Yesterday's post about the much-mourned Florence museum got me thinking about other aeronautical experiences I've had involving things and places that are no more. I haven't looked at my listing in a long time, but up until a few years ago I kept a close count on all the different types and sub-types on which I've flown. There's some surprises: a number of common types I've never flown on (no first-generation 737s, no 747s or 777s, and nothing built by Airbus), and a few uncommon types (including two memorable Twin Otter flights). But I think the modern state of commercial aviation, where you either fly on a standard Boeing type or a standard Airbus type, has taken some of the fun out of keeping tabs. I still make notes of the N-number and the type -- that's how much of a nerd I am -- but it's not as much fun these days.
A few years ago, it was different. When you flew somewhere, depending on where you were going and the airline you were going there on, you could usually choose from several types of equipment. There were times I made my travel arrangements based on the equipment, and I'd do that (for instance, the time I booked my trip to Washington, DC to connect in Cincinnati just because doing so meant I would fly on a 727 into National Airport). There were some other wild things I did, and they will be covered (I hope) in future posts. Today, though, I want to kick off this intermittent series by remembering an airplane for which I've had almost a lifelong affection.
Ever since I was a young kid, I was fascinated by Lockheed's L-1011. I can attribute an awful lot of that fascination to one picture in particular: a Lockheed picture of one of the early ships, in full Eastern Air Lines livery, flying high over the Palmdale factory. I was in love with that picture, and how that airplane looked. Later in life, I came to know more about the TriStar and how rugged an airplane it was.
By the time I was able to travel on my own, though, the TriStar was starting to get long in the tooth, and the airlines were starting to retire them. I promised myself, though, I'd get to fly on one someday. That day finally came about nine years ago, when I had to travel to San Francisco. I booked my trip so I'd have L-1011s both ways: a "standard" L-1011 on the flight out, and an L-1011-500 on the way home. The picture above is one I took after my arrival at SFO, as Ship 734 pushed back to continue on to Honolulu. (Forgive the grain in the picture; it was scanned on my old, cranky scanner that's since croaked. However, the icky patina on the airplane was really there. I seem to recall Delta was having paint problems then.) Five days later, we blasted off towards home on the little hot-rod Series 500, and that was great. I'll always remember we flew our final approach into Atlanta through absolutely awful conditions, but the TriStar just came on in, pretty as you please.
What was the TriStar like? Well, it was my first wide-body experience, and a friend of mine told me it'd feel like I was flying in my living room. Which, yes, was true. At first I couldn't really believe something that wide had any business barreling through the sky. But, after I settled in a bit, it was very comfortable. I also remember the TriStar had this lovely, comfortable ride. It reminded me a lot of the big old hand-me-down Oldsmobile I had at the time, with a suspension that really dampened the bumps in the road. Where other airplanes would bump and shudder, the TriStar would just sort of wallow a bit. (Other sites on the Interwebs will fill you in, with much authority, on the AFCS and DLC systems that helped make the TriStar a smooth flyer from takeoff to landing.) It was a very pleasant airplane to ride on. Of course, it was showing its age by the end of the century; you started to feel like you were flying on yesterday's airplane, and things had a tendency to break (the jokes circulated that "1011" stood for "delayed 10 out of 11 times").
Back then, I was a loyal Delta customer, and if I needed to go somewhere and Delta flew a TriStar there, I'd take it if I could. When I lived in Florida and would fly back home, I'd take the TriStar when I could. That got me seven more flights aboard the TriSaurus in their last year of service. They were getting scarce, and it wasn't difficult to end up flying on a ship you'd had before. My last time was March 2001, aboard Ship 733. Soon it, and the rest of them, would be in Victorville awaiting whatever fate was coming. I keep up with the whereabouts of my old TriStars every now and then, and some of them are still out there, while others have flown on to other places and other operators. It's a bit weird knowing that an airplane on which you and hubby flew less than 10 years ago is now sitting in Tehran.
It was an old airplane. It was complicated, full of systems that were a great idea (and others that seemed like it at the time). But, man, did I love that airplane. And do I miss it. So, in tribute to a great airplane, here's a picture of one of my favorite airplanes, in one of my favorite places.
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