Downtime Ahead

'Watch that step. It's a doozie.'

Leaning against a stanchion at the gate agent’s desk, I contemplated the choices that led me to that particular moment of pain, frustration, and confusion. I’d just hobbled off a red-eye flight from Reno, and we’d gotten parked nearly at the south end of Hartsfield’s Concourse E. I faced a long walk to the center spine, where I could catch a train to the baggage claim, where I’d walk the entire length of the terminal, just to go through the rigamarole of riding Atlanta’s MARTA transit across town to my car. Every step came with a stab of pain. Or, I might could hobble to the international baggage claim. From there I could whistle up a ride to my car, or an urgent care facility.

A kind question disrupted my train of thought with an option I’d considered, but ruled out at every turn. Stubborn pride? It fades quickly when you’re hurting.

“Excuse me, sir. Would you like a wheelchair ride?”

I took half a breath. “Yes, absolutely.”

Within moments, Eric had found an abandoned wheelchair, and was loading my suitcase into the lower deck. I slid in from the side like a pro, and he said as much.

“I’ve watched this process for 17 years from a very different perspective,” I told him. “I’m usually the pilot with somewhere to be while we wait on the pieces of the special assist puzzle to come together.”

“What happened?” Eric’s question might also be yours, and even to me, it was still a bit of a question.

Pilot bags and a wheelchair? That’s a terrible combination. At least I wasn’t traveling in uniform.

---

We had just finished a productive day of Albatross work in Nevada, where Kim and Nick’s dream bird continues to gain momentum toward flight. We’d built, tested, modified, re-fit, and continued to craft the cradles intended to hold the hull up, supporting more than 10 tons. It was the last day I had available to help out before returning home. We’d peaked on Monday with four of us on the effort. Aaron had been there to design and construct the cradles; After Tuesday we lost Kim as she had to get back to work. Wednesday and Thursday, Nick and I soldiered on, preparing to hoist the Albatross into the cradles, so he could do some critical work on the landing gear. We were essentially putting the flying boat into a dry dock, in the middle of the desert.

As my last day wound down, we had the Albatross up on the cradles. There was still some level of reinforcement to be implemented - 20,000 pounds of airplane is a challenge to support, even though the cradles sure felt beefier than anything I’d ever used on other aircraft. For reference, I’ve used large styrofoam blocks to support a Piper Turbo Lance for similar projects. The Albatross cradles used 4x4 frames and nearly three-inch sandwiches of plywood.

We called it a day. With the worksite cleaned up, Nick and I went to our respective accommodations to clean up and then we’d meet up for dinner. Freshly showered, I threw everything into the suitcase and backpack, then headed down to check out of the hotel and pack the car.

In true pilot fashion, I’d wound up choosing the cheapest accommodations in town. Torn carpets in the hallway were tacked down by nails that wouldn’t stay put; air conditioning wouldn’t be available until they declared winter well and truly past. That there was no light over the lobby exit door was far from the most shocking of discoveries.

The shadowy exit hid two steps down to street level, and I missed at least one of them. The resulting fall, with suitcase and backpack in hand, terminated with an audible “pop” and more than a few curse words. The folks sitting at a nearby picnic table only looked my way long enough to ensure I wasn’t dead before they retuned to their chatter. I guess if you’re cussing, you’re not dead.

I stood, unsteadily and assessed the pain. It wasn’t all that bad… until I stepped forward. Then the world spun a bit. Thankfully the iron railing nearby was more sturdy than the rest of the hotel. I hobbled to the car, and said a little prayer of thanks. Had this been my right foot, driving would have been a tougher proposition. I hobbled into dinner, then back to the car.

Because pilots are cheapskates I had to stop and fill up the rental car before I returned. Reno’s rental car return is a short walk to the terminal for able-bodied folks. I hobbled my way through, dragging my left foot well behind, once I found the only way to apply weight that offered less pain.

I stopped and bought a bottle of painkiller from an airport vending machine. Over dinner, I had modified my listing from jumpseat to non-revenue travel for two reasons: First, to occupy a jumpseat or travel in the cabin as a jumpseater, you have to be able to function as a crew member. I could barely function as a person. Secondly, as a non-rev I could order a drink - Woodford whiskey on the rocks as we passed Colorado Springs helped me ease into a nap as the time zones rolled past.

Which brings us back to Atlanta, where Eric offered a helping hand.

Riding through the airport on a wheelchair, it felt like I was watching a video. Everything was so familiar - I’ve been roaming the place regularly since 2007. But, the perspective was off. My eyes were level with most other’s waistlines. Instead of walking with purpose, I was rolling through the crowd and trying my best to keep anyone from pumping into my bad foot.

I tipped Eric for his bit of kindness, and caught an Uber to the car. A few hours later, the podiatrist was showing me an X-ray of my foot.. Bad fracture on one of the bones for my left pinkie toe, back toward the heel.

Doc says it’ll be 8-10 weeks in a walking boot, which is to say 8-10 weeks out sick at work. Thank goodness for working at a place where I have benefits that soften almost every bit of that blow. I’ll find ways to stay busy, but I’m certainly gonna miss going to work.

It won’t be the longest I’ve gone without flying, but I will certainly be itching to get airborne whenever and however I can.