Beamed Up?

Howdy. As I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes this morning, I noticed that all the angels’ eyes had grown larger and blacker and more slanted. Their faces had turned green. “I must be dreaming!” The thought echoed in my head through the “morning after” fog. How had all of Erin’s angels turned into aliens as I slept? I didn’t remember there being swords on the mantle. In fact, I was pretty sure there wasn’t a fireplace in my room. What was that sound? A hair dryer? “Where the hell am I?”

I had a great time last night. Started by checking out “The Iron Chinchilla” art studio. Steve’s (soon to be “First Officer Steve’s”) Brother-In-Law, Patrick, makes functional art out of metal. The Gallery is full of swirly bedroom and kitchen sets and artsy metal crosses (Patrick says these are their best sellers). I was also impressed by other local artists’ paintings and sculptures displayed throughout the studio.

Seems like people are always told not to pursue careers in art. “Oh, you’re an art major…what do you want to do for a living?” I have tremendous respect for Patrick and his crew for making useful and marketable art. Classy place. www.ironchinchilla.com

Then, we went to Babe’s Chicken. Last time I went to Babe’s, nobody warned me. You see, a trip to Babe’s requires careful preparation. Along with reviewing the moves to “The Hokey Pokey” so you can dance with the hottie waitresses, you don’t want to eat much of anything for lunch. If you do, there’s no way you’ll reap the full benefits of the gigantoid country fried steak. You may be limited to one serving of homemade mashed potatoes and creamed corn. You’ll never even make it to the steamy biscuit topped with fresh Texas honey. Last time, all of this goodness went underappreciated by yours truly. Y’all know I didn’t make that mistake twice.

After dinner, Patrick and Tina introduced me to the music of Rob Lumbard of Des Moines, IA. “You should learn this stuff,” they told me. I’m flattered that they think I’d have a prayer. His guitar playing is very busy and way above my head. He wrote a song about his vasectomy. I’ll get right on it.

So…Turns out, the aliens inhabited Rhonda’s living room. Last night, they were kind enough to let me have the couch. Rhonda hangs out at the coffee shop almost as much as I do. She is a staff writer for the new Fort Worth Tribune, but I think her passion is for science fiction writing. Hence the aliens and swords. As I turned the corner toward consciousness, I remembered that I had gone from Patrick and Tina’s place to the coffee shop. At closing, the coffee shop crowd decided on a move to Rusty’s Pool Hall. Playing billiards (poorly) and drinking (well), left me less than qualified to make the drive back to Arlington at two this morning. That is how this morning found me on Rhonda’s couch. On my much delayed drive to Arlington, the rear view mirror displayed the pattern of the upholstery imprinted on my face.

www.ironchinchilla.com

Iron Chinchilla Bed

So... Now What?

Howdy. Guess where I’m at. Yeah, I’m at Panther City Coffee. Good guess. I started coming here because the campground didn’t have internet. Shocking, I know. I haven’t been camping since we changed airports. The campground at Benbrook Lake, near the new airport, charges ten bucks a night and closes the gate at 9 pm. Unacceptable. So, even though the new airport has wireless internet, I find myself here for the quirky atmosphere and fresh roasted coffee.

I made a really pathetic plea during my set on Saturday night, something about being homeless and maybe sleeping in the rental van in the airport parking lot that night. This led to an offer from my sister’s college roommate and her husband to stay with them. I stayed in the “Angel Room.” An angel sits on the bed. Every wall hanging and desk trinket is an angel. One is made of wheat. Last night, they said I could stay as long as I needed. I don’t think they knew what they were saying, so we’ll play it by ear.

I had such a busy week. I spent all of last week flying and preparing for the debut weekend of my nation-wide tour. I hereby announce a contest to name said tour. The winner gets… uh… I hereby announce a sub-contest to name the prize of the first contest; same prize for both. I digress…

I almost don’t know what to do with myself now that I’m not spending every free moment writing lyrics in my notebook. It was worth it though. Playing for the crowd here was the most fun I’ve had since I left Kansas City. I still love to watch peoples’ reactions to my acoustic version of “Baby Got Back.” The coffee shop guys were kind enough to back me up on that one. They didn't even seem to mind that I referred to them as my "Fly Girls."
“Metrosexual Man” also went over really well.

One of the more memorable moments came when, just before the most graphic verse of an off color Irish drinking song, a lady walked in with her two young children. I had no choice but to finish the song, but the whole place fell apart at the timing. I jokingly told the lady that she really should have thought twice about bringing her kids to a coffee shop.

