There isn’t a lot to update on this week. The first week of training is over and honestly, it was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. But having said that, it is a lot easier than the rest of training will be.

The first two weeks are orientation and then tests that I have to pass to convert my F.A.A. license into a Hong Kong license. Cathay really doesn’t care much about me at this point, because I’m just in the conversion process. I took two tests on Thursday and one today. I’ll take one more next week, and then I’ll have my Hong Kong licensing taken care of. The following week is when I’ll actually start training on the 747 and Cathay Pacific procedures.

Laura and I are looking forward to the weekend and will probably head downtown again. I’ve run into several of my friends here and it’s been fun to get caught up a little bit. I bought a sim card for my mobile phone, so that I can make local and international calls from my T-Mobile phone here in Hong Kong for reasonably cheap. I found on the internet a string of codes to enter into the phone so that it would accept a new sim card. Then I went to the local 7-11 and bought a sim card with prepaid minutes on it. I can refill the card with minutes at any local convenience store. So, I just popped out my T-mobile sim card and popped in my new card and, “presto,” I have a local phone now, with a local number and all. Now I just have to figure out how the voicemail setup tutorial works, because I can’t figure out how to hear it in English! Either way, local calls are just pennies a minute, and calls to the U.S. are the same. When I know for sure I’m going to stick with this card, I’ll give out its Hong Kong number so you can call my H.K. number!

As I type this Tuesday morning, I’m still recovering from the ill effects of expelling some bad lunch I got yesterday, with fever, aches, chills, and more, which I won’t go into detail about, but involves both ends of my body.

Things started well on Monday, where I met up with three other guys, all from the U.S. and we stopped by the HSBC bank to get bank cards and new bank accounts that Cathay wants us to have. I spent an hour in this bank on Friday, but that did me no good, because I found out that I needed a different account. Bummer! The bank opened at 9:00 am and we all needed to be up at the sixth floor to begin orientation at 9:45. The first guy was finished at 9:30, and then I finished at 9:45. I rushed up to the sixth floor, but they said just to wait on the other two guys. All that rushing around for nothing.

Thanks to Deby’s help, Laura’s mom, I had one form letter that I left back in Ohio in my hands, and it’s a good thing, because I definitely needed it. Deby was able to find it in our house and e-mail it too me. I printed it off while waiting for the others to finish up in the bank.

Once everyone was on the sixth floor, we all met Amy Cheung. I had corresponded with her a lot via e-mail, but this was the first time to meet her. Everyone else was in suits because they had e-mailed her and asked what to wear for day one. I, on the other hand, hadn’t asked, so I was in a shirt and tie — there’s always one in every crowd, right? We signed a bunch of forms, were given a syllabus, handed over the forms we were to bring, got our ID pictures made, were given tours, and signed more forms.

It was during lunch that I got some chicken curry, one of my favorite dishes, and things weren’t the same after that. My stomach felt uneasy, and for the rest of the orientation, I felt light headed, my back ached, and I was sweating a lot. “Nerves,” I thought. Well, it was all I could do to finish the orientation before heading back up to the room, taking a shower, and going to bed. This was about 6:00 p.m. Around 7:45 is when the troubles hit me. Let’s just say that I felt much better after my episodes in the bathroom, but even this morning (Tuesday) I still feel bad and achy. I hope this all passes because I have to study for a test I have to take on Thursday.

The other three guys are Dave, Barrett, and Chris. Dave is from Peru and living in Miami, and flew for American Eagle. Barrett flew for ASA, a Delta Connection airline like my own Chautauqua, and lives in Atlanta, and Chris is former Navy, flew at Southwest for a year and then came here. They seem like really great guys.

We had a vice president come in and talk to us about Cathay. He was really nice and talked about the culture and business model that guides Cathay. He said that we are completely independent, and receive no government help. He talked about how in the U.S., the airlines seem to be run more by lawyers, than managers, free to have a bad business model and then just bail into chapter 11 for recovery. Chapter 11 for Cathay here in Hong Kong is not an option. He also talked about how Cathay isn’t a government sponsored airline like Singapore or Thai, where the government gives breaks to the hometown airline. For example, Cathay built a maintenance hangar in between the runways here at the airport. Believe it or not, that hangar was the most expensive real estate in ALL of Hong Kong, per square foot! More than property on Victoria peak or anywhere! But, Singapore Airlines built a similar hangar at their airport, and the government charged the airline one dollar for the whole building!

Cathay feels like the only way to survive in this market of uncertainty and to be profitable for the long haul, is to have lots of money on the balance sheet. Some airlines, like Emirates, would rather buy big shiny airplanes, where as Cathay, being more conservative, would rather have money in the bank, than a big shiny airplane sitting on the ramp, not making any money.

