I completely agree, but you would be surprised how many people think the traveling 550 miles an hour carries no risk as demonstrated by their seatbelt - which is unbuckled.
Why you always keep your seat belt fastened
- Thread starter wwillson
- Start date
As soon as I'm seated the seatbelt goes on and latched for the duration of the flight. It only comes off if I have to get up to use the bathroom (rarely), or stopped at the arrival gate. For shorter domestic flights I try to hydrate and eat way ahead of time so I can use the facilities prior to boarding and no need to get up during. Of course for longer Int'l flights, that's not so easy. And if I'm napping and have something like a jacket or blanket, I try to position things in such a way the crew can see it's fastened, and not need to wake me.
Often ignored with arrogance… Until somebody finds themselves alternating between the ceiling and the floor in turbulence.
Then they blame the crew and sue the airline.
I was flying from Hawaii and had my seat belt on. Suddenly hit turbulence with no warning, even the captain had no time to switch on the fasten your seat belt sign. The red wine I had in my glass suddenly hit the ceiling. Turbulence didn't let up and red wine drops were dropping on me after only a minute. Crew later told me that's the first time they'd seen something like that happen.
My friend was driving home at midnight one Christmas eve, and was suddenly blinded by an oncoming car with a dummy at the wheel , apparently asleep. Hit his car head on at speed. Friend was unhurt, later said his seat belt left a diagonal red mark across his chest that took 3 weeks to go away.
My friend was driving home at midnight one Christmas eve, and was suddenly blinded by an oncoming car with a dummy at the wheel , apparently asleep. Hit his car head on at speed. Friend was unhurt, later said his seat belt left a diagonal red mark across his chest that took 3 weeks to go away.
Patman
Staff member
When I was 18 years old I was in a head on collision as well, the seatbelt definitely saved my life and it also left a mark on my body that took weeks to go away. That was actually my only “injury”, if you can even call it that. My mom’s beautiful 280ZX didn’t fare as well
^^The NOISE created by that crash could've killed you.
Patman
Staff member
To this day I still have no memory of the crash or how it happened. I wasn’t drinking or anything, it was retrograde amnesia. Luckily the other person wasn’t seriously injured either
My driving instructor stressed the importance of seat belts, even though usage was not yet mandatory.
When I was 17 I bought a very used '70 Toyota Corolla, from which someone had removed the seat belts.
I knew they were important, but didn't have any tools. I bought the wrong ones (IIRC, out of a different year Corona) from a wrecker, but was unable to install them. (My installation attempt was embarrassingly pathetic. Details available on request.)
Time went by ... a few months later I bought the correct belts, and installed them. I used a monkey wrench to deal with the bolts.
About a week later, a new driver crept through a stop sign, driving her parents' big Ford wagon. She hit my car around the RR wheel, and my car veered R, went off the road, and folded up against a telephone pole.
The car was a write-off. I was uninjured. I suspect without a seat belt I might have gone through the windshield.
Astro, how exactly does that work? If you're in the cockpit and you have the seatbelt sign lit, and someone gets up to go to the can while you're taxiing, how do you know? Do you get a "occupied" light on your panel when a bathroom door closes? Or does the flight attendant have to call and tell you?
slo town
$200 Site Donor 2026
Seat belts saved the lives of my friend and I in this 1973 crash. After the pictures is a chapter from a book I wrote about my life.
Scott
1973: Airborne In A TR6
After Mike’s crash I found a nice 1969 TR6 with overdrive for
sale on Hamilton Avenue somewhere. I bought it and
immediately made my usual tweaks to it. This TR came with wire
wheels. I wanted to replace those with a set of Anson Sprints, a
popular and high quality aluminum alloy wheel at the time.
But there was one problem. Because of the way the wire wheel hubs
mounted, the wheel studs were shorter than they were on a car
equipped with standard wheels. I needed longer studs for my
new wheels. British industry was a mess during the early ‘70s.
Getting parts for English cars was a royal PITA. Everything had
to be ordered and it took weeks, sometimes months, before you
actually got them.
But I had those nice new wheels with nice sticky tires. I tried
fitting the wheels using the shorter studs. I only got about 4 or 5
thread engagements, not enough to properly secure the wheel.
Foolishly, I put the new wheels on anyway. I promised myself
not to drive fast through corners and that I would check the
wheel nut torque every time I drove the car. It seemed my plan
was a good one because wheel torque was holding steady.
One night Frank and I decided to make a drive up Hwy 9, my first
with my new wheels. We weren’t going to drive fast. Instead, we
just wanted to drive up there and try out my new wheels and tires. I
remember filling up with gas before heading up 9. We got to the
top at The Gap and enjoyed the city lights view for awhile. Then
we headed back down.
