the jet. On the other side of the runway, a giant metallic shiny Boeing was powering on its engines. It thrust down the length of the field and barelled down towards us screeching, clanking and finally separating its huge mass from the asphalt and lifting into the air with a tremendous growl. As the airplane retracted its gear and disappeared slowly into the mist hanging in the atmosphere, we both stared, spellbound and mesmerized.
"There's just something indescribable about it, isn't there, Mike" I said
"Yeah... " Mike responded. "You're either an airplane guy or you ain't"
When he talks about his grandchildren, which is very rare, one gets the feeling that they receive a treatment not far from that applied to the listener himself -- as Mike puts it, he likes to tell them about "all sorts of stuff that is neat."
The first trip I got to enjoy with Mike (in my profession, one gets to really know someone after traveling with them somewhere), was to Little Rock, AR.
Having endured a particularly turbulent approach to landing, Mike patted the pilot on the back and thanked him for the ride "just like a rodeo!" he exclaimed walking out the little jet.
That's how they started. The Mike-isms. Working with someone named Brian "Wildman" H. was described as "like havin' a pet racoon. You just never know what he's gunna do next."
Listening to a particularly long presentation on avionic systems left Mike feeling like "a cat watchin' TV. I'm just lookin' at pictures moving across the screen"
Purchasing an engine re-upgrade program was described as "like putting a pool in your new house"
A particularly hot day in Kansas was explained by likening the sensation to "walking on a grilled tortilla. Flat and hot as hell"
Kansas, in general, became a place where you could "watch your dog run away from you for 20 minutes" and a mis-spoken conference call with a client dismissed as "well.... you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube."
Before working for my company, Mike used to run a large group for another aircraft manufacturer. He became familiar with airplanes on an intimate and thorough level. Becoming an expert in the industry and knowing every broker in the US by name allowed Mike to have particular insight into the world of aviation unattainable to most. He became to me, a person I could approach on any subject, no matter how seemingly trivial.
"Why did they never make the supersonic jet, Mike?" I asked him once. "Well..." He thought about it. "because of how expensive it is" he said "And, of course, because of the turkeys." he added. "The turkeys?" I said. "Yeah, you know the turkeys -- when a jet breaks the barrier of sound it pops all loud-like and does all sorts of nonsenses, like breaking windows, for example. Well one major problem is that it scares all the turkeys down in the turkey farms. They run to huddle together and suffocate themselves because they're such stupid little animals." I laughed "So, no supersonic jet because of the turkeys?" He acted surprised I was laughing. "Well yes! You can't be goin' breaking the sound barrier and scaring turkeys all over the place! That's why they have laws -- you can only break the sound barrier over water."
And that was the world according to Mike which was opened to me in Arkansas on a cold spring morning. Where noise abatement laws were there to protect turkeys and people were pet racoons.
Walking away from the sales meeting, we wandered onto the tarmac waiting as the ramp personnel loaded our luggage onto the jet. On the other side of the runway, a giant metallic shiny Boeing was powering on its engines. It thrust down the length of the field and barelled down towards us screeching, clanking and finally separating its huge mass from the asphalt and lifting into the air with a tremendous growl. As the airplane retracted its gear and disappeared slowly into the mist hanging in the atmosphere, we both stared, spellbound and mesmerized.
"There's just something indescribable about it, isn't there, Mike" I said
"Yeah... " Mike responded. "You're either an airplane guy or you ain't"
Life on the Prairie
It's hard to describe to people who are not from here what Wichita is like. Most people have it all completely wrong one way or another. America is such a huge country that it becomes difficult for people to understand each other living so far apart.
The truth is that you can find America in Wichita. That's what it's like -- like frontier - tales of a new land - freedom - and -fast cars - America, represented by a town in the middle of its very heart.
The first thing that hits you is that there are churches everywhere, and every other car has a religious bumper sticker. In the company parking lot, there are two pickup trucks that always park next to each other in the Plant 4 lot. One has a license plate that reads: "JESUS" the other, "SAVED"
The reason I said "Plant 4" and not just "the factory" is because Plant 4 is the most interesting place at the facility. There, they run the lines where the fuselages, bright green and heavy, meet their wings and become filled with various innards of tubing, wires, and pipes. When I first started, I would walk around there and watch people build these giant green machines. It is breathtaking.
After a few months, however, I learned to avoid the plants. Last time I asked a guy working on some landing gear what he was doing, he responded, curtly "fuck you salaried employees, none of your goddam business"
That was how I learned about the unionization of the workforce in America.
The truth is that you can find America in Wichita. That's what it's like -- like frontier - tales of a new land - freedom - and -fast cars - America, represented by a town in the middle of its very heart.
The first thing that hits you is that there are churches everywhere, and every other car has a religious bumper sticker. In the company parking lot, there are two pickup trucks that always park next to each other in the Plant 4 lot. One has a license plate that reads: "JESUS" the other, "SAVED"
The reason I said "Plant 4" and not just "the factory" is because Plant 4 is the most interesting place at the facility. There, they run the lines where the fuselages, bright green and heavy, meet their wings and become filled with various innards of tubing, wires, and pipes. When I first started, I would walk around there and watch people build these giant green machines. It is breathtaking.
After a few months, however, I learned to avoid the plants. Last time I asked a guy working on some landing gear what he was doing, he responded, curtly "fuck you salaried employees, none of your goddam business"
That was how I learned about the unionization of the workforce in America.
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