Finally, The Accident

It started off like any morning. Drag my sorry ass out of bed at 4:45, get down on my knees and say hello to God and the world, then pad on off to the bathroom, flip the coffee pot on, fire up the furnace, and scramble into the shower. Iron the shirt, fire up the bacon and egg, swill the coffee, grab all the gear, load up the motorcycle, wriggle into the leathers, then into the foul-weather gear, and head for the ferry.

6:05 ferry out of Southworth, noisy, steamy, and after a stop at Vashon we arrived at Fauntleroy at 6:50 or so. Then it's up the hill, over to Roxbury, and down the hill near Myers Way on the back side of West Seattle. I'd left a lot of room between me and the next guy. It was still dark of course.

And what I didn't really pay attention to was the carpet of yellow maple leaves. So, in the rain, and needing to put on the rear brakes, I fished once, fished twice, and slammed down hard on the right side.

The next few minutes were interesting. Actually, the next few days were interesting.

Here's the list of good fortune...... I was wearing a helmet, and when my head hit, the helmet protected me. Else, I'd be a vegetable today. I was wearing the leathers, and the raingear, else my skin would be all over the road. I was far enough away from the guy in front of me that I didn't slide into him. I did NOT slide into the oncoming traffic. The woman behind me was far enough behind me that SHE was able to stop. And, I have motorcycle insurance (not required in WA) and medical coverage as a result of my job.

Here's the list of bad decisions..... I had worn my multi-tool on my right hip, and landed on it, thereby causing the world's largest bruise with a white Leatherman imprint in the center.....I had been so concerned about getting to the sales meeting that I had forgotten about the leaves.......

And here's the list of good decisions.....When the policewoman asked me if I'd like to go to the hospital, and having banged myself pretty badly, I thought that would be a good idea. So, even though I had been standing talking to them, they strapped me to the backboard, loaded me into the ambulance, and took me to The Zoo, their name for Harborview, which is the critical care hospital near Boeing Field.

And that's where the gratitude really started to kick in. After I had been X-Rayed and CAT scanned, but before I had been released from observation an accident victim was brought into the emergency room and placed on the bed adjacent to me. He'd been changing a truck tire in the shop he works for, and it had exploded on him. The injuries were blunt force trauma and brutal. He had a compound fracture of the leg, compound fracture of his clavicle, and blunt trauma injuries to his abdomen. And, in order for the staff to repair these, they had to re-insert them into his body, which is basically torture. And, they needed a urine sample, and inserting a catheter into one's penis I now fully understand as torture also. For about an hour they tortured him while I sat there listening and thanking God that it wasn't me, and that I was going to be OK.

An hour or so later, I walked out of the hospital, walked down the hill to gather my wits, then took a taxi back to the motorcycle, which suffered only minor scrapes and damage, and got on it, and rode it home, then spent the entire rest of the day in bed.

So much worse this could have been.

So, I blamed it on the new rear tire which had a different, harder compound, but after a while I came to realize that it really was the leaves, and not the tire. But, I'm still a bit reluctant to ride quite as hard as I had been, and at my age that's probably a good thing.

Thanks,
JW

More Motorcycle Stuff

So, you'd think I'd have learned the lesson by now, right? Nahhhh, brain dead apparently.

Bike had been reluctantly turning over when I pushed the starter button. Struggled to turn, then kind of revved up. In retrospect of course it was a starter issue, but what did I know. It took me right up to the moment it died, on a Monday morning in a ferry lineup. You know, one of those kinds of days where you're hoping to get a great jumpstart on the week by showing up at the office all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?

OK, so they let me push start it to get it on the ferry, then it worked (thank you) for the exit. Worked at work, kept it running to get on the ferry, and then asked them to park me at the top of the ramp in case it didn't start on the exit at Southworth, which it didn't. Ran it down the ramp, rode it home, and put it to bed for a week or two.

Finally got the energy and time, got down on my knees and belly, and figured out how to remove the starter. After all that time, THEN I Googled it and found the instructions, since the manual I have was pretty cryptic about it all. Sort of "loosen the bolts and slide it out", forgetting conveniently the part about "loosen the entire exhaust system, remove the exhaust manifold, remove the stud bolt from the exhaust manifold flange, and then carefully extract the starter while the entire bike is on the side stand not the center stand, so that the chain gear does not fall down irretrievably into the crankcase....."

