Dave’s Logbook

Clear Skies, David [posted by Gail]

2005-12-19T09:31:00.000-05:00

David Lee Fielding
May 30, 1967 - December 18, 2005

Flight

I earn my wheels

2005-12-10T23:52:00.000-05:00

Fieldingville Railroad
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

Work is progressing on the "Fieldingville Railroad" - I found that with about 3/4 of my eBay track, I could make at least two ovals in the space available. I might still be able to make a siding and a small oval of trolley track yet.

But my mobility has been slipping; pain in my leg, hips and lower back has made it very painful to get about, or even up and down. This morning we filled the prescription for a wheelchair - I was worried it would be one of those giant, heavy chrome things, but it turned out to be rather elegant. Black and charcoal grey, and very narrow in action, fitted exactly to my size. But the morning was beautiful, rarely sunny and clear for December, and Gail suggested a short road trip; she read in one of my books about the Piper Museum in Lock Haven, PA - located at the old Piper factory where fabric-covered planes like the famous Cub and our own Tri-Pacer were built.

Central PA sky
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

It was a great day for a drive, and we drove it - attended by beautiful winter skies like this. Gail took a small batch of photos - check out the very outgoing "museum cat"! (I have an album of photos of the Piper Aircraft Museum from June, when CAP buddy Alan and I flew down for "Sentimental Journey 2005", an annual fly-in at the old grass strip at Lock Haven.)

Tree in winter
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

Beautiful sunsets on the way home provided a few more great landscapes, but we had to be content with the rearview mirror for the rich red and orange sunset - we were headed east! But at least I got to try out the wheelchair, and start building up my shoulder muscles... phew.

Yet Another Disease

2005-12-07T23:31:00.000-05:00

In this case a relapse of a condition I had as a child - I've come down with a case of Electric Trains. It is often overlooked as a harmless hobby, but the fact is that acquiring and operating model electric trains can become a mania, one that takes over lives and breaks families apart.

I exaggerate, of course. And I never actually got into it on a railfan level, or invested great sums of money in equipment. But when I was in grade school my mother let me indulge in a small N gauge layout (2-1/2' x 5') and a nice little collection of locomotives and rolling stock. (N gauge refers to the size, in this case one of the smallest; appropriate for apartment dwellers, as you can fit a longer track in a smaller space. HO is the most popular, twice the size of N; and O gauge are the large and very detailed trains, and the most expensive.)

Test track
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

When I went off to college, I sold my layout and about half of my trains with it. The ones that I really liked, like the hard-to-find trains and cars from our local area, I boxed and have kept stored for the last 20 years. Last week I took them out of storage, at first just to show Gail, but then I got fascinated all over again. I took a long piece of extra track from my workbench and taped it to my computer desk, and set about refurbishing my locomotives. The tiny gears and electric motors hadn't moved or been oiled for two decades, so it could have destroyed them to just put them back in service. I spent the next few days happily disassembling the locomotives, cleaning and lubricating the tiny mechanisms (one steam switcher engine is about 2 inches long!)

I got them all working again, including one that my long-departed uncle gave me, that never worked. Gail heard me across the room, zipping the little engines from one end of my desk to the other as I tested them. Well, that can only be fun for so long... I should really put up a simple oval of track and run them for a while. You know, just to keep them in good working order. I don't have any more track, but I bet I could find some cheap - on eBay! Yes, I went into the model train area on eBay, and yes, I found and purchased over 100 pieces of used track for a song. But I also found a zillion other electric train items, and I have browsed there endlessly since. (It's staggering to see how much people spend on this hobby; one perfectly-detailed O gauge train and coach set went for over $3,500!)

The classic GG1
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

I also bid on and won a steam engine (for the much more modest sum of $37.98), a Pennsylvania Railroad K-4 "Pacific" that was built in larger numbers than any other train like it, back in the days when the PRR was the largest railroad in the world. I always wanted one to go with my set of Pennsy passenger coaches, even though I have a nice little GG-1 that works well with that train. The K-4 that I bought is an older model, well-used but serviceable, and even if the motor is bad I can replace it with a 5-pole motor that will run more smoothly at low speeds.

Lackawanna passenger train
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

So now I have another project to keep me busy - I will scrounge up a piece of plywood, set it up next to the spare bed and nail down some of my eBay track in an oval or two. When I can't get around much, I can run my trains and hear the wheels click, and watch the drivers churning away on the old steam engines. Especially the pride of my old fleet, a Lackawanna Railroad "Hudson" heavy steam engine and a matching set of Lackawanna coaches, in handsome grey and maroon livery. Good clean fun.

Status Report

2005-12-07T22:24:00.000-05:00

I guess I haven't posted a thorough update for a while, since I'm getting a lot of other inquiries; it's no bother, nice to know that I have such concerned friends and family. Everyone seems afraid to disturb me, but I appreciate hearing from you; if I'm too sick to answer a phone call or email, I will get back to you when I can.

I have been on the new chemotherapy program since last Tuesday, and have been tolerating it fairly well. It involves a switch back to the platinum-based drug that I started with back in August, but at that time I was taking another drug at the same time. The combination or dosage made me very ill, right before the wedding unfortunately. This time around I seem to be retaining my appetite and health in general, even though the schedule calls for a massive dose every two weeks. My next chemo treatment will be Thursday the 15th.

I've written about the troubles with my blood counts; the three that seem to concern the doctors the most are hemoglobin, white blood cells and platelets. We spent two weeks juggling drugs and shots to try to stimulate my bone marrow, which is crucial in the production of new blood. The radiation treatments were suspended for this time, which is the Catch-22: if we treat aggressively with radiation, it will interfere with my bone marrow. But so does the cancer; it has retreated into my bones, where the chemotherapy takes the longest to penetrate.

While off the radiation, the cancer that we were treating - in my right hip - has grown worse, and I have developed at least two new tumors above and below my right knee. Since this past Sunday, the increase in pain has made me almost lame; Gail has had to lift me out of bed several times, and support me while I stagger just to get to the bathroom. For the last two days I've only been able to keep going with my cane by taking a much larger dosage of my primary pain medication, oxycodone, and other drugs. Tuesday night I overmedicated and had some scary secondary symptoms.

The best news this week is that we finally got all three blood counts into the acceptable ranges, and the radiation treatments will resume tomorrow. We had one plan in place for my lower back/pelvic area, and a new one is being designed for my leg. These targeted treatments have proven effective in the past; we cured my left hip, left shoulder and neck this way. I have hopes that the new treatments will be as effective on my right leg, and let me be mobile again. In other good news, my weight is back up to 180 lbs, from a nadir of 171 (and a pre-cancer weight of 230). They did notice that my calcium levels are up, which I guess might be from all the Boosts and Ensures that I've been drinking, not to mention lots of milk and pudding. High calcium is not necessarily good news; it can mean that the calcium is not getting absorbed by the bones, and getting stored in the bloodstream. This can lead to other troubles like kidney stones and bone spurs.

That's the nuts and bolts of it. In general, I'm in good spirits, mainly due to my amazing wife; she looks after me physically, emotionally and nutritionally. And of course to all of my friends and family, who have all been a great support and comfort. Unable to walk or stand much, I've been keeping myself distracted with books and the internet, and with working with my hands; the model kits that I mentioned in an earlier post, and another new project that I will relate in the next.

Thank you all, and especially Gail, for your patience and love. Status Report: Hangin' in there.

Movie Review: "City of God" (Cidade de Deus)

2005-12-04T00:33:00.000-05:00

Gail picked this Brazilian film for our Netflix queue, based on its success at the Toronto film festival and other accolades; and I'm sure she was intrigued by the narrator/protagonist, who is a photographer of sorts. The title refers to a government-created area of low-income housing in Rio de Janeiro; a favela, or slum at the time of the story (1960s - late 1970s). The wealthy citizens and luxury hotels of Rio cannot brook living alongside the urban poor, so they are herded into a sprawling shanty community with little or no amenities, social services or police protection. Inevitably the ghetto becomes a place of desperation, massive drug trafficking and violent crime - even small children go armed with handguns, and lives are lost seemingly every hour of the day.

In this frightening place lives Busca-Pé (nicknamed "Rocket") a young boy who has no wish to be a thug or criminal, nor to toil away at menial work that will never lift him from poverty. He finds that he has a natural eye for photography and begins to document the world around him; but the violence is so pervasive that it allows virtually no hope of being anything but criminal or victim.

The film wasn't exactly what we anticipated; it is overwhelmingly brutal, difficult to watch at times, although artfully shot and edited. The pace is relentless and the bullets fly; no one is spared, no place is safe, which may be the central theme. Finer emotions and motivations are hardly present, including Rocket's pursuit of photography - various gangs of thugs struggle for power, guns and drugs. In a fascinating hour-long DVD extra, the truth of the favelas is revealed through interviews and news clips; the movie, though based on a novel, is an accurate picture of this cruel place.

I couldn't watch it again, but it does offer an honest portrayal of human predation and violence; the depths of cruelty that hopelessness and poverty can breed. (And on an odd note, the characters in the movie have some truly great nicknames: Li'l Zé, Shaggy, Carrot, Knockout Ned, Clipper...)

The Saga of 02P, Part IV

2005-12-03T15:35:00.000-05:00

Halfway home
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

I left this story with Karen and I landed at the Parkersburg, WV airport. We parked 02P among the sleek white airplanes on the private ramp, her exhaust pipes pinging as they cooled. The sun was setting, the weather was just easing out of hot and muggy into a damp evening cool, and we were at a good-sized and modern little airport - one that was completely deserted. The snack counter was closed, the big waiting areas and gate were devoid of people; we began to wonder if there was a soul around besides us. We did come across a line guy in the FBO, chatting with a woman who turned out to be the only other person on the premises - apparently, they fold Parkersburg up and put it away early!

We asked about cheap hotels nearby, and began to skim the phone book and call around. Karen, having lived the airport-hopping life for so long (as both flight attendant and co-pilot) has a mania for finding THE cheapest hotel, and took to the task with relish. I found one for $44.00, but she dug up another that was only $38.00! We were still far enough south for Southern Hospitality, and the line guy offered to drive us out to the hotel, even though it was almost 20 minutes away - 20 long minutes, weaving up into quiet West Virginia foothills.

The motel was a shambles, well-worn and sunbaked, with cracked pavement and broken glass everywhere; the kind of place where everything was bolted down. As we walked to the office, some of the room doors hung open, and the sounds of small celebrations and domestic arguments drifted around. We checked in and picked up some cold sodas, and back at Karen's room we giggled over the sheer awfulness of the place. (And Karen advised me to peel back the slipcover from my bed as she did, and shared some other sanitary advice fitting for No-Tell Motels.) In my room, I stretched out and tried to shake off the day's adventures and worries. I was concerned about the condition of the plane, for one thing; the overheating problem, and the high oil consumption could indicate expensive problems. And I hoped that the weather would improve; the next day's forecast was iffy, with low ceilings and a chance of rain. I didn't want to have Karen miss any of her flights - she and Sal both work for the airlines, and with two toddlers their weekly schedule is carefully planned.

The next morning we called a cab to take us back to the airport, but it looked like we were going to have to wait for the weather anyway. Fog and haze, and not a breath of wind; nothing to do but wait to see if it burned off in the sun. Finally after 10:30 or so we decided that we had the mandatory 1,000 feet (maybe 950) and boarded the plane. We climbed up until we bumped our heads on the ceiling, and skimmed along that way for a while, just managing to keep good visibility - where there weren't clouds, there was thick summer haze, and navigation would have been a challenge if we hadn't had the little GPS unit. Things went well until we got into Pennsylvania again, and the clouds started to get lower and more uneven. I began looking for an alternate, and we decided to land for a while at Allegheny County airport near Pittsburgh; I'd been there many times, they have a big C.A.P. squadron and a nice old terminal.

As we neared the airport, we were in communication with the tower, and we were truly "scud-running" - weaving around the clouds, trying to stay visual, since we weren't filed or equipped for blind flight. A Bad Idea. We actually had to make use of a river valley to make the airport area, figuring that if I kept over the river I wouldn't clip a mountaintop. Then we got a traffic report from Allegheny County, it seemed that another aircraft was using the same dodge I was...

"Tri-Pacer 02P, traffic at your 1:00 and two miles, blimp."

"Ahhh, roger, Tri-Pacer looking..."

And sure enough, there drifted into view the ample hindquarters of the Goodyear Blimp, dead ahead! I passed around the big ellipsoid (at least I can outrun some things in the air!) and beat them to the airport; the crew of the blimp was seeking refuge from the weather too. We taxied to the ramp, and the controller paid me the first compliment I was to get on the merry paint scheme of my plane; the first of many since then. We parked near the flight school, and had an audience of grounded students. They were marveling at the odd collection of refugees brought to earth by the fading weather: first a crazy little blue-and-yellow Tri-Pacer, then the mooring crew racing out to meet the Goodyear blimp, then a local TV helicopter. While we waited out the weather for 90 minutes or so, I chatted with a little boy and his grandmother who had come out to watch airplanes, and I couldn't resist taking him out onto the ramp and letting him climb into 02P; the first of many tours since then.

We staked out the weather station at the flight school and waited for acceptable conditions, and eventually decided we could try the next leg; I would bend our course to the north and try to make use of Pennsylvania's corduroy geography, flying parallel up the glacial valleys to get us back to the northeast. Central Pennsylvania was referred to as the "Hell Stretch" by the airmail pilots of the 1920s, just for this reason; lowering clouds and mountains can combine to make a deadly maze. But as we crossed the state, conditions were improving, and the plane was running better too; oil temp and use went back to normal, and we were able to climb a bit for better fuel consumption. Our northernly course took us over Lock Haven, the ancestral home of the Tri-Pacer and thousands of other little ragwing Pipers; so I flew directly over the old Piper factory, today only a rural airport and the neat little Piper Museum.

Mission Accomplished
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

Finally we were back in our home radar service, and I contacted the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton controller. We had made the last two legs into one, thanks to the reduced fuel burn, and we headed across Scranton and up to Cherry Ridge. Karen was able to contact Sal on the way in, and he and their little twin boys were there to meet us - "We want to see the circus plane!" The day was sunny by now, and we took some pictures, and let out a huge sigh of relief. I wasn't done flying for the day, though; I had to collect my car from the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton airport. So I arranged for my mother and my squadron CO Les to meet me down there; Les would drive my car back for me, and Mom got her first ride in the plane, back to Cherry Ridge.

It had been a long, hot, challenging journey across 850 miles... but here finally was my plane, in my hangar. Whew!

Name, Rank and Medical Report

2005-11-29T23:00:00.000-05:00

It's been a busy day, lots to talk about. It began at the oncology office, where we discussed the dilemma of my health. Yesterday's bloodwork showed that my hemoglobin and platelet counts are still very low; so much so that the radiologist feels that it's too dangerous to keep me on chemo and radiation together. The X-ray from last week showed that the cancer has spread into the two long bones in my right leg, interfering with the bone marrow and causing me considerable pain.

The trouble is that we have to get my blood counts up, or I will get sicker. The radiation will lower the blood counts even further, and the chemotherapy carries its own side effects that may put me in bed too. But untreated, the cancer can (and has) spread. So we agreed that it would be better to go down fighting than to hope that the blood counts will come up on their own. So I started this afternoon on a stronger dose of another chemotherapy drug, the one I was first given after my diagnosis; it brought me a lot of nausea and other nasty side effects, but Dr. A feels that it is our best hope.

