Date: Thu, 1 May 1997 01:56:19 -0400
From: Charlie Ford <cford@mindspring.com>
Subject: Volkswagens, Cows, and 757's

This morning I got out of bed at 5:00 am, dressed, and left to board a jet
that would take me all the way down to Mississippi so I could do a workshop
for the Mississippi Governors Commission for National Service (AmeriCorps).


Myself, and a sleepy Michael Lewis left for the airport promptly at 5:30 am
so I could make my 6:35 departure time.  We drove through the constant
never ceasing rain that seems to give birth to itself somewhere off the
coast of Washington State.  Those windshield wipers slappin time and
Michael noddin head with mine we made it to the airport on time.

I slid myself out of The Mothership feeling so paranoid that someone else
was going to drive my bus back across a town that was so drenched in
wetness.  I patted the body and said a prayer.  Not that I don't trust
Mike, I do very much, I have gotten to know him pretty well the past couple
of weeks as we have shared many thoughts and VW talk together.  I think it
was just the fact that someone else, not myself, was sitting behind the
wheel of "my magic bus".

I sort of liken The Mothership to the "miracle tickets" that friends have
told me they were blessed with at Grateful Dead concerts.  I was never a
follower of "the dead" but I have many  friends that were.  My bus has
brought me farther than any vehicle I have ever owned.  Not just in miles,
but in experience, and pleasure, and thought.  This I believe is the
metaphysical part of owning a  Volkswagen bus.

I entered the airport and was immediately greeted by a long line standing
at the check in.  I didn't have to get in that line because I had already
gotten my ticket in advance and was able to proceed to the longer line
standing at the metal detector.   I joined the group of folks as they
scrambled and jockeyed for position.  We all sort of looked like a herd of
cattle going through a narrow gate to have our ear tagged.

I guess the thing that got me the most was the fact that here we all were,
total strangers, all standing in line to have ourselves exposed to
radiation and the scrutiny of a group of young narcissistic security guards
that speak to you as if you were nothing more than a common uni-bomber.  I
guess since I am from Georgia I would be called a uni-bubba.

I had my powerbook with me, so I was a little weary about just laying it
down on the X-ray conveyor belt that lets the guy sitting on the stool
admire it while my data sort of faded away, along with all my work I had
done for Mississippi.  I took the powerbook out, all the while feeling a
bit rushed by the people or bovine that stood behind me waiting their turn
to be scrutinized.

I am a fairly talkative person, as anyone who has ever met me would tell
you and probably as mnay of you have noticed from my post.  I like to see
people laugh so I enjoy striking up a conversation with just about anybody,
anywhere.  My attempts at being a comedian were met with frowns, scowls,
and gnashing of teeth.  Maybe it was the early morning, but I tend to think
it was the fact that I was slowing down the herd.

You know, if you think about it, when your about to board a plane that is
going to take you 20,000 feet up into the atmosphere.  It is no time to be
unfriendly.  I for one would want all the good karma I could muster prior
to this experience, so making a little laughter with others might be
something the Gods would smile on, should the plane decide to lose altitude
at the speed of the gravitational pull.  Which according to the last few
crashes and all of the ones before them would surely mean imminent death.

So now I was faced with two concerns, my bus being driven in the rain by
someone else, and the fact that I was surrounded by all of these folks with
pitiful senses of humor.  Man, I was about to cry.

I made it through that line only to be confronted by another.  The line at
the boarding gate.  The one where a  middle aged man or woman is standing
with a bright smile.  These folks smile because they know that no one else
is driving their bus, and they don't have to board the damn plane.  Then
they tell you to wait until your seat number is called so you can stand in
another line to board.  That line has another middle aged person standing
behind a counter, also smiling (same reasons), and they tear your ticket
and let you go and stand in the line that has backed up because all of the
people that got to board before you can't get all of the bags they brought
on board to stay up in those little storage bins located above the seats.

Of course if the plane were to crash all this stuff would just come
crashing down on you and even if the certified floatation seat cushion did
work, the weight would probably snap your neck.  I have come to the
decision that the airlines want you to buckle your seat belt because the
seat will then serve as one large body tag.  I can see it now, some
aviation admin guy comes along and say's "yep.....this one here in Charlie,
the one that drives the bus left alone in Seattle.............you know they
guy that likes to make jokes in the check-in radiation line".