“Better Off Dad,” featuring 14 year old Jaime Harris, kicked ass both nights and I am very grateful that they let me crash their party. You can download their music at www.betteroffdad.com. I’m sure I won’t be as lucky landing gigs in other places I end up as I have been in Fort Worth. I hear some of you asking “And just how did that happen?”

So there I was, playing the house guitar at Panther City Coffee. After “Baby Got Back,” and a couple other tunes, Jason, Badger’s nephew/night manager/music coordinator, told me I should open for Better Off Dad. I had already seen their set, so I was honored to accept (on the condition that I was still in Fort Worth). There you have it.

Maybe he was wet...

Howdy. I don’t know where I’m staying tonight. I had planned on going out and finding a new campsite today, but sloth and laundry conspired against me.

We didn’t fly today due to high winds on the surface and aloft. We can only fly so fast over the ground and still get good pictures, and we can only fly so slow through the air. If the winds are out of the North at 40 knots (like they were today), we would have to fly below 47 knots to stay below the 87 knot maximum.

Had a blast last night playing my first solo coffee shop gig. I opened for “Better Off Dad,” the father/daughter duo I mentioned a while back. A respectable, though not burgeoning, crowd, partook in the merriment. My fellow pilots were kind enough show up, along with some new Fort Worth friends. Most would probably have been at the coffee shop anyway, because that’s the sort of people we are. I’m playing again tonight. Think I’ll go warm up.

A quote for the road…

From the Laundromat

“Miss, is that your baby running around here?”

“Yes”

“You might want to make sure he’s not in the dryer…”

Hot, Clean, Showers: Way Under-Rated!

Howdy. Today was a very long day. We found out that, due to problems with condensation on the lenses, our customer wants us to hangar the planes instead of leaving them tied down outside. Since there aren’t any public hangars at Hicks, we had to relocate to another airport 20 miles southwest of Ft Worth. It took us 3 hours to ferry the planes down to Bourland Field, and to ferry ourselves back to our cars at Hicks. To top it off, the airport attendant wasn’t there when Joe landed at 7:03. They close at 7:00. I guess he didn’t understand what we were going through to get these planes indoors tonight. It would have saved us about two hours if we could have waited to put the second plane down there tomorrow. Frustration. The new home base seems all right, but no more free hamburgers. Its actually a fly-in community, where really rich people live with their airplanes. Driving back from Bourland , Joe and I agreed that we had been spoiled with our first assignment, what with the on-field diner and everything.

After seven nights at the lake and a really long day, I decided it was time to splurge on a real bed and (more importantly) a real shower. I’m staying at the Days Inn across from the Stockyards. The shower I took tonight reminded me of the virtue of self-denial. It makes the simplest things seem indulgent. I’ll probably stay up here for a couple days while I investigate other camping options closer to Bourland.

Marlboro Man Jesus

....Scraggly old guy, cigarette dangling from his lips, struggles to ride his small pink bicycle (with pom poms on the handle bars) one handed. His other hand is attached to a rope which is attached to a red wagon which is full of garbage.

Emissary? Me?

Howdy. So, despite the storms, everything was dry when I got to the campsite last night. I can tell that you are all as relieved as I was. I was also relieved to discover the showers did in fact shoot hot water. They are the sort you would expect find next to a beach, complete with swollen bars of soap, and dirty Q-Tips on the floor. I imagine the place teems with sandy families during the summer months. Last night, though, I had it all to myself. Felt a little like being in the abandoned summer restaurant in “Goonies.” I was sort of surprised the lights worked, and let’s just say I’d rather defecate in a Fedex box…

My imagination was running wild due to my reading “Cloud Atlas” by David Mitchell. This novel (or at least what I’ve read of it so far) reminds me of “The Red Violin” in that the story, centered on music and literature, spans several centuries and the characters all seem doomed by some cosmic force; not the sort of primer a person might want for a solitary outdoor living experience.

How the wind howled last night! I could hear the waves approaching before they slammed into the hull of my little tent. Wind chimes hanging from the neighbors’ RV would crescendo into cacophony with each swell. I finally hunkered down in my sleeping bag, letting the chimes lull me into a substantially deeper sleep than the night before.