I tell you, after arriving here, I feel a lot better about the stability of my career than had I stayed at Chautauqua. No place is perfectly secure, but I think Cathay is about as sure a bet as any. Now, being on the bottom of the seniority list, I hope they keep growing! Rumor is that Cathay has enough money, that if all income stopped, they could still operate for two and a half years! Amazing. Could a U.S. airline do that? No way.

We’ll, I’m feeling a little better, and the trips to the bathroom are fewer and fewer, so it’s time to start studying. We’ll see how the test goes . . .

Aloha, ATA (American Trans-Air), Champion, Skyway, Skybus, and Oasis have all ceased operations immediately, or in Skyway’s case, will at the end of May. Frontier has filed for bankruptcy, but will continue to fly . . . for now.

That’s seven airlines in trouble, within the span of 10 days! What is going on? How crazy is all this? Well, for those who bought tickets on airlines like Skybus (a terrible name for an airline that likens it to a Greyhound) it is even crazier, when they were stranded and unable to get back home without spending many hundreds of dollars on last minute airline tickets with other airlines. Most airlines have networks, like Air France/KLM, or the now merged Delta/Northwest. They sell tickets on either/or. In Skybus’s case, they had no partners (cheaper, right?) so they had no network for their stranded passengers to transfer tickets. That costs hundreds of thousands of bucks for last minute travelers. Yikes!

It is sad to see airlines that have been around a long time slip beneath the waters of the violent sea of high oil prices. Aloha, Champion, and ATA had been around for years. Unfortunately, with oil prices high and ticket prices low, their demise was eminent. Champion flew chartered 727’s, which is the airplane that I started my career with, at Ryan airlines. Oasis is probably another one you may not have heard of. Oasis was a low cost carrier based in Hong Kong and had only been running for 17 months. They had arguably the best paint scheme of any airline, but pretty colors couldn’t keep them afloat in these troubled times. I personally am glad to see them go, as they are a direct competitor to my next employer, Cathay Pacific.

Customers want cheap tickets, I understand that. Laura and I are having to buy a ticket for her to join me in Hong Kong for a while during my new hire training, and tickets are expensive! However, based on dollar per mile, and services given, tickets are cheaper than dirt. Try driving from NYC to LA for less than a ticket on an airplane. Here’s a hint: you can’t do it! Traveling in style, non-stop across the country in a few hours has to be worth something, yet it is cheaper to fly than drive. What is wrong with that picture? Why is it that in 1975, NYC-LA cost about $200 dollars. Now fast forward to today, 2008. NYC-LA? Around $200 dollars. Ridiculous! Airlines cannot stay in business with prices like this.

Why is it, than FedEx, UPS, and other cargo companies don’t care what the price of oil is? It’s because they charge what it costs to do business. If oil, or wages go up, so do the costs of shipping a box. Simple. However, passenger airlines shiver, wring their hands, and cry every time oil goes up. Why? Charge what it costs to do business! There is certainly more competition at the passenger level, and the model and answer isn’t so simple, but on the whole, airlines need to consolidate and raise prices, or more than 100,000 airline employees in this country will be out of work.

We’re told that prices aren’t raised because the profit margin at an airline is around 1.5% That’s it! If they spend 10 million a month, they only make $150,000 — if they’re lucky. Most of the time, they lose money. In the history of the airline industry in the U.S., the industry as a whole has never made a profit. Unbelievable! With that in mind, we still have worthless airlines like Skybus starting up and promising the moon to their employees, and then fail months later. There should be rules against reckless upstart airlines that use silly business models based on oil costing $60 a barrel. If they couldn’t survive on $120 oil, they should never have started. Shame on them and shame on investors of that airline: City of Columbus, Nationwide, Huntington Bank, and others, who threw public funds away, and investors money away on an airline that became the laughing stock of the airline world. Columbus is the laughing stock . . . thanks, Skybus.

Consolidation is the answer, because then there are fewer seats available on which to fly. Fewer seats means hotter commodity. Lucrative commodity means price increase. This, on the surface, seems bad for the customer. Price increases are actually a good thing: because then there will actually BE airlines to fly on in five years.

Delta/Northwest merged two days ago, and I feel that United/Continental will be announced soon. That would leave, American, Delta, United, USAirways, and piddly others like jetBlue, Spirit, Airtran, and Walmart: I mean: Southwest.

I do blame Southwest for a lot of these troubles because their model of cheap, low cost, no frills flying is popular with the public. However, when a large, international airline tries to copy that model and sustain itself, trouble arises, as we’ve all seen. The lucrative markets are now international flying (Cathay Pacific, International sides of Delta, AA, United, etc) and the losses are coming from the stateside flying. That is why there are so many regional jets flying around, like Chautauqua, because they can do it for cheaper.

The next few years will be interesting, and this is one of the main reasons why I am leaving for Cathay Pacific. I feel, in this turbulent time of airline restructuring, international flying based on an economy not tied to the U.S. airlines is as safe a bet as I can make. We’ll see.

