Awaking from about 9 hours sleep, I almost jumped out of bed, filled with energy. Last night I flopped into bed and just fell asleep - I didn't even get undressed or crawl under the covers. Either this film making malarkey is taking it out of me, or the combination of 10oz steak and several pints of beer proved fatal!
Breakfast got off to a slight misfire. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but we ended up split into two groups, each one having scouted for the other before sitting down. This was followed by a senile old waitress, who carried over our breakfast, a plate in each hand, and the third resting on her bosom. And not in a good way. Think Jabba the Hutt more than Dolly Parton.
Over breakfast we discussed the arduous heat that was afflicting us. It's hot in America at the moment. I mean really hot. So hot that this happens:
And so, our acting sergeant in chief, ex-RAF man Simon Cookson, taught us an old army trick to keep cool whilst flying: the sweat rag. The premise is simple, take a bit of cloth (like a handkerchief), not too dense, preferably a light cotton of some sort. You take the rag, you moisten it, then you wrap it around your neck. The end result, if done right, should look something like this:
Why, might you ask, do we need a sweat rag? Well, today, and yesterday, it reached 38 degrees celcius in the cabin. And it stays that way. For hours. Our record is 42 degrees. Yeah. It gets hot. And when you are wearing a helmet, headset, and covered in various control panels, you end up feeling like you being slowly grilled alive!
Our day of filming saw us take off and head for Sidney, which we arrived at two hours and 5 minutes later. Two hours from Glasgow to Sidney? Alas, the Glasgow we stayed at was more dire than it's hellhole of a namesake in Scotland, and Sidney looked pretty Mad Max-esque: by that I mean post apocalyptic. Still, we saw some awesome sights yet again. Abandoned shacks among still working oil derricks. The owners, as Richard pointed out, have no doubt long since moved to their new homes in the Cayman Islands.
Lunch at Sidney was a pleasant affair. We normally try and forage for food somewhere in the local vicinity. Midday is the only point in the day where I am completely at a loose end. Simon is busy fueling the bird, Richard is making notes and reporting back to base. I have nothing to do. So I do what comes naturally: find a way to fill my stomach. This usually involves finding a courtesy car, getting a restaurant recommendation, and hoping we don't end up with enough food to feed Italy. For a month.
This time though, the courtesy car was already gone. "Don't worry", exclaimed the woman behind the counter, "you can take my car", as she thrust the keys to her car, house, and all her worldly belongings into my hands. The hands of a stranger and foreigner she had met only minutes before. Can you imagine that happening in England? Or indeed anywhere else? They say Americans can be paranoid, with their guns and what not. But there's a very trusting and over-the-top-trying-to-be-helpful-and-please manner that is frankly awesome. And so we took this woman's Chevy Suburban, complete with her kids booster seat, down to the golf course to lunch.
I ordered a club sandwich and coleslaw. I then discovered that in America, coleslaw is served sweet.
Gross.
After forgetting my doggy box of half a sandwich in this poor woman's car (which I realised hours later, much to the delight of my colleagues), we headed off towards our destination: Miles City. On the way we filmed the Badlands, some terrific rock formations called the Medicine Rocks, and I continued to marvel at how varied and pretty the Montana landscape is.
Our final treat, before the day's end, was a trip to Walmart. At long last! Walmart, you see, is a source of all my tackiest of clothing. I decided this trip would be no exception, and promptly kitted myself like so:
.JPG)
I'm now drinking my second cup of real tea, made in a Kettle (thank you Colin for the tea, and aunty Clare for the kettle - which I have now used for the first time in 4 years!). In five days we've traveled the whole way across the top of the state. And what a state it is!
Breakfast got off to a slight misfire. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but we ended up split into two groups, each one having scouted for the other before sitting down. This was followed by a senile old waitress, who carried over our breakfast, a plate in each hand, and the third resting on her bosom. And not in a good way. Think Jabba the Hutt more than Dolly Parton.
Over breakfast we discussed the arduous heat that was afflicting us. It's hot in America at the moment. I mean really hot. So hot that this happens:
Yep, that happened today (full disclosure: that is not my photo - our helicopter flies low, but there's a limit!)
And so, our acting sergeant in chief, ex-RAF man Simon Cookson, taught us an old army trick to keep cool whilst flying: the sweat rag. The premise is simple, take a bit of cloth (like a handkerchief), not too dense, preferably a light cotton of some sort. You take the rag, you moisten it, then you wrap it around your neck. The end result, if done right, should look something like this:
It looks like I'm wearing a bib, it's actually just a really bad choice of t-shirt to wear for this photo.
Our day of filming saw us take off and head for Sidney, which we arrived at two hours and 5 minutes later. Two hours from Glasgow to Sidney? Alas, the Glasgow we stayed at was more dire than it's hellhole of a namesake in Scotland, and Sidney looked pretty Mad Max-esque: by that I mean post apocalyptic. Still, we saw some awesome sights yet again. Abandoned shacks among still working oil derricks. The owners, as Richard pointed out, have no doubt long since moved to their new homes in the Cayman Islands.
Lunch at Sidney was a pleasant affair. We normally try and forage for food somewhere in the local vicinity. Midday is the only point in the day where I am completely at a loose end. Simon is busy fueling the bird, Richard is making notes and reporting back to base. I have nothing to do. So I do what comes naturally: find a way to fill my stomach. This usually involves finding a courtesy car, getting a restaurant recommendation, and hoping we don't end up with enough food to feed Italy. For a month.
This time though, the courtesy car was already gone. "Don't worry", exclaimed the woman behind the counter, "you can take my car", as she thrust the keys to her car, house, and all her worldly belongings into my hands. The hands of a stranger and foreigner she had met only minutes before. Can you imagine that happening in England? Or indeed anywhere else? They say Americans can be paranoid, with their guns and what not. But there's a very trusting and over-the-top-trying-to-be-helpful-and-please manner that is frankly awesome. And so we took this woman's Chevy Suburban, complete with her kids booster seat, down to the golf course to lunch.
I ordered a club sandwich and coleslaw. I then discovered that in America, coleslaw is served sweet.
Gross.
After forgetting my doggy box of half a sandwich in this poor woman's car (which I realised hours later, much to the delight of my colleagues), we headed off towards our destination: Miles City. On the way we filmed the Badlands, some terrific rock formations called the Medicine Rocks, and I continued to marvel at how varied and pretty the Montana landscape is.
Our final treat, before the day's end, was a trip to Walmart. At long last! Walmart, you see, is a source of all my tackiest of clothing. I decided this trip would be no exception, and promptly kitted myself like so:
.JPG)
America. Fuck yeah!
I'm now drinking my second cup of real tea, made in a Kettle (thank you Colin for the tea, and aunty Clare for the kettle - which I have now used for the first time in 4 years!). In five days we've traveled the whole way across the top of the state. And what a state it is!
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