Airplanes, the love of flying, and remembering my Dad

I’ve got lots of grading and other end-of-the-semester tasks to get to, but I thought I’d share this little bit about myself — not something most people know.

I love airplanes. When I was a small child, my favorite place to spend the day was at the tiny Monterey Peninsula Airport. When my father came up for his regular visits, I would beg to be taken to the airport, to watch the planes land and take off. Given that in the 1970s, there were only three or four commercial flights a day, this could mean a lot of waiting. Monterey has a great observation deck, slap above the terminal and just feet from the runway. We would stand out on the deck, staring off to the east, straining our eyes to see the first sign or glimmer of an approaching plane. (In the ’70s, Monterey was briefly served by real jets, mostly United 727s). I loved the landing, the taxiing, the elaborate directions given by the ground crew as they guided the plane to a stop. My late father, endlessly patient, would sit with me as the plane unloaded, loaded, and departed — and though landings were nice, take-offs were the most exciting part of my whole day.

I still love airplanes and airports. I have mixed feelings about flying, mind you; it can be a physically uncomfortable experience. But the process of going to the airport, of getting on the plane — I still adore that. Obviously, long-haul transcontinental flights are considerably more interesting, not least of all because of the excitement surrounding a vacation or a family visit. But while boarding a 747 or an A340 for a ten or thirteen hour flight around the globe is still very exciting (all the more so when one isn’t flying economy, thanks be to God), I still get a little tingle each and every time I climb on a short Southwest flight from Burbank to San Jose.

A lot of our discretionary income goes into travel. I’m lucky that my wife’s passion for seeing the world exceeds my own. (She’s a good deal less excited about the planes themselves, and more excited about the destinations.) We’ve traveled enough to accumulate some serious frequent flyer miles; for those who know I’ve got BA “silver” status now and am closing in on getting “gold” before too long. We’re traveling abroad again over the Christmas and New Year’s Holidays; I’ll let you know exactly where when we get back. (We’re not leaving for another week and a half, and will be back on January 7. We have chinnie sitters arranged to guard the home front.) I will say that we’ve booked a very odd way to getting where we’re going; we’re going to end up flying nearly 22 hours to get somewhere that should only take a little more than half that time going “the other way.” I’ll explain when we’re home.

So when we’re not traveling, we’re planning our next trip. And while my wife is thinking about hotels and restaurants, I think about planes. I think about the various merits of 747s and 777s and the larger Airbuses*; I read the major commercial airline magazines (this is my favorite) and spend time on the airliner and travel internet forums and bulletin boards. One goal for the near future: a “round the world”, using several different airlines, following the sun.

I haven’t posted about my love of flying for a couple of reasons. One, I know it’s a black spot on my environmentalist record; I know jets contribute to global warming. I support Richard Branson’s efforts to reduce aircraft emissions, and am eager to see new ideas developed to mitigate the damage wrought by so much flying. But I’m not willing to give up seeing the world. I may have stopped buying leather, I may be a full vegetarian, I may give to a lot of animal rights and environmental charities, but, dear Lord, I’m not willing to give up the short hops and the long hauls. I’m too addicted still to filling my passports (UK and American) with stamps and visas.

Two, though I don’t go into detail about how much money is being spent on all this, folks can figure it out. It seems rude, somehow, to talk too much about a hobby that is out of reach of so many. So I don’t post “trip reports” on my blog, though I do do so on some of the airliner forums (though not always under my own name.) I figure it’s grating to have to read “Oh we went here, and stayed at this lovely place” when that isn’t really the purpose of this blog.

I haven’t traveled abroad since my father’s death in June. He was a fairly accomplished traveler himself, and he was very indulgent of my great and early love of aircraft. When my wife and I walk into the Tom Bradley International Terminal later this month, I’ll be thinking of my papa. And as I look out at the jumbos lined up at the piers, ready to go to London and Paris and Taipei and Auckland, I’ll mist up with excitement and with a keen sense of missing my Daddy. This I know.

*Unless you can get on to the “upper deck” of a 747, or into the nose, I prefer the A340 to the biggest Boeing planes. I’m in a distinct minority among frequent travelers on that one.