June 2003

I suppose the same argument could be made for rail, automobile, or ship travel, that they are unnatural. You know, the old "If God wanted us to fly, He would have given us wings" line of thinking. Last time I checked, I wasn't equipped with wheels or a rudder either. (Please, no jokes about my weight.) But there is still something strange about flying.

The first thing which is odd about flying is the heavy restrictions imposed on what you can and can't bring on the plane. I'm not intent on bringing any dangerous goods on the plane, but it's still a strange thing to have the security officers scan me from stem to stern, as it were, as I pass through the gate. Over the gate is the reassuring sign that I don't have to submit to the scan and search if I choose not to fly. I love signs which state the obvious. Almost as much as I love the fact that my metal plate doesn't set off the metal detectors. At least not in Canadian airports.

Another thing which is odd about flying is the safety demonstration at the start of every flight. I can do that funky hand-gesture dance thing now from memory, having seen it enough. I have no particular desire to see the air masks fall from the ceiling panels. In fact, I think the sight of all that falling plastic would have a vaguely apocalyptic feel to it.

Another odd thing about flying is that indescribable feeling of the forward thrust right at the moment of lift-off. Many people dread landing. I dread lift-off. I do not like that initial jolt of air underneath the airplane, the unsettling sensation of being semi-liberated from the strongest form of gravity momentarily.

I shouldn't give the impression that I hate to fly; I quite enjoy looking down and seeing the earth curve away, flying up above banks of clouds and seeing the thunderheads just as I remember them described in Geography class in grade 10. I love looking down at the towns of Southern Ontario from the air and picking out the small communities... "That's Arthur! Mount Forest! Wiarton! Clarksburg!" Well, maybe not Clarksburg.

And most of all, I like the fact that flying is a much quicker way of getting from point a to point b, generally. It is a little disconcerting when you have driven the width of Canada, more or less, to be able to cross half that distance in a four-hour flight, but it is amazingly cool, too.

So yeah. Flying is weird. Nothing much humourous about this month's reflection, but enough of you said you wanted to see a new article, so there you go.

I will leave you with the following observations:
You can't tig following a double-tag. And the French lost the war.
Thank-you.