Leaving On A Jet Plane

Mike’s Law

At some point during my 42 years of flying regularly in private jets with the Gordon Lightfoot band, I became the airplane policeman. Not that I wanted to be, In fact, I didn’t want to travel on those airplanes at all. Musicians don’t have a great track record with aviation.

Let me make my position clear. I never thought that our pilots were irresponsible or that we were using sub-standard aircraft. But the issue of familiarity bothered me. When people do anything that is potentially hazardous they are very focused at first. Then it becomes routine.

As confidence in procedure increases, attention to detail decreases.

It’s a maxim as true as “The Peter Principal” or “Murphy’s Law.”

Somebody Open A Window

One time on a flight to Rapid City, South Dakota, the temperature inside the aircraft rose to about 40 degrees celsius and we were warned that it would continue to increase. To me, this loss of cabin environment control could be symptomatic of more serious problems.

I mean, duh!

At the very least, it was extremely uncomfortable and I worried I might have an anxiety attack.

Gord asked us if we wanted to land. It took me about a nano second to decide.

We were still 150 miles short of our destination.

Rick puts a lot of time into arranging travel details like rental cars. He had two waiting for us in Rapid City. Also, the guys weren’t crazy about driving for three hours. I wasn’t winning any popularity contests that day. However Gord was fine, perhaps even happy, with getting that sauna back on the ground.

A Nice Fall Drive In New England

More recently, I got fed up with a jet that developed a strange clanging metallic sound in the landing gear during take off. After the third time it happened in as many days, I’d had enough.

We were waiting quite a while to taxi onto the runway in New York one early afternoon in Autumn, when one of the pilots came back to the cabin to let us know there was a malfunction somewhere in the airplane but we would be taking off in 10 or 15 minutes. I turned around and said to Gord and Rick, “I’m renting a car. See you in New Hampshire.” I got the pilot to open the door of the airplane, and I headed into the terminal.

Kim, Gord’s wife, followed me in and insisted that I take an Uber.

“It’s three states away!” 

“Gord will pay for it.”

“Kim, for God’s sake, this is awkward enough. Just trust me. I’ll get to the next gig on time and in good form.”

“Gord wants me to make sure you get in a car and leave.”

“Okay, the car rental could take half an hour. Do you really want to keep him waiting that long? 

“No. That’s why you’re taking an Uber.”

I’ve known Kim for a long time. She’s a good friend, but she can be stubborn. She wasn’t taking no for an answer.

She got her phone out and pressed on the screen a few times. A few minutes later a guy pulled up in front of the private terminal in an old, dented Pontiac.

I said goodbye to Kim, ran out the door and jumped into the front seat.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Derry,” I replied

“Northern Ireland? You need a fucking boat for that man. Okay, good joke. Now what are you doing?”

“Please drive me to Derry, New Hampshire.”

“Where the fuck’s New Hamster?”

 “That way,” I pointed east, “about 200 miles. Can we get moving?”

“You’re nuts man, and I don’t have enough gas.”

“I’ll buy you a tank of gas, damn it, let’s go!”

It occured to me that he might not be an Uber driver at all. Maybe he just liked to watch airplanes take off and was now wondering why this wacko got into his car and demanded that he drive him to New Hampshire. I pictured cop cars and a SWAT team waiting for me in Derry. 

Away we went. It wasn’t as far as I thought, but it still took us four hours.

The driver turned out to be okay. An hour or so into the trip, he talked about growing up in Puerto Rico and how much he missed it.  

“What’s stopping you from moving back?” I asked.

“A wife and two kids,” he replied.

“There or here?” I returned.

There was a pause and then a paroxysm of laughter to the point where I thought I would have to grab the wheel. 

I was his buddy for the rest of the trip. 

I got to the venue in Derry about fifteen minutes before the start of sound check. Gord was in the hall alone doing Gord stuff. Fearing the worst, I stepped lightly up to the stage and started quietly wiring my keyboards, hoping he wouldn’t notice me.

“Hi Mike,” he said. “Nice trip?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He never mentioned it again.