So look forward to higher prices, but be thankful that the airline industry as a whole will survive!

This is long, and if you don’t like airplane stories, you may want to skip it. But, it is an exhilarating read, no matter who you are . . .

In April 1986, following an attack on American soldiers in a Berlin disco, President Reagan ordered the bombing of Muammar Qaddafi’s terrorist camps in Libya. My duty was to fly over Libya and take photos recording the damage our F-111s had inflicted. Qaddafi had established a “line of death,” a territorial marking across the Gulf of Sidra, swearing to shoot down any intruder that crossed the boundary. On the morning of April 15, I rocketed past the line at 2,125 mph.

I was piloting the SR-71 spy plane, the world’s fastest jet, accompanied by Maj. Walter Watson, the aircraft’s reconnaissance systems officer (RSO). We had crossed into Libya and were approaching our final turn over the bleak desert landscape when Walter informed me that he was receiving missile launch signals. I quickly increased our speed, calculating the time it would take for the weapons-most likely SA-2 and SA-4 surface-to-air missiles capable of Mach 5-to reach our altitude.

I estimated that we could beat the rocket-powered missiles to the turn and stayed our course, betting our lives on the plane’s performance.

After several agonizingly long seconds, we made the turn and blasted toward the Mediterranean. “You might want to pull it back,” Walter suggested. It was then that I noticed I still had the throttles full forward. The plane was flying a mile every 1.6 seconds, well above our Mach 3.2 limit. It was the fastest we would ever fly. I pulled the throttles to idle just south of Sicily, but we still overran the refueling tanker awaiting us over Gibraltar.

Scores of significant aircraft have been produced in the 100 years of flight following the achievements of the Wright brothers, which we celebrate in December. Aircraft such as the Boeing 707, the F-86 Sabre Jet, and the P-51 Mustang are among the important machines that have flown our skies. But the SR-71, also known as the Blackbird, stands alone as a significant contributor to Cold War victory and as the fastest plane ever-and only 93 Air Force pilots ever steered the “sled,” as we called our aircraft.

As inconceivable as it may sound, I once discarded the plane. Literally, my first encounter with the SR-71 came when I was 10 years old in the form of molded black plastic in a Revell kit. Cementing together the long fuselage parts proved tricky, and my finished product looked less than menacing. Glue, oozing from the seams, discolored the black plastic. It seemed ungainly alongside the fighter planes in my collection, and I threw it away.

Twenty-nine years later, I stood awe-struck in a Beale Air Force Base hangar, staring at the very real SR-71 before me. I had applied to fly the world’s fastest jet and was receiving my first walk-around of our nation’s most prestigious aircraft. In my previous 13 years as an Air Force fighter pilot, I had never seen an aircraft with such presence. At 107 feet long, it appeared big, but far from ungainly. Ironically, the plane was dripping, much like the misshapen model I had assembled in my youth. Fuel was seeping through the joints, raining down on the hangar floor. At Mach 3, the plane would expand several inches because of the severe temperature, which could heat the leading edge of the wing to 1,100 degrees. To prevent cracking, expansion joints had been built into the plane. Sealant resembling rubber glue covered the seams, but when the plane was subsonic, fuel would leak through the joints.

The SR-71 was the brainchild of Kelly Johnson, the famed Lockheed designer who created the P-38, the F-104 Starfighter, and the U-2. After the Soviets shot down Gary Powers’ U-2 in 1960, Johnson began to develop an aircraft that would fly three miles higher and five times faster than the spy plane-and still be capable of photographing your license plate. However, flying at 2,000 mph would create intense heat on the aircraft’s skin. Lockheed engineers used a titanium alloy to construct more than 90 percent of the SR-71, creating special tools and manufacturing procedures to hand-build each of the 40 planes. Special heat-resistant fuel, oil, and hydraulic fluids that would function at 85,000 feet and higher also had to be developed.

In 1962, the first Blackbird successfully flew, and in 1966, the same year I graduated from high school, the Air Force began flying operational SR-71 missions.

I came to the program in 1983 with a sterling record and a recommendation from my commander, completing the weeklong interview and meeting Walter, my partner for the next four years. He would ride four feet behind me, working all the cameras, radios, and electronic jamming equipment. I joked that if we were ever captured, he was the spy and I was just the driver. He told me to keep the pointy end forward.

We trained for a year, flying out of Beale AFB in California, Kadena Airbase in Okinawa, and RAF Mildenhall in England. On a typical training mission, we would take off near Sacramento, refuel over Nevada, accelerate into Montana, obtain high Mach over Colorado, turn right over New Mexico, speed across the Los Angeles Basin, run up the West Coast, turn right at Seattle, then return to Beale. Total flight time: two hours and 40 minutes.