EBay supplied the starter rebuild kit. I removed the brush cap, determined it was the brushes, replaced them, tested it on the bench, reinstalled it with MUCH difficulty (note the starter gear internal alignment issue that is the reason it was to be disassembled on the side stand) , and it ran wonderfully for ten starts. Then, nothing.

Open it again, this time removing the field coils to determine that the internal contact on the positive electrode has broken off; figured I'm in for a penny, so brazed the contact back on, re-assembled and re-installed the starter, only to have it not work at all, even after the bench test confirmed it working.

Push-started the bike, drove around for ten miles, re-tried the starter, it worked like a charm, each and every attempt.

So, fueled the bike up, and went to leave the gas station on the way for a Sunday ride and?

The clutch cable broke.

Walked a block to the WalMart, bought a cheap vise-grip, clamped the cable-end to the clutch handle, and nursed the bike home..... Jumped in the sports car, drove 125 miles to the dealer (round trip, Port Orchard to Tacoma to Lynnwood return...) and finally got the new cable installed late last night.

Apparently it works. And, with the new rear tire, we're actually confident about leaning into a turn and seeing what will happen.

Yippee, my commuting times just dropped by one and one half hours daily, and the cost just dropped by 2/3. Ya gotta love motorcycles.

So, I bought a new engine for $100 bucks, just to have a spare, AND the guy delivered it right to my back door.

USS Seawolf

This is the Coast Guard vessel guarding Rich Passage for the passage of the USS Seawolf into Bremerton last weekend.

Volleyball Girls Alki Beach

Saw some young women playing, asked to photograph, said yes, here they are.

A Little Cross Country

Finally got a chance to fly across the country in a small airplane.

Picked up a brand-new Diamond DA20 Eclipse from the factory in London, Ontario, which is about sixty miles inside the Canadian border near Detroit, MI.

It was all pretty spontaneous, asking my boss on Wednesday if I could do the delivery, flying out to London on Thursday, and starting the return flight early Friday morning.

DA20 Cross Country

While at the London Airport, at the Diamond Delivery Center, I saw a woman and her daughter hanging on the airport fence, looking longingly at a departing B737, where obviously a beloved family member was leaving. Took some photos, sent them to her. I'd forgotten how significant the impact of separation can be on families. It was a good reminder that for some of us flying is not the wonderful thing I think it is, but is something that can bring pain.

Got around the bottom of Lake Michigan, into Kankakee, IL, without incident. Scud running is the term for working your way under a cloud layer, trying to find clear sky. Had weather reports of severe clear 40 miles ahead, which turned out to be true. Spent the rest of that day dropping in to various small airports, refueling, refreshing, and heading out to the Pacific Northwest.

Stayed over in Rapid City, SD, near the badlands, then headed out the next day over the desert, through the mountain passes, back over the next desert, and finally to arrive at Boeing Field early Saturday evening.

It was about eight years ago when my friend Mark encouraged me to get back into flying. I'd taken lessons many years earlier. He is my aviation mentor, and so you can understand how interesting and meaningful it was to me to be handed off by the Seattle Center controller to the Boeing Field tower, only to hear the tower clear me for landing behind a Cessna 180, whose tail number and pilot I recognized as Mark. What're the odds that I'll fly two thousand miles across the majority of the country, only to wind up in the traffic pattern behind my good friend and mentor?

Anyway, 18.9 flight hours into the logbook, and some great stories. Wish the photographs were good, but I was kinda busy. One of the outstanding images is the Anaconda Copper Mine at Butte Montana, where the water color was so turquoise that you could taste it.

Would do that trip any time.

There's NOTHING about Orlando.....

There's nothing about Orlando that I like, with the possible exception of the ride where you can fly in the blast of a propellor, and practise your skydiving technique. And this time here I didn't take advantage of it.

Orlando is the living manifestation of the results of the American Dream. It's good, I suppose, for many. There's happy families, no doubt about it. There's moms dragging little kids up and down the streets, and there's kids with smiles on their faces.

But Lord, help us, everybody's fat. Everybody's fat. Did I mention that we're all fat? There's not one person who meets the ideal of fitness. At least, not that I saw.

And excess? Take the hotel I stayed at, for instance. Spanish Colonial is the style. Maybe 1500 rooms. Maybe a few hundred manicured acres. Thousands of happy conventioneers milling around. Bazillions of dollars changing hands it feels like.

