Wednesday 3rd June 2009 – Trains and Planes and Meteorologists

The dark forces of the universe have swirled again, and left me without any access to any funds.  I remain steadfastly cheerful: after all, I'm a Brit.  I whistle 'Scotland the Brave' steadfastly.  It is the tune of the High School Fight Song here, so nobody can tell that I'm covering up.  I even spend my last fourteen quarters on the Laundromat.  A chap has to keep up standards.

 

While I'm trying to be brave, and keep up standards, the local weather station decides to put the fear of god into me.  Did you know the temperature here can get over 110 degrees; or drop to minus 70; that it once did this in the same year; they can have hailstones as big as cricket balls; and you can see the hailstone damage from space?  They also used to have the biggest brush fires in the US, till those looneys in California decided to go for the record (actually, in all seriousness, a meteorologist goes to live with the firemen when they have a big fire, because the immediate weather predictions can be life-and-death).

      They asked me about British weather.  In the circumstances, I stiffened my upper lip and denied that we had any weather at all.  Actually, they asked me about European weather.  The two models they run on their prediction computers are the US and Europe, which can predict the future somewhat differently.  So nothing new there.

      They also demonstrated how to launch a weather balloon.  Occasionally the wind is so strong they can hit the fence, which seemed about 100 yards away.  The procedure requires them to check their shoelaces before they let go.  Apparently there is a steak dinner waiting for the first launcher to hit the radar dome.

      It's really cool to be a weather forecaster here.  They were showing me news items from Britain where Bournemouth was going to sue the forecasters for forecasting rain during the holiday weekend.  Apparently this cost Bournemouth millions.  But here, getting the weather right can be a matter of life-and-death.

 

Across the way from the weather station is Glasgow International Airport.  It is not a very busy airport, but in the short time I was there, a helicopter took off, and a small airliner (a Beech 1900) came in.  It was thoughtful of them to put on all this activity just for me.

 

Later that day …  the bar is just opposite the railroad depot, and trains rumble through constantly.  They often have to stop because it is mostly single-track operation, and this is a passing place.  But tonight, a BNSF passenger train stopped.  BNSF is the freight line.  Amtrak is the passenger one.  So I was interested.  The general  opinion in the bar was that it was the "bigwigs".  I went across and asked.  Apparently it was a vice-president and entourage making a line inspection.

         I was really impressed.  From starting the day a penniless immigrant, I had moved on to aspiring to be a meteorologist: really useful; well-respected; and lots of super toys.  But by the end of the day, I was dreaming of owning a railroad: I mean, your own train: how cool is that?