Thanks, Bjorn!

My boss, Bjorn, is a private aviator who owns a ‘73 Cessna painted like a totem pole. A few weeks ago Julian and I asked when he was going to take all the interns flying for an UrbanSim field trip, and to our surprise the answer turned out to be “today”.

We left at ten for Boeing field, where Bjorn parks his sky-hooptie when he’s not taking it for three-hour sojourns up and down the West Coast. I had the presence of mind to call shotgun as we approached the plane, so Derek and Julian squeezed into the back seat while I snuggled behind the co-pilot’s controls and eyed the instruments hungrily. With a full tank of gas, four full-grown passengers, and a strong headwind, the little aero bucked and jumped trying to take to the air, but we reached cruising altitude of 5000 feet without incident. I asked Bjorn lots of questions about the operation of the plane, what various dials indicated, what would happen if I grabbed this lever, etc., and lucky for both of us he didn’t mind educating me. He even let me steer for a while, which isn’t really that difficult – it’s just like driving, except you control vertical motion as well.

We flew north to the Canadian border, and the view was spectacular. Watching the world with a bird’s-eye view, imagining that cars are Micro Machines and lakes just puddles, is fun from any plane, but from a private plane it’s even better. There’s plenty of window space for everyone, and you can ask the pilot to bank suddenly to one side or the other for a closer look at something on one side. But undoubtedly, the best part of flying is the headsets. The engine is too loud for us to be able to speak to one another, so we were all issued large, wrap-around headphones with microphones jutting in front of our mouths. For obvious reasons, the geek inside me jumped to attention for these devices, and I enjoyed myself immensely carrying on conversations with the mouthpiece and ear cups.

First we landed in Abbotsburg, just over the border, to clear customs. It was ridiculously easy. On the ground, Bjorn just whipped out his cell phone, called the customs office, and they cleared us to take off again. That’s it. We could have been carrying any number of illegal drugs, firearms, or cramped Mexican laborers, but they just didn’t care enough to come search us. Customs coming back into the States wasn’t that much more harrowing, but at least an actual person came over to the plane and asked to see everyone’s proof of citizenship and ask if we were carrying any drugs (what do they expect you to say, “Yes, officer, I’m smuggling three pounds of uncut cocaine in the glove box. Fancy a toot?”). We took off out of Abbotsburg to the Chiliwack airport, which is world-renowned for its pie. Sadly, we were running late for our date with the US customs people, so we had to split in a hurry after our lunch and didn’t get to experience what Bjorn swears is the best pie served by any airport in the world – perhaps not a significant claim, but an honor is an honor. Then we stopped off in Friday Harbor, in the San Juan Islands, for ice cream before returning to work. Strangely enough, I accomplished more in the two hours of programming I had time for than I did the previous day, working a full eight hours.

In order to gain entry back into the States, I needed either a birth certificate or a passport, neither of which I possessed, so last night I drove with Marta to Gig Harbor to get the former from my dad. I didn’t tell him in advance that I’d be bringing the girlfriend with me, but he handled the surprise fairly well. Marta thought the experience “wasn’t too bad,” and I agreed for the most part. I do wish he hadn’t told as many stories about my childhood (“I want to keep this one around for a while, Dad”), but that’s what fathers do I suppose.

One last thing: the sunburn I suffered at the cruel hand of overcast skies is getting better, but slowly. I’ve progressed into the peeling phase of the injury, and I’m disgusting – a step up from “hideously disfigured”, Monday’s status, but disgusting nonetheless. This morning I was peeling strips of skin off my forehead and nose like bark from a birch tree. The skin underneath is bright pink and baby soft, and as much as I bitch about it, I’m looking forward to having my pasty complexion back.