And not a thought to the amount of conspicuous consumption going on. What a relief I'll feel to get on the plane and be done with Orlando.

Nice place, wouldn't wanna live there.

Ahh Port Orchard

Been a long time since the last posting. Not for lack of things to say, as anybody who is vaguely acquainted with me will be only too glad to tell you.

No, it's because I've been so busy enjoying my new home.

I've discovered the joys of gardening, and playing the odds. The odds being, if I buy and plant ten growing things, there's at least some chance that by the end of the summer something will be growing and thriving.

The operating theory has been to pay no particular attention to the design of the garden, the placement of each bulb or plant, annual or perrenial. That is, no attention has been paid with ONE notable exception.

It is, of course, a story.

Many years ago, my wife and our children and I lived in a waterfront home in Woodlands, BC. at the middle of Indian Arm. Faced east, beautiful sunrises and daylight sunshine, evening shade. We had a glorious rose bush out on the front of the lawn, facing the beach and the water. And, living down the beach was the chief horticulturist for the Stanley Park Rose Garden, a world renowned facility. One day he strolled up and asked me for a cutting, because the rose impressed him with it's late season flowering and beauty.

A year later, I asked him about it. He said it was nice, but not superb, and I finally figured out why. It wasn't the genetics, it was the environment, getting reflected light off the water, particularly in the fall with the sun being low on the horizon.

So, I've planted a Lincoln rose out on the tiniest point that sticks out in the channel, which gets the maximum amount of light, sunrise to sunset. And, playing the odds, it was the single profuse ly sprouting cutting of the five I'd planted. Three failed to sprout at all, and the other struggles to survive. But really, all I care about is the Lincoln rose.

So now I have a bistro table and two chairs sitting out on the point, with a beautiful rose bush and a view to die for of Mt. Rainier across the island. Missing only the beautiful woman, whom I've actually met, just need to become friends. Met her across a volleyball net last weekend. We'd actually met online, had decided that we'd like to meet in person, and with no previous knowledge that we'd both be at the volleyball game, I recognized her from her photo and said hello.

So, Friday we dine together. And perhaps some day in the future, morning coffee on the point with roses on the table from the Lincoln cutting.

Magic Hangars

So there I was, sitting in the office, looking up at the sky and thinking, "Geez, it would be great if....." when all of a sudden along came a pilot and the next thing I knew I was in a Diamond Twin Star flying over to Spokane on an instrument flight plan, me in the left seat as if I knew what I was doing.....


And in fact I did. I've been blessed with a significant amount of Twin Star simulator time at the company I work for, coming in very early in the morning to figure out just how to fly it according to the book. So, when I got it airborne and climbing, headed roughly in the right direction, I got a chance to ask the PIC (pilot in command) to help me work my way through all the decision making for the flight.

So off we went, he not concerned at all, as he'd been a freight dog, flying equipment far less capable than the Twin Star, and I not concerned too much either, though I wanted to stay well ahead of the airplane mentally, which is the primary task for an instrument pilot.

Shot the approach into the airport, Felts Field, which is not the current Spokane International airport, but was once, in the heyday of aviation before and during the Second World War.

Now, the purpose of the trip was for the PIC to show the airplane to a prospective customer, and I'd agreed to hang out in the cafe which every airport has, waiting until the demonstration flight was over. But, the airplane's so beautiful that the moment you land and taxi to a stop, pilots come out of the woodwork and saunter across the ramp for a chat. Since that's the whole purpose of the exercise, we were soon engaged with answering the questions......"is that the diesel version...?" (Yes), "what's the fuel burn..?" (Nine gallons per hour, total) etc.

So, the prospect showed up, they went flying, and there I was, sitting on a bench at the Art Deco airport, chatting with a young man from the FAA who seemed to have some time on his hands, when along came one of those pilots we'd been talking to who asked "do you guys have a half hour, I've got something to show you....?" and we jumped in his car, drove around the back side of the runway, to a magic hangar.

Why magic, I hope you might be asking....?

Well, because inside this hangar was what every pilot would give his left.........overs for, the only existing example of a Boeing Model 40 biplane open cockpit mail plane. It will be, when it's finished, the oldest Boeing aircraft flying.