Woke up this morning to discover that, as expected, the winds exceeded our operational limits, so I took one for the team and went back to sleep. I met the guys, including our cool new pilot Joe, out at the airport around noon to discuss which flight plans remain unfinished (most of them). I cashed in a fuel receipt for a free burger. It’s a tough job…

I figured that since I’ve been in town for all of nine days now, it was time to start meeting the local dignitaries. So for dinner, I, un-showered and unshaved, wearing my dirty old K-State ball cap, had a great Philly cheese steak at Texadelphia with Fort Worth’s Mayor, Ken Barr. Actually, he was there addressing a young alumni club from TCU. He talked a lot about Alliance airport and what a progressive and beneficial move it had been to build an airport specifically for cargo, not expecting to serve any passengers. After listening to his speech and the ensuing Q&A, I introduced myself as a pilot helping to make an aerial map of his county. I thought maybe he would know the name of the company I work for even though our relationship is with the county. He didn’t, but he at least acted interested in what we do. Maybe I’ll make it a goal to meet the mayors of all the towns I stay in. I think that would be very educational.

Well, I’m going to fend off the Fratelli’s so I can take a shower and catch some Z’s. We might actually fly tomorrow.

Dry Night?

Howdy. Seagulls squawking… The wind temporarily distorting the shape of my tent… RV dwellers calling their dogs in the middle of the night… Just though I’d make a short post to say that my first night outdoors was everything I thought it could be. Its raining now. No flying today. I can’t wait to get back to the lake so I can see how well the tent kept the water out.

Livin' The Dream!

Howdy. I’ve been in Fort Worth for a week now, and we’ve only flown two days due mostly to low clouds and visibility. I’m sitting at Panther City Coffee, my new favorite Fort Worth Coffee Shop. I wound up here on Saturday as I was exploring the TCU campus. Steve, a.k.a. “Badger,” runs the place and informed me that they just opened after the first of the year. He’s a super friendly guy who used to work in the IT department of a major aerospace firm. Check them out at www.panthercitycoffee.com . I ended up goin’ back later that night to hear a father/daughter singin’ and strummin’ duo. They called themselves “Better Off Dad.” Cute. They were really pretty good. The girl was only 14, but she could wail. Her lawyer dad rightly referred to her as his “greatest musical achievement.” I was surprised to hear that their repertoire consisted mostly of melancholy songs about suicide and drug addiction. They really seemed to enjoy playing together though, which I found refreshing.

I checked out of my hotel today. Took my newly acquired tent and sleeping bag to Eagle Mountain Lake and set up camp. The people at the hotel desk looked at me like I had completely lost my wits; or I had just dealt them a very deep insult. “I would rather sleep on the cold, hard, ground than in your hotel!” I don’t really expect everybody to get it, but I have a much better view now, and it’s a whole lot cheaper. I always have the option of checking into a hotel if it gets too wet or cold, but I’d rather not. The campground is right on the shore of the lake, and its super quiet. I’m the only tent there; seems like everybody else is a permanent RV resident. I met one of my neighbors. His name is Ray. He’s got longish hair and his paunch filled a T-shirt that said “Belize.” He works nights, but dodged the question of where. Over all the campground is sort of junky and run-down, but my spot is perfect; exactly what I was looking for.

It looks like strong surface winds and stronger winds aloft may keep us from flying again tomorrow. I should probably head out to the camp site and add myself to the ballast keeping my tent from blowing into the lake.

Texas Sunset Over The Seminole's Starboard Engine

My New House!

Just Ship It Fedex!

Howdy. So here I am, safe and sound in Fort Worth. I just got back from my first experience with Sushi. That’s right. The other pilots and I had dinner at “Cowtown Sushi.” I’m not kidding. That was the name of the place. I’ve got pictures. I’m not even sick. Yet.

I’m sittin’ in the laundry room of the Studio Plus extended stay place (contact my agent if you would like to see your business’s name in my blog…) Over the course of my four day, 16.9 hour, ferry flight from Rochester, NY, it occurred to me that when your primary mode of transport is an airplane, the whole world feels like an immense ocean. This perception is particularly noticeable when you’re flying through and on top of clouds. Since you can’t see the land between towns, everyplace you land becomes an island, isolated and discrete.

So there I was, in the soup. I’d just set sail off the Island of Harrison, Arkansas, cleared to join the Victor Airway headed south toward Fort Smith when I noticed my course needle acting funny. It shouldn’t have taken me long to join the airway since the VOR beacon was pretty close to the airport, but after about five minutes, it was still pegged off to one side. That is to say that I was not remotely on course. Upon closer inspection, I made the rather vexing discovery that my gyroscopic compass showed a southwest heading, and my magnetic compass showed me heading northeast. Hmm. Not having the slightest clue as to which indication might be correct, I called air traffic control and asked which direction they saw me going.