On this night I felt a certain sense of security because the wheel
torque was holding firm. My pace down Hwy 9 this night was the
fastest since putting on my new wheels. We made it about a mile
down from the summit. I turned into a right hander that I had
already driven thousands of times. When I’m really hauling ***
this was a 60 mph corner. On this night I may have been doing
45 or 50.
Halfway through the corner, BAM!, the left front corner of the
car dropped to the pavement. The left front wheel snapped off!
With the wheel gone, the front brake disk ground into the
pavement. But at the speed we were traveling the brake disk and
remaining three tires didn’t provide enough balance and grip to
make the corner. We drifted wide into the oncoming lane and
then rode up over an earthen berm that defined the edge of the
roadway. There was no guard rail.
Understand, we were still going at least 40 mph while we rode
over the berm. I vividly remember feeling the floor of my
footwell being pummeled with rocks. Just an instant later I
remember feeling disoriented, only to feel a hard impact and
then silence. We landed upside down, wedged between a large
redwood tree and the steep canyon hillside. I was on the hill side,
Frank was on the tree side. Because the hillside was steep, the
ground pushed my upper body and face up towards the
dashboard. I remember seeing my still illuminated dash lights
just inches from my face. I was partially pinned in place.
Remember me saying I gassed up the car before heading up? The
TR6 is a British roadster, a convertible, and the top was down.
This was a two seat sports car and immediately behind the front
seats was the gas filler cap, a magnetic one. Well, between the
force of the impact or the weight of all the fuel the cap popped
open and fuel was gushing out of the fuel tank literally 18 inches
behind our seat backs. We had to get the **** out of there. We
might burn to death!
With Frank’s side being wedged against the tree he was hanging
free, a couple of feet above a creek bed. But rather than hang
upside down in an upright position, Frank was for some reason
lifting his upper body and was seemingly trying to dig himself
out through the footwell. We needed to get out of there ASAP so I
reached over and unlatched Frank’s seatbelt, which caused him
to fall out of us seat and disappear from sight. He fell into the
creek bed, landing on a sharp rock that gashed the **** out of the
top of his head.
With Frank out of the way, I dug myself sideways and crawled
out the vehicle from the passenger side. Frank was incoherent,
groaning and moaning, unable to communicate with words. I
grabbed him and got him to his feet. As this point I realized we
had landed far down a deep ravine off the side of the road. The
hillside was at least 45 degrees steep. We were literally crawling
up it with our chest and arms touching the ground.
Frank was totally out of it. It was hard enough getting myself up
that embankment, but having to drag Frank up with me made it
even more challenging. We finally got to the top and crawled
over the dirt berm beside the road. I looked down the ravine.
There lay my TR6 wedged against the tree over a creek bed,
laying completely upside down with the headlights and taillights
still on! ****ing hell, but at least we were still alive!
Then, within seconds of us reaching the roadway, up pulled a
Fiat 124 Spyder with a solo driver. I’ll never forget his simple
greeting, “Can I give you guys a ride somewhere?”
We piled in his Fiat. It was at this point I realized Frank was not
in a good way. The hair on the entire right side of his head was
gone; from the top of his head to the base of his neck. The skin
that remained looked as if it had been mauled by a 60 grit belt
sander. There was blood everywhere. I wasn’t even sure his right
ear was completely attached. He smacked his head on
something, but what? As we drove down 9 back towards Saratoga
Frank become more and more lucid and began using words, but
he was still seriously stunned.
At that point I made one of the dumbest decisions of my life.
Frank said he was fine – and in my state of denial I stupidly
believed him. He just wanted to go home and go to bed. Good
plan, I thought, that’s what we’ll do. So the good samaritan in
the Fiat drove us to Frank’s house. By now it’s well after
midnight. I walked Frank to his bedroom, helped him get his
clothes off, and put him in bed. And then I left to go home and
take care of official business. Is that stupid, or what? Frank
needed hospital emergency room care!
The guy in the Fiat drove me back home. I remember my Mom was
away somewhere, maybe back East. I opened the bedroom door
and told Dad I had another accident but everyone was okay (and
this was only about 6 months after Mike’s crash). My comment
was met with several seconds of silence. Then, out of the
darkness I heard Dad say, “Scott, I hope when you’re my age you
have a son that does the same thing to you.”
I called the CHP, explained the situation and offered to meet
them in downtown Saratoga. Then we’d drive up together –
which we did, me sitting in the back of one of their cruisers. It
was paramount to me that they knew there were no drugs or
alcohol involved (and there never was with our Hwy 9 stuff, we
took it seriously).