Built some time before the start of the Second World War, in the late 1930's, it crashed three months afterward, and sat on a mountainside in ruins until this family purchased it and began the long restoration. It's obvious that it's a labor of love, and equally obvious that vast quantities of cash have been required to get to where it is at this moment.

The pictures will tell the story.

But, when we were done in that hangar, the grandson of the founder of the family aviation addiction showed us the next hangar over, and sure enough, there were two more biplanes, one a greatly modified Stearman in navy colors, and the other another mail plane whose manufacturer I don't recall. These were to die for.

On the flight home, I sat there monitoring computers onscreen, with a purple line showing me just where I was, and where I was to go. Descending through the clouds, where there's danger from ice building up on the wings, I pushed a button and de-icing fluid started weeping backwards from the leading edges, eliminating the dangerous buildup.

Now, I don't know how the mail plane actually crashed, but I can tell you that pilots flying in the Cascade mountains died in droves because of icing and being lost, and it was the mail pilots in particular who paid the price, one at least in that very airplane.

So, I said a little prayer of thanks, that I was able to fly, that I was able to fly such a magnificent machine as the Twin Star, and that I was able to see the Boeing 40 come back to fly some day with another pilot, maybe even me....

As a friend says at the end of every e-mail......

Lift!

Spring, Dammit!

I should be so lucky as to have made it this far through this unspeakable winter.

All I want now is to have a few days in the sun. Is that too much to ask? Apparently so.

Working harder than ever before, and having more fun with it. The company I work for is undergoing lots of changes, some of which are so exciting that I wish I could shout them out to the rooftops. Actually, I will, just as soon as there's a bit more certainty in the changes.

As for me, well, the weight I've gained precludes me from flying Cessna 150's, but that's ok, I'm kind of a Diamond guy now anyway. Have been having a blast with my instrument rating, and have been, true to form, ducking the written test, always coming up with some excuse or other. But, it'll happen, and happen it must, soon.

Some great fun has been had with the new car, and I am dreaming of those spring days with the top down. In the meantime, sliding back and forth to work on the motorcycle and waiting, waiting, waiting.....

Photography has been a bunch of fun. Here's some random shots....

Nothing Like A Sports Car To Keep A Guy Happy

And broke, of course.

It's been a long winter of vehicle issues. First, the motorcycle, then the van, then the motorcycle, then the van, etc.. Seemed like the trendline was continuously negative. So often I found myself wasting a weekend with wrenches in my hands and grease everywhere else.

Well, it wasn't wasted. Let's be honest here, I had a ton of fun. But, spring's just around the corner, and I wanted a toy I guess. So, last Saturday I decided to take the bike and head over to an auto dealer who had been advertising a car that looked like I might like it.

One thing leading to another, we wrote the deal, and now I am the proud borrower of a 1998 BMW Z3 sports car. Teal green, or hunter green, I'm not sure. It's not British Racing Green, I can be sure of that, because it's German, and in any case I saw an MGB on the ferry last week which WAS British Racing Green, and mine's much darker.

Tan leather interior, all in good shape. Big six cylinder engine, five speed manual transmission, low and fat tires, great stereo system, analog gauges for an old-timer like me (got lots of fancy computer screens in the airplanes, so don't need more in the car...).

I am FULLY engaged in my late-middle-age crisis, and loving every bit of it. The roads around here are ideal for sports cars. They're basically in good shape, but twist and wind around obstacles instead of bulldozing through them. Lots of hills, lots of valleys, lots of curves, nothing in the way of traffic, no traffic lights, not too many stop signs, no pedestrians, a few motorcycles and bicycles, and best of all, not a police officer in sight. But I DID budget for that first, very expensive, speeding ticket. Just hope it doesn't happen for a little while.

So, the morning commute is basically an exercise in precision high-speed driving, at least as far as the ferry lineup. Then it's sit and wait of course, but it's worth it.

Now, I'm going to go looking for a used WaveRunner, and that way I'll be able to commute across the pond without the intermediate step of a car or a motorcycle. I figure I'll be able to drop it in the drink in front of the house off a winch, and then run it right up the Duwamish River next to Boeing Field, then just use a motorcycle or bicycle that I leave at the marina to go the last mile or two to work. That's the plan, we'll see what happens.

Then, some time, a Cessna 140 to be left at the grass strip airport near the house here. That way it'll be a sports car ride to the airport, a quick flight, tie it down right outside my office door, and walk in to work.