One day, high above Arizona, we were monitoring the radio traffic of all the mortal airplanes below us. First, a Cessna pilot asked the air traffic controllers to check his ground speed. “Ninety knots,” ATC replied. A twin Bonanza soon made the same request. “One-twenty on the ground,” was the reply. To our surprise, a navy F-18 came over the radio with a ground speed check. I knew exactly what he was doing. Of course, he had a ground speed indicator in his cockpit, but he wanted to let all the bug-smashers in the valley know what real speed was. “Dusty 52, we show you at 620 on the ground,” ATC responded.

The situation was too ripe. I heard the click of Walter’s mike button in the rear seat. In his most innocent voice, Walter startled the controller by asking for a ground speed check from 81,000 feet, clearly above controlled airspace. In a cool, professional voice, the controller replied, “Aspen 20, I show you at 1,982 knots on the ground.” We did not hear another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast.

The Blackbird always showed us something new, each aircraft possessing its own unique personality. In time, we realized we were flying a national treasure. When we taxied out of our revetments for takeoff, people took notice. Traffic congregated near the airfield fences, because everyone wanted to see and hear the mighty SR-71. You could not be a part of this program and not come to love the airplane. Slowly, she revealed her secrets to us as we earned her trust.

One moonless night, while flying a routine training mission over the Pacific, I wondered what the sky would look like from 84,000 feet if the cockpit lighting were dark. While heading home on a straight course, I slowly turned down all of the lighting, reducing the glare and revealing the night sky. Within seconds, I turned the lights back up, fearful that the jet would know and somehow punish me. But my desire to see the sky overruled my caution, and I dimmed the lighting again. To my amazement, I saw a bright light outside my window. As my eyes adjusted to the view, I realized that the brilliance was the broad expanse of the Milky Way, now a gleaming stripe across the sky. Where dark spaces in the sky had usually existed, there were now dense clusters of sparkling stars. Shooting stars flashed across the canvas every few seconds. It was like a fireworks display with no sound.

I knew I had to get my eyes back on the instruments, and reluctantly I brought my attention back inside. To my surprise, with the cockpit lighting still off, I could see every gauge, lit by starlight. In the plane’s mirrors, I could see the eerie shine of my gold spacesuit incandescently illuminated in a celestial glow. I stole one last glance out the window. Despite our speed, we seemed still before the heavens, humbled in the radiance of a much greater power.

For those few moments, I felt a part of something far more significant than anything we were doing in the plane. The sharp sound of Walt’s voice on the radio brought me back to the tasks at hand as I prepared for our descent.

The SR-71 was an expensive aircraft to operate. The most significant cost was tanker support, and in 1990, confronted with budget cutbacks, the Air Force retired the SR-71. The Blackbird had outrun nearly 4,000 missiles, not once taking a scratch from enemy fire. On her final flight, the Blackbird, destined for the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, sped from Los Angeles to Washington in 64 minutes, averaging 2,145 mph and setting four speed records.

The SR-71 served six presidents, protecting America for a quarter of a century. Unbeknownst to most of the country, the plane flew over North Vietnam, Red China, North Korea, the Middle East, South Africa, Cuba, Nicaragua, Iran, Libya, and the Falkland Islands. On a weekly basis, the SR-71 kept watch over every Soviet nuclear submarine and mobile missile site, and all of their troop movements. It was a key factor in winning the Cold War.

I am proud to say I flew about 500 hours in this aircraft. I knew her well. She gave way to no plane, proudly dragging her sonic boom through enemy backyards with great impunity.

She defeated every missile, outran every MiG, and always brought us home. In the first 100 years of manned flight, no aircraft was more remarkable.

With the Libyan coast fast approaching now, Walt asks me for the third time if I think the jet will get to the speed and altitude we want in time. I tell him yes. I know he is concerned. He is dealing with the data; that’s what engineers do, and I am glad he is. But I have my hands on the stick and throttles and can feel the heart of a thoroughbred, running now with the power and perfection she was designed to possess. I also talk to her. Like the combat veteran she is, the jet senses the target area and seems to prepare herself. For the first time in two days, the inlet door closes flush and all vibration is gone. We’ve become so used to the constant buzzing that the jet sounds quiet now in comparison. The Mach correspondingly increases slightly and the jet is flying in that confidently smooth and steady style we have so often seen at these speeds. We reach our target altitude and speed, with five miles to spare.

Entering the target area, in response to the jet’s new-found vitality, Walt says, “That’s amazing” and with my left hand pushing two throttles farther forward, I think to myself that there is much they don’t teach in engineering school.

Out my left window, Libya looks like one huge sandbox. A featureless brown terrain stretches all the way to the horizon. There is no sign of any activity. Then Walt tells me that he is getting lots of electronic signals, and they are not the friendly kind.