The thing is, I feel fairly well. The worst of it for the past five days has been that the bone pain has been growing somewhat, forcing me to take supplemental pain medication during the day; but with careful dosage, and taking food along with the pills, I have avoided the worst of the stomach damage.

I had a long chemotherapy session, then got typed and matched for another transfusion tomorrow; I am to get two more units of whole blood and two of platelets. All week I am also getting various injections to try and help my remaining bone marrow work overtime to manufacture some blood. Think - er - bloody thoughts everyone!

Then I just made it home in time to meet one of my squadron pilots, who drove me out to headquarters for our Civil Air Patrol meeting. My deputy commander had asked me to come out if I could manage, as they had a "special" presentation to make, and that the Wing Commander might be there. I assumed that it was my long, long deferred promotion to Captain; since rank is of little consequence in the CAP, I never really bothered to put through the paperwork, even though I could have done so years ago. I had a good five-year run as First Lieutenant, and always kidded that I never wanted to be a Major - too likely to end up on a committee, instead of in a cockpit!

Dress Blues
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

It turns out that the surprise was indeed that - the Wing Commander couldn't make it, but the Group Commander called me forward and read off a list of my accolades over the last eight years; what's left of my blood managed to turn my ears a bit red for the occasion, and I blushed. He also recognized 207 as the premiere squadron in Group 4, the biggest and most well-trained unit in eastern Pennsylvania. Then he announced to the formation present that I was being given a merit promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. That's passing over Captain AND Major! As I said, rank in the CAP is largely ceremonial; since we are all unpaid volunteers, it's not like my salary is going up! But I was bowled over, and flattered, and I hardly knew what to say. I managed to stammer out a few words and thanked my squadron for their tremendous support and hard work.

It has been my pride and honor to serve my squadron since 1997, for the last nine months as Squadron Commander. I've spent hundreds of hours in training, flying, and working with a great group of officers and teenage cadets; plus I've gotten USAF travel opportunities, furthered my own flying career and been honored with a national award for education. I hope that I will soon recover my health, and become active again with the organization - and make some real trouble with these silver clusters! Thanks again to those who have made my volunteering so rewarding.

Hobby Time

2005-11-29T05:01:00.000-05:00

Tabletop apron
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

My hands seemed to be steadier tonight, so I pulled out the model Tri-Pacer that I started a few months ago. I also unearthed another model that I found in the basement, a model racing plane that I had nearly finished from years ago - I must have set it aside sometime around 1992, when my former brother-in-law got me started with the bigger radio-controlled flying models. This poor kit only needed the last few scallops painted on its jaunty 1930s paint scheme, and a few odd parts glued on. I've dusted it off and hand-painted the last details, and with a coat of gloss enamel and a few flying wires it will be ready for the shelf.

Speed, 1930s style
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

It's a replica of the 1931 Gee Bee Model Z, a classic from the glory days of air racing. The Gee Bees (named for the New England company that built them, the Granville Brothers) were notorious for their approach to speed-seeking: maximum engine, minimum airplane. The stubby Model Z was only 15 feet long, but was bolted to a 535 h.p. "Wasp Junior" radial engine, loaned to the brothers by the Pratt & Whitney company for "testing". The combination was a handful to fly, but it was certainly fast; ex-barnstormer Lowell Bayles flew it to an easy win in the 1931 Thompson Trophy at 236 m.p.h.

But ambition seized the Granvilles and Pratt & Whitney, and the engine was changed out for an even bigger 750 h.p. Wasp Senior - in this form, Bayles could hardly see around the cowl! But an attempt was set up to try for the world speed record, 278 m.p.h., held by the French. The first set of straight-line runs averaged 281 m.p.h., good enough for the U.S. record, but not enough to better the world mark by a wide enough margin. The next time out, Bayles entered the timing run at over 300 m.p.h... but then cameras captured a gruesome sight as a wing panel snapped off, and the tiny Gee Bee rolled into the ground. Bayles and the plane were destroyed in an instant.

The Granvilles built other racers; their 1932 Model R won both the Thompson Trophy (with Jimmy Doolittle flying) and the transcontinental Bendix Trophy. But the whole family of planes were just like the Z, fast and capricious - and some less-experienced pilots were killed trying to pilot the "flying barrels" in other events. I've always been fascinated by them; the colorful scalloped paint schemes were a Granville Brothers trademark, and have come to be iconic of the whole pylon racing era. Many of these little planes were built in small hangars and garages during the Depression, with limited resources and engineering; but they contributed a lot to the advancement of aviation technology.

Maple-brine Turkey

2005-11-23T17:51:00.000-05:00

When's dinner?
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I seem to have piqued some curiosity about my Thanksgiving turkey recipe. "Brining" is simply marinating in salt water, which penetrates the meat well. This brine uses maple syrup and brown sugar; but it doesn't make the turkey salty, or overpower the flavor. It adds a subtle sweet flavor to the outer skin, and I find that it keeps the meat very moist; no dry turkey!

INGREDIENTS:

1-1/2 gallons (24 cups) water
1-1/2 cups maple syrup
1 cup salt
3/4 cup brown sugar

Mix all this up in a big stockpot at room temperature, plop in your turkey, and stick it in the 'fridge for 12-24 hours before cooking. (Discard the brine afterwards.) I use 325 degrees for three hours, for my usual 9-10 pound turkey; follow the directions for other sizes. I use a baking bag, and open it up for the last hour to crisp the skin. So far I've gotten a nice juicy bird every time.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Weird Planes

2005-11-23T02:02:00.000-05:00

Since I have a lot of time on my hands, in waiting rooms and otherwise, I've been reading a lot. I've worked through almost everything in my vast aviation and science-fiction library that I care to re-read, and so I ordered some new books for myself. I have always loved bookstores; when I was a kid, I would head straight for the bookstore, stay there for hours and grumble if I had to do any other shopping. But now it's all online - Barnes & Noble, Amazon and others all have smooth-working websites that let you browse inside the book covers a little. And there are plenty of smaller stores online too, with specialized subject matter, like Hannan's Runway - for modelers and other airplane enthusiasts.

I have two new books from Hannan's, monographs on a few obscure planes from the 1950s. It was the era when the Cold War got into full swing, and the superpowers let the military aviation budgets run wild, with some startling results. It seems as though just about any cockamamie idea was worth a few zillion dollars and a few prototypes; of course, in those days without computer simulation, that was the only way to find out whether theory could be put into practice. Aviation history of this era is dotted with faded pictures of these orphans, hilarious in hindsight to everyone but the poor test pilots - where they survived...

For example, jet bombers of that era had much longer range than jet fighters. But bombers are vulnerable without fighter escort. Proposal: Stick a tiny, ugly jet fighter inside the bomber. When the bomber is attacked, release it on a trapeze and let it go off to battle the Commies. Then the jet fighter returns to the bomber IN MIDAIR, latches on again, FOLDS UP and is pulled in. Insane, right? But they did it - this is the XF-85 "Goblin", built to test the "parasite fighter" concept. Its bizarre shape allowed it to fit into the bomb bay of a B-29, but left it severely limited in terms of performance and stability.

One of my new books details the Convair Sea Dart, a supersonic jet fighter... seaplane. The U.S. Navy opined that runways and air bases were expensive to build and maintain, and even Air Force pilots could land on them. So the "floating base" concept was put forward whereby bombers, cargo planes and even the fighters could land and take off on water, bobbing happily away in any harbor or lake. The Sea Dart - a twin-jet, delta-winged fighter was designed to take off and land ON WATERSKIS - insane, right? But five were built and three actually flown - and they remain, to this day, the only supersonic seaplanes ever built. (The test planes were underpowered, but one of them exceeded the speed of sound in a slight dive.)

As you might guess, they were useless as fighter planes, and practically destroyed themselves on takeoff and landing. I have actually seen two of the surviving examples, this one on display at Willow Grove Naval Air Station near Philadelphia, the other at a museum in San Diego. (Oddly, I saw them on two consecutive days, when I flew out with the Air Force!)

Amazing, that so much money and effort was put into projects like these, with so little return on the investment. Especially in those cases, like the Sea Dart, where test pilots were killed in the flight-test program. But then, the mixture of comedy and tragedy in these machines seems appropriate for the whole Cold War, doesn't it?

Setbacks

2005-11-23T01:29:00.000-05:00

After getting a few extra days off from radiation, I still tested with very low blood counts on Monday. I had my radiation treatments, but with the counts still low on Tuesday my oncologist decided to postpone my chemotherapy. The problem is that the radiation and chemotherapy both affect my bone marrow, so that it doesn't produce the right blood cells - but the cancer itself is also having the same effect. Some new painful areas, and the evidence of the blood count, indicate that the cancer is working on my bone marrow too.

Oddly, I don't feel that much worse than I have been for the last month. I still have to take painkillers around the clock, and I've had terrible digestive tract problems; but my appetite and energy have been reasonably consistent. But on Monday they asked me to report in immediately if I experienced any fevers (because I have few white blood cells to fight infections) or bleeding (because I have few platelets to coagulate my blood). Well, lo and behold Tuesday morning I developed a spontaneous nosebleed, and Gail took me in early to Dr. A's office. He discussed the predicament that we're in; do we press harder with chemotherapy and radiation, which may leave me bedridden, or back off and risk further damage from the cancer? It's a balancing act between quality of life and quantity, only now with a narrower margin than we have had so far.

So the plan for the coming week is to continue my radiation treatments Wednesday, since I am almost done with the neck-shoulder series, and there is little marrow in those bones anyway. We will delay the next chemotherapy until Tuesday, when we will go back to another medication, one that may be more effective and be less traumatic for the bone marrow. Plus we may be able to use some of the newer drugs to offset the effects of the chemo. Today I had an X-ray on my right leg, which has been a major source of new pain.

The immediate problem of the anemia was addressed with a blood transfusion today, platelets and hemoglobin, to protect me for the short-term. I still feel OK; I ate a full lunch and dinner, and got some sleep while in the oncology lab at Moses Taylor Hospital. (I've been going to Mercy, but they couldn't accommodate me today, so Gail and I got to visit the third major hospital in town.) The verdict: Moses Taylor's food is better than Mercy, not as good as CMC. But it's a big hospital, and parts of it are very impressive; obviously some major renovations were done, but some of the working spaces are still unreconstructed. The staff were all quite friendly, though.

Hopefully my blood count will rally a little this week, and I will get to cook and enjoy my traditional maple-brine turkey for Thanksgiving. As I've written, I've been able to enjoy a reasonable quality of life for the past month or so; I hate the idea of getting sicker and ending up in bed, and/or back in the hospital. All good thoughts are welcome; have a good holiday weekend!

Some amazing videos

2005-11-20T03:34:00.000-05:00

Gail has our flying video from today uploaded to YouTube.com, a very slick video-sharing site. She has been putting together short clips from her digital camera, and adding more editing and her own soundtracks. It's neat for me to be able to watch afterwards, since I'm often busy as we fly (!) and I can rate my takeoff and landing technique.

There are other interesting flying clips, too. Here is one that must have been professionally edited, posted by a military fighter pilot:

Speaking of landing technique - in just a few minutes of browsing I came up with this frightening capture. (Apparently a British Airways flight - shudder to think of the poor passengers!)

Anyway, I'm going back to browse some more; I found these in just a few minutes! You can find Gail's other videos here.

Up there again

2005-11-19T22:08:00.001-05:00

Trim crank
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

It was beautiful here today, clear but cold, so Gail and I took off for another airplane ride. I was not feeling too sore, just a little uneven in the gastric department; so I figured I would go up and see how long I could do without a bathroom. Quite a while, as it turned out - fortunately, because Fielding Airlines does not offer lavatory facilities on any of its aircraft. (We pass the savings along to you.)

I took us for a long, clockwise circle around the valley, first heading into the big airport at Scranton for a touch-and-go landing. (As I flew down the runway, I wondered whether any of the airline travelers took notice of our little plane buzzing alongside. If they did, I guess they knew they weren't exactly at JFK...)

Our house
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

On the way in, we passed right over Lake Scranton and our little landlocked neighbourhood, and Gail took some good photos that she's posting now. (Some movies are in the works, too.) Then over the river to the Wyoming Valley airport, a little anachronism that hasn't changed since the 1940s. I landed on the paved runway and taxied over to assess the condition of the grass strip; it's smooth, but we've had some rain lately, and I decided against some soft-field practice - it's too cold to stand outside cleaning mud off the poor Tri-Pacer. Instead we took off again and flew across the north ridge, the "Back Mountain" area, and east back to Cherry Ridge. At this point I put us into a long glide at a higher power setting, as I was starting to want that bathroom; I was grateful for a slight tailwind that pushed us up to around 150 m.p.h. over the ground.

Landed just in time, and had a nice ride back as the sun set, and Gail fixed a supper that couldn't be beat; so, I'm happy to log another very good Saturday. Hope yours was as well.

The Waiting Game

2005-11-18T02:06:00.000-05:00

Gail just wrote a very funny post about the many waiting rooms that she endures while I'm in my various treatments. I've been healthy enough to avoid hospitals most of my life until now, so my limited experience with the medical world has been a few stays in those same waiting rooms; and I know how awful they can be, since you may be dealing with the stress and worry about your particular patient. I can't thank her enough for going through all this with me, and keeping her sense of humour.

I thought I would add a few words about what lies beyond... since, in many of these places, there are layers of waiting rooms and recovery areas that Gail doesn't get to "enjoy" with me. I'll go along with her choice of the NROC as the best, even though I'm not a coffee fan (I know she loves the free, modern latte machine!) There, we wait together until it's my time to board "The Machine", and then I go straight to the table. My latest round of treatments include a very tight shot at my neck, so they have been strapping my head down; somewhat unpleasant, but usually over in ten minutes or so.

When I go for my chemotherapy, once a week now, there are several phases to my visit. We start off waiting together in the outer room of the Hematology and Oncology Clinic, which is devoid of magazines - only plenty of materials about cancer, smoking, medications and the like. You know what? By this point, I've read everything I care to about cancer; even Field and Stream would be better. But I usually get called out of this one quickly, and off to a row of phlebotomy "cubicles" where my eternally bruised veins are punctured for a blood test. After this I shuffle over to the next waiting area, which is well-stocked with magazines, including a few issues of my fave - National Geographic. (It's like a glossy little PBS to read!) Next comes the exam, usually by my main oncologist but occasionally an assistant. I'm impressed by how computer-integrated this process is; all of the medical staff carry laptops, wireless networked, and my whole medical history is available on them - even the current day's blood counts pop up, as soon as the lab processes them. The laptop displays not only the dry facts and medications, but all of the scans and imagery in full color, going back to my initial diagnosis!

Then I get walked into the chemotherapy room, a vast half-circle divided into rooms around the perimeter by half-height walls; each room is further divided into four cubicles, each with a reclining chair and individual television. The cubicles on the outer bank have broad windows, looking out on a dull view of a grassy embankment, but at least it's natural light. All in all, it's a fairly friendly place, but the careful planning falls apart in a few ways: First, although every cubicle has a television set, they DON'T have headphones... so that many of the chemo patients switch on, choose a station, and then begin the Volume Wars. To hear one show above your neighbor - who is just a few feet away, behind a half-height partition - you naturally have to turn it up a bit. Remember that most of my fellow patients are well-advanced in age to begin with, and you get an idea of the din in there on a busy day! Lately, the crowds have been light, and due to a technical problem the satellite TV boxes are not working; so everyone has to watch the same show, if they do at all. Better for me, since I never watch anyway, preferring to read or doze while I drip-feed. (Last week, though, I had to endure sitting next to a patient with an older woman companion - one who told long, pointless stories - in a loud, squeaky voice. Maybe I should carry some emergency headphones, just in case.)