Life, at the moment, is a bunch of fun.

Be well, look forward to spring, live it like you want to.

Godspeed USS John C. Stennis

One of the most amazing things happened today. An aircraft carrier put out to sea, and she sailed right past my front door. If you click on the photograph below, you'll see the photos I took of this amazing ship.

Now, whether my politics are in support of, or contrary to, the war in Iraq, I am still impressed by the awesome size and power of a nuclear aircraft carrier passing an hundred yards in front of my house. And I wish safety and blessings and wisdom on her crew, for their sensible conduct and safe return.

A few days earlier, a nuclear attack submarine slipped out to sea. I have to presume that she is part of the carrier battle group, provisioned and ready, heading out to check the approaches for hostile intentions from other ships and navies.

Standing on the beach, watching the bow of the Stennis coming around the point was amazing. Bow, more bow, still more bow, and finally a bridge, followed by yet more ship. You got this frightening feeling that here in front of you was 3500 people heading into harm's way, two functioning nuclear reactors, God knows how many missiles, bombs, and millions of gallons of JetA, as well as any other nuclear weapons they might have on board. Pretty scary stuff. Hope it works, but I'm struck by wondering whether this is the right weapon for the situation at hand.

Ah well, these things are beyond my ability to make sense of them. In any case, God speed you all, and a safe return to your families and loved ones.

And a prayer for the families of those who will be harmed by you.

God Bless The Neighbors

Mid January here, and snowed in.

Well, not quite anymore, but surely it's been a very interesting few weeks. You'd think after the windstorm a month ago that whom/whatever's in charge would say something like "OK, well, I've trashed Seattle, let's move on to.... (fricking near anywhere else would do....)" but instead, in an amazing display of bad humor, the skies opened again, and this time it was just snow.

I, being a pilot, should likely be paying attention to the weather. On the other hand, I haven't flown in months, because I'm busting the bank, and because I'm studying in a simulator, not the real airplane, but that's another story in any case.

In any case, this time it was snow. And I, not paying attention to the weather, happened to choose that particular evening to drive down the I-5 to Tacoma, and then over the Narrows Bridge (successor to Galloping Gertie) through Gig Harbor to Port Orchard, and home. It was a test. Would the van work? Would I get stuck in rush-hour traffic? Would the drive around the bottom take less time than waiting in a ferry lineup? How much gas would I burn? I was basically exploring my options other than the ferry.

And of course, the moment I got on to the Narrows Bridge, it started to snow. And snow harder. And harder. So that, a few minutes later, I was thinking "well you old fat fool, you've gone and put yourself into a 'skid off the fricking road and spend the night in a ditch...' kind of situation'. Except that, through sheer good fortune, and having had thirty five years of driving in snow experience, I was able to weasel my way home, creeping up the last big hill over the ridge and down the road through the forest to my wonderful little waterfront shack.

And even the next morning, I got lucky....got out in the fresh new-fallen snow, and headed in to work. So, coming home that night my mind wasn't really on the last hill, until I saw all the neighbors abandoned cars littering the main road.

Of course, being Canadian, I had to give the hill at least the old bar-room try. Fortunately didn't get my ass stuck, or slam into the pickup truck on the side, but I did have to get out and push the van sideways so I wouldn't slam into him. It was easy however.

Hiked up the hill, over the ridge, down through the forest, along the waterfront, and made it home. There's a certain charm to hiking through a pitch-dark forest on a winter night with a flashlight battery running down. You try not to whistle, try not to imagine the ghosts and goblins or axe murderers leaping out at you, let alone the wolves and demons. But, you do.

Fortunately the weekend arrived, so no need to go to work. And, Saturday morning, the neighbor two doors down stopped by, said he'd seen my van, could he help, and we got into his truck, fetched the van, got it back to the carport, and started in on the transmission shifter repair.

Oh, I hadn't mentioned that? Well, first snow morning when I moved the shift lever, something went SNAP. "OK, God, I know it's a test, but why me, why now, ....."

Need to keep in perspective that it's a TINY test relative to most other people, so, I'll get it fixed somehow.

But the closest neighbor came over, figured out what was wrong, and together we dismantled it. So, for the moment, I'm shifting by pulling a cable under the dash. Primitive, but it works.

Hate bank loans, but suppose it's time to go make car payments again.

Ah well.

Life's good.