We got to the scene. A big groove had been ground into the
pavement from my left front brake disk. That groove led off the
road into the oncoming lane and onto the earthen berm. The
three of us (there were two CHPs) slid down to where the car
was. The lights were still on, which made it easier to see what
happened. My left front wheel was gone, the end of the wheel
studs had the threads stripped right off them, and the brake disk
was ground flat on one side because of my brake application.
My story added up and they took me back to my car in Saratoga
(incredibly, I had two, nice ones too, but that’s another story). I
don’t remember whether or not I told them I had a passenger
with me, but if I did I most certainly said he was okay. Because
he was! Not! They told me my car would be removed tomorrow
sometime.
I hadn’t heard anything, not that I was expecting a call or
anything, but I drove up the next morning at 9 or 10AM. As I
approached the scene, cars were stopped and people were
standing outside their vehicles. I walked up to where the
extraction was being performed only to see two tow trucks
sideways across the road with cables stretched tight as piano
wire going over the edge and down into the ravine. About a dozen
motorists stood there watching.
It was then I noticed my car had impacted a tall Redwood tree at
least 50 feet above the ground, but about 20 feet from the
roadway. We were definitely airborne! The bark was gone at the
point of impact. And at that point of impact was a softball sized
clump of Frank’s afro like hair stuck to the side of the tree!!!
That explains the blow to the side of his head.
Finally, my demolished TR6 appeared. It was a total write off.
The passenger door took a direct hit, the entire door pushed in to
the point the floor was badly damaged, the passenger seat back
was cocked sideways at an angle and the seat bottom was
halfway embedded into the transmission tunnel. The windshield
on my side was folded backwards and lay flat on the top of the
dash, the steering wheel cocked at an angle and crushed
underneath it.
I heard people gasp when the car appeared. I vividly remember
hearing someone say, “There’s no way anyone survived that.”
But we had. I didn’t out myself as the driver, and I didn’t even
tell the two truck guys it was my car.
I had seen enough and drove to Frank’s house to check on him,
only to be met by Jane, Frank’s mother. All I can see is, if looks
could kill. Understand, Frank and I were best friends. I had been
to his house a hundred times, talking to his parents, hanging out, the
whole deal. It took Jane two years before she’d even look at me
again. Thankfully, Frank fully recovered and has no scars or hair
loss from his injuries.
Scott
1973: Airborne In A TR6
After Mike’s crash I found a nice 1969 TR6 with overdrive for
sale on Hamilton Avenue somewhere. I bought it and
immediately made my usual tweaks to it. This TR came with wire
wheels. I wanted to replace those with a set of Anson Sprints, a
popular and high quality aluminum alloy wheel at the time.
But there was one problem. Because of the way the wire wheel hubs
mounted, the wheel studs were shorter than they were on a car
equipped with standard wheels. I needed longer studs for my
new wheels. British industry was a mess during the early ‘70s.
Getting parts for English cars was a royal PITA. Everything had
to be ordered and it took weeks, sometimes months, before you
actually got them.
But I had those nice new wheels with nice sticky tires. I tried
fitting the wheels using the shorter studs. I only got about 4 or 5
thread engagements, not enough to properly secure the wheel.
Foolishly, I put the new wheels on anyway. I promised myself
not to drive fast through corners and that I would check the
wheel nut torque every time I drove the car. It seemed my plan
was a good one because wheel torque was holding steady.
One night Frank and I decided to make a drive up Hwy 9, my first
with my new wheels. We weren’t going to drive fast. Instead, we
just wanted to drive up there and try out my new wheels and tires. I
remember filling up with gas before heading up 9. We got to the
top at The Gap and enjoyed the city lights view for awhile. Then
we headed back down.
On this night I felt a certain sense of security because the wheel
torque was holding firm. My pace down Hwy 9 this night was the
fastest since putting on my new wheels. We made it about a mile
down from the summit. I turned into a right hander that I had
already driven thousands of times. When I’m really hauling ***
this was a 60 mph corner. On this night I may have been doing
45 or 50.
Halfway through the corner, BAM!, the left front corner of the
car dropped to the pavement. The left front wheel snapped off!
With the wheel gone, the front brake disk ground into the
pavement. But at the speed we were traveling the brake disk and
remaining three tires didn’t provide enough balance and grip to
make the corner. We drifted wide into the oncoming lane and
then rode up over an earthen berm that defined the edge of the
roadway. There was no guard rail.