The jet is performing perfectly now, flying better than she has in weeks. She seems to know where she is. She likes the high Mach, as we penetrate deeper into Libyan airspace. Leaving the footprint of our sonic boom across Benghazi, I sit motionless, with stilled hands on throttles and the pitch control, my eyes glued to the gauges. Only the Mach indicator is moving, steadily increasing in hundredths, in a rhythmic consistency similar to the long distance runner who has caught his second wind and picked up the pace.

The jet was made for this kind of performance and she wasn’t about to let an errant inlet door make her miss the show. With the power of forty locomotives, we puncture the quiet African sky and continue farther south across a bleak landscape.

Walt continues to update me with numerous reactions he sees on the DEF panel. He is receiving missile tracking signals. With each mile we traverse, every two seconds, I become more uncomfortable driving deeper into this barren and hostile land.

I am glad the DEF panel is not in the front seat. It would be a big distraction now, seeing the lights flashing. In contrast, my cockpit is “quiet” as the jet purrs and relishes her new-found strength, continuing to slowly accelerate. The spikes are full aft now, tucked twenty-six inches deep into the nacelles. With all inlet doors tightly shut, at 3.24 Mach, the J-58s are more like ramjets now, gulping 100,000 cubic feet of air per second. We are a roaring express now, and as we roll through the enemy’s backyard, I hope our speed continues to defeat the missile radars below.

We are approaching a turn, and this is good. It will only make it more difficult for any launched missile to solve the solution for hitting our aircraft. I push the speed up at Walt’s request. The jet does not skip a beat, nothing fluctuates, and the cameras have a rock steady platform.

Walt received missile launch signals. Before he can say anything else, my left hand instinctively moves the throttles yet farther forward. My eyes are glued to temperature gauges now, as I know the jet will willingly go to speeds that can harm her.

The temps are relatively cool and from all the warm temps we’ve encountered thus far, this surprises me but then, it really doesn’t surprise me. Mach 3.31 and Walt are quiet for the moment.

I move my gloved finger across the small silver wheel on the autopilot panel which controls the aircraft’s pitch. With the deft feel known to Swiss watchmakers, surgeons, and “dinosaurs” (old-time pilots who not only fly an airplane but “feel it”) I rotate the pitch wheel somewhere between one-sixteenth and one-eighth inch, location a position which yields the 500-foot-per-minute climb I desire. The jet raises her nose one-sixth of a degree and knows I’ll push her higher as she goes faster. The Mach continues to rise, but during this segment of our route, I am in no mood to pull throttles back.

Walt’s voice pierces the quiet of my cockpit with the news of more missile launch signals. The gravity of Walter’s voice tells me that he believes the signals to be a more valid threat than the others. Within seconds he tells me to “push it up” and I firmly press both throttles against their stops. For the next few seconds I will let the jet go as fast as she wants. 

A final turn is coming up and we both know that if we can hit that turn at this speed, we most likely will defeat any missiles. We are not there yet, though, and I’m wondering if Walt will call for a defensive turn off our course. With no words spoken, I sense Walter is thinking in concert with me about maintaining our programmed course.

To keep from worrying, I glance outside, wondering if I’ll be able to visually pick up a missile aimed at us. Odd are the thoughts that wander through one’s mind in times like these. I found myself recalling the words of former SR-71 pilots who were fired upon while flying missions over North Vietnam. They said the few errant missile detonations they were able to observe from the cockpit looked like implosions rather than explosions.

This was due to the great speed at which the jet was hurling away from the exploding missile. I see nothing outside except the endless expanse of a steel blue sky and the broad patch of tan earth far below.

I have only had my eyes out of the cockpit for seconds, but it seems like many minutes since I have last checked the gauges inside. Returning my attention inward, I glance first at the miles counter telling me how many more to go until we can start our turn. Then I note the Mach, and passing beyond 3.45, I realize that Walter and I have attained new personal records. The Mach continues to increase. The ride is incredibly smooth.

There seems to be a confirmed trust now, between me and the jet; she will not hesitate to deliver whatever speed we need, and I can count on no problems with the inlets. Walt and I are ultimately depending on the jet now – more so than normal – and she seems to know it. The cooler outside temperatures have awakened the spirit born into her years ago, when men dedicated to excellence took the time and care to build her well. With spikes and doors as tight as they can get we are racing against the time it could take a missile to reach our altitude. It is a race this jet will not let us lose. The Mach eases to 3.5 as we crest 80,000 feet. We are a bullet now – except faster.

We hit the turn, and I feel some relief as our nose swings away from a country we have seen quite enough of. Screaming past Tripoli, our phenomenal speed continues to rise, and the screaming Sled pummels the enemy one more time, laying down a parting sonic boom.

