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The cold and I
I continued my education under the caring hands of my British and French tutors. They shared the tasks. Never had any bird been subject to so many extremes.

Snows and cold of Alaska, humid tropical heat of Southeast Asia, heights of South Africa, bumps of the Athens runway, nothing was spared me. I had made it a point of honor to earn the FAA label of the safest plane in the world.

It was in Alaska where I had suffered the most. I, who had been cocooned, pampered, coddled, passing most of my nights in an air-conditioned hangar, was told to pass two nights out of doors. To be more precise, 36 hours at -45°C. Why wasn't it 34 hours instead of 36; -50°C instead of -45? I never knew. Just another test conceived in an office at Toulouse or Filton by humans who wouldn't hesitate complaining or even going on strike if management cut off their central heating!


The first night they tried to find me a room: none were large enough for me.

I could hear them discussing: the temperature is only -30°C, we'll have to wait. One of them returned from the weather station, with good news - for them - the forecast was for -50°C soon. It turned out to be exactly -45°C. They were happy because it was the basic figure determined by some techno-bureaucrats. Cramped into their monstrous parkas, their faces covered with masks, I couldn't recognize the men of my team. They looked like thieves who were not beyond abandoning me in the polar night.

Finally, one of them spoke to me: "We are going to leave you my little bird, I know it won't be fun, but it's indispensable. I was going to stay with you but they said that it would be much too dangerous for me, so I didn't insist. We expect minus 45°C". He blew on his mittens with a comical gesture. I didn't know exactly what that meant, after all I am accustomed to +100°C. They tell me that man can hardly stand the minus one and not at all the plus one! That was no consolation.




Cramped into their monstrous parkas, their faces covered with masks, I couldn't
recognize the men of my team. They looked like thieves.



Before sunset, a dozen of those superb Siberian Huskies paid me a visit. We took
pictures so that they could show their buddies to prove they had seen a curious
bird, with no feathers at all to protect him from the cold.

As he closed the door, he caressed me with 'gloved' hand and consoled me (temporarily) with the words: "I'll be thinking of you…!" It was my flight engineer who had been with me since the beginning.

It was atrocious in the beginning because the cold slowly wormed its way into ever part of my body and numbed me so that I couldn't even dream.

At the end of 36 hours, the team returned. I sulked - I'm sure they understood why - and obstinately refused to open my doors. I finally gave in, as a gesture to the many marvelous hours we had spent together. After all, I'm not the kind to sulk for long, but I had to make a point. I soon forgot this episode: bitter cold rather then burning hot! The temperature in my cabin was -27°C. No question of bringing on passengers.

The first to enter was my engineer who congratulated me warmly - the temperature rose a tenth of a degree. The other members of my team also came on board. They spoke to me again and explained why they had not done so before. I was in a hurry to leave this frigid place. But before leaving I was ordered to fly the local wheels at Mach 2. The temperature was -40°C at take off. Olympus was thrilled, for these polar temperatures fit him perfectly. On the ground! Once in the stratosphere, it was not the same. The temperature was only -35°C! Under those conditions I cannot fly faster than Mach 1.85. Our guests were disappointed. My team tried to explain. I don't think they were convinced by the explanation, but here it is: it comes from the definition of the Mach number.



Frozen stiff, I give off steam all over as they try to warm me.

At the same speed of 1285 mph, the Machmeter indicates Mach 2 for a temperature of -70°C but only Mach 1.85 if the temperature is -35°. That's what happened to us that day.

Our flights around the globe revealed something which appeared to be an anomaly, at first hand that is. The lowest stratospheric temperatures are found over the equator: -80°C compared to +30°C at sea level, while over the poles the temperature is a mere -30°C while at sea level it is -50°C, or even lower. Thus, the flights over the polar regions are penalized, because the specific consumption of Olympus is closely tied to the temperature. The warmer it is the more he drinks, just like humans. There I reach with difficulty a ceiling of 50,000 feet, while over the tropical and equatorial regions I must slow down so as not to climb above 63,000 feet. (Confidentially, I often flew higher during my test flights. The purpose was to surpass the limits in order to establish a reasonable value). Nevertheless, I sometimes feel as though I was locked into a protocol which is too restrictive. Because of this polar 'heat', the nonstop flight London or Paris to Anchorage is not possible. It deprived us of the lucrative liaison Europe-Tokyo.
(1) Above 60,000 feet Mach 2 corresponds to an indicated speed of less than 500 knots, thus requiring an increased angle of attack leading to an unacceptable increase in drag.