Understand, we were still going at least 40 mph while we rode
over the berm. I vividly remember feeling the floor of my
footwell being pummeled with rocks. Just an instant later I
remember feeling disoriented, only to feel a hard impact and
then silence. We landed upside down, wedged between a large
redwood tree and the steep canyon hillside. I was on the hill side,
Frank was on the tree side. Because the hillside was steep, the
ground pushed my upper body and face up towards the
dashboard. I remember seeing my still illuminated dash lights
just inches from my face. I was partially pinned in place.
Remember me saying I gassed up the car before heading up? The
TR6 is a British roadster, a convertible, and the top was down.
This was a two seat sports car and immediately behind the front
seats was the gas filler cap, a magnetic one. Well, between the
force of the impact or the weight of all the fuel the cap popped
open and fuel was gushing out of the fuel tank literally 18 inches
behind our seat backs. We had to get the **** out of there. We
might burn to death!
With Frank’s side being wedged against the tree he was hanging
free, a couple of feet above a creek bed. But rather than hang
upside down in an upright position, Frank was for some reason
lifting his upper body and was seemingly trying to dig himself
out through the footwell. We needed to get out of there ASAP so I
reached over and unlatched Frank’s seatbelt, which caused him
to fall out of us seat and disappear from sight. He fell into the
creek bed, landing on a sharp rock that gashed the **** out of the
top of his head.
With Frank out of the way, I dug myself sideways and crawled
out the vehicle from the passenger side. Frank was incoherent,
groaning and moaning, unable to communicate with words. I
grabbed him and got him to his feet. As this point I realized we
had landed far down a deep ravine off the side of the road. The
hillside was at least 45 degrees steep. We were literally crawling
up it with our chest and arms touching the ground.
Frank was totally out of it. It was hard enough getting myself up
that embankment, but having to drag Frank up with me made it
even more challenging. We finally got to the top and crawled
over the dirt berm beside the road. I looked down the ravine.
There lay my TR6 wedged against the tree over a creek bed,
laying completely upside down with the headlights and taillights
still on! ****ing hell, but at least we were still alive!
Then, within seconds of us reaching the roadway, up pulled a
Fiat 124 Spyder with a solo driver. I’ll never forget his simple
greeting, “Can I give you guys a ride somewhere?”
We piled in his Fiat. It was at this point I realized Frank was not
in a good way. The hair on the entire right side of his head was
gone; from the top of his head to the base of his neck. The skin
that remained looked as if it had been mauled by a 60 grit belt
sander. There was blood everywhere. I wasn’t even sure his right
ear was completely attached. He smacked his head on
something, but what? As we drove down 9 back towards Saratoga
Frank become more and more lucid and began using words, but
he was still seriously stunned.
At that point I made one of the dumbest decisions of my life.
Frank said he was fine – and in my state of denial I stupidly
believed him. He just wanted to go home and go to bed. Good
plan, I thought, that’s what we’ll do. So the good samaritan in
the Fiat drove us to Frank’s house. By now it’s well after
midnight. I walked Frank to his bedroom, helped him get his
clothes off, and put him in bed. And then I left to go home and
take care of official business. Is that stupid, or what? Frank
needed hospital emergency room care!
The guy in the Fiat drove me back home. I remember my Mom was
away somewhere, maybe back East. I opened the bedroom door
and told Dad I had another accident but everyone was okay (and
this was only about 6 months after Mike’s crash). My comment
was met with several seconds of silence. Then, out of the
darkness I heard Dad say, “Scott, I hope when you’re my age you
have a son that does the same thing to you.”
I called the CHP, explained the situation and offered to meet
them in downtown Saratoga. Then we’d drive up together –
which we did, me sitting in the back of one of their cruisers. It
was paramount to me that they knew there were no drugs or
alcohol involved (and there never was with our Hwy 9 stuff, we
took it seriously).
We got to the scene. A big groove had been ground into the
pavement from my left front brake disk. That groove led off the
road into the oncoming lane and onto the earthen berm. The
three of us (there were two CHPs) slid down to where the car
was. The lights were still on, which made it easier to see what
happened. My left front wheel was gone, the end of the wheel
studs had the threads stripped right off them, and the brake disk
was ground flat on one side because of my brake application.
My story added up and they took me back to my car in Saratoga
(incredibly, I had two, nice ones too, but that’s another story). I
don’t remember whether or not I told them I had a passenger
with me, but if I did I most certainly said he was okay. Because
he was! Not! They told me my car would be removed tomorrow
sometime.
