Just over a week to go. Africa beckons. I'm re-reading Alan Moorehead's White Nile. And the CAA lealet about ditching in cold water. I can hear the Egyptian Air Traffic controller " Golf Alpha Chaarlee, bus yuur massage...." I'm dying to thank him in Arabic as we cross into Sinai, skimming Israeli airspace, a childish temptation which I hope I'll resist. But I doubt I will. Resist. Sadly we shall not be landing at Alexandria where I was born and where Cleopatra subdued Julius Ceasar not just with her hips but with her guile. I love Egypt. But I'm biased. Slight concerns over stability in the Middle East: Tunisia has suddenly erupted and swept away the old crook who ran it for 25 years and his hairdresser wife who apparently packed $40m in gold bars in her Louis Vuittons before fleeing to that other model of liberty: Saudi Arabia.. Not, I wager, in a single-engine Cherokee. The talk now is of Tunisia being to the Arab world what Poland was to the Communist block in 1989. Arab dominoes falling as we cut through the Arab skies. I doubt it. Not for a while anyway. Then there's the referendum in the Sudan where we head after Egypt. The Christian south wants to secede from the Muslim north. The north gave us Darfur. Who gives up a third of their country willingly? We shall see.
More mundane preoccupations: should we wear moon ( survival) suits when flying over longish stretches of Mediterranean? The RAF has a rule: if the water is under 15 degrees Celsius in the water moon suits are in order. It's the initial shock of hitting cold water that does for you , like Mike Tyson punching you in the chest with a bag of ice. A nice man at South East Marine supplies, who supply the emergency services, says: " Don't swim. Curl up in a ball and try and float, protecting your core bits until help arrives." Mind you Alpha Charlie is a robust little plane. She'd never let us down. And she knows I hate cold water. Do we take Kitkats and chocolate or survival rations? That's a no-brainer. Nuttella.
We did a shakedown flight last week up to 10,000 ft over Norfolk in preparation for vaulting over the mountain wall which separates the Sudan from Ethiopia. On the way back the Traffic alert went on the blink. We could see the little black squares on our display signifying other aircraft but an irritating, clipped American voice kept saying "Altitude, Data Invalid". Fat lot of use if you don't know where the enemy is. Up, down, left or right.
We have to get her to Toulouse by February 4th at the latest if we're to make the rendezvous in Cyprus on February 12th. Sam Rutherford, our leader, leaves no prisoners. Steve joins me on the 4th at Toulouse. Adrian, top gun Air Traffic Controller at Cranfield, has agreed to fly with me to south-west France a few days before. He can fly in cloud ( and almost certainly walk on water) so we'll be fine. I am getting a bit windy. But that's good says my wife. It will delay Alzheimers. She ( my plane not my wife) is getting her final check next week and Steve and I will be shown how to change a spark plug. I have bought a, chic little, blue urine bottle to keep in the plane. WikiHow's first rule for GA pilots who need to go is " Don't pee all over yourself." Who writes this stuff? We meet CC Pocock, maverick bush pilot, in South Africa. Have a look at www.bush-air.com They don't make them like that anymore.
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