A Traveller’s Tale

I recall a resolution I once made never to fly with a pilot who was not the same religion as myself, namely atheist. I figured that the less the captain believed in an afterlife the more likely he was to do his best to stay in this one.

I’m not a nervous flyer. More fatalistic than anything. I have had my share of interesting experiences including the kind of landings the produce an hysterical round of applause from relieved and grateful passengers.

This is a plug for a new page on this blog, A Traveller’s Tale. It is the story of my worst ever flight — and damn near my last.

3 Responses to A Traveller’s Tale

  1. Dylan. says:

    “I figured that the less the captain believed in an afterlife the more likely he was to do his best to stay in this one.”

    Oh man, well said.

  2. George W Russell says:

    I’m off to Laos tonight … on Tuesday and Thursday I fly Vientiane-Luang Prabang and return on a Lao Airlines … wait for it … Xian MA60 turboprop. Holy hell!

    And I know this is late, but what did you do to your arm?

  3. Russell C says:

    You might be interested in the customer list for the redoubtable Xian MA60, developed in China from the discontinued Ukrainian Antonov An-24
    Domestic purchasers include Okay Airways, Wuhan Airlines and Sichuan Airlines.
    Courageous foreign customers include Bolivia, Indonesia, Laos, Zambia, Republic of Congo and Zimbabwe.
    I know you scorn danger as a rule, but perhaps on this occasion you might consider insisting on a seat on the outside.

    My arm: other than a displaced name we have in common a distain for risk and personal safety. The Bernoullian curve of the suspension of the Bolte Bridge was too great a challenge to resist my skateboard.
    Oh, ok, alright. It was late. I was tired. I tangled my feet in extension cables and fell – whack.
    I kinda shattered my left humerus into about a dozen pieces.
    I had never before broken anything more substantial than a promise or spent a night in a hospital (not counting tonsils and adenoids, age eight). Shit, other than some stitching up, I had not seen a doctor I was not drinking with in 30 years.
    The rest of that night and the days following changed a lot about how I understand and feel about a lot of stuff.
    I want to write that down, as soon as I can type with two hands.
    Bon voyage.

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