Here I sit for usually about two hours, with a big needle in my arm and a blanket on my lap. (It's always too cold, whether my blood is thin or not.) Despite getting chemo every week, my arm veins are holding out, so I haven't heard any more talk about putting in a semi-permanent port in my chest. I don't mind the needles, most of the techs are skilled and set me to dripping without much discomfort. Gail doesn't have to wait for all these hours, our home is just five minutes away; or she can go off to do shopping or other errands. Lately my appointments are timed so that I finish chemo in time to walk through the corridor from the HOC to the NROC and get irradiated, and Gail meets me there.

I should also mention what goes on when I go to Mercy Hospital for any of my various MRI scans, since it's quite different on "the inside". Gail mentioned the MRI waiting area, and it is at least well-decorated - but when I go in, the scene is dramatically different. The trip is a long one, down many stark grey hallways to reach the MRI room; if I am sore that week, one of the techs will wheel me in a chair. (It's not unlike the opening credits in the classic spy sitcom Get Smart.) The MRI lab at Mercy is an all-male zone, and it shows; the guys who do the scans set me up with headphones and ask me what radio station I prefer; classic rock is the default. They are a casual, friendly bunch - one of them is married to one of my radiology techs - and all speak with rich Scranton accents. But for all the rough edges, they are a good crew; they take pains to make me comfortable, which can be difficult depending on my condition. I'm not claustrophobic, but the beige-steel tunnel is small, barely bigger than I am; and sometimes I have to spend 45 minutes or more inside. Often I am sore, and the platform is hard on my back; they try to pad me as best they can. Once I was overcome by nausea between scans, and had to be let out to lose my breakfast. At least I've learned to put my wallet in the locker - didja know that MRI machines will erase all of the magnetic strips on your credit cards? Whoops...

Anyway, a quick recap: I am currently getting a few days off from radiation due to a low platelet count. My shoulder and neck are much better, and my sore throat will be glad for the break; but my left hip is still quite sore. I just started those treatments. I have a good supply of my various pain meds, and I've sorted out the doses to control my overall level of pain, for the most part. I have, at my discretion, several narcotic painkillers and a steroid to use for pain; but none of them are perfect, and to be honest none of them make me feel good; the best I hope for is basic relief. I have many other pills to relieve other symptoms, mostly from the side-effects of chemo, radiation... and all the other pills. If I take too many of any of them, my stomach gets torn up, and other gastric troubles ensue, so I have been trying for minimalism.

Anyway, if you've made it this far, thanks for reading... hope it hasn't been too much of a wait.

Clarification

2005-11-13T05:16:00.000-05:00

I should mention that the food poisoning incident mentioned in the last post was self-induced. Gail always does a good job of feeding me, and steering me away from the Bad Things that I normally eat on my own. But last week I slipped in a delicacy I found in the freezer section, "Cohen's Egg Rolls" - right there you can spot trouble - and I found them a little bland, so I dipped them in some rather antiquated condiments I had put in the 'fridge sometime around the first Gulf War.

By the next day, I knew that something had gone awry. No details will be forthcoming, but I was very sick for the next three days. The lessons, of course, are: 1) Jews probably shouldn't make egg rolls. 2) Clean out the refigerator now and then, and 3) Listen to Gail.

The Saga of 02P, Part III

2005-11-12T19:00:00.000-05:00

First, the obligatory progress report: I haven't been up and around much for the last few days. Not because of radiation, chemotherapy and cancer, which are all ongoing; but due to a touch of food poisoning, apparently. I will not go into detail because - well, the details are gross. But I'm just starting to feel better, and I think I can sit upright and write for a spell. So on to the next installment of how I bought my plane...

OK, when we last heard, I had bought a one-way ticket to Nashville, Tennessee. The Tri-Pacer I was going to see, N1502P, was based right there at Nashville International. I had only to fly in and meet the seller; if the plane and the deal were satisfactory, I could just fly it home. I had taken the trouble to make this feasible, by arranging financing and insurance ahead of time, all contingent on a pre-purchase inspection. It made things complicated, but I didn't want to have to travel back and forth twice if everything went well.

I had planned on going down alone, but a few days before the trip I was surprised to have a volunteer co-pilot; my friend Karen, an airline pilot herself, wanted to come along. When she heard about my plans, she figured it sounded like a good adventure - she had never flown a fabric-covered airplane before, and she could easily deadhead* down to meet me in Nashville. I warned her: "It's very small, you know... and very slow; it will take around eight hours to fly back, and there's no air conditioning..." But she couldn't be swayed, and I was actually glad to have the company for the trip back, if it came to that.

So on the appointed Friday, I left after work and flew down on the evening flight from Scranton to Nashville. I discovered that anyone traveling on a one-way ticket gets the extra-thorough bag and personal search, so I ran out to the commuter jet cramming my belongings back into my flight bag; I was trying to travel light. I landed in Nashville on a sweltering hot August evening, and got a cab from the terminal to the general aviation ramp (the "F.B.O.") where I planned to spend the night in the pilot's lounge and meet the seller in the morning. I was the only one around, apart from a bored line service guy, and he showed me to the lounge. I was initially happy to note that the the lounge was comfortably appointed and well air-conditioned; in fact, it was downright arctic, as is often the case in the South. Since I only had the t-shirt I was wearing, and one other for the next day, I spent the night alternating between the freezing lounge and the bench outside, where even at 3:30 am it was almost 90 F.

First look
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

The next morning, having hardly slept, I took a courtesy car for breakfast and eventually met up with Karen and the seller. He drove us out to the hangar, where he had a rather lavish setup for keeping such a tiny plane; climate-controlled, with a separate office and plenty of tools and extra gear. (He was selling the little Tri-Pacer to trade up to a larger plane, one which he could use to fly his whole family of four around in speed and comfort.) I grinned on seeing the plane; you can't help it, with the jaunty paint scheme it wears. The previous owner, an older fellow, had chosen the bright 1930s Army Air Corps scheme (purely for fun; no Tri-Pacer was ever used by the U.S. military). I climbed all over the plane and did my best to assess the condition; it all looked to be in good order and as described.

The first order of business was a test flight, so Karen waited while the seller and I climbed in and taxied out for a short ride. It took a long time to reach the runway and get clearance; Nashville is a BIG airport. By this time, the temperature had climbed over 90 again, and when I advanced the throttle, I was not overwhelmed by the ensuing takeoff and climbout. I had expected less performance, since this Tri-Pacer was equipped with an older 135 horsepower engine. But the high temperature and humidity really took a toll; it took a long time to climb to just 1,000 feet and head west of the airport.

I enjoyed flying the plane, though, and did some takeoffs and landings at a smaller airport nearby. Back at Nashville, we stepped into the office and talked over the deal. He ended up coming down on the price, and throwing in quite a bit of extra gear and parts, including his yoke-mounted GPS unit. I shook his hand and signed on the dotted line - and I owned an airplane! Now, to get home...

First problem: packing! There was Karen and myself, and our bags... and a large box containing a set of canvas plane covers, and another with parts and gauges, some cans of spare paint... and finally, a set of Short Wing Piper Club books and magazines that must have weighed 50 pounds. The plane has four seats, and a roomy baggage compartment; but there is a limit to how much weight can be carried, and we were going to be over - and on a hot, humid day to boot. So I prevailed on the seller to do me one more favor, and ship the heaviest items to my address, so that we would have a fighting chance of getting off the ground!

Engine gauges
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

Karen and I folded ourselves into 02P - my plane! - and taxied out again to the active runway. We chugged away, crawling compared to the jumbo jets arriving and departing around us, and headed north into the thick summer haze. From the start it was apparent that we were in for a long trip; we noticed that if we tried to run at 75% power, the oil temperature would keep climbing to the high side of the gauge. The only way to hold the temp steady was to run at lower power, and that barely yielded 90 knots; I had planned our 700-mile trip at 105, so it was going to take a little longer.

Worried about the engine temps, I stopped at Somerset, Kentucky to check the oil. As we hopped out, I saw that there was at least a quart streaked across the belly; the overheated oil had pumped overboard through the bearings for the vacuum pump. So we bought a few quarts, added some to the crankcase and took off again, resolved not to run the engine hard. By the time we reached Richmond we had to stop again to add more oil, and we realized that with our slow progress and extra stops, we weren't going to make it home that day. We pressed on as far as Parkersburg, West Virginia where the setting sun and lowering clouds convinced us to spend the night.

Well, this installment has gone long enough. Tune in again for part IV - cheap hotel rooms, bad weather and close blimp encounters!

* "Deadheading" is a free ride to reposition airline flight crews, in a spare seat on their own or another airline's flight, as an industry courtesy.

Spectacular Saturday

2005-11-06T04:35:00.000-05:00

I've been coping remarkably well with my cancer for the last two weeks or so, despite being back in chemotherapy and radiation. I still have pain (and other secondary symptoms) but my constitution and appetite have been, in general, much better.

But my planets must have been aligned extra-well today, or something; I had a wonderful day. Gail and I slept in, she catching up on her sleep after a rushed visit to New York (and I had stayed up late watching airplane movies!) I came downstairs this morning to a stunningly warm and sunny November day, and began to wonder how to make the best of it. (Hugh suggested an outing on the front porch, but surprisingly didn't stay out long.)

When Gail came bouncing down shortly afterwards, she already had an idea: to go out to Cherry Ridge airport, where we always find something to enjoy, whether it's photography, food or just my flying friends. As we drove out to the rural airstrip, I assessed myself and decided that I was in rather good shape to fly - I hadn't taken any strong painkillers, and it was last Tuesday that I last had chemo, and I was feeling strong and clearheaded. And moreover, the weather conditions were just perfect. Clear skies, light wind and shirtsleeve temperature; too good to pass up!

So on arriving at the airport, I suggested that we go straight to the hangar. Gail insisted on doing the heavy work of pulling the plane out of the hangar, to avoid straining my back, and I took my time preflighting the plane. As we taxied out there were a few other planes about (mostly students I think) but then I noticed two of my CAP comrades refueling our squadron's plane at the self-service pump. With a wave (and a snap of the shutter, of course) we took the runway.

November sunset
Uploaded by gail on the web.

Our little plane accelerated down the centerline as smooth as ever, and we eased into a sunny sky. It felt great to be at the controls again, as it's been over a month since I've flown; and longer than that since I've felt so lucid and strong. (I wouldn't have risked a flight, of course, if I hadn't felt sure of myself.) I circled and checked over the plane while Gail worked her cameras, and we flew south towards the lake. I was grinning, enjoying myself; I startled Gail a little when I began banking left and right, rolling in and out of the steep turns that are so much fun in our plane. Once she knew that it was deliberate, she was laughing too, and we took in the sunset over the long lake. Then I flew north up the ridgeline, onto the sunny side of a long farm of wind-driven generators; Gail got several great pictures, including this one. (She has many more to post yet.)

Then back to the airport, where I set up for one touch-and-go landing, as some of the other pleasure flyers watched from the taxiway; I got a "10" for my first effort on the radio from Mr. Tibor. Once more around the pattern and I brought us to a nice slow landing, taxied to the pumps and shut down. My CAP buddies were still around and chatted with Gail and I as we filled 02P's wing tanks, and then followed us to my hangar to help put the plane away; great chaps, those guys.

After a few minutes of hangar talk with them (and Mr. Tibor, who had come taxiing up to be social) dusk was gathering, and Gail and I were by now quite hungry. So we went back into town and stopped at Calabria's, the place to get the absolute best (and biggest) cheese calzone in the valley. I wasn't sure how hungry I was, but it turned out to be a lot, and I devoured my half of the cheesy, kayak-shaped Italian fare. Oh, that sauce... that incredible Calabria's sauce!

And - to finish off a day that couldn't be beat, at home I found out that Penn State had won again today; 35 to 14 over Wisconsin, the highest-scoring team in the Big 10, and making us 9-1 for the season. Let's Go State!

So, a good-news day all around. I've awoken from a deep, ricotta-induced sleep, and thought I would document my day, and wish you all a great one as well.

Movie Review - "Devil's Playground"

2005-11-01T23:40:00.000-05:00

A dramatic title, but the film is a straightforward documentary about a very secretive community: the Amish. Specifically, about a custom of Amish teenagers to venture out into the outside world, a period they call "Rumspringa".

The most startling scenes come early on, and show the teens - ages 16 and up - dressing in secular ("English") clothes, drinking, doing drugs and having wild parties. This behavior is an accepted part of community life; the kids of far-flung Amish enclaves meet to blow off steam together. It goes on with the tacit approval of the Amish elders, and it seems clear that the intention of the parents is to let the teens overdo it; to indulge in the worst excesses, and come back to the church with a negative impression of English life - the "Devil's Playground".

an Amish spotting
Uploaded by gail on the web.

The film necessarily reveals a lot about the insular nature of Amish life. I was born in Lehigh County, Pennsylvania, near where some of the vignettes were filmed, and I never knew some of the details of their lives - except that they reject technology, dress alike, and are very religious. (The photo here is of an Amish family that Gail and I saw at the Mid-Atlantic Air Museum in Reading, Pennsylvania - quite a non sequitur, to see the horse-and-buggy technophobes quietly examining the gleaming jet fighter!) But some of the tenets of their community are detailed here, and it is restrictive. The children are only educated to age 13; more education than that is thought to lead to "pride". Even the elder members of the community wistfully speak of the things they miss, and repeat phrases like "you just don't question things" and "you get used to it". Unsurprisingly, the Amish live by strict gender roles that restrict the women more severely than the men.

I remarked to Gail that Hassidic Jews are similar in many ways. They also live, speak and dress alike, and in anachronistic fashion. Their communities are just as isolated, although they tend to live in more urban areas (my theory is that, being Jews, they couldn't cope with the horses-and-buggies; Jews generally don't handle animals larger than a corned beef.)

"Devil's Playground" follows the stories of several Amish youths over a period of at least a few years. One boy becomes involved in using and dealing methamphetamines; a girl struggles with depression, and the limitations imposed on her as an Amish woman. The cameras are allowed very candid access as they try to make the central decision of their lives - whether or not to return to the church, put on the black clothing and turn their back on the larger world. (The elder Amish are very hesitant to be filmed, although a few - with an unusual savvy - do appear on camera.)

Gail and I found "Devil's Playground" fascinating - thanks to Lana for suggesting the title.

The Saga of 02P, Part II

2005-10-31T00:04:00.000-05:00

OK, flash forward a year or so. I sold my farmhouse and apple orchard; which I was able to accomplish without a realtor, advertising and showing the house on my own. Another long story, there - but the short version is that I closed on the week before the 9-11 attack, and moved into my current small house in Scranton. That fall and winter I stayed very involved in Civil Air Patrol; it was a rough time for the aviation community anyway, and our squadron saw a big increase in volunteerism after the terrorist attacks. It was not until the following summer that I began shopping for planes again, as it seemed that private aviation would recover - but airplane prices were still quite low due to the uncertainty of new, more restrictive Federal regulations.

