My apartment on East 10th Street was a good 45 minute drive from JFK airport. Maybe 12 miles as the crow flies from point A to point B. My building took its time waking up in the morning. The residents worked late and partied till dawn. Not everyone in New York were so dedicated to decadence and every dawn I would lie in bed waiting for the take-off roar of the SST Concorde bound for London.
Its twin spool Rolls-Royce/Snecma Olympus 593 engines megathrusted during take-offs and the turbojet-powered supersonic passenger airliner hit Mach 2.04 over the Atlantic.
I would think about those high-powered passengers cramped into that narrow Aero-Spatiale aluminum alloy tube. Paris or London for dinner or maybe an afternoon assignation with an expensive mistress.
Nice.
Too nice for me.
I never flew the Concorde.
Too low-class, but here’s a video of an aborted landing.
They don’t land sideways.
Tres scary.
Go to the following URL
Loud motherfuckers, eh?