In seconds, we can see nothing but the expansive blue of the Mediterranean. I realize that I still have my left hand full-forward and we’re continuing to rocket along in maximum afterburner. The TDI now shows us Mach numbers not only new to our experience but flat out scary. Walt says the DEF panel is now quiet and I know it is time to reduce our incredible speed. I pull the throttles to the min ‘burner range and the jet still doesn’t want to slow down. Normally, the Mach would be affected immediately when making such a large throttle movement. But for just a few moments, old 960 just sat out there at the high Mach she seemed to love and, like the proud Sled she was, only began to slow when we were well out of danger.

 I loved that jet.

The following is a fascinating article written by Patrick Smith, in his Ask the Pilot series, at Salon.com I read it over a year ago, and it is still a great read. This article talks about long-haul flying, and explains what is involved in doing so. I was given more inspiration to apply to Cathay Pacific because of this article.

Nov 18, 2005 | On Nov. 10, for the first time in a while, an airplane made news for reasons other than crashing.

That plane was a Boeing 777-200LR Worldliner, the newest variant of Boeing’s highly successful twin-engine wide body. The LR, if it doesn’t jump out at you, is short for “long range.” Living up to its moniker, a prototype Worldliner, carrying eight crew, 35 guests and 54,000 gallons of jet fuel, completed a remarkable 22-hour and 43-minute flight from Hong Kong to London. The 11,664-nautical-mile trip marks an all-time world record for distance traveled nonstop by a commercial jetliner. The folks from Guinness were on hand at the arrival ceremony for official certification.
This might seem confusing when you consider that Hong Kong-to-London nonstops are nothing new. Daily flights by British Airways and Cathay Pacific connect the two cities in a little more than 12 hours. The difference is in the flight path. A normal HKG-LHR routing, which is to say the shortest distance between the two, goes northwesterly, up through China, Kazakhstan and Russia. (Or, to quote the Associated Press’ Dummies version: “Hong Kong-London flights usually fly over Russia.”) Captained by Suzanna Darcy-Hennemann, a Boeing flight test pilot since 1985, the Worldliner went the long way — not only eastbound but due east, avoiding any Great Circle shortcuts at higher latitudes. From Hong Kong, the jet crossed the northern Pacific, eventually making landfall over Los Angeles. From there it passed near Chicago and New York before traversing the Atlantic for a midafternoon arrival at London’s Heathrow Airport. The plane, decked out in Boeing’s spiffy blue and white house colors, touched down with more than 2,700 gallons of fuel left in its tanks.
Seven other pilots assisted Darcy-Hennemann, and no doubt she welcomed the company. Twenty-three hours aloft is prone to induce a certain circadian madness: Along the way, passengers and crew were able to witness two separate sunrises.

All very impressive, but in essence a publicity caper. Aircraft manufacturers are known to do this sort of thing now and again, setting out to break existing distance records during demo or delivery flights. Only eight years ago another 777 made media rounds after completing a 10,823-nautical-mile Seattle-Kuala Lumpur delivery flight for Malaysia Airlines. (Quibblers beware: With respect to these records, published distances between cities is not necessarily the same as mileage actually flown.) In 1993, an Airbus A340 took off from the Paris Air Show and flew 10,307 miles to Auckland, New Zealand. Back in 1976, a South African Airways 747SP made history on an 8,800-mile delivery run from Seattle to Cape Town, not surpassed until 1989, when the first 747-400 built for Qantas pulled off a slightly longer London-Sydney haul (more on that in a moment).

In nautical mileage, the Worldliner’s accomplishment represents approximately half of the globe’s circumference. Measured at its equatorial waist, planet Earth records 21,600 miles around. Thus, virtually any two commercial air markets in the world should now be linkable in a single fell swoop.
To wit: “Almost every major city pair on earth will be connectable with this astoundingly long-legged aircraft.” That’s a line from an old Ask the Pilot column, and appears in my book as well. ”This amazing airplane will connect virtually any two cities in the world with nonstop service,” echoed Alan Mulally, president and CEO of Boeing’s commercial airplane division, at the plane’s rollout party last February.

Long-haul stars like the 747-400 and A340 have been shrinking the world for decades now. Just how many city pairs, exactly, are left to claim?

The grail route, at 9,188 nautical miles, is probably London-Sydney. Don’t be surprised to see the Worldliner, scheduled to enter service with Pakistan International Airlines later this winter, doing some predelivery, nonstop showboating on this route, possibly joined by its chief rival, the Airbus A340-500. Range specs for the four-engined Airbus, which entered service earlier this year with Emirates, run neck and neck with the Worldliner. For Boeing, elimination of a refueling stop along the old “Kangaroo Route” would be a major marketing coup. Already Qantas is studying the feasibility of buying and deploying 777s on England-Australia nonstops in an all-business-class configuration.