“Well, I show you headed north!” the controller replied. “I thought you were going to Fort Smith…” He sounded confused, but if he had challenged me to a "who's more confused" duel at that point, I would have smoked his ass.

“Yeah, that was the plan,” I told him. Then, resisting the temptation to use the phrase “Tango Uniform,” I mentioned to him that my gyro compass was “not functioning.” He gave me a heading to rejoin the airway, and suggested Memphis as the closest VFR weather. By that time, I’d figured out what was the matter. I had plenty of suction and the attitude indicator was working, so I knew it was just the heading indicator. When I tried to reset it, I noticed that the setting pin was already pushed in. The spring that normally pushes it back out and re-engages the display linkage had lost its oomph. I reset the compass, pulled out the pin, and it guided me perfectly to the shores of Fort Worth. I tried not to think about the disastrous consequences the aviation Gods might have dealt me if I’d let that happen in a mountainous region or someplace with other sorts of large airplane catchers. Lesson Learned.

It wasn’t too terribly long after I was back on track that day when I felt the first pangs of another type of emergency. The orange juice from the Super 8’s continental breakfast wanted out. I can hold it, I told myself. Its only another four hours. I searched the cockpit for any sort of bottle, cup, or zip lock bag. Nothing. This was karma paying me back for not being more understanding of the old guy on the ferry trip to Michigan who whipped it out in the seat next to me. I would have given anything for one of those red bottles you see in the Sporty’s catalogs (which is what that guy had). The weather over Oklahoma was horrid; 200-300 foot ceilings over a good portion of my route. I didn’t think it would be exceedingly safe to shoot an ILS to minimums when the overriding thought on my mind was getting to a bathroom.

Finally, I eyed the Fedex box used to store hard drives for the imaging system. “Surely the bottom of that box is well sealed,” I thought to myself. That could work… Especially if I put a couple of rags in the bottom…

I felt something close to inner peace as the cardboard porto-potty floated like a castaway out of sight behind me.

Why didn't I think of that?

At the Fort Worth Visitors Bureau.

Life Begins - On The Road

Howdy. So just before Christmas, I got a call from my new boss, Nick.

“I just had another pilot give notice… Can you be in Rochester on Monday or Tuesday?”

This was on Thursday. Christmas was on Saturday. When I had talked to him the day before, he’d told me to expect a mid-January departure. So much for having a couple weeks to pack and get everything in order! Oh well. I got my last desk shift covered and reserved a ticket on Continental to leave early Tuesday. I feel like this is the first breath I’ve taken since that phone call.

I was training in Rochester, NY from Tuesday till Saturday of last week. I had to learn all about the photo system, not to mention the seemingly endless policies and procedures. I finally left Rochester on New Year’s Day headed for Fort Worth, TX in my modified 1976 Cessna 172. I took off and flew down the coast of Lake Erie to my first stop at Sandusky, Ohio. Along the way, I found that my Nav 2 radio was useless due to some sort of crazy electrical interference. Nav 1 was a bit shaky too, come to think of it. I sort of had to take an average of its indications. Since this flying carpet didn’t come with GPS, the nav radios are all that tell me where I am.

After a bacon cheeseburger and confirmation from the previous pilot of my plane that the nav 1 held true to a localizer course (used to find airports through clouds and low visibility), I blasted off again. The nav 2 radio miraculously revived itself for the second leg of my journey and has been fine ever since. Strange.

Since then, I’ve flown about seven hours in the clouds. I’ve shot 2 approaches to minimums (see the runway 200 feet above and ½ mile away from the threshold). I had to execute a missed approach procedure yesterday at Cape Girardo, Missouri because a rooky ATC controller vectored me inside the final approach fix. I could tell she was training. I could hear the trainer prompting her on what to say. Aargh.

I’m in Harrison, Arkansas right now. I got here last night. There were embedded thunderstorms around Dallas/Ft. Worth today, so here I sit. The down time is much appreciated, but so are the experiences.

My new office.

All I've seen for the last couple days.

Southern shore of Lake Erie on my way from Rochester to Sandusky.

Dornier Amphibian in Batavia, NY. This plane is on a world tour to benefit UNICEF.