I hadn’t heard anything, not that I was expecting a call or
anything, but I drove up the next morning at 9 or 10AM. As I
approached the scene, cars were stopped and people were
standing outside their vehicles. I walked up to where the
extraction was being performed only to see two tow trucks
sideways across the road with cables stretched tight as piano
wire going over the edge and down into the ravine. About a dozen
motorists stood there watching.
It was then I noticed my car had impacted a tall Redwood tree at
least 50 feet above the ground, but about 20 feet from the
roadway. We were definitely airborne! The bark was gone at the
point of impact. And at that point of impact was a softball sized
clump of Frank’s afro like hair stuck to the side of the tree!!!
That explains the blow to the side of his head.
Finally, my demolished TR6 appeared. It was a total write off.
The passenger door took a direct hit, the entire door pushed in to
the point the floor was badly damaged, the passenger seat back
was cocked sideways at an angle and the seat bottom was
halfway embedded into the transmission tunnel. The windshield
on my side was folded backwards and lay flat on the top of the
dash, the steering wheel cocked at an angle and crushed
underneath it.
I heard people gasp when the car appeared. I vividly remember
hearing someone say, “There’s no way anyone survived that.”
But we had. I didn’t out myself as the driver, and I didn’t even
tell the two truck guys it was my car.
I had seen enough and drove to Frank’s house to check on him,
only to be met by Jane, Frank’s mother. All I can see is, if looks
could kill. Understand, Frank and I were best friends. I had been
to his house a hundred times, talking to his parents, hanging out, the
whole deal. It took Jane two years before she’d even look at me
again. Thankfully, Frank fully recovered and has no scars or hair
loss from his injuries.
Last edited:
The flight attendant will call and tell me.
Other aircraft may have different alerting systems, I don’t know.
If the aircraft is already moving, then it’s my discretion whether it’s safer to stop, or to keep moving at the same speed.
But if the airplane is stopped, then it will remain stopped until they have returned to their seats.
I have had to “jam on the brakes“ while taxiing - bringing the aircraft to an abrupt stop - mostly because some other airplane wasn’t talking to the correct control agency or failed to follow the instructions they were given.
If you are standing in the aisle, unaware that I’m about to step on the brakes, there’s a very good chance you’re gonna end up falling and hitting someone if I do have to step on the brakes.
Which is why I won’t just step on the brakes if the flight attendant tell me somebody’s up. I will probably bring the airplane to a very slow, gentle stop. And I absolutely will not initiate movement if they’re up.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2011
- Messages
- 5,616
@astro .. In the last few years I've traveled often via airplane in Europe and the continental US. I can't tell you the empathy I now have for most (sure not all!! some are axxhats) flight attendants. The level of entitlement I've observed is shocking. 21 Years as a cop in a rather rough city and still, people on a plane really shock me.
I posted a trip to Napa. On the flight, as everyone was seated and we were about to taxi to our runway a 30ish year old male confronted an attendant about moving a seat right in front of me. Absolute jerk to say it nicely. Calling the female attendant (who was clearly in the right) an A - and then he dropped the C You Next Tuesd comment. I figured I was gonna be on IG with this one. I stood up and asked hey brotha, I have a sick family member I'm trying to get to. Sorry, I get it but can you please help me and let us get his ride going? Obviously, a weak "man" as he took the opportunity to let it go. Clearly, intox. Appeared alcohol and weed. I was surprised he wasn't immediately removed. Attendant took my info for a report.
An hour later he comes back to me from the rear of the plane and was totally disorentated. My man thought I was his buddy. He was so messed up that he asked if I could help him find his seat. He was quiet the rest of the flight. I was wondering if he was going to get the Sheriff's red carpet ride and indeed! When we landed he did meet 2 members of the Sheriff's office. Not sure if he was arrested or banned in some manner. Obnoxious for sure but not really sure if that constitutes an arrest on a plane. I was really glad it didn't cause us a nightmare of a delay. I was able to have a great Cabernet at Beuna Vista Cafe by 1030AM! Really enjoyed that breakfast spot!
Owen Lucas
$100 Site Donor 2023
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2021
- Messages
- 4,838
I've seen too many videos of airborne beverage carts.
Always buckled in and thankfully have a decent sized bladder for a 2-4 hr flight. It also helps I don't drink much before the flight as well. I also stand / walk in the terminal to offset the sitting as long as I can before the flight.
Always buckled in and thankfully have a decent sized bladder for a 2-4 hr flight. It also helps I don't drink much before the flight as well. I also stand / walk in the terminal to offset the sitting as long as I can before the flight.
My Canadian eyes see: Indigenous Girl on her knees swatting a roach, while an Eagle watches from above.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2011
- Messages
- 5,616
****, glad you made it Scott! Scary story.