I finally got seated after becoming frustrated because some dude that had a
seat in the back of the plane had decided to store his stuff in the bin
above my seat in the front of the coach section.  I think this guy must
have been the driver of a Jeep Cherokee or something like that.  His name
was probably Biff or Skip as he was wearing a golf shirt and weejuns with
no socks.  I sat down, bumping my head twice on the luggage rack, I must
say I had a couple choice words to say about his family lineage at that
point.

The flight attendant put on the video that shows you how to use the seat
cushion as a floatation device, which was real interesting, but a total
waste of time seeing as how we weren't going to be flying over any oceans,
and I seriously doubt that the pilot could make sure he or she crashed in a
lake or fish pond.   Nevertheless I sat there and watched, trying to gather
what education I could from the video.  Cinematography is an interest of
mine.  Once again it entered my mind that I was not going to be with The
Mothership the next couple days.  I sunk in my seat, or body tag, and
stared out the window with rains drops rolling over the plexiglass.

Finally after learning all we could about the safety arrangement of a 757,
the pilot revved the engines and through it in reverse.  I will have to say
I was impressed with his backing abilities.  I didn't notice any rear view
mirrors on my way in, so he did one helluva job.  he dropped her into drive
and we taxied down the tarmac to the big turn.  I looked straight down the
run way to check for any oncoming or incoming traffic.  I guess I have an
urge to be something of a backseat driver as I sure would have ran up to
the cockpit and let him know if I saw anything coming that he didn't.

He announced to us, in his best radio voice, that we were next in line to
depart.  For some reason that sounded so final.   I cinched down my belt,
making sure my body tag was securely attached to my ass, set my seat in the
extreme upright position and achieved a good 9 1/2 pucker factor with my
buttocks.  The seat was definitely blue plaid.  I could feel the pattern
making it's print on my buttock cheeks, and off we roared, down the runway
at about 175 miles an hour with no brakes.  We tilted backwards, feeling
the G force as we drag raced upward into the gray rainy yonder.  Life was a
pinch at that moment.

We roared and roared a bit more, then tapered off to a good idle.  Steadily
we climbed into the rainy clouds.  I watched the ground as long as I could
then saw nothing but gray.  My attention was veered when we started to hit
some pockets of air that made the jumbo jump around, it was then I started
trying to remember the Lord's prayer and the words to Amazing Grace.

Eventually we climbed above the grayness and into the beauty that lay above
the clouds.  The sky turned blue, the bumping ceased, and my buttocks
loosened.  Then the body tag light went off, the steward unbuckled, and
rolled that cart filled with powdered eggs into the aisle.....my buttocks
tightened once again.  he came down the aisle and handed us each what could
have very well been our last meal, they should serve this stuff on death
row and give us thier food.

I ate my fruit, drank my coffee, and returned the rest so they could serve
it to tomorrow's crew of unfriendly passengers.  I let my seat back and
tried to do some serious research on the backside of my eyelids.  I bumped
around and finally went to sleep, or maybe I just knocked myself out, I am
not sure which.

The next thing I heard was the pilot telling us that we were approaching
Dallas-Fort Worth, where another 757 would be waiting for me to take me
onto Jackson.  The engines throttled back, and we started our decent.  Back
through the gray clouds, circling the airport that is circled by 14 million
middle class family dwellings that all have pools in the yard, Texans like
pools.  I wonder if folks that live by airports sleep very well.  I don't
think I could.  The only thing worse than crashing in one, would be being
crushed by one, especially while sleeping.  Just don't think I could rest
peacefully knowing that these things are flying over me while I dream.

The flight to Jackson was every bit as traumatic for me, but I made it to
Jackson.  There was no more camaraderie on the second flight than there was
on the first, but I didn't try and make any jokes either.  I can understand
not talking to a stranger on the street, but anybody that can afford to fly
has a little class about them I would think.

I know I sound like a rookie flyer, but I am actually a frequent flyer and
have racked up about ten thousand miles over the past year or so.  I just
don't like it as much as I like driving my bus.  Thought I would drop a
line to you guys to see what ya'll think.

Thanks for tolerating my rambling's.  If my plane crashes, I'll be late
getting back to Seattle.  It is 85 degrees and no rain in sight for
Jackson.  Life is good.

Charlie Ford





"79" Transporter, dressed for the road
The Mothership

 The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and
Search for the Beginning of Wind".

http://www.armory.com/~y21cvb/charlie/charlie.html

"Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set"