Knee Surgery

When I was still flying we had what was called an “aging aircraft program”...essentially to deal with old airplanes and was an “inspect, remove or repair” program to keep them flying safely.

Well I seem to have fallen into the category of an aging airframe and some of my parts seem to warrant the “repair” criteria.

Some time ago (actually months ago) I felt a strain behind my right knee while putting the cover on our boat. Nothing unusually...I seem to mysteriously strain, cut, bruise and other wise “ding” the old airframe from time to time...never realizing it at the time and only when I see a stream of blood trickling down my arm or hand do I realize that I must have passed too close to something sharp and never even felt it!!!

Oh well....I “gimped” around for months thinking that this too would eventually heal and I’d chalk it off to old age and wear and tear. Meanwhile my “inspector” (read that as spousal support and oversight committee SSOC) kept recommending I see a doctor. I finally gave in when it was no longer an occasional limp but a full time “Chester from Gun Smoke” type of limp.

An MRI revealed a...”tear in the posterior hom of the medial meniscus”...no wonder it hurt, with a name like that!

By the time the surgery was scheduled I had long given up on the “it will heal itself” philosophy and was saying “bring it on!”

So...at “O” dark thirty (0630)” this morning the SSOC drove me to the outpatient surgery unit at the hospital and they sharpened up the knitting needles (arthroscopic surgery...poke holes and “darn up the damage”) and did their magic! After giving me a nap inducing cocktail of “happy juice” it was lights out...great nap!

No pain (I walked out on my own landing gear) and we were in Denny’s at 0950 for breakfast.

TEXAS WEATHER

Like huge gray battleships the weather fronts have come, cannons blazing, pounding ashore. Many of the winter storms rolling across Texas start way out in the Pacific and gathering strength they come...dumping torrential rains and snows on the west coast before heading for Texas.

Somewhat depleted, they reach Houston and the Gulf Coast where they pick up additional moisture from the Gulf of Mexico and, re-energized, head up the east coast. One after another, like the endless waves of the sea, they roll across the country.

What a winter!

Last summer we were experiencing the worst drought in years with record high temperatures...now records lows and a lot of rain.

We have had measurable snows for two years in a row!

With long periods of rain we have reduced the drought in most of the state...good news you say. Well yes, however, the grey skies and rain do make one wish for warmer dryer days (I suppose I’ll complain about that next).

But that’s another posting.

Tales from Trinidad

I recently made my second trip to Trinidad to complete some work for a client. On my first trip I was only there long enough to complete the work and that mainly at the Port of Spain airport.
This time I rented a car as I had to go to a town called Couva, about thirty miles south of the airport.

Trinidad, being formally part of the British Commonwealth, drive on the left side of the road, so that made the adventure a little more interesting. Our flight out of Houston was delayed an hour due to fog, so the already late arrival of 8:30 PM was going to make for a long day. To add to my concern about driving, it was raining upon our arrival...pouring down tropical monsoon rain!

Customs and Immigration are notoriously slow in Trinidad, so our original arrival of 8:30 became 9:30 and out the door to pick up the car at 10:45 and finally in the car around 11:30. It was still raining as I sat the car, with the windshield wiper slapping back and forth, I was mentally conditioning myself to the right hand drive and setting up the GPS to get to the hotel.

With my courage finally up I headed out the airport exit only to make a wrong turn and had to wrap back around the terminal for another try. This time I made it to the first “round about”, another uniquely British phenomenon, before indecision and the rain caused a couple of loops around before I got in the correct lane to exit and head for the hotel – which was only a mile away.

Air and road weary I plopped into bed...ready to tackle the roads the next day.

The rains of the night before had passed and morning brought crisp clear skies. The main road into Port of Spain is called Churchill Roosevelt and is a very crowded three lane highway; I had to head into town to reach the highway south to Couva. Carefully merging into traffic I head toward my destination, my trusty GPS giving turn directions.

While I have driven on the left side many times in the UK, Ireland and Australia I realized that each had unique “quirks” that had best be learned to keep from becoming a statistic.
And Trinidad has some “quirks”!

The most important one is what’s going on the shoulders...that’s where the taxies stop (not yellow cabs, but ordinary cars with an H on the license plate) and other use as a passing lane.
And that’s where the real story was!

While not legal, many use the shoulder to pass the long lines of backed up traffic. Vendors work the inside lane with peanuts, drinks and other food items to make the wait more bearable. “So there I was”, about to turn when I looked into the rearview mirror (just before) and in a blur I saw a small car moving at a high rate of speed trying to get to the front of the lane and duck back into the traffic headed toward town...cutting across the lane I was in he swerved, narrowly missing me, a concrete barrier and a large dump truck...wow! I’m sure glad I looked twice!

