No Rest for the Weary

 

  A Lear is gently slid into place in front of me so tightly I can just pick up the scent of burnt rubber from the four mains that touched down only minutes before. There is an old dirty cargo bird to my left recovering from 5 early mornings this week. After the large doors have finished labouring to close I am left with a handful of bare light bulbs keeping faithful watch over this flock. The sound of a distant radio filters through and I am finally at ease after another day’s toil in a cold, hostile and beautiful place.

   12 hrs earlier...

  As darkness falls, the compass is indicating 295 degrees but I look at the ground 38,000ft below and I am clearly tracking due West. The cold air from the North is trying to bully me again but the blurry lights of home just visible through the overcast layer 80 miles in the distance give me much needed inspiration to carry on. I hear the familiar voice of the Arrival controller and I spool back some thrust as I gently drop my nose.  

  Sorry son, you’re following slower traffic, we’re going to need you back to final approach speed and switch over to tower – have a good night. I drop my gear into the cold hard airflow and extend full flap. The speed bleeds off followed moments later by the glitter of the airport lights becoming clear as I shake the last of the clouds off of me. The traffic ahead is just exiting the runway. One of my multiple personalities starts the countdown: 50-40-30-20-10 and I gently raise my nose. Rubber meets road and I’m home. Park brake is set.

  I’m just catching my breath and ready to call it a day when the fuel truck pulls up in front of me. There is some commotion and new commissary is loaded along with fresh coffee. No rest for the weary.

  With my lights glowing hot and my belly full of food I line up onto nearly the very same spot I touched down not long before.  Both fires are burning and 80 knots comes quickly. Decision speed is reached and I commit to the mission. With my head held high and confident I push off with my mains. This cold air feels good. Clears the head. I feel like getting high. FL430 will do.

  The enemy from the north has now become my ally as the groundspeed accelerates through 500 knots a few minutes after level off. It’s now dark and the moon is only peeking. It’s dark as I track southeast over the rocks. The clouds have abated and I can see lights of hometowns for 150 miles. Although I’m being carried with these strong winds the ride is smooth. The chatter from other airliners in the area is subdued and lighthearted at this early hour. I watch as yesterday moves further west over the mountains and tomorrow greets me fresh from the east.

  As I push southward I feel it in my bones more than I can see the faint discharges far off my nose, the mighty roar muted by distance. I begin to hear the radios come to life with others looking for ride reports and requests for deviations due to weather. I recognize this particular evil that is in the air, we are familiar combatants. I look around and see the blinking lights of other ships converging, seeking safe passage. Weather radar offers its best advice. Everyone agrees. There is a long line of strobes and beacons courageously flashing their way between two huge atmospheric aberrations, few dare to even glance at these monsters lest they lash out. Moments later, we're through as the chaos envelopes the passageway behind us. I watch in awe as the red and greens bank this way and that, free from danger on the other side and carrying on with their missions. 
   I touchdown on warm concrete an hour later. It`s a short visit. 45 minutes later, I am back in the dark thin air, pushing my way against the relentless north wind. Soon I will back home and get a much deserved rest.