July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Small stories of air travel (10/8/03)
Dear Reader
Apparently, Mr. Yakelov wasn't a very big guy.
I'm guessing Mr. Andropov wasn't either.
One of the aspects of this latest trek into Central Asia to work with newspapers has been a couple of puddle-jumping flights on aging, Soviet-era aircraft.
They're not my size.
A couple of weeks back, I made the journey from Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, down to Osh, a city in the Fergana Valley, a potential powderkeg where none of the national boundaries make sense.
Not a bad flight, all in all, but it was on an A-24, an Andropov-24, that is.
Now, as local aircraft authority Eugene Gillum will assure you, that could have been worse. Some of the even older A-20s are still in service, though "service" may be stretching the definition of the word. I flew on one of those back in 2002.
The real problem with the A-24 is the noise. It's a jet-prop with a roar so deafening that they have ear protection gear available for passengers who want it.
And then, of course, there's the matter of the size.
It's all based upon the average Soviet citizen, I guess. It’s sure not fitted for a small town newspaper publisher from Indiana.
Tight as it was, though, it was better than the Yakelov-40 which took us to and from Dushanbe, Tajikistan, a week later.
The Yak-40 is the older, more decrepit, and smaller sibling of the venerable Yak-42, which is itself a horrible aircraft in which to travel.
When you're my size, a trip on a Yak-40 is a torture test.
The door is several inches lower than my head. The ceiling isn't much better. And the seat is a good six inches narrower than my shoulders.
I found myself squeezed into a spot next to an earnest Russian-looking woman who was reading her Bible fervently during take-off.
Much as I respected her display of religious conviction, I found it produced some mixed feelings on my part.
If her prayers for intercession happened to protect the big American guy jammed into the seat beside her, I was immensely grateful.
But the fact that she felt the need to seek heavenly protection spoke volumes about her confidence in the old Yak-40 as it rumbled and squeaked and screamed down the runway, trying to gather enough steam to lift its aging carcass into the air one more time.
In the end, the flight was a safe one.
For that, I'll thank Mr. Yakelov, I suppose. And, of course, the woman with the Bible in the seat beside me.[[In-content Ad]]
I'm guessing Mr. Andropov wasn't either.
One of the aspects of this latest trek into Central Asia to work with newspapers has been a couple of puddle-jumping flights on aging, Soviet-era aircraft.
They're not my size.
A couple of weeks back, I made the journey from Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, down to Osh, a city in the Fergana Valley, a potential powderkeg where none of the national boundaries make sense.
Not a bad flight, all in all, but it was on an A-24, an Andropov-24, that is.
Now, as local aircraft authority Eugene Gillum will assure you, that could have been worse. Some of the even older A-20s are still in service, though "service" may be stretching the definition of the word. I flew on one of those back in 2002.
The real problem with the A-24 is the noise. It's a jet-prop with a roar so deafening that they have ear protection gear available for passengers who want it.
And then, of course, there's the matter of the size.
It's all based upon the average Soviet citizen, I guess. It’s sure not fitted for a small town newspaper publisher from Indiana.
Tight as it was, though, it was better than the Yakelov-40 which took us to and from Dushanbe, Tajikistan, a week later.
The Yak-40 is the older, more decrepit, and smaller sibling of the venerable Yak-42, which is itself a horrible aircraft in which to travel.
When you're my size, a trip on a Yak-40 is a torture test.
The door is several inches lower than my head. The ceiling isn't much better. And the seat is a good six inches narrower than my shoulders.
I found myself squeezed into a spot next to an earnest Russian-looking woman who was reading her Bible fervently during take-off.
Much as I respected her display of religious conviction, I found it produced some mixed feelings on my part.
If her prayers for intercession happened to protect the big American guy jammed into the seat beside her, I was immensely grateful.
But the fact that she felt the need to seek heavenly protection spoke volumes about her confidence in the old Yak-40 as it rumbled and squeaked and screamed down the runway, trying to gather enough steam to lift its aging carcass into the air one more time.
In the end, the flight was a safe one.
For that, I'll thank Mr. Yakelov, I suppose. And, of course, the woman with the Bible in the seat beside me.[[In-content Ad]]
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