On the wings of time

We often ask, "What time is it?". Time, a measure of how much we can do. It's scope ranges from short intervals to eternity. "I'm in a hurry!', we exclaim either silently or out loud. "Take it easy. Take your time", we utter when trying to calm down. We are born, grow up, and die, and then we say, "time's up."

Time in flight scheduling is vital to a successful operation. Driving to the airport for a Wednesday evening flight, I received a call from Chris at the company flight following, asking if I could come early. It was the customer's request. I checked the time. It was a scant twelve minutes before scheduled normal arrival and the drive was already in progress. How could I possibly accommodate this late request?

An inquiry made to the flight following staff about why the customer asked for an early arrival. No information was available. I said, "Tell the customer that you contacted me and that I'm on my way." Chris seemed to accept this. I added, "the next time, ask them to call early to get an early arrival request". Chris replied, "We just got the call ourselves.".

Chris and I understood each other. The unknown reason mystifies us. We try to help, but wonder what this is all about. A certain intrigue enters the scene, as if a theatrical play is about to start. The dramatic question is posed early. The next few hours will develop the plot and provide mores questions. It's free entertainment, or so I think.

Arriving at the airport on time, I check in with the office. The senior ramp agent Chuck is present. I acknowledge the request for an early arrival. He replies that a Fed Ex jet is inbound and will be early. The ramp space has the two small feeder Cessnas which need to be moved to accommodate the jet. The jet estimated arrival is thirty minutes early.

"What time is it", I silently ask, and then glance at the clock. We have about forty minutes to depart. Chuck adds, "...they are loading your planes as soon as you open the door. Expect 220 pounds."

The cargo door is already open. I phone in to the company flight following, provide fuel requirements, time enroute, and alternate airport name, and obtain a flight release. The release is good for an hour and a half.

Next I walk out to the ramp. Cargo workers are already loading the plane. A few small packages which will easily fit in the cargo pods, leaving the cargo cabin empty. It is a quick load. The team moves steadily and I begin my duties.

Then comes a complication. The engine cowling is locked with a combination padlock that won't open. The theatrical dramatic question is presented. How to resolve this stuck lock and continue getting the plane ready before the jet arrives. Intrigue heightens. I ask myself, "what time is it?"

Attempts to loosen the lock are unsuccessful. The engine cowling houses the airplane battery, a vital component to the flight and essential to engine starting. I grumble as the lock tumbles resist turning. This happened the previous evening and cold weather is likely the culprit. I wonder if there is some fluid that could be applied? Perhaps a bolt cutter is available and the lock could be cut off? This last suggestion sounds too dramatic. Can't the lock just open?

Several attempts later and the tumblers spin freely. Unfortunately the result is the same. The padlock fails to release. It is doing it's job. What more could you ask?

By now my patience is wearing thin. I wonder why this lock was secured in the first place. It is a company procedure, designed to enhance security of the airplane. This last thought leaves me amused. The plane is secure alright. So secure it can't be used. The conflict between getting out before the jet arrival heightens. It's not a good beginning.

Jim, a ramp agent and deicing crew member approaches and hears my lock complaint. He asks, "shall I shoot it?". This means should I apply the hot deice fluid? I ponder his offer but don't reply. This question gets big in a hurry. Adding hot fluid might free stuck padlock tumblers. But the wrong fluid might damage the lock, or make it further stuck. I think of alternative lock fluids such as petroleum-based or alcohol-based lock looseners. Also, the bolt cutters idea is getting more attractive as my patience index plummets.

A phone call to company maintenance is made. The mechanic is many states away but this doesn't deter a remedy. "I'll send over a mechanic to cut it off.", he exclaims. I welcome the official sanction of my silent mental solution.

Meanwhile time marches on, as the saying goes. I abandon the lock. Someone else can deal with it. I complete the preflight inspection and then climb into the cockpit. No power is available for lighting - it need a battery. The battery is safely locked inside the cowling. I think that is the final time I will lock the cowling. It is an extra and unnecessary step, in my opinion.

Completing the weight and loading paperwork takes time. I'm interrupted by a visit from two customer staff. They want to tell me how the plane needs to be moved in order to make room for the jet. Perhaps they didn't know that I already know that? I hope so, because this piling on of demands is hindering performance. I reply, "I think that we all want that.", and hope the pilot message is sufficient. Then I add, "The lock is stuck and won't open". One manager seems puzzled with this. I continue, "...the battery is inside the cowling.".

This brings a body language of rolled eyes skyward and an expression of angst. Now he understands, hopefully doesn't again state the urgency of getting a plane moved.

Does anyone think that the early arriving jet can wait? Or is the jet's arrival so overwhelming important that the feeder planes are quickly dismissed with a wave of a hand? It certainly feels like it.

One of the guys has a hack saw and begins to saw at the padlock. I know that another mechanic is enroute to cut off the lock. But this guy needs something to do and it will keep him occupied and his manager won't bother me while I'm continuing my tasks.

Sawing of the lock is unsuccessful. I'm not surprised. I suspect the lock is manufactured to be tough, and it is. I emerge from the cockpit and hand one of the ramp staff their paperwork. Getting off the lock and the connecting the battery are all that is left.

But then the dramatic question gets a boost and the conflict heightens. Another customer worker arrives and declares, "we need to get the plane out or push it out.". I'm about at my patience limit with these guys. "Can't you see we are trying to do this?!", I am about to explode. Do these guys really think that asking and demanding is going to change the predicament of the stuck lock?

Someone needs to be calm and that seems to be an item in short supply. But the answer and remedy quickly comes from a co-worker. He works the lock and in a moment it is opened. He even connects the battery for me. I'm not sure if I'm pleased with the result or irked at someone intervening in my duties. Actually, I'm feeling a bit of both these things.

I ask my coworker what was the problem? He simply replies, "I put in the right combination". Now I'm really furious. I reply, "I already put in the right combination!". His comment does little to nothing to ease the tension of the moment. But he comes back with, "perhaps it was the deice fluid which freed it.". That explanation is more acceptable.

My final comment to one of the managers is that I will not be putting the lock on the cowling. His reply is, "thank goodness". We understand each other and I'm glad.

We disperse, I climb into the cockpit and quickly startup the engine and taxi away. The jet is now on the runway and taxing in. I head out and the calm returns.

Returning home several hours later, I find a winter scene on the ground. The air is cold, high clouds and no stars, unrestricted visibility of 50 miles. Snow covers the ground and a light snow fell overnight at the destination. A nice tailwind of 22 knots pushes the plane and makes for an early arrival. A landing is accomplished and an early unloading. I complete a postflight and omit the lock. Enough is enough.

Flying is a pretty good way to make a living. The work is good and the view is great. It is not a bad way to start a birthday. Time has passed. Middle age is manageable. Parents are still alive and well, as are many friends. The day begins with sleeping and then what ever the afternoon and evening have.

What time is it? Our time? God's time? An answer comes from Ecclesiastes chapter 3. It is often read at weddings or memorial services. It provides an answer. Does anyone listen?

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: [

2] a time to be born, and a time to die;a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;

[3] a time to kill, and a time to heal;a time to break down, and a time to build up;

[4] a time to weep, and a time to laugh;a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

[5] a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

[6] a time to seek, and a time to lose;a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

[7] a time to rend, and a time to sew;a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

[8] a time to love, and a time to hate;a time for war, and a time for peace.

Time to sleep. It's is a good day to be born.