Now here is the irony...Trinidadians are very polite people, gently of nature and easy going....UNTIL they get behind the wheel of a car (not all but some) and “schzammm” they turn into “road warriors”!

Doubles

The “ramblin retiree” has been spreading his wings lately. First it was Jamaica, Caymans and Cozumel (on a cruise)...then Trinidad. Recently I was asked to do some work down in Trinidad. Now I “had” said I’d done enough international travel (more than forty countries), but, this offer was interesting enough to accept.

Arriving late in an evening rain and jumping into work the next day, I didn’t really have any time to sample any Trinidadian sights, sounds or food. However, and life is full of “however”, on the last day I was treated to a local favorite called a “doubles.”

Along the perimeter road around the Port of Spain airport were a selection of roadside vendors, some with a cart and a canopy and others were more elaborate, with popup tents. Under a large tent was “Richards”, said to serve the best (and safesty) “doubles”.

Doubles is a common street food in Trinidad and Tobago. It is a sandwich made with two flat fried breads, called "bara" (hence the name "doubles"), filled with curried chick peas or garbanzo beans, commonly called channa (from Hindi/Bhojpuri "chanaa"). Topped with a variety of spicy chutneys (mango, cucumber, coconut, tamarind) and extra pepper sauce (ranging from a dash "slight" to much more), this delicacy is undoubtedly the most popular fast food in Trinidad and Tobago. It is usually eaten for breakfast.

Since these little delicacies are usually sold by roadside vendors, which I’ve normally steered clear of (no need temping those little “microbugs” lurking in roadside cuisine) I was reluctant to try one.

Our host ordered three bags of doubles, six each, to feed everyone at our exit meeting. One normal, one hot and one that was said to be “really spicy” (read that as HOT!).

Once seated everyone grabbed a “double” and began to munch away...they are really juicy so care is needed not to have the sauce dribble down your hand and arm. The other non-Trinidadian and I looked on longingly as the aroma waffled around the room and everyone, slurping away, seemed to be really enjoying their “double”.

Well fear of the little microbugs finally gave way to temptation. We cut ours into four pieces and said...”I’ll just try this little piece”...a forth. Wow...that was so good we tried more!

Fortunately, the next morning, we both got on the airplane back to Houston with no ill effects and a pleasant memory of having had a “double”.

Buc-ee’s...”It’s a Texas Thang”

It was dark when I left the house, just a purple ribbon, trimmed in pink, peeking above the eastern horizon. The plan was to get through Houston before peak traffic congestion. I was headed for San Antonio and a couple of days work.

Clear of Houston I stopped at a Micky D’s for coffee and a McMuffin (my wife frowns on those!). Since I don’t get those often, I really enjoyed myself (munching and sipping...man their coffee is hot!) as I headed out I-10.

Soon I started seeing the Buc-ee’s signs for jerky, fudge and “Buc-ee Nuggets” ( !Buc-ee Nuggets!?). Spaced out, every so many miles, (109 to go, then 85, then 55 and on and on) they entertained me as the mile rolled beneath my wheels.

As I drove on I recalled a recent story I’d heard about ABC News profiling Buc-ee’s on the evening news...”really clean bathrooms” was the attraction.

Well...soon I came on another Buc-ee’s sign saying “can you hold it” and I understood what they meant! I had to go! Remember that big cup of Micky’s java?

Now the signs took on a different meaning! I really wanted to stop there, to see what all the fuss was about, AND I really needed to go...which one would win out?

The miles crept by, my speed increased from a leisurely cruise to a more lead footed, gas guzzling one... a race against time and nature!

Finally!! I crested a hill and there it was, like an oasis shimmering in the distance...I’d made it!

Kinda anticlimactic from here on...yes they have very nice bathrooms (ahhhhhh!) and a great variety of shopping (good thing my wife wasn’t with me)...they even had a $3,000.00 mesquite rocker!

I managed not to buy anything, but more coffee and headed on my way.Now I can say I’ve stopped at Buc-ee’s....”It’s a Texas Thang” (that’s what the sign said).

Diamonds in the Mountain

After a long flight in one of Continental’s “mailing tubes” (Embraer Regional Jet) and a two hour drive to my destination in the Shenandoah Valley, I just wanted to grab a smooth glass of wine and supper.

Road weary I asked the young lady at the hotel desk if there was a nice local restaurant nearby. “Just down the street” she said...so not wanting to drive anymore I headed that way.

As I pulled into the parking lot I noticed the parking lot was full...seemed odd at this early hour, about 5:00 PM, and most of the cars were what I’ve always referred to as “retirees’ cars”...Mercury Grand Marquees, “Caddies” and Lincoln Town Cars.

Entering I noticed that the restaurant was dated, old paneled walls, heavy nautical type tables and chairs, old yellowed light fixtures and ceiling tiles and...aromatic (smokey).

