Hunt The Wind

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For several months rumors had been swirling round “Goldy,” concerning a merger with Air California, an aggressive, up and coming, intrastate airline operating with a fleet of B-737s out of Orange County.

Unfortunately, Robertson, the wealthy farmer that owned “Goldy’s” majority stock, killed the merger since he didn’t want his “toy” becoming too big. Had the merger solidified, I would have rolled dice and stayed put. Alternatively, my left testicle became uncomfortable with “Goldy’s” future. Therefore Val and I started looking at other airline options for me.

Once again my left testicle proved to be correct, dear reader. By 1987 Air California was taken over by AMR Corp. – the parent company of American Airlines. As for “Goldy” - they went bust in April of 1983.

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And then there was the incident that occurred on 16^th January, 1978. I was flying with a captain (which shall remain nameless) in his late forties that had been flying “Goldy’s” nine routes for the past ten years without letup. In short this gentleman was terribly burned-out; possessing a fuse about as long as my flaccid cock.

Trust me, dear reader, that’s pretty short.

It was nine at night when we touched down on Runway Two Five Right at LAX, with a load of 18 passengers from Palmdale, after flying an eight-leg day. Fighting bad weather had made it a long day, and our tails were dragging in the mud from fatigue.

On Final Approach for RWY 25R at LAX.

Pulling off the runway we stopped, while I got clearance from ground control for our long taxi to “Goldy’s” terminal made up of expandable, temporary trailers on wheels.

LAX is a massive international airport – consisting of four parallel runways measuring 8,900 to 12,000 feet in length – with dozens of very long taxiways and service roads.

Upon getting “clearance,” we turned down a paralleling taxiway, and eventually continued across an intersecting service road. It’s the law at LAX that aircraft have the right of way when crossing service roads. Ground service vehicles must always halt and give way. Ignoring this, an all red, TWA lavatory service truck shot across our bow – barely missing our Twin-Otter’s nose!

Slamming on the brakes – throwing everyone around in the passenger cabin – including me – my captain snapped! Releasing the brakes, he flicked on the landing lights – which are extremely bright – advanced thrust on both jet-props – swung onto the service road – which is scarcely half the width of a taxiway – and gave chase to this squat, rectangular TWA truck! Our landing lights really lit him up!

I swear, dear reader, we were Wile E. Coyote chasing The Road Runner! Beep-beep!

Recovering from my shock, I glanced over my shoulder at the darkened passenger cabin to see how our passengers were reacting to this turn of events. Half of the passengers were holding each other in terror – while emitting short whimpers – punctuated by the occasional shriek! While the other half were shaking their fists and yelling: “Yeah! That’s it! Go get that fucker!” I couldn’t believe they were actually egging the captain on! They must have been hard-core Los Angelinos – frustrated by years of bumper-to-bumper traffic on L.A.’s freeways.

As for me, dear reader, I’m in a fucking nightmare! And I want to wake up!

Now we’re gaining on the squat, TWA truck – our twin turbojet propellers threatening its ass like two giant, circular buzz saws! That driver must have been just as terrified as I was!

Then we both shot across a main taxiway in front of a B-747 jumbo jet! The 747 was off my right side, and I felt certain our wingtip would clip its nose. The 747 slammed on the brakes – its nose bobbed downward – closing the distance to our wingtip! No doubt close to 300 passengers and crew were being thrown forward in that 747!

This is why, dear reader, never ignore the “Fasten Seatbelt” sign when you fly. Until you’re safely at the gate and the captain turns off that sign – stay strapped in your seat. Because you never know when a berserk captain may choose to chase a service truck in his aircraft!

By some miracle our wingtip didn’t make contact with the 747’s nose. Clearing the taxiway, the TWA truck abruptly turned down another service road – ultimately entering a large, empty apron. The truck turned much tighter than we could, and sped up. We had to slow for the abrupt turn – lest we tilt over and dig in a propeller. The truck widened the distance between us, and accelerated for a TWA maintenance hangar.

It was at this moment, I commenced fumbling in the dark for the fuel shut-offs to both engines. I intended to shut down the engines - apply the main wheel brakes with toe-pressure on my rudder pedals - and end this lunacy!

Then what, dear reader? Call airport security and have the captain arrested? And - while waiting for security - I’d most likely get in a punch-up with the captain – preventing him from re-starting the engines. The publicity tomorrow will certainly kill any chance of me surviving my probation. Screw that! I’ve got passengers to protect, dammit!

And - as I was about to execute my not too well thought out plan - the red TWA truck slid to a stop in front of its hangar. The driver jumped out in his white TWA coveralls – sprinted and disappeared through the hangar’s side door.

My captain pulled up behind the truck – shifted the prop’s pitch to neutral - stopped and set the parking brake. Dumping his headset and seatbelt, he jumped out his door, turned and grabbed the long, metal, control-lock bar mounted behind his seat. Obviously intending to use this bar to beat the TWA driver’s brains out! Leaving his door open, with the jet engines and propellers running at high speed, my captain galloped off in pursuit of the driver – also vanishing inside the hangar’s side door.

So here I sit in the dark with the engines running - half of my passengers whimpering and crying – while the other half are yelling, “Yeah...that’s it! Get him! Beat the fucker’s brains out!” And the first thing that comes to mind is: shouldn’t I make an announcement?

So here were my options, dear reader: “Thank you ladies and gentlemen for choosing Golden West. We sincerely hope you enjoyed flying with us and chasing TWA trucks. I apologize for this delay, but as soon as the captain finishes beating the driver’s brains out, we should be depositing you shortly at the Golden West Terminal.”

Instead of making an announcement, I simply closed the plastic, accordion partition that sealed off the cockpit from the passenger cabin – lamely divorcing myself from this nightmare.

Upon the captain’s return, he informed me that he had entered a lounge containing a half-dozen TWA mechanics - all in white coveralls. Naturally, none of them would fess up as to who the driver was.