Part Deuce -
I bolt upright from under the covers staring about the not quite dark room wildy for an instant before the next ring of the phone brings me fully alert and out of my dream. Reaching out with my left hand I quickly grab the offending instrument before the "collision alarm" sounds yet again and place the receiver to my ear which I immediately notice is dripping wet! "Jus'aminnit" I mumble into the receiver as I pause to wipe the earpiece dry on my bedsheet, while with my free right hand (which is damp?!), I wipe the sweat off my left ear.
I shake my head and focus on the glow-in-the-dark hands of my Big Ben alarm clock. 2:20 AM. " 'Lo" I grouch into the phone,and immediately comes back a voice I instantly recognize as Alaska State Trooper Lenny Johnson. "Well, I guess there's no point in asking if I woke you up, eh?" says a terribly alert sounding Lenny.
I LIKE Lenny. And he IS one of my favorite customers and I am his favorite pilot, which, inasmuch as I am (so far) the ONLY pilot he's flown with ain't saying much. EXCEPT Lenny is scared %^$#less of "little" airplanes and so far we haven't had so much as light turbulence in the ten or twelve trips we've made together and, of course, all my landings have been sweet. Ergo, to Lenny, I am the next best thing to Charles Lindberg himself. So, I try to be cheerful and happy to hear from him.
"If this AIN'T Publisher's Clearing House calling me to tell me I've FINALLY won my million bucks....would you kindly go SCREW yourself??!!" I reply. Lenny chortles deeply, and apparently under the (mis)assumption that I am joking responds "Yeah, I missed you so much I couldn't wait until a decent hour to fly with you....so what say??!! Wanna' go for a little trip??"
"Oh, yeah Lenny. It's what I LIVE for. You draggin' my pitiful butt outta' bed at oh-dark-thirty to go 'n play cops and robbers. It's the last thing I pray to God for every night before I close my eyes." speaking a little more clearly now as my hand fumbles around the nightstand searching for my pack of Kools. Immediately our enemy of criminals everywhere laughingly points out to me that this is July 31st and here, 37 miles above the Arctic Circle, there is no "dark" involved. "The sun is a'risin'.... most definately...." Lenny warbles, singing a phrase from some Tommy James and the Shondells former hit, the name of which could matter LESS to me right now.
"Shutup Lenny" I growl. "I've heard lonesome alley cats sing better. How much time do I HAVE??" "Everybody's a critic" Lenny sasses back. "How much time do you need?" With hope in my voice I say "Howzabout an hour????". "Good then!" Lenny comes back W-A-A-Y too enthusiastically. "See you in 45 minutes" as the receiver goes dead in my ear.
I replace the receiver in the cradle in the dimness while telling Lenny what I think of HIM, his god-awful SINGING, and where he can take his early morning cheerful MOOD.....and finally having found the light switch at the base of the lamp BLAST 150 WATTS of lumens into every corner of the room! GODFREY how that light HURTS. But...that's exactly why I have it there. If I gotta' wake up.....may as well get it OVER with and force myself toward alertness. I walk into the furniture aLOT less that way when I first get up, I've found. And all ten of my toes have been thankful for the new procedure.
Finally I spy my smokes and shake one out of the pack. I grab a wooden Fire Chief matchstick and scrape the phosphorous tip into flame with my thumbnail, noting as I hold it to the tip of the cigarette the very, very slightest shaking of my hand. I toss the match at the ashtray and miss. It falls and lands RIGHTon the cover of the paperback book I was reading before I fell asleep. The residual heat in the wood starts to burn the tiniest hole through the picture of the submarine on the cover. In the cover art it is diving, half under the water and half still above. "Run Silent, Run Deep" by Admr. Edward Beach (Retrd). What a fanTAStic book. After airplanes, the old WW 2 deisel subs are my favorite. Then I remember the dream. BOY! Was THAT wild!!
I realize too that I am drenched from head to foot practically. Apparently I had been sweating profusely in my sleep but the cold chill in the bedroom has now turned my skin cold and clammy. No surprise considering all the toxins I had pumped into my body in the last ninety-six hours. My body was dying to pump them out any way possible. No possible exit is to be overlooked as evidenced by a rumbling in my tummy and a belch that originates somewhere down by my toes. It is loud. It is long. It burns my nostrils and leaves what I expect would be the taste of molten lava on my tounge.
As I stumble into the kitchen to start a quick half pot of coffee before I shower, my eyes fall on the one half-eaten slice left over from the 16 inch pepperoni and double Italian sausage pizza. Beside it rests a bowl with brown crusty stuff which puzzles me slightly until I turn to the stove and spy the two opened and empty cans of Hormel chili and the dirty pan. Jeez. No WONDER! "That's it" I say aloud to no one in particular. "No more doubling up on the Italian sausage..." An alcohol induced case of the munchies can be deadly!
The stinging spray of the hot shower both cleanses and refreshes me as I throw my head back, open my mouth wide and repeatedly fill swish and spit, clearing the residue of yesterday afternoon's partially digested dinner from my taste buds. Out, dry, brush teeth, the regular drill; and in 20 minutes I'm back in the kitchen kickstarting my heart with some black coffee and another cigarette.
"Man, I GOTTA' start cutting back on these" I think, as I ponder the fact that I have done a pack-and-a-half or more for each 24 hours of the last four days.
Only 12 hours ago I had returned from three days of (everything BUT) "rest and relaxation" in the "Big Village on the Cook inlet" as we laughingly refer to Anchorage. After logging two hundred and seven hours in twenty-eight consecutive days without a day off; and the MAJORITY of it "VFR" in 300 foot, smoke obsured skies with visibilities ranging from two miles on DOWN I was one whipped puppy. I mean I LOVE to fly ALOT, but...DAMN! That was just too much. I mean, I fell asleep TWICE climbing out in the 185. Fortunately the STALL HORN brought me too each time!
I'd gone to the boss and threatened to quit on the spot if he didn't give me some time off!! So he finally caved and gave me three whole days. I skedaddled straight for the Wien jet and fun 'n frolic. I was DETERMINED to "rest" until I just couldn't stand it anymore or ran outta' dough, whichever came first. I couldn't WAIT to see blondes, brunnettes, and redheads again. Blue eyes, GREEN eyes. Girls with LIPSTICK wearing something besides bluejeans!! Finally! I'm gonna' get some well deserved 'REST"!!
So yesterday afternoon, I finally got done "resting". Thank God. I don't think I could "rest" anymore if I HAD too. Lord only knows how much liquor I consumed, rich food I ate, and packs I smoked. I think I slept twice for a total of nine or ten hours the whole time. Thankfully I must've fallen asleep about five yesterday afternoon. Now, at least, I'm REALLY rested.
Now I throw on a windbreaker, stick my shades in my pocket and head out the door. It's 3 AM straight up as I kick my Yamaha 250 into life. Tapping the gearshift lever down into first, I hold the front of the bike and spin the back tire around spewing gravel. And as it lines up with the front end pointed toward the airport I release the brake and the wind builds in my face as I accelerate. DAMN it's GREAT to be 23, free and a FLIER!!