While Boeing and the airlines hash things out, bear in mind that just because a plane is able to complete a promotional stunt of more than 11,000 miles doesn’t mean it can actually make such flights in scheduled commercial service. Boeing’s listed data for the Worldliner show that with a maximum payload, its reach will be a more modest 9,400 miles. You also have EROPS (extended range operations) restrictions to deal with, local airspace constraints, seasonal weather variations and so on, all affecting range on a route-by-route, indeed flight-by-flight basis. London-Sydney and Sydney-London are, in a way, two very different journeys. The eastbound leg out of England is within the capabilities of existing aircraft like the A340-500. Consistent headwinds, on the other hand, make the westbound trip more challenging. In other words, it’s somewhat foolish to measure an aircraft’s range by a value of fixed mileage, as flight times along published routes can vary markedly. Endurance is the true determining factor.

Using a 747-400, Qantas once tinkered with the elusive Sydney-London route, and discovered it could, under optimum and fairly unpredictable conditions, make the run without having to pit-stop in Singapore or Bangkok or Bahrain. But this was so pushing the envelope that it proved a real teeth chatterer for the carrier’s crews and dispatchers, who were forced to juggle the logistics of fuel, weather and diversion planning with utmost attention and accuracy. Not to mention its being untenable for advertising: “Qantas to London. Nonstop. Sometimes.”

Whether or not it can close the “Kangaroo” gap, the Worldliner’s capabilities are nonetheless astounding, clearing the way for pairings such as New York-Singapore at full-passenger loads and with revenue cargo down below. Many of today’s longest hauls are forced to submit to payload limitations on days when headwinds are howling or the temperature soars. (Flying standby, I was once left stranded at the airport in Hong Kong while United’s flight 896 to Chicago took off without me, weight restricted in deference to a temperamental jet stream.)

So, with all of this fine print in mind, the hoopla surrounding Boeing’s recent aero-thon doesn’t terribly impress me (much as I’d have loved one of those onboard press seats the plane maker gave away for the event). I’m much more fascinated by the distance records held by active, scheduled flights. Here’s a rundown of the lengthiest trips presently for sale, gauged in nautical miles:

1. New York-Singapore: 8,288 (Singapore Airlines)


2. Los Angeles-Singapore: 7,621 (Singapore Airlines)


3. New York-Bangkok: 7,525 (Thai Airways)


4. New York-Hong Kong: 7,014 (Cathay Pacific, Continental)


5. Los Angeles-Melbourne: 6,883 (Qantas)


6. Toronto-Hong Kong: 6,787 (Air Canada)


7. Chicago-Hong Kong: 6,773 (United Airlines)


8. Vancouver-Sydney: 6,741 (Air Canada)


9. Los Angeles-Sydney: 6,507 (United, Qantas) 


10. Chicago-Delhi: 6,503 (American)

Note to nitpickers: Mileage tallies were computed with Karl Swartz’s inimitable Great Circle Mapper, and needless to say routes are frequently swapped, dropped and restarted with short notice. Just off the list is Continental’s Newark-Delhi, inaugurated earlier this month.

Nos. 1 and 2 were covered here previously and are new within the past two years. Thai Airways’ JFK-Bangkok debuted last summer. Sadly absent from the list is South African Airways’ JFK-Johannesburg nonstop, now discontinued. This route — at 6,925 it would’ve placed fifth in the above list — began in the 1970s with the advent of the 747SP, a short-bodied variant of the famous Boeing jumbo designed for what was then an ultra-long haul. Later, 747-400s were used. South African’s flights are now one stoppers via Dakar, Senegal, using an A340.

The venerable JFK-Johannesburg was the only one in the top ten that I’ve experienced myself, on the way to Botswana in 2000. Our 747 that day was ZS-SAV, the Durban. Another book excerpt: “Total flying time was 14 hours and 46 minutes. I’m able to attest that it was exactly 14 hours and 46 minutes thanks to a digital timer bolted to the bulkhead, triggered by retraction of the landing gear to provide a minute-by-minute update. Watching the hours tick by seemed a torturous proposition until a certain passenger was bold enough to tape a piece of paper over the clock.”

On the drawing board, as we already know, is London-Sydney. There’s also the chance for a New York-Sydney route (8,646), though passenger volumes may be too low to support such a service. That two cities are technologically connectable means little to an airline unless there is an exploitable market to justify connecting them. London-Sydney is not the longest possible flight, but it may be the longest possible flight guaranteed to provide a steady supply of passengers. More formidable pairings are at least conceivable, marketplace depending. The most intriguing of these are São Paulo-Tokyo (9,984), Auckland-London (9,884) and Buenos Aires-Tokyo (9,910). Shattering the 10,000-nautical-mile frontier — Buenos Aires-Seoul, anyone? — remains, let’s just say, a long shot.
Our ability to cover vast distances without refueling makes mincemeat of old notions of what constitutes short/medium/long-haul operations. Quaint seem the days when 707s would put down for fuel in Shannon, Ireland, or in Gander, Newfoundland, just to reach Europe from parts of North America and Pan Am’s JFK-Tokyo flight sounded almost unbelievable. “Long haul” once meant New York-Paris. There are no official definitions, but I’ll give you an “Ask the Pilot” parsing of en route tedium:

1. Minihaul: Any flight up to two hours’ duration. Examples: Chicago-Cleveland, Orlando-Atlanta, Madrid-Barcelona

2. Short haul: Any flight between two and five hours’ duration. Examples: New York-Miami, Denver-Boston, Tokyo-Seoul

3. Medium haul: Any flight between five and nine hours’ duration. Examples: New York-London, Tokyo-Bangkok, London-Cairo

4. Long haul: Any flight between nine and 14 hours’ duration. Examples: New York-Tokyo, London-Johannesburg, Paris-Hong Kong

5. Ultra-long haul, aka megahaul: Any flight over 14 hours’ duration. Examples: New York-Singapore, New York-Hong Kong, New York-Boston (during weather delays).

If you’re seated in category 1, chances are your ears are ringing and your knees are getting bruised. That’s because you’re wedged into a turboprop or a regional jet. If you’re seated in categories 4 or 5, pray that you’re in first or business class aboard a non-U.S. carrier.

To me, nothing better personifies the beauty of air travel than the advancement of long-range flying — the idea, previously inconceivable, that distant, exotic continents are but a single, simple journey away. And for you, the consumer? A look on Travelocity shows that a super-saver from Singapore Airlines, on the longest flight in the world, is selling for as little as $815 round trip. To put it another way, that’s about five cents a mile.

I figured I’d make a quick blog entry while I wait. This is the second Friday night this month where I have to work late on Friday night, only to have to work longer because of maintenance delays.

As with the last Friday, We flew from Columbus to Orlando, and after a three hour sit at the airport, we were supposed to fly back to Columbus and be finished around 10:00 pm. Sounds easy, right?

Well, it works great when the plan runs smoothly, but when an aircraft goes down for a while with maintenance, it throws a wrench into the system. The last time this happened, we sat for three hours, and then when it was time to go and our plane arrived, the captain giving me the plane told me about a problem with the anti-ice system that would have to be fixed before we left for Columbus. It sounds crazy working on anti-icing systems in Orlando, where it is 80 degrees, but we have to remember that we are flying to Columbus where it is 25!

Tonight, we have just finished a three hour sit and now I found out that our plane isn’t due into Orlando until 9:00 pm, because it had maintenance earlier in the day, putting it behind schedule everywhere it goes. Oh well, at least I have my laptop and free wifi in the Orlando airport. So goes another Friday night for this glamorous job of being a pilot — sitting in a noisy terminal!

By the way, I do feel like airports should provide free wifi everywhere. Orlando (MCO) has it, Columbus (CMH) has it, but very few others do. Many airports provide wifi, but at a cost of up to 12 bucks a day to use, plus signing up for the service! In time, I’m sure the trend will be to provide it for free, but until then . . .

Below is the story of my trip to Hong Kong for my interview with Cathay Pacific Airways. The PDF version is here.

Trip to Hong Kong

October 18th

The much awaited trip started with little fan fair but a lot of anticipation. It was raining as I drove to the airport in Columbus at 9:00 a.m. and consequently got pretty wet as I moved my four bags (rollerboard, briefcase, laptop case, and suit in a plastic bag). I had to tell Joe Ogden, a captain friend of mine that I was going to a wedding because he saw me in the employee van with the suit bag. I was fortunate enough to catch the 10:55 a.m. jetBlue flight to JFK. I got a seat in the back and did some review of my notes, but not too much review as I’d have 16 hours to review on the way to Hong Kong! As I deplaned in JFK, the captain saw the suit bag and said, “Got an interview, eh?” I was shocked and told him, yes, in Hong Kong with Cathay. Later, at the curbside, waiting for the hotel van, a man walked up to me and said, “Got an interview?” Again, I was surprised, and told him yes. He asked if it was with jetBlue (because we were in JFK). I said, no, it’s with Cathay. He said, “Ah, and where are you working now?” I said Chautauqua. He replied with, “That figures.” I asked how that figured and he replied, “Cause there’s no pay!” I agreed. He told me he worked for Polar on the 747-400. He wished me luck and walked on. A few minutes later, he came back and asked if I had a free ticket to Hong Kong or not. I told him that Cathay did indeed buy my ticket. He mentioned this because if they hadn’t, he’d put me in touch with the jumpseat person at Polar, and let me jumpseat on them for free. I thought that was really nice. The hotel van ride was long and when I walked into the lobby, the front desk clerk told me that I looked like I was going to an interview! Wow, no hiding it I guess. I was wearing a pilot uniform and carrying a suit bag – don’t do this if you want to hide the fact you are going to an interview somewhere . . . Continue reading →