The Begninng of the Epic Epoch

Isn’t that title a bit presumptive, considering I’m only 2.6 hours into a 14-hour flight which was 30 minutes late leaving the gate? With no itinerary, no lodging, no dependable transportation?

No, it isn’t. Tchaikovsky told me so.  [Start at 13:30 for audio-librio experience http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMkC07PmaWA ]

Airplanes, particularly 747’s at night, remind me of some oversized clumsy predator: A massive metal tube stalking along the runway on laughably small wheels akin to an elephant walking on tiptoe; hyperextended wings that don’t dip gracefully like those of a bird’s, but instead, force the whole body to make wide, slow turns.  Good luck passing undetected through the barren landing strip tundra. At least the rumbling engine and white reflective paint are undetectable.

So we all load up on this creature. And we wait…Here’s a seat belt. Here’s a mask. And wait… Here’s a life vest. Here’s a nearest exit which might be behind you. (Great, thanks for pointing that out. I’ve about had it with this boring beast. Would you mind if I located that rear exit right now?) And wait…………………………….

Then all of a sudden, Captain Steve Irwin alerts us that Boeing is ready to go in for the kill and, Crew, please cross-check and prepare for takeoff. National Geographic hits the soundtrack button and the 1812 Overture streams across United Radio Classical Station.  Now, Boeing gets all stealthy and picks up speed until the screen onboard shows you’re going faster than you’ve ever been in a car—135 mph. And then, with trumpets blaring and crescendo building, you’re pressed back into your seat by some G’s and 60,000lbs of thrust.  Cannons sound triumphantly as all four Pratt & Whitney turbofan engines lift the plane off the ground. And it’s off the ground not like a bird in flight. But like a thunderous bull who found wings (and maybe some vodka to go with it) and is headed for the dark side of the fog with a vengeance. After just minutes of continuous acceleration, that red snorting winged bull is bringing you and 375 other troopers to the heavens at 550 mph. Cymbals clash, decrying a full on assault against gravity which, you realize, you’re winning.  A dramatic drumroll seals the deal and away we go.  And all this from what initially resembled a bleached emu with its legs bound together by a thick rope.

Ya. I’m going to be halfway around the world in half a day. A little patience, a little music, a little imagination, and this is starting out to be one epic ride.