I started again with the Trade-A-Plane magazines, and browsing the bulletin boards at the local airports. But this time, it was a little red-and-white plane that caught my eye as I was driving by the Wyoming Valley airport - a Piper Tri-Pacer. I knew a little about these planes; the AOPA had restored one a few years earlier for their sweepstakes airplane, and I remembered being intrigued by the details. A four-seat plane, the most popular model made between 1951 and 1961, over nine thousand were built and nearly three thousand are still flying. Made of steel tubing and covered with fabric, it belonged to the generation before the riveted-aluminum Cessnas I was familiar with. But it was powered by the same reliable Lycoming engine, and offered similar performance, with a somewhat cramped cabin.

My first time...
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

I contacted the seller, and arranged to go for a flight in the plane. He showed me around the Tri-Pacer and pointed out some of the quirks - the overhead crank for the trim, and the hand-operated brakes - and spoke with pride of the plane's performance. We taxied out and took off, and as soon as I took the controls, I was smiling. The little Piper leaped off the grass runway, and responded instantly to the controls. After hundreds of hours flying the stable, predictable Cessnas, I was taken by the way that this stubby plane handled in the air - like getting into a sportscar after driving a truck. And the performance was just as the seller described, matching the Cessna for cruise speed but able to take off and land in far less space.

Another "Tripe" for sale
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

That first flight had definitely set the hook, and sent me off to look for other Tri-Pacers. There are still quite a few on the market at any given time, and I wasn't convinced of the mechanical condition of the one I had flown (it had been parked outdoors for many years.) There was actually another one for sale at the same airport, a later model with some different options, including an auxilary fuel tank. But when I contacted this seller, it turned out that neither he nor the plane had flown in nine months - and he asked me if I wanted to go for a flight! NO, thank you; not until the pilot gets current, and the plane is thoroughly checked over by a mechanic! (You can get nightmares, imagining what can go wrong with a plane that sits idle for that long.)

I decided to cast my net wider, and spent some time looking at Tri-Pacers at greater distances. And I started reading the newsletter of the "Short-Wing Piper Club", the type club for these airplanes. The old fabric-covered Piper airplanes can be divided into two major families - the "Long-Wings" being the famous Cub and its derivatives, and the "Short-Wing" models, of which the Tri-Pacer was the last. Old Bill Piper was a clever manufacturer: each successive model of his airplanes (all built in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania) used as much as possible of the one before. So when an increase in engine power made it desirable to have a smaller wing, for higher cruise speed - rather than design a whole new wing, he just chopped six feet off of the classic Cub wing, and shortened the plane lengthwise as well. The final touch was the addition of a tall, sturdy tricycle landing gear - the first to be offered on any light plane - and the Tri-Pacer was born.

I watched the trade ads and the internet for the next few months, in no particular hurry, waiting for the right plane to catch my eye. And finally, one did; an eye-catching blue and yellow "Tripe" listed on Aircraft Shopper Online (a great site to window-shop, by the way!). I looked over the details, and the few small photos. It was a 1954 model, which meant a slightly less powerful engine, but the engine had been recently overhauled; the plane was recovered in modern fabrics and kept indoors; and the instrument panel was up-to-date with good modern gauges and radios. Importantly, the logbooks were complete back to 1954 and the title search was clean. The seller was very friendly and sent along more photos, copies of the logbook, and even some video clips of the plane in operation. Satisfied that I was close to a sale, I bought a one-way ticket to Nashville, leaving aside the problem of getting back if I DIDN'T buy the plane...

To be further continued...

The Saga of 02P, Part I

2005-10-28T00:39:00.000-05:00

I'm back in chemotherapy, with a fresh dose in me this Tuesday; and tomorrow I will start a new set of radiation treatments, too. I can already feel the side effects setting in, so I won't likely be getting out much for the next few days. My fingers have healed, though, and Gail has suggested that I do some writing - so I thought I might start recapping some old flying stories, from my pre-blog days. What follows is the first installment in the saga of how I came to own a little 50-year-old airplane.

'Way back in the year 2000, freshly divorced, I began getting a serious itch to have a plane of my own. I had been flying since 1995, and for those who are truly addicted, renting planes eventually loses its lustre. Renting is far more practical, to be sure, for the occasional flyer - there is a lot of overhead in owning and maintaining any airplane, and if you don't fly much, the hourly costs add up fast. But I was flying a lot, and besides... try finding a plane for rent on short notice, on a sunny Saturday morning! It's a great luxury to have your own plane, flown only by you, whenever you like; to be able to travel, without worrying about having to return if the weather turns sour; and heck, just pride of ownership, and a love of old airplanes.

Having composed this careful set of rationalizations, I began the happy pastime of looking at airplanes for sale. In the pages of Trade-A-Plane, at local airports, and on the internet, I began looking for my first airplane.

1940 Aeronca Chief
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

The first plane I investigated was a 1940 Aeronca Chief, a tiny orange 2-seater. It had 85 horsepower, and like many planes of that vintage, no electrical system; so it had to be started by hand, pulling on the the handsome (but dangerous!) varnished wooden propeller. The seller accomplished this and took me for a test flight, and I enjoyed flying the little Chief for a while. But I noted that the cruise speed was only around 75 m.p.h. - fine for short hops near home, but very limiting if you actually want to GO somewhere. That, along with a desire for a radio (and a fear of hand-propping!) sent me back to look for something slightly more modern.

1958 Cessna 172
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

The next candidate was a Cessna 172, the most common 4-seat airplane in the world; like many pilots, I had logged the majority of my flight time in this model. Out of the hundreds available, I settled on one for sale out in Kankakee, Illinois - a 1958 model, one of the oldest, but seemingly in fine condition. After a few discussions with the seller, I got my financing paperwork in order and booked a flight out to Chicago. This plane was truly beautiful; it had been impeccably maintained, and still sported the 1950s finish of green and white stripes over polished aluminum. It was late in the day, but the seller and I took the plane out for a test flight to a nearby airport, where there was a little restaurant with live music and great barbecue.

Afterwards, the sun was setting, and the weather was lowering; light rain was already falling, and the temperatures were not much above freezing. But the seller seemed unconcerned; he seemed to know his local weather, and the flight would only take about 30 minutes. Against my better judgement, we took off. We barely had the legal 1,000 feet between the ground and the clouds; fortunately, the terrain around Kankakee is predominantly flat. As we made our way along, I kept shining my little flashlight on the leading edge of the wing - we were definitely picking up ice from the freezing rain, and I counted the minutes to our destination. Luckily, the air just below us was slightly warmer, and the ice began to melt off as soon as we descended.

I agonized over the purchase; the plane was in great shape, and the price was fair. But in the end, I looked at the costs and at the mortgage on the farmhouse, and grudgingly decided to let this one go. I went back home, resolved to sell my house first - something I should have done much sooner.

To be continued...

Another Outing

2005-10-22T01:48:00.001-05:00

Still feeling fairly well today, during my respite from chemotherapy. I drove myself out to pick up a prescription, and then Gail took me over to Nay Aug park for a photo walk. Nay Aug is the "Central Park" of Scranton, and has been undergoing a slow rebirth over the last few years. When I was a lad it held a small amusement park and a modest zoo; surviving still are the Everhart Museum and the large public pool.

Nay Aug Park
Uploaded by gail on the web.

Dueling cameraphones
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

Of course, we are still playing with our new toys, the matching cameraphones we bought yesterday. Gail is 'way ahead of me on figuring out how to use hers; we have a lot of new features. The cameras actually work very well, and we can send images to each other, or to our Flickr albums and/or 'blogs. (Gail, the ultimate Flickrite, can browse Flickr on her phone now!) When we sat down for a while in the comfy Adirondack chairs, we clicked each other. Note that our phones are the same, but I have a protective cover on mine; I have a bad record of mobile phone abuse.

Later, as the sun went down, we dropped off Gail's film and went for a drive around town to see if there were any remarkable Halloween houses. There is one family down the hill from us who convert their whole house into a "haunted mansion", complete with animated monsters and a lightshow; the police have taken to putting up cones so that people can slow down and turn up the alley to appreciate the scene. We saw a few well-turned-out porches, some with giant inflatable ghouls, but nothing too spectacular. Maybe people aren't done yet, or we haven't found a properly tacky neighbourhood.

We did find a house that was pretty scary, without any intention on the part of the owner - a crumbling, massive house down in Scranton's "plot" section, hard by the abandoned railroad tracks. A single light shone in one back room, revealing a room strewn with junk and skewed pictures on the wall. The lot next to the house was surrounded by rickety barbed-wire fence, and hung with "No Trespassing" signs; as Gail slowly circled, a frightened rabbit jumped out into the headlights. I opined that the house would be the appropriate residence for a chainsaw murderer, and we moved on...

Thursday Outing

2005-10-20T22:04:00.000-05:00

I got to spend most of today away from the house (hooray!) running a few errands with Gail. Nothing complicated, but I was pleased to be in good enough shape to walk around a bit, and my appetite continues to rally.

Our first stop was the doctor's office - for Gail, this time, for the purposes of her immigration exam. The nearest doctor approved by the USCIS is a 45 minute drive, but it was a nice day for a drive anyway. Now, this doctor's office - Gail was there earlier in the week, this was a follow-up - she had told me that it was peculiar, a tiny and disorganized office by medical standards*. Gosh, she wasn't kidding; this place was scary. Imagine that you wanted to set up a professional office for the practice of medicine, but only had... oh, say two hundred dollars to spend. This is about the result - a tiny waiting room on a strip-mall storefront, sitting alongside a nail and tanning parlor. The next tiny room holds two receptionists (with barely room for a desk between them) and wall shelves, literally overflowing with uncontained patient files. Yes, of course we'll take good care of your confidential medical information!

If there was anything odder than the office, it was the melange of strange shapes and sounds in the waiting room. My first thought was that we had stumbled across a casting call for the next "Addams Family" film; there were people of every disturbing shape, size and accent. I sat close to the receptionist's window (it being hard to be far from ANYTHING in this glorified broom closet) and so I got to hear the odd ramblings of each patient as they came and went.

Later, free of the clinic, we headed back towards home and stopped off at the cellphone store. We replaced both of our old phones and calling plans with a family plan and matching LG phones, which will give us a much better deal on wireless telecom, including unlimited calls between our phones. And the phones were a bargain, two-for-one priced and each with a built-in camera; we are having fun playing with the new toys. Gail had an LG phone before, and the new one is similar; I will rely on her to figure out all the menus and help me set mine up. (My number is the same, for those of you who have it.)

* Yes, "medical standards" may be an oxymoron.

At The Movies with Uncle Fester

2005-10-18T21:25:00.000-05:00

I've been feeling rather well for the last few days; last night Gail and I went out to dinner, and tonight we managed to take in a movie. We both enjoyed it immensely, the most laughs we have had in a long time, so we're both going to review it:

The 40-Year-Old Virgin

It stars Steve Carell, from the American version of "The Office" on NBC, and second banana in several recent Will Ferrell movies. Carell plays a character that must be instantly recognizable to almost everyone, the geeky "late bloomer", with a lonely-guy apartment full of action figures and video games. The movie follows his life as his co-workers discover his terrible secret, and endeavor to "help" him, just as he meets a warm woman his own age.

The setup is simple, but the execution is side-splittingly hilarious. I can't even guess how long the movie was, because the pace was perfect - from slapstick comedy, to VERY authentic guys-and-buddies dialog, to Carell's believable moments of pathos. Some of the more subtle comedy is found in the cultural references surrounding the frozen-in-time Carell; I won't spoil by listing them, but this movie is undoubtedly fine-tuned to persons between 30 and 40. (I want to see it again, just for a closer look at his apartment!) Oh, and if you're near my age, you'll want the soundtrack, too.

Anyway - five stars, or whatever I use here, for "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" - I was literally in tears, laughing through the whole movie. It was the heat of the moment...

Airshow link

2005-10-12T15:07:00.000-05:00

I was browsing around, indulging in my favorite interest (airplanes) and came across the website for one of my favorite airshow pilots, Sean D. Tucker:

Team Oracle

It's an impressive site, selected for a Webby award. (Not surprising, since Tucker is sponsored by software giant Oracle.) I was looking for infomation on his powerful little biplane, which the site has in abundance - including an interactive walkaround, with video interviews with his crew and detail photos for modellers.

It also has a slick viewer which lets you view Tucker's entire 13-minute airshow routine, using two simultaneous views, which you can customize from six choices of camera positions. You can even choose the music to accompany the routine. It requires broadband access, but it's a great way to experience one of the most dramatic stunt-flying routines in the world.

I've admired Tucker's wild flying for years; no one else in airshow flying can match him for the difficulty and danger of his maneuvers. I got to meet him at the 1994 Wilkes-Barre/Scranton airshow; seeing him fly that day, and being caught up with his enthusiasm for aviation, finally pushed me over the edge - a few weeks later, I took my first flying lesson.

I'm out!

2005-10-10T16:23:00.000-05:00

Feeling much better, finally home from the hospital. Most of my blood counts are back to normal or nearly so. No other news today... but that's enough!

It's great to be in my old house, with my old cat and my new wife. Many thanks to everyone for their words, cards, visits and support.

Another Weekend at Mercy Hospital

2005-10-08T13:31:00.000-05:00

This is Gail writing on David's behalf, since he's still confined to a hospital bed.

Mercy Hospital, Day 8

We've not been discouraging visitors, it's been a matter of not knowing from day to day how much longer he'll be kept in hospital. Every day we're hopeful he'll be well enough to be released, but then it doesn't happen. After yesterday's prescribed blood transfusion, however, it's fairly certain he'll be at Mercy Hospital for the weekend, possibly longer.

If any readers are local and inclined to visit David, or if anyone would like to phone, here's the info:

Mercy Hospital Scranton
746 Jefferson Ave
Phone: 570-348-7100
Room: 927

(The hospital switchboard doesn't route calls after 10pm.)

Please bear in mind that David's immune system is dangerously low. He likes having visitors, but is very prone to infection, which can delay his chemotherapy treatment. If you're feeling under the weather, it's best to phone.

(Please don't send anything to the hospital! There's a whole saga related to the black hole that is the receiving department at Mercy Hospital! To be on the safe side, send stuff to the house...)

When David comes home, he's going to help me make thank you cards for our wedding presents. We're very grateful for all the cards and gifts, and we'd like to show our appreciation in the best way possible.

Alive, kicking and off the market!

2005-10-04T13:25:00.000-05:00

[This was written by David at the hospital and posted by Gail.]

(This is a long entry; I have been cooped up away-from-keyboard since the wedding. You may want to enjoy it in installments! -D.)

As of this morning, I am still in the hospital due to complications from my chemotherapy. Last week I was switched to a different set of drugs, and Thursday morning was the second 2-hour treatment. Past experience has been that the side-effects are delayed by a few days, and the first treatment was tolerable; so I felt that we should proceed with the second injection despite our wedding being only two days away - after all, the cancer hasn't taken any days off!

When I finished the second chemo, I was given a shot that worked well at suppressing the nausea. That afternoon I went to the Steamtown Mall with my future father-in-law, and I was able to enjoy some food-court Chinese. But Friday I slid downhill, with waves of nausea and mild cramps that made it impossible to eat anything solid. I woke before dawn, and sat in my easy chair with a book and my old cat. The first to join me was Gail's niece Melissa, who came quietly shining down the stairs, and began roaming around the first floor. Hugh must have felt safe on my lap; he didn't hiss at her on this occasion.

For the rest of Friday, my condition got worse. My cramps were becoming so severe and sharp that I couldn't stand upright, or even lie down. Gail was busy preparing for the wedding, but Mr. Edwin and Melissa's grandmother Jean both took good care of my needs - many thanks, Gumpa and GMP! I'm glad that they still managed to take Melissa to the train museum in the afternoon. I rested, and hoped that Saturday would be a better one.