The hostess asked the usual how many (I looked back to check if anyone had come in with me) and smoking or non (it smelled like it wouldn’t make any difference). “Just me” I said.

Seated I looked around and wondered if I hadn’t wandered into the dining room of a nursing home. Most, if not all, were senior citizens (bear in mind I’m about to go on Medicare), on walkers, oxygen trolleys’, and various other senior “appliances”.

They all seemed to know each other, laughing, smoking (yep...puffing away) and lifting their “toddies” in toasts to each other they were all milling around, having a grand time visiting each other’s tables.

I became totally engrossed in their joy, in-spite of ailments, physical status or age they were enjoying their night out.

It was unexpected but enjoyable...can’t remember what I ate (the wine was fine) as I was too busy listening to their laughter, stories (sounded like some were tall tales...oh yea!) and watching their joy.

When I finally departed I had been refreshed from my long day of traveling. Many were still there, I felt like I’d learned a lesson...you’re never too old to laugh and enjoy what you have (they were still there) and not what you don’t (youth and health).

So enjoy!

NO BOARDING PASS!

In this day in time, where paranoia runs rampant...and the TSA has become the “Godzilla” of federal bureaucracies, playing on our fears, a terrorist under every rock and airline terminal a maze of security checks and blue shirted people everywhere...would you think you could get on a plane with no boarding pass?

“No way” you say! “Oh yea” I respond!...gather around and let me tell you the story.

I had gone to Pittsburgh for a few days of consulting, and all had gone really well. Flush with accomplishment I headed for the airport about noon, for a 2:00 PM flight. Work complete, airport security behind me I settled down for a nice lunch at TGIF and a rare luncheon splurge of a glass of wine (I knew it was five o’clock somewhere).

Lunch finished, a warm buzz from the wine, I headed for the gate. Passing one of those huge (at least 30 screen) arrival / departure boards (there not boards anymore but video extravaganzas) I noticed my flight said DELAYED. “Rut roh, rotsa ruck”...that is never good, especially in the middle of the day!

Arriving at the gate the poor young lady working the podium was already besieged with the inevitable barrage of questions, which to her credit she handled with patience and humor (stick around she’ll loose it later). Sitting near the podium I picked up (without getting in that long line) that our (B-737) flight was on a mechanical delay, “but no fear the mechanics are arriving on the next flight from Newark.”

Ok...that sounded plausible.

So I sat back and began reading my book and listening to the long line of people explaining to the young lady how important it was that “they” get to Houston so “they” could connect with their flight to wherever. She very politely listened and said she would know something shortly and would make an announcement.

Before this story becomes an epic novel, on a James Michener scale, let’s fast forward a few hours.

The mechanics arrived from Newark, opened panels and shined their flashlights into darken mechanical spaces and finally pronounced they’d found the problem...but the part was back in Newark! I’m not trying to second guess them, but being a retired pilot, I know that the problem had been diagnosed and the solution suspected....so why would you send mechanics, their tools and no parts?

When the young lady at the podium (her rosy cheeks getting darker) made that announcement....the scramble was on!

The arm waving, hand gestures and voice levels, around the podium began to rise by the minute. The once placid young lady’s cheeks began to turn a crimson red as she valiantly tried to handle the situation.

Hang with me...we’re almost there.

From somewhere in the gathering gloom of dusk and the ever increasing rain showers appeared a Continental Connection Bombardier Q400! Our young crimson cheeked agent announced that anyone wanting to get to Houston tonight (implying the part ain’t getting here today) could hop on board this mystery airplane and connect in Newark.

Momentarily stunned, the heard thundered toward the departure gate (why yes I was in the heard, taking a quick assessment of my chance on plane A and NOT seeing it going anywhere soon). To our surprise our boarding passes were surrendered at the gate and we were told that everything would be sorted out by the time we got to Newark...”just get on and find a seat!”
“WHAT...give up my boarding pass, my only proof of purchase...what’ll the TSA say....you’ve got to be kidding me”! Surely there was a TSA agent somewhere saying...”hey, wait a minute, you can’t let those people out on the ramp, much less on that airplane without a boarding pass.”

It’s only a short fifty five minute flight to Newark...up and down the aisle the conversation was all the same...“I don’t have a boarding pass...what’s going to happen in Newark”?

I have to take my hat off to Continental...we were all met at the gate with boarding passes for the continuing flight to Houston. WOW!! Kudos to Continental for taking a bad situation and making it work.

Exhausted but still hopeful we all dashed through Newark’s myriad concourses, more shops and restaurants than gates, arriving just in time to board our flight. WOW...again.

Disheveled, tired and thankful we arrived in Houston late in the evening, no worse for the experience and, in my case, HOME!

Commons sense does occasionally prevail.