Unfortunately, I continued to deteriorate. The first chemo treatment had not been anything like this; I was unable to eat anything solid, and even a half-glass of water would come straight back up. Sleep was impossible, and I was running to the toilet with bloody diarrhea so often that it was hardly worth it to leave. The nadir was just before daybreak on Saturday, when I apparently curled up on the bathroom floor and passed out. Melissa's knock woke me, and Jean helped me to sip a little electrolyte drink and crawl into bed.

I was determined to see the day through, though. This day and date were very important to me - one year exactly from the day that we had met, a day and weekend that has been so pivotal for me, and so perfect. And I wanted to have our moment, despite the turmoil of the past few months - to be hopeful and happy, and enjoy the day with our families and close friends, and most of all to really be married - to hold my wife's hand, at last, and formally take the vows that we have felt in our hearts for so long.

So with Jean and Mr. Edwin's help, I managed to shave and shower, and they packed my overnight case and laid out my dress blue uniform, which Gail's friend Lucy had steamed and pressed for me. I rested as long as I could, then got dressed and wobbled out to the car; by this time I was getting dizzy if I stood up for more than a minute or two. I was obviously badly dehydrated and anemic, and hoped that I wouldn't pass out. At the historic Lackawanna Station hotel, the doormen helped me into a wheelchair, and I made my way inside to where our little party was gathering.

Our ceremony was set up in a conference room downstairs, and as I was wheeled in we took the necessary precautions; a bucket in the corner in case of nausea, and a route to the nearest bathroom in case of... well, not very wedding-like, but we must be prepared, right? Our pastor, my good friend and Civil Air Patrol chaplain Bob, went over the ceremony with me and my best man (and friend) Chris, and we all got into position; I decided at the last moment that I would stay in the wheelchair, rather than risk toppling over. There was a long delay, during which the heat in the room was raised; it was freezing, or felt that way to me, with my thin blood!

But at last Gail and her companions were at the door, and the harp music began to play. She will say that she looked a mess from crying and makeup, but I couldn't see anything but her, and she was simply beautiful. She sat next to me and took my hand, and Bob began the ceremony. He did a beautiful job, warm and eloquent. (I believe we were his first wedding!) Chris read a poem, Autumn, by Garrison Keillor; a favorite of mine, one that evokes the magic of our perfect October weekend. And then Pastor Bob read us our vows, which we exchanged line-by-line with one another, a nice idea of Gail's. We wrote our own, of course, and Gail posted them in her first brief journal entry here:

Wedding Weekend

The not-so-good news, as she detailed, was that my condition was now too serious to be ignored. I had to go straight to the room to use the restroom and pick up my case; I had hoped to at least go into the reception and greet and thank everyone, but I had to relent. Chris wheeled me out to his car and took me to the hospital, and I staggered into the emergency room - in full dress uniform, boutonniere and all - so obviously anemic and weak that they immediately put me on a gurney and wheeled me into the ER. For the next few hours, they poured I.V. fluids into me and tried to relieve my pain with morphine; the cramps were now like a knife in my gut. Chris showed the depth of our friendship, refusing to leave my side until I seemed to be stable; I chased him out to get some dinner, since it would be hours before I had a proper hospital bed.

And it was, of course; the sun was coming up on Sunday when I was finally installed in a private room in the cancer ward. During that night, my fever had risen to almost 104, and the nurses were packing ice around my neck and back; the fever soon broke, though, and I have had a lot of I.V. antibiotics, scans and tests since then. In brief, it appears that I have a badly irritated intestine and colon, from a combination of the chemo and the radiation; and that due to that irritation, I may have come down with a bacterial infection like colitis.

As of this moment, they want to keep me another day before sending me home and letting me try solid food; I haven't had anything but gelatin and flavored ice since Thursday. At least Gail and I got to spend the night together last night, finally; she was so tired that the hospital staff let her nap in bed with me, and then in the chair in my room, all night. Maybe not the ideal first night for a married couple, but a very happy one nonetheless, for me.

Like riding a bike, unless you fall off

2005-09-24T22:27:00.000-05:00

Takeoff roll
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Gail and I slept in this morning, enjoying the weekend break from my radiation treatments. When we finally roused ourselves, Gail took me up to the Cherry Ridge airport to enjoy the beautiful weather, and in hopes of catching a plane ride with one of my pilot friends.

Things worked out just that way, in very short order; in fact, I had just stepped out of our car when my friend Mr. Tibor pulled up behind us, and asked if I would like to go up with him. He owns a very clean little 2-seat Cessna 150, and likes to fly in the evenings - we often see each other at the fuel pump, but have never flown together. Gail shooed me off to go and have fun, and went off to take pictures around the airport grounds.

I watched as Mr. Tibor carefully preflighted his plane. It's a beauty, an all-metal 1975 Cessna that looks like brand-new, and which he keeps well-maintained and neat as a pin. It's a bit smaller than the Tri-Pacer (not many planes are!) but has some nice equipment; one item of interest is a traffic alert, which his daughter bought for him. It detects the transponder signal of any aircraft within a few miles, and gives a spoken alert over the intercom when another plane is nearby.

Takeoff
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

We ran through our cockpit checks and took off, and then did one practice landing and took off again. Over Lake Wallenpaupack, I snapped some pictures and then took the controls for a while; I haven't flown a 150 in years, but it's a very easy plane to handle. Back at the airport, I even managed to grease on a smooth landing from the right seat; I guess I still remember how it's done, even though it's been - gasp - over two months since I've logged any stick time.

With my confidence restored, I offered to reciprocate, and take Mr. Tibor up in my Tri-Pacer. We walked from his hangar over to mine, and I preflighted 02P in the long evening shadows. As we taxied out, we chatted about the differences in our planes - mine is older, noisier and carries a bit more weight, his burns less fuel - but the performance of each is very similar. The air was getting late-evening smooth as we took off to the south, and turned east towards Lake Ariel to fly over Mr. Tibor's house. He took his turn flying, and noted how the Tri-Pacer is as light on the controls as his Cessna, but with a quicker roll rate due to the short wings. Back at the airport, I did one touch-and-go for practice; my approach was a little low, the first time. The next time around I did a bit better, and squeaked down right on the numbers.

It felt absolutely great, to get back into the air again. I really needed a day like this, after weeks of treatments and illness, to lift my spirits. So many thanks to Gail, for coaxing me out to the airport, and to Mr. Tibor for spending some time in the air with me!

Critiquing the critics

2005-09-23T22:00:00.000-05:00

Last night, while idly browsing the internet, I found a rich vein of humor: amateur movie reviews on Amazon.com. Now, I indulge in commenting on movies myself, here in the Logbook; I assume that most readers are friends of mine, and understand my perspective. But on mega-etailer Amazon, in the listing for each movie or DVD, is a place where anyone can post their personal review of the film in question - and by gosh, anyone does. The most well-known movies get the most reviews, of course; so it's easy to find a critique of The Exorcist, for example (726 customer reviews) from the perspective of, say, an 11-year-old whose favorite movie of all time is Fantastic Four. Or, from the point of view of a devout Christian, one with an extraordinary knowledge of the real mechanics of demonic possession:

"The problem is in the so-called "transference" of the evil entity into the supposedly consecrated body of the priest. Any student of theology should know that this is an impossibility: a priest (even one who has just regained his faith) invoking the power of Christ, blessed by Holy Water, and empowered by the Holy Spirit would never be able to entice a demon to "come into him" or "take him on instead'. Such a proposition (even if it were so) could not be taken up by a demon simply because the priest's consecrated body would burn like electricity to the touch if a demon were to try and gain access."

See? These are the kind of cinematic insights you just can't get from the mainstream press. Too, you typically can't get the range of horrible grammar and spelling that offer such grisly delights, even in USA Today. File this one under "Engrish":

This movie scared the crap out of me. When I go to are bech house I only go in water about half a foot deep. A shark is chompy the people. This movie was the second series of man eater. Better than the classic 1960 horror movie that inspires this genre of monstres.
Quint is herilious he made me laugh. This movie has some comedy as well. When quite said what you got her portable monkey cage. Anti shark. It very good movie. It had three sequels of which two I own. I did not buy the last one because it was alwfull bad plot and low death count.
My advice If you like this sea 2 and 3 but don't waste your time with the fourth on. Yes there is a movie call Jaws 5 Cruel Jaws but its not avilable her. It was sent over sea because it was made illegally.

There again - if "death count" is something you value in a film, then here is information you can use. This next one I have to classify as "sharing too much":

I just recently viewed the film, JAWS, in it's entirety. My brother Michael, who is now deceased, loved this film, so I figured why not get the film?

(By the way, in case you missed it, he was talking about the film.) Alas, sometimes we get to share in even sadder stories from the unsolicited movie reviewer:

I never recieved the product. I will never purchase anything from them again!!

Of course, there are other joys of browsing through these reviews: the Spoiler, who will recap the entire movie in detail, including the climactic end; the Nitpicker, who points out that some scrap of scenery dates from 1948, whereas the movie is set in 1945; and the Endless Babbler, who uses up the entire quota of space - usually with an intensely personal monologue, usually without paragraphs or punctuation. Thanks, Amazon, for providing this valuable service! I give it five stars.

Checking in

2005-09-23T20:14:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted all week; it's been a rough one, in terms of my energy level. The good news is that the radiation seems to be really reducing my back pain - I haven't had to pop so many pills, and I can get up and around without the cane. But it also causes severe fatigue and nausea, so it's been tough to be active, or eat. Today I spent the whole day in sack-of-potatoes mode, I'm just getting up now to have a meal and get cleaned up. I really noticed, as I showered, how much weight I have lost; around 35 pounds. (And I still have a little bit of spare-tire!) I've been carrying an extra 20 pounds for years anyway, but it feels strange to be bony, something I've never been.

In other good news, my mother is home from the hospital, and enjoying her favorite pastimes: Scrabble, and worrying about me. Thanks for all the words of support.

Gail has spent the last few days in a flurry of activity, getting ready for the wedding next weekend. Besides the flowers and hotel and the other arrangements, she found some beautiful gifts for the wedding guests, and some nice touches for the house too. I'm looking forward to seeing our family and a few friends get together, it will be a real lift.

When it rains...

2005-09-19T23:32:00.000-05:00

Squeeze
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

In the midst of my own health problems, my mother had to check into the hospital today. She was feeling dizzy and weak last night, and her friend took her to the emergency room this morning. Mom suffers from COPD - Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder, basically a deterioration of the lungs from a lifetime of smoking, and it limits her oxygen intake.

I spoke to her this afternoon - I had to track her down at the hospital, since the little dickens didn't call me. She is being monitored and tested, but sounds in good spirits, considering. For those of you who have been so supportive of me, please keep my mother in your thoughts as well. The picture here is from sometime around my first birthday in 1968 - and nothing has changed, really. She's a great mom, and I'm her one and only.

And hey, if I may make a suggestion: If you smoke, quit. If you don't smoke, don't start. I quit in 1993 with the help of a local wellness center, and my mother did when she was diagnosed, and we both may have been too late.

Smokefree.gov

Movie Review: Winged Migration

2005-09-17T13:39:00.000-05:00

Gail and I added Winged Migration to our Netflix queue after seeing a preview on another disc; the few scenes were enough to capture my attention. It is a mostly visual documentary, filmed on every continent, which follows the travels of dozens of species of migratory birds. The camera techniques are astonishing; filmed in the air, literally inches from the birds in flight; we wondered over and over how such scenes could be captured, without special effects and without frightening the birds. (More on this below.) Scene after scene shows the grace and beauty of the powerful birds, and the awesome variety of landscapes they fly through. There is little narration, mostly orchestral and choral music to accompany the visuals; a few helpful captions identify the species and the routes they follow.

The film has won acclaim for its beauty, and we were captivated too. On reaching the end, we went right into the DVD extras, looking for some insight into how the remarkable aerial footage was captured. The filmmakers developed a lot of innovative techniques, including the use of ultralight aircraft, balloons, helicopters and even remote-controlled model aircraft. But most striking was the fact that many of the birds in the film were actually raised and trained to be photographed in this manner, by a technique known to zoologists as "imprinting". Over the four years of production, the birds - many from shelters and zoos - were raised from chicks by the filmmakers and crew, and trained to tolerate (even pursue!) the noisy aircraft and camera vehicles. While the scenes in the film show the correct species of bird, flying over the correct terrain - in truth, the birds returned to their crates at the end of each day's filming, and travelled with the crew by airliner. Bird actors!

Does that change the impact of the film? I think it does, in a small way; it was disappointing to learn that what I had thought was the pure beauty of nature was in fact achieved with some artifice. Still, as mentioned, the film does show the correct species in the correct situations; with unforgettable images that could not have been achieved any other way. I still definitely recommend Winged Migration; the images are stunning, however they were captured, and the truths about the lives of these amazing birds are astounding.

The Machine

2005-09-17T00:49:00.000-05:00

The Machine (cue Pink Floyd)
Originally uploaded by gail on the web.

This is the machine that is used to treat me every day; as Gail wrote, on Friday I remembered to ask if she could come in and have a look. The staff of the radiation center, all women, have always been friendly and warm, and they allowed us a minute before the next patient stepped in. (The machine is in heavy use, apparently as many as 65 - 75 patients per day.)

The Machine - all the name it needs, at the clinic - emits precise bursts of radiation for the treatment of cancer. My initial treatment, for the tumor on my lung, involved two short treatments per day; each treatment consisted of three radiation exposures or "frames" from three different directions. The new treatment for the nest of tumors in my lower back involves 18 frames from nine positions, once a day.

The radiation treatments are designed precisely for each patient. The machine can rotate to focus on the patient from any direction, and the emitting mechanism has movable lead shutters to allow the radiation beam to be shaped specifically for each dose and angle. The patient lies still on a platform, after being raised up to the center of the machine; positioning is crucial, so custom-molded cushions are used. Small permanent tattoos on the patient are lined up with lasers along 3 axes to establish the initial position, and a computer program takes the machine through the gyrations and exposures as programmed by the directing physician.

That's the mechanics of it, anyway. I am always aware that we are hoping this machine will help save my life. I am becoming accustomed to the experiences - the technicians help me into position, and the lights flip on and off in the room as they use the lasers to line me up. Then the table elevates, and the techs leave, and I hear the 8-inch thick (!) lead door close. The machine rotates into the first of its positions, usually from below, and the lead shutters click and there is a whir of something focusing. Then a warning buzz sounds and the machine hums, for several seconds, as the radiation is released. There is no physical sensation; I sometimes think "Die, cancer, die!" as each burst sounds. I count off the exposures and watch the machine rotate around me, and look at my own reflection in the grey plastic casing.

Eventually the treatment is over, and I pull on my shirt and sandals and shuffle out. The physical effects of the radiation don't hit me until about an hour later; I think my new single dose is heavier than my old ones, as the effects are more pronounced. Fatigue hits hard; not mere tiredness, but a feeling that my arms and legs are weighed down with lead. I come home and lie down, not sleeping, but unable to get up; I read a lot. And I've been having a lot of nausea - this morning, I had to be let up from the MRI table while I was sick. Hopefully the 2-day respite over the weekend will let me enjoy a little normal activity, and keep down a few meals.

A Setback

2005-09-13T19:09:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a bad one. After my morning radiation treatment, I had a bad reaction to the injection, which saw me arrive home with severe nausea; I threw up before I could make it into the house. After suffering through this for over an hour, I finally passed out and got some rest before my MRI.

The MRI was ordered by one of the doctors in the radiation center, after hearing that my back pain had been getting more severe and more specific. I had to lie on the flat, hard platform of the MRI machine for almost an hour, which was excruciating. When we were finished, we went back to the radiation center for my afternoon treatment, with the new films from the scan. The doctor was able to see immediately that there are lesions on my tailbone, hip and two lower vertebra; the cancer has spread, and the new growths are causing the pain in my back.

This morning we spoke to Dr. B, who was very frank with us; it's bad news, and it makes my prognosis for recovery worse. They are changing my treatment immediately to irradiate the new areas for two weeks, which he thinks will quickly eliminate much of the pain; the treatment of my lung can stop for the time being, as the last scan showed a lot of progress on the original tumor. He also ordered another MRI for the rest of my spine, to see whether there is any more spread going on.

It's hard to say how or why this has happened; we knew from the start that this type of cancer is hard to contain, that it spreads very quickly. I've had arthritis-like symptoms since the outset, more than a month ago, and I've been on painkillers the whole time. So when the back pain began to get more severe last week, I just began taking more pills; I never thought that the cancer might spread while I was in chemotherapy. And short of getting an MRI every day, there's just no way of knowing - by the time anything shows up on a scan, it's really too late.

But I'm resolved to keep fighting, and hoping that the cancer can be fought into remission. Since I am no longer "limited stage", it's not realistic to think of being "cured", but there are always a few people who manage long remissions and survive for years. In the meantime, I am trying to live the best quality of life that I can, and make things easier for Gail. We're going forward with the wedding, and making plans for a train trip as a mini-honeymoon. And I'm working on drawing up some paper plans, blueprints, for a new model airplane - an old U.S. Air Mail biplane from the 1920s. There's always hope in making plans.

OK, back to the fun!

2005-09-10T21:53:00.000-05:00

Flightline
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

Well, having been rudely interrupted by a bacterial infection, I felt much better today. Gail and I had hoped to return to Rhinebeck for the model airplane Jamboree, but I decided I was still too weak to travel that far. But then last night my neighbor Bill reminded me that our local model airplane club, the Waymart Wings, was having its annual airshow and model fly-in. Great! That's only a 20-minute ride, and I missed the event last year - because I was at Rhinebeck, actually.

It was perfect weather, and we drove out to the club's field on Kellachow's farm - actually a full-scale private grass runway for his own family. The club was out in full force, the flightline crowded with neat model airplanes, and a few full-sized ones too. As we arrived, a local pilot was performing stunts in his Decathlon monoplane, finishing with the "Delsey Dive" - just like Rhinebeck! He did great, too; he whirled around in descending turns, managing to cut the falling streamer of toilet paper at least six times before it fell dead-center onto the airfield. Gail and I took out our chairs and parked my model Jenny biplane on pit row, and walked around photographing the planes and the farm. We sat and chatted with Bill and my other model-flying friends, who I haven't seen much since I've been so involved in full-sized flying. We enjoyed the day, and the models buzzing overhead, and a few honest grilled hamburgers. (Gosh, it's good to have my appetite back!)

Bells of St Tikhon
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

On the way back, we stopped at a nearby monastery; St. Tikhon's, a Russian Orthodox monastery and theological seminary. The onion-shaped domes and beautiful setting lured us in for photography, but as we were there, the brothers and sisters were congregating for a service. Gail was quietly composing a photo of one of the icons, when the air was split by the loud, clear pealing of the bells! We both jumped, and then wandered over in time to watch the spectacle of the bell-ringers; two cassock-wearing monks (I presume) were ringing the bells by hand, playing a fairly complex tune by pulling the heavy ropes on the freestanding bell tower. It was fascinating, and when they were finished we were left alone outside the chapel to photograph the monastery grounds. The bells themselves were among the most beautiful items; the largest, according to its inscription, was newly founded this year.

Were were just finishing our tour when I got a call from my CAP comrade Frank, who was in the area with his family and asked us to dinner. So we met a short while later at Kundla's Open Pit Barbecue, about which I have raved in the past, and had a barbecue dinner that couldn't be beat - and lively conversation with he and Marianne and Frank Jr., one of my cadets. An altogether satisfying day to be out of the hospital!

Free once again...

2005-09-09T14:24:00.000-05:00

Whew. As Gail reported, I had to go back into the hospital Tuesday afternoon due to a high fever and nausea; I just got home. Apparently a bacterial infection of some kind - Dr. A, my oncologist, said that this sort of thing can happen due to my depressed immune system. He didn't think that it had anything to do with my going out this past weekend, it could have been bacteria from my own body run amok.

Whatever it was, it wiped me out. My fever spiked at 103 on Tuesday night, but broke early Wednesday morning. All along, I was wracked with such nausea that I couldn't look at - or even smell - food. So I didn't eat a morsel for almost two days, and between that and the many bags of I.V. antibiotics they dripped into me, I just felt weak and overmedicated. (The only bright spots were the extremely powerful pain injections, which were downright euphoric. But eventually I was shying away from them for fear of addiction.)

Early this morning I began to manage to keep a few bites down, and feel a little better. My last blood test showed my various counts back to acceptable levels, so I have been released in time to enjoy the weekend. I'll still be relying on Gail a lot around the house, but I'm glad to be out of the hospital. They do a fine job of treating the sick, but the food was awful - and you can't get more than an hour's sleep before someone comes in, at any hour, to check whether your feet are swollen or whether you've peed or some such matter of import.

The Best Medicine

2005-09-05T12:36:00.000-05:00

Aviation, laughter, antique cars and a beautiful late-summer day in upstate New York. Gail took me for a day trip yesterday, a two-hour drive up the scenic Hudson River valley to my favorite place in the world - The Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome, a working museum of antique airplanes.

Sun, Grass and Biplanes
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

The Aerodrome is a unique place; there's nowhere else in the country with a similar collection of ancient airplanes, that actually fly. It was founded by a pilot, Cole Palen, back in 1961 when he acquired a French "Spad" fighter from the first World War. Looking for a safe place to teach himself to fly the old biplane, he bought a spread of farmland near the Hudson River north of Poughkeepsie, and carved a short grass strip into the uneven land. From this unlikely beginning, Cole's collection grew over the years into dozens of rare machines from the early era of aviation, the years before World War II.

In order to fund his hobby - and just for fun - Palen began to give weekend airshows, demonstrating his old birds for the public. He maintained them the way he thought they should be seen, in working condition, not polished and behind glass in a museum. And to make the show accessible to children - and for fun - he added a campy, comic theme; a set of stock WWI characters, heros and villains, and livened up the airshow with fizzing TNT bombs, aerial dogfights and slapstick comedy.

Having spent a lifetime doing just what he loved, Cole passed away of natural causes in 1993. But the Aerodrome lives on, carefully preserved by a nonprofit foundation and the weekend airshows go on every summer. I haven't missed going at least once every season for the last ten years; one weekend is given to a huge model aviation meet. I have also made it a point to take my cadets there every summer to enjoy the show and learn about aviation history.

Spirit
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Gail and I packed up our many cameras and left early yesterday, hoping to get there in time to sign up for a barnstorming ride in the museum's 1929 New Standard biplane. When we arrived, I trotted right over to the ride booth, but the young girl there said that the rides were sold out; and the morning rides were cancelled due to gusty wind conditions, as well. Well, that was too bad, but we were enjoying the day anyway; I led Gail around the old tin hangars and rattled off chapter and verse on each old plane and bit of machinery. She found an endless variety of things to photograph, from the old planes to the many cars and motorbikes, old engines, and the beautiful countryside around the museum. A friendly old gentleman in a flightsuit invited us to come into one hangar to examine the partially-completed "Spirit of St. Louis" replica; I noticed his nametag, Stanley Segalla - one of the airshow pilots, famous as the "Flying Farmer"!

At 2:00 we sat down on the rustic "bleachers" - planks of wood on cinder blocks - to watch the airshow. The wind kept the very oldest planes grounded, but the rest of the vintage biplanes did their barnstorming acts, as did Mr. Segalla in his Piper Cub. The evil "Black Baron of Rhinebeck" menaced "Sir Percy Goodfellow" and his lovely bride-to-be, "Trudy Truelove" - who shrieked at the top of her charming lungs when the Baron kidnapped her, and Sir Percy and his squadron mates set off in pursuit.

Biplane!
Uploaded by AviatorDave.

After the show, we waited for the crowd to clear out, and walked over to the flightline. I stopped at the fence to talk to a hero of mine, Bill King, another veteran old pilot and one of the lead performers at the Aerodrome. Gail snapped our photo, and Mr. King advised us to stick around, as he thought that the air was calming and the biplane rides would resume. So we did, and as the shadows got longer the air did cool and the wind subsided. We had to wait our turn until the very last ride of the day, but we finally climbed aboard - we had the plane to ourselves (it seats four), and the air was perfectly still. The setting sun over the Hudson valley was perfect for photography, and Gail and I enjoyed the ride immensely, tucked in the open cockpit with the wind and engine roaring. We snapped a few pictures and marvelled at the sensations. The pilot even threw in a little fun, what we call a chandelle; he dove for a little speed and pulled up into a steep turn, rolling the broad orange wings almost vertical, as we watched the glittering Hudson River below us.

After a silky-smooth landing on the grass strip, we drove into the historic village of Rhinebeck, and had an immense dinner at the Coach House Tavern. When we got home, we were exhausted, but fell asleep with the day's images still in our heads. I finally got my pictures posted today; Gail will be hours going through hers, and we have film to develop too. As always, watch her site for the results.

Thanks Gail, and Mr. Segalla and Mr. King... and thanks Cole, wherever you are. It was far and away the best day I've had in a long time.

Back In The Saddle

2005-09-03T22:26:00.000-05:00

If not in the air, anyway. After a restful day free from the alarm clock, Gail and I went out to Cherry Ridge for an early supper, and to walk around and plane-watch. We missed the midday crowd, but had a nice chat with the Airport Cafe owners, Sue and Rick. They are working very hard, seven days a week at the little diner overlooking the runway; the reviews prove that they are doing a great job. The Cafe is a big draw for the airport, with pilots flying in from hundreds of miles away for a meal. The dining area is all glass, looking out over the parking apron and the peaceful woodlands that surround the airport.

Afterwards we wandered around, me looking over the parked airplanes, and Gail taking pictures of whatever caught her eye. She found a long-retired steam roller that was just a bounty of wonderful textures, rust and peeling paint. We pulled 02P out of the hangar and checked her over, since it's been over a month since my last flight. I made some minor repairs to an oil-line grommet, and we actually hopped in and started the engine, just to see that the battery was charged.

The Master Tinkerer
Originally uploaded by gail on the web.

I let it run for a few minutes and taxiied to the ramp, and discovered that the brakes were very weak; so I switched off and added some hydraulic fluid. The Tri-Pacer has a tiny, rudimentary brake system - one small piston on the firewall, operated by a hand lever from the cockpit, with a pair of hydraulic lines to the small drum brakes. Most heavy motorcycles have more stopping power, but this plane lands very slowly, and the system is simple and adequate. Since the volume of fluid is so small, even a slight leak will let the brakes go soft - and they all leak.

So we put the plane away, just as the sun went down. Later in the weekend, if I'm still feeling well, I'll shanghai one of my pilot friends and take her out for a flight. It felt good anyway, to be tinkering under the cowl, and to hear the engine rumbling away again.

Notes from the Irradiated

2005-09-02T21:20:00.000-05:00

I've been extremely fatigued and sore over the last few days; I think it's a combination of the chemotherapy, and my first full week of twice-daily radiation treatments. Even with the drug I have injected every morning (two sore arms, ow) my energy is very low, and I have a definite burning sensation in my esophagus. Thankfully, I get a three-day break from the treatments for the holiday weekend.

The overall aches and pains make it difficult for me to get around, unless I take a lot of medication, which robs my energy even more and upsets my stomach. A thoughtful nurse at the radiation center arranged for a new pain med prescription, which I won't have to take as often.

My blood test this week showed that my various cell counts are sufficient to continue treatment, but I am slightly anemic, and my immune system is very low. So I'll have to avoid crowds; too bad, this weekend is the "Festa Italiana" in town, a yearly celebration of Italian food, culture, food, music and food.

Artist's rendering

And, perhaps the dreariest of today's news: The chemotherapy drugs, having spent two weeks seeping into every cell in my body, have reached my scalp. A few days ago, Gail optimistically pointed out that my hair was still its typical thick mop. Then today, as I sat at my morning bowl of cereal, I ran my hand through my bed-rumpled hair... and came away with a handful of it. Throughout the day, I've been shedding faster than Hugh, and I just took a shower and watched a great deal of it go down the drain.

So it seems that I will not be spared the most visible sign of the cancer patient, baldness. Fortunately, I am not vain, and what with Lance Armstrong so prominent in the media lately, I might actually be in vogue. (And what with Gail here, expect photos...) The point of all this is to cure me anyway, and the one piece of good news is that I haven't coughed all week - so the tumor has almost certainly shrunk already. Hopefully my energy will rally a bit ever the weekend, and we will be able to enjoy the late-summer weather, and post a few cancer-free stories and pictures.

The Worst Day at Best Buy

2005-08-31T01:18:00.000-05:00

My radiation treatment was late this morning, as the radiation-emitting machine (?) was temporarily out of order. Since my afternoon appointment would be pushed back accordingly, I decided to go in to my office to get a few things done; in the main, I hoped to purchase and set up a new computer workstation for one of our account executives.

So I greeted everyone late this morning, took the company charge card and headed over to Best Buy; they usually offer good basic systems at (as the sign says) the lowest price. After a few trips up and down the aisles, I selected a package deal on an HP system, and flagged down a sales clerk.

To get the super-low price on the sticker, BB requires that you buy the three items (computer, monitor and printer) as a package, paying the list price; then send in no less than five mail-in rebates, totaling over two hundred dollars in this case. The sales clerk, a young woman who was keenly bored with her job, tried halfheartedly to interest me in a more expensive system, then meandered off to locate the items I asked for.

As it turned out, they were out of that particular system; so, seeing that there were plenty of boxes with the next higher-priced system, I asked for that package. In a cloud of ennui, the girl retrieved one of those boxes, then explained that they were out of the correct monitor, and she could substitute a similar model. Fine, I say. She then placed a printer on the cart, mustered her energy, and managed to sell me two cartridges and a cable.

We arrived at the sales counter and processed the card, and she handed me a form. I was supposed to fill this out; it was obviously a xeroxed form to get me on their mailing list. I balked, and she insisted, like it was a government regulation that I register this thing, like a deadly weapon. (Her complete boredom with the whole sales process began, at this time, to turn to thinly veiled hostility.) Then the receipts came chugging out of the register, and the all-important rebate forms; but only three of them. The ones for the printer were missing.

My antagonist stabbed at a few buttons on the register, frowned (rather, took her existing frown and deepened it) and paged the manager. A long time passed, during which we did not exchange pleasantries, nor did I burst into flame despite her smouldering, eye-shadow-caked glances.

Finally, after a second page, Sales Manager showed up, cordless phone in his ear. He expertly poked a few buttons on the register, and accused me of substituting the wrong printer. "I didn't even pick out the printer! She put it on the cart!" A lot of button-pushing ensues, and it emerges that they are out of the correct printer. Big surprise. Another printer will satisfy the rebate, but add twenty dollars to the total. "Can I just delete the printer? I don't really need it." No, that will disqualify the largest rebate. Best Buy, in its wisdom, will only refund me $150.00 if I also buy an obsolete $70.00 printer that the manufacturer will rebate me the entire cost of anyway.

On the ropes by now, I agree. Give me the other printer. Ennui Girl and Phone-In-Ear went off to find the correct printer, and I perched on the sales counter to relieve my back pain. They come back to announce that the only one available is a display model, but that I won't get a discount for it; in fact, I will have to pay the additional twenty. I decide that I don't want the display model, or any part of the deal any more, and ask that the sale be voided.

This requires the summoning of yet another middle manager, who arrives shortly (phone in her ear, too; the badge of office, apparently.) She asks me for my receipt. "Receipt? I haven't left the store!" Finally, it appears that she has voided the charge, and wanders off. So have Ennui Girl and Manager #1. None of them has acknowledged me further, or told me if my transaction was complete. So, 50 minutes later, I stalked out of Best Buy empty-handed.

Frustrating, innit?

I ended up buying a better system from Office Max for a few dollars more, but at least the clerk was polite, and carried the carton to my car for me. The system was on sale, with an actual discount at the register; no mail-in rebate nonsense.

At the movies

2005-08-28T05:37:00.000-05:00

Well, on the new futon anyway. I haven't indulged in a movie review since switching my journal from Multiply, but since the pain meds have washed me up on the shores of 6:00 am, here are a few thoughts on the DVD I rented last night:

Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow was released last year, at great expense and to a lukewarm reception. It is a sci-fi adventure set in the interwar years, the 1920s and 30s, and calls heavily on all of the imagery of that era. New York, zeppelins, ray guns and flying helmets; all of the elements of the old pulp science fiction and flying magazines that we are all really too young to remember.

I read the reviews of the movie at the time it came out, and decided to give it a miss. Reluctantly, because I was intrigued by the visuals. Though too young, I have read those pulp magazines, and of course I have sat through a lot of dreadful movies just for the airplanes, my particular addiction. Not just that, but I have always had an affinity for the very imagery this film wallows in - the Streamlined Moderne, collectively. The twenties and thirties saw a revolution in industrial design; I did a paper on the subject in college, which I'll not reproduce here. But the images are still famous today: the Chrysler building, the Trojan-helmet trains of the New York Central - the flowing aerodynamic look incorrectly referred to as "Art Deco". This film is the result of the art directors being as infatuated with that movement as I was, but with a far larger budget!

It's also darn near unwatchable, as a movie; dull and devoid of adventure. Most of that huge budget was spent in making the film in the George Lucas mode - where the actors perform in front of a blue screen, and literally everything is painted in behind them with computer-generated imagery, "CGI". I'm sure that this contributed to the disinterested performances by the stars - Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow and Angelina Jolie - all capable actors. It didn't help that their lines were dreadfully written, or that the plot was convoluted and predictable. No, this was a movie created by and for the art directors; a purely visual exercise with as much audience appeal as - well, my college term paper.

If you know who Raymond Loewy, Norman Bel Geddes and R. Buckminster Fuller are; if you've sought out and read old pulp comics like "Smilin' Jack" and "Air Wonder Stories"; or if you're actually old enough to remember this era, you might find it interesting to look at; "Sky Captain" is a rich catalog of imagery. But don't expect to find any of the adventure or wonder that these images accompanied, back in their day.

Futon!

2005-08-27T19:45:00.000-05:00

New futon
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

fu·ton [Japanese, bedclothes, bedding : fu, bed, quilt (from Middle Chinese phu) + ton, round (from Middle Chinese thuan).]

Our old couch was a big overstuffed barge, comfortable enough but a bit large for the room; but its kiss of death was being peed on too many times by an old, incontinent cat. Cat urine is one of the most acrid, awful odors in nature - and despite how useful this phenomenon is for the territorial Tom, it's nothing you would want to sit on and watch a movie. We got our timing just right and hauled it out to the curb just in time for the municipal trash truck to take it away.

Today its replacement arrived, a beautiful new futon that Gail and I picked out, and which my mother insisted on making a gift of. (We'll call it an early wedding present!) The cherry stain matches our existing wrought-iron tables and standing lamps, and since it features folding platforms on each arm, does away with the need for end tables, freeing up some floor space. It also has two deep drawers underneath, useful for storing things and for keeping cat toys out.

I had a futon back in my postcollegiate days, but it was a crude pine knockup next to this item. This a beautiful piece of furniture, well-made and sturdy, and a breeze to open and close. I've just given it its first test nap, falling asleep in front of a movie; Gail has gone into New York for the day to get out of the house for a bit, since I have the weekend off from radiation and such.

Thanks, Mom! And no, Hugh is not allowed on it.

A New Schedule, and The Purloined Package

2005-08-24T20:05:00.000-05:00

I got up early today, not feeling too bad. I got a message from the radiologist's office requesting that I move my appointment up to today from Friday, so I called to confirm that I would. Then I decided I would go down to the hospital again to try to retrieve the package that arrived after I left on Friday. I was feeling strong with no pain medication, so I told Gail she could sleep in and I drove myself downtown.

I had to circle the hospital block several times to find a parking spot, eventually parking three blocks away. I walked up to the main desk, where the woman knew who I was as soon as I asked about the package; this marked the FIFTH time that Gail or I have been back to ask about the missing gift. She made a few calls and said that the package was in the receiving department, across the street and in the basement; and that "T. Lydon", who had signed for the package, worked there.

I walked, a little stiffly (my stamina is pretty low at the moment) across the street and downstairs, and then down two long corridors of nitty-gritty hospital business; boxes, skids, and discarded gurneys and chairs. I arrived at the receiving department, and after a few minutes (he was at lunch) located Mr. Lydon. My hopes were sinking already; the vast room I was in was chock-full of shipping boxes, of all sizes and shapes, with labels to and from everywhere imaginable. Remember the last scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, where the crate with the sacred relic was wheeled into a vast warehouse, surely to be lost forever? Spielberg must have been in this room.

T. Lydon began rummaging through the stacked boxes, muttering that he was sure that the package had been here yesterday, and eventually that someone must have taken it away. I was getting gruff and impatient, mentioning our many trips to retrieve the box, that it was an expensive gift, and that I wanted the package found or replaced. Several phone calls around the hospital failed to turn up the parcel, so I gave him my phone number and asked for the number of his manager.

I stalked out - slowly - and made my way back to the car. The three blocks that I had to cross were uphill this time, and I got short of breath with a block to go. I had slowed to a crawl by the time I reached the car. I drove home to pick up Gail for my appointment with the radiologist.

A short while later we were at the medical center, a beautiful new facility only a mile or so from our house. This time I was escorted into the actual machine that will be used for the treatments, a massive carousel of technology that gyrates around the patient/target, delivering its precise (one hopes) bursts of ionizing radiation. The movie I'll call up this time is Independence Day - the scene where the giant saucerlike destroyers move into position over the White House, and then doors in their belly open up; subsequently, lethal rivers of light pour out and blast everything into smouldering ruin.

The machine that rotated into position inches from my sternum was saucerlike, and having moved into position did indeed open a set of gunmetal doors. But instead of Hollywood carnage, all it delivered was a click and a brief hum, which I believe were x-rays being taken to locate my inner invader. A few moments later the massive engine moved ninety degrees and clicked again from my side, and then I was done.

My two weeks of radiation treatments will start tomorrow rather than Monday, still with the weekends off. I will be going twice a day; Gail and I were a bit dismayed to learn that we have been scheduled at 7:45 am and 1:45 pm each day. (That is the time I would normally be at work, but I've been enjoying my respite from the alarm clock; Gail is still on a West Coast schedule, and emphatically not a morning person.) But the visits will only take a few minutes, and the center is a very short ride. If my condition permits, I can spend some of the six hours between treatments at my office, or just fall back into bed if I feel weak.

A winged skull, a bleeding dagger?

2005-08-22T21:50:00.000-05:00

No, just three dots. Late, as usual, for popular trends, I got my first tattoos today. I went in to the radiological medicine specialists for a calibration, of sorts. I was placed on an MRI machine, similar to the platform I will rest on for the radiation treatments, and a mold was made so that my arms, shoulders and back will rest in the exact same position each time. Then stick-on metal targets were added to calibrate the machine, I gather, and finally three little pinches as marks were permanently tattooed on my skin, on my chest and either side of my rib cage. They are just little blue freckles, you'd hardly notice them (I have a fair supply of the natural kind) but they will suffice to allow the radiation techs to line me up in the machine.

The goal of all this is for the radiation to accurately hit the tumor, without irradiating my healthy tissues too much. Later this week I will climb in again to complete the modeling process - "designed" especially for my chest and tumor - and then the actual radiation treatments will begin Monday. I've been warned of the side effects; tiredness, trouble swallowing, sunburn-like effects and so on. The literature states that the actual effects may lag a week or more behind the treatments, like the chemotherapy. But the goal is the same; kill the cancer, leave Dave. Sounds good to me. Maybe later I'll expand the tattoo into a battleship, or something.

Weekend update

2005-08-22T08:36:00.000-05:00

3 o'clock
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

It's Monday morning, and although it's only been a few weeks, I miss my routine. I think it's safe to say that no matter what your job, even Monday morning at work beats your first weekend of chemotherapy.

Until that fateful Friday X-ray three weeks ago, I would typically have been at my incredibly disorganized workspace, with a coffee and a Hershey bar (yeah, awful breakfast...) and sizing up the workload for the day. If there were nothing urgent to get on the presses, I would probably be downloading my weekend flying pictures, and checking in with Gail's blog to see what she was up to in Vancouver. And Ed would be telling me about the latest worries about his daughters, and Judy would say her warm hello, and Kim would be hard at work already; and Mike would tell us about something he read that causes cancer. I miss them.

I'm going to try to keep up with that normal part of my life, though. I've ordered a workstation for my house so that I can take some design work home, and I will try to visit the office to update some software and help out when I can.

The effects of the chemo really kicked in this weekend; I have a counter full of pill bottles for dealing with the many side effects and the pain. I'm trying to eat well and not overmedicate, but I definitely feel like I'm on strong medicine. Sometimes I'm dizzy, or numb, always tired, and nauseous, usually when I wake up. Today I will go in for the first visit to the radiological doctor, who will "design" my radiation treatments with a computer, mapping out my chest and the location of the tumor; I will be getting zapped twice a day for two weeks. There will be more side effects from that, of course.

I miss flying, too. This "logbook" is serving another purpose now, but I hope that it will one day revert to what it was. For a distraction, I picked up the latest version of Microsoft Flight Simulator, and I've been trying a few things to keep feeling like a pilot. Last night I "flew" some instrument approaches, which is good practice anytime; instrument flight is mostly about procedures, and the MS software is very realistic. I even downloaded a Tri-Pacer model, but it ain't the same. I miss the noise, the smell, the vibration... the expense and the danger, too. At least I was in control.

Groan...

2005-08-21T09:41:00.000-05:00

The chemotherapy is settling in, I guess. The hiccoughs are mostly gone, but so is my appetite, and I have bouts of nausea until I take the pills. (I'm taking a battery of pills, now; at least five daily.) And the swelling has gone down, but the site of my IV is quite sore. I'm still feeling some of the effects of the illness, too; I'm having some pain just now, and I went through the sweats again last night. Lastly, and pardon me for mentioning it, but I am painfully constipated, as I was warned.

So, there are this morning's grumbles. I knew this would be an ordeal, and it will be, but at least the battle has been joined. As I suffer through these side-effects, I think that my breathing has improved a little; maybe the tumor is having a worse time of it than I am.

With little to be done for me, other than keep me eating, Gail is turning her attention to the house; cleaning it up, and trying to begin the brightening-and-redecorating that we had hoped to do. I know it's been driving her nuts; this old, dark bachelor's house is in direct opposition to her bright Pacific sensibilities. I really wish I could help her more, but I just feel tired and useless in my current state. Frustrating...

Home, Hopeful and hic

2005-08-19T17:58:00.000-05:00

Well, I started my day after a sleepless night with my third and last bag of chemotherapy. The drugs are starting to to have an effect on my stomach and appetite, nothing too severe; but I am having frequent bouts with the most minor and irritating of the lot - hiccoughs. It's foolish, but whenever I start to move briskly or speak a lot or even burp, the hiccoughs start, and I have to stand very still, hold my breath and swallow to get rid of them. My oncologist says that will go away soon.

Both Dr. A (the oncologist) and Dr. B (the radiologist) came to visit me this morning, each bearing good news. The last of my tests, the CAT scan of my organs, has come up clear. As Gail reported, the brain MRI and radiological bone scans were both clear as well. Dr. B claims that we can thus classify my cancer as "limited stage" lung cancer, and that my prognosis for remission is much better with this news. I will stay on my regimen of chemotherapy for the next eleven weeks, and Monday I will visit Dr. B's office for a scan of my left chest. This will be entered into a 3-D computer model which will allow him to design targeted radiation treatments. Under the combined forces of the chemo and the radiation, the tumor should be in for a rough time.

So it seems that I do have some good news today. Given that this is a serious illness, it's fortunate that I was diagnosed when I was - by chance, due to a cancelled office visit - and that I was able to be seen by a brilliant oncologist, who acted immediately to intercept this fast-growing threat. I have a tough road ahead yet, but this evening I am happy to be home and optimistic about my prospects.

I am most fortunate, as well, to have such a group of people in my life; my amazing fiancee, loving family, friends, internet pals, flying comrades and co-workers. Your notes and cards, calls and emails and support of every kind have touched me to the core - I can't thank you enough.

Day Two (placeholder)

2005-08-19T02:17:00.000-05:00

there's cable TV, hows about some cable internet???,
originally uploaded by gail on the web.

This is Gail writing, because David was too tired by the end of the evening to write something up. We have excellent news, though, which David will elaborate on further when he gets home:

gailontheweb: THE BEST NEWS YET

Also, I'd like to point you to a limerick that our friend Karl wrote in David's honour, and the limerick David typed back on his cell phone:

Karl's Deck: GET WELL LIMERICK

Both Karl and David are limerick fiends, by the way; I can attest to the fact that they've both developed systems for limericking.

Day One

2005-08-18T00:17:00.000-05:00

curative cookies!,
originally uploaded by gail on the web.

My first full day in the hospital was a busy one. I slept fitfully the first night after Gail left, and only shortly after I fell deeply asleep at around 5:00 am an early-bird friend phoned me at 7:20. Ten minutes later I was wheeled out for my first test of the day, an MRI brain scan. The technician was friendly, and piped our local classic-rock station into my headphones as the machine is quite loud. (And quite small. I never knew if I was claustrophobic, but apparently I'm not, even with my head immobilized in a white plastic mask and inserted into a tube.)

Back in my room by shortly after 9:00, and to my chagrin no breakfast, but two pitchers of a chalky barium dye to infuse my system for the next test, a CAT scan. They gave me until 10:30 to put away two liters of the stuff - the second pitcher was the hard one - and then took me down for the scan. This one was easier, although the couch was uncomfortable for my sore back, as they only scanned my torso and hips.

Again back to the room at 12:05, where I began inquiring about LUNCH, since I was getting hungry; the many quarts of liquid running through my bod, from the various testing dyes and the constant saline drip, do nothing to keep the stomach from rumbling. (They do, however, keep me shuffling across the room lugging my IV stand to the bathroom.) Happily, I learned in short order that I was getting lunch, and my first run of chemotherapy, and a radioactive dye injection - all at once. A doc from my oncologist's office figured we could sneak in one bag before the bone scan, thus the isotope dye; which came with the cheery warning that my urine would become radioactive, and that I would have to handle it carefully! The chemo tick-tocked into my IV through a timed release over the next 90 minutes, with no noticeable effect; they said that the side-effects could be expected a few days later. Meanwhile I ate my lunch, every bit of it.

I was finally picked up for the bone scan about twenty minutes late, and made my third trip of the day to the basement (traveling everywhere in an escorted wheelchair, of course; the novelty is wearing off fast). Then I was left outside the imaging room door for a long spell, long enough that I fell asleep. Finally the tech brought me into the dim room and asked me her questions - EVERY separate testing department asks me the same questions, and requires that I sign releases. The series of images for my bone scan took the longest, since the table and me each had to be repositioned for each shot. The sequence required six frontal images to capture my skeleton from head to toe, including my skull from left and right; then two more for my arms; then four from under the table to get my back from shoulders to hips. For many of the plates I was able to watch the monitor to see my ol' bones in realtime; fascinating, especially my own skull, while I'm boggling away inside of it.

It was nearly three hours until I made it back to the room, and when I got there my mom had been waiting over an hour. We visited for a while, then two of my close CAP friends came by (bearing cookies! Welcome, since dinner was lame) and eventually Gail came too with my radio and other goodies from home. Thankfully the nurses are lenient about visiting hours - and more - and didn't mind that we curled up together in bed to watch a movie on her Powerbook. Having done so, I am now using it to compose this entry, for her to post in my journal later.

Again, many thanks to the friends who have called and written. I can read my email and the comments to my journal on my cellphone, and I do appreciate them very much. My local friends are welcome to visit me too, although I've been warned that I mustn't be exposed to anyone with colds or communicable illnesses; my immune system is going to be severely depressed by the chemotherapy, and I'm getting two more treatments tomorrow.

(Email is still appreciated; I don't think computer viruses pose any threat!)

We Leap Into Action

2005-08-16T18:00:00.000-05:00

Or into bed, anyway, which is fine with me as a base of operations. Gail and I met with Dr. A, the highly-regarded local oncologist, who has streamlined his normal procedures to take me as a client. We spent a little over an hour at his office, having a brief physical exam and being educated on the course of treatment he is recommending. (Chemotherapy, and radiation, but no surgery for a case like this.)

I am being admitted to Mercy Hospital tonight, and the first round of chemotherapy will begin in the morning. While I am there they will be performing additional tests to determine whether the cancer has spread, but Dr. A is confident that the best thing is to start shrinking the tumor immediately, since this small-cell type has a fast growth rate. It generally responds well to chemo, though, and he said I may get some relief from my secondary symptoms within a few days.

I don't know my room number yet, but I will be on the ninth floor, and probably in for 3-4 days. Gail will keep everyone updated on her website, but I should be able to read emails and send a few on my cellphone. I've been touched and greatly cheered by all of the support I've been given, by all of you who read here; thank you, it really helps. I am frightened, but determined to overcome this - and I look forward to the day when I will be flying you all over Pennsylvania, in thanks for your uplifting words.

"Camp Jeep"

2005-08-14T12:41:00.000-05:00

Icons
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Yesterday was HOT and humid, but Gail and I went out in it for a short while to see the WWII planes at the Mount Pocono airport. The Jeep corporation sponsored it, as part of a series of promotions called "Camp Jeep" - sort of celebrating the Jeep lifestyle, as it were. This event centered on a fly-in of planes from the Second World War, and the display of various Jeep vehicles from the same era, along with a hangar dance and musical acts on Friday night. I was contacted some months ago by the organizers to have our CAP squadron provide help with parking and flightline security, which we did.

Bent wing beauty
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

The event was quite a gathering, in regard to the aircraft; the B-17 bomber "Memphis Belle" that was used in the movie, plus a bevy of fighter planes: A polished P-51 Mustang, a burly Marine Corsair, a rare twin-engined P-38 Lightning, and a pair of massive P-47 Thunderbolts. It made for a great display out on the ramp, along with the various olive-drab vehicles, and the tents and period posters.

My cadets did well at their work; I got glowing reports from the event staff on their contribution. They looked to be having fun yesterday, smiling through the sweat and sunburns. Gail and I took pictures, of course; she was trying out my old film camera, the first time in years either of us have shot film. (I guess it was in keeping with the historical theme! My Pentax K-body is older than I am.) It's funny how obsolete film seems already - you can't review your pictures? And you only get 36 exposures, rather than the hundreds we normally shoot? How did we put up with this?!?

The event ended at 3, and a very motivated guy from the event staff began chasing everyone out. We were grateful to get back in the air-conditioning in the car, and decided to go look for a lake to wade in to cool off. We picked up shorts and some very cheap towels in a frightening foray into the local Wal-Mart, and drove out to Gouldsboro State Park. I used to go fishing there when I was a kid, and I remembered the nice white beach there. Well, I was in for a shock; the park is still there - but the lake is gone! The fishing pier and boat launch are still there, but the water is just about all dried up. They must have drained the lake for some reason; the other nearby lakes are low in late summer, but nothing like this.

So we went back down the road to Tobyhanna State Park - luckily, Pennsylvania is full of them - and spent a while by the lakeside there.

OK, here's the news:

2005-08-12T18:06:00.000-05:00

And I wish it were better. I don't have any form of lymphoma; it is in fact lung cancer. The extra tests were ordered so that the pulmonary doc could be sure of what he was telling me, of course.

The mortality rates are much higher for this than for lymphoma, but that reflects the fact that this cancer usually strikes much older people. The doctor who did my biopsy is baffled by the results, since it's a statistical fluke for someone of my age and health. Hopefully that means that I will be better able to handle the chemotherapy and radiation treatments that will be necessary; I suppose that surgery might be an option too. I will know more this coming Tuesday, when I have an appointment with a crackerjack oncologist - from what I hear, the best fellow in the area.

Gail and I are stunned, of course; this is worse news than we expected. But if you know me, and have read the happier parts of my journal, you know that I have a lot to live for. More so than ever, I have been looking forward to a fulfilling life - with my good friends, my small but loving family, and a woman that I am madly in love with.

Thank you, everyone, for your words of encouragement. Please know how much I appreciate it, and how much it helps to hear.

Update

2005-08-12T11:26:00.000-05:00

For my friends and family waiting to hear the biopsy results, here is the latest: A preliminary report came to the pulmonary specialist this morning. His office just called to tell us that he is at the lab himself, and they are performing "additional dye tests" on my tissue sample. They said that the final results may or may not be available by this afternoon.

Gail and I don't know what that means either, except that we will have to wait a bit longer. So we are going about our business of putting the house in order, and enjoying a pleasant Friday afternoon. I hope you are all doing the same, and I will write here when there is any news to relate. Thank you all, for your support and concern.

Lung-o-vision

2005-08-09T18:32:00.000-05:00

Gail wrote about my biopsy this morning, while I was sleeping off the effects of the anasthesia:

Inside AviatorDave

At least I was able to sleep it off at home, as they did the procedure on an outpatient basis. Gail recapped the results, so I'll just offer a few impressions.

We had to sign in early; 6:00 am at the admissions desk. After a short wait, I was ushered into the outpatient surgery wing and given the requisite dignity-robbing hospital gowns to change into. At least now they give you two, so that by wearing one forwards and one backwards like a robe, you don't run the risk of offending anyone with a "wardrobe malfunction." A note to hospital-wear tailors: Buttons. Look into them.

I filled out a four-page form stating that I was perfectly healthy, and that I have never had adverse effects from anasthesia. Then I signed another form stating that I would not sue them if I had adverse effects from anasthesia. The lung specialist who would perform the procedure outlined what we would be doing, and I signed a form stating that I understood that everything could go horribly wrong.

With an IV inserted (absolutely painless, this girl was good) and my papers filled out, they told me that Gail could join me until I went in. She came in, and twenty seconds later the transport orderly showed up with my gurney. So I handed Gail my personal effects, and climbed up on the cart, and she flashed me our trademark wink as I was wheeled away.

After a LONG gurney ride (Am I still in the hospital?) I was in the operating room, glaring white everywhere. I was given a little pipelike thing to breathe from, which was bubbling and steaming like a tiny witch's cauldron; this was novocaine for my breathing passages. Then a shpritz in my throat for more numbness, and a hard plastic ring was taped into position over my mouth. A nasal cannula went into my nose. As they got me into position, my saline IV drip was switched to the hard stuff by the anasthesiologist; he said, "Now we are giving you something to relax. Do you feel anything yet?" I said, "No, I'm still lucid."

That was the last thing I remember.

inside AviatorDave
Originally uploaded by gail on the web.

My next memory was rolling along on the gurney again, with the doctor alongside. Surprisingly, I had the presence of mind to ask him whether he was successful in getting a tissue sample, and he said that he did and that everything went well. By 10:00 I was allowed to have a drink, and Gail joined me in the recovery room. I regained my equilibrium quickly, but was still groggy, and we came home for a long nap.

Didn't go flying this weekend...

2005-08-08T08:56:00.000-05:00

I've been feeling under the weather for the last three or four weeks. Nothing debilitating, just a few symptoms that have been keeping me from being as active as usual; back pain, a tired feeling, and a persistent dry cough. After a week of this, I called my family physician for an appointment, but they said they couldn't get me in for ten days. So I asked for a prescription, and he sent in one for ten days' worth of doxycycline.

The antibiotic had no effect, so I made another appointment, and managed to get one at the end of the same week. But that day - last Friday - the doctor had to cancel his afternoon appointments, including mine. I didn't want to suffer through another weekend, so I left work early and went to the emergency room, hoping to beat the weekend rush and see the on-call doctor.

After a few hours' wait - four car accidents came in when I did - I finally saw a doctor, and told him my symptoms. He ordered blood tests and a chest x-ray. After these were accomplished, he told me that they had found a spot on my x-ray, and needed a CAT scan. So, another new adventure; I received a dye injection and rode in and out of the tube. Finally (it was almost sundown, and I had walked in at 2:30) I got the verdict: A 4-cm mass or tumor on my left lung. The mass is pushing on my breathing passages, causing the dry cough. The other symptoms are likely related to this mass.

The ER doc went on to tell me that a likely diagnosis for someone my age (38) could be lymphoma, a form of cancer that attacks the lymph nodes (Hodgkin's disease is one of the less-common types). Modern treaments for lymphoma are very effective, and the disease is quite survivable. Another, more serious matter would be lung cancer, which would require aggressive treatment, and could be harder to fight. But the main thing was to schedule a biopsy, so that the nature of this thing could be determined.

I was wiped out, of course, and terrified. The ER doc said he wanted to admit me right away for further tests and observation, and to see if a lung specialist could be found to do the biopsy over the weekend. I asked to be released so that I could go home and get some things, and look after my cat, promising to come straight back. So they took out my IV, and I went home, sweating bullets. I threw some things in a case - mostly the wrong things, in this case - and called Gail to tell her the news. I went back to the hospital and was admitted just before midnight. As I tried to go to sleep, I realized I was starving; I had forgotten to eat anything since lunchtime. The night shift nurses were ordering pizza, and finally brought me two cuts of pepperoni, which I devoured before falling quickly asleep.

I was in the hospital until Sunday morning, the first two nights I have spent in a hospital bed in my life. I can't say I enjoyed it, although it did give me a chance to sit and think and rest. My friend Angela from my CAP squadron came by; she is a nurse, and one of the few I could trust with this troubling news. (I wanted to wait until I knew more, and could get out of the hospital, to tell my mother.) It was good to have someone to talk to other than medical people - who were all friendly, but professionally detached. Naturally, no specialists could be found over the weekend, so I was finally released, since no more tests or drugs were ordered.

Gail arrived in Scranton from Vancouver at 1:15 Sunday morning, after a chaotic 20-hour dash across the continent by bus, car, plane, subway and who-knows-what else. Seeing her, and having her here, did more to lift my spirits than anything; she is calm and rational, and loving, and is helping me immensely to deal with this. Her actions over the last two days only confirm what my heart already knew - that she is an amazing woman, of singular strength and character, and that I love her. I was looking forward to seeing her under happier circumstances, to carry on with our wedding plans; but now, we will have to deal with this first I suppose.

So now it's Monday morning, and I am blogging this experience, to chronicle it for myself and for a little perspective; and to let my friends who read here catch up on the news. I just heard that the lung specialist will do my biopsy tomorrow (Tuesday) morning at 7:30, so Gail and I will have some free time to be together at home - and straighten it up a little! Embarrassing, but I have been tired and achy, and really let the housekeeping careen out of control.

Sorry for the absence of flying stories and fun pictures this week. I trust my friends and family will understand, and I appreciate their support and encouragement. Whatever this turns out to be - and we really don't know yet - I will deal with it, with all of your help, and get back to happier matters.

Saturday Bath

2005-07-30T20:13:00.000-05:00

Soaped up
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I went out for the mail this morning, and chatted with my neighbor Bill, and took a look at my overgrown yard. I decided the best thing to do was head to the airport and go flying. (It's remarkable, how often that course of action suggests itself.)

I took my rags and buckets with me, so that I could wash the plane. I haven't done it yet this summer, and 02P was looking a bit grungy; oil streaks on the belly, dust from the hangar, and the everpresent bug splats. (You'd think that with a plane this slow, the bugs would have plenty of warning, but no...)

Kellachows field
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I went for a spin around the area first, as I planned to visit farmer Kellachow's grass strip to see what was going on; one of the model airplane guys had told me that the skydivers were back for a visit. They used to jump there all the time, but have moved their operations up to Sky Haven in Tunkhannock, where they have access to a bigger jump plane. I headed over there, and circled the field while the current batch of skydivers touched down. But the model airplane guys had gone home, so I climbed back up to the clear air and south to Lake Wallenpaupack.

Busy lake
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Clouds
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

The lake was clogged with boats - the most I have ever seen there. It must have been a nice day for boating, but challenging to get up any speed with the crowded conditions! I quickly got bored with flying up and down the lake, trying to tag boats with my shadow, so I decided to go upstairs to cool off and play with the clouds. There was about 4/8 coverage, a nicely broken deck of small cumulus clouds at around 8,000 feet, and I climbed just above them. I weaved in and out of the spires and turrets, trying to snap pictures, until my camera battery died.

After touching down back at Cherry Ridge, I got out the washing gear and hooked up my garden hose. Starting at the tail, I scrubbed the grime and oil off; when I came to the wings, I had to go and find a stepladder. It took me almost two hours all told, with a beverage-break at the cafe in the middle; the day was getting warmer. 02P is a small plane, one of the smallest - but there's lot to wash! Even with the stepladder, I can only reach halfway across the wing, so I had to work my way around both sides. The worst was the last, lying on my back on the wet ramp and scrubbing the oil-streaked belly fabric.

Having gotten the plane all spic and span, I noticed my reflection in the cafe window, and saw where all of the dirt had gone - onto my person. Luckily the airport was lightly attended, so only a few saw the spectacle: unshaven, hair mussed (with the typical lateral headset-dent), wet and grimy. But still, I figured the best way to dry off the plane was to blow-dry it with a short flight, so I flew down to Mount Pocono and back. Two cadets of mine are the line guys there, a pair of brothers, and they told me that I was about the only traffic today; too bad, MPO is a great airport. But the board there has been having trouble keeping an FBO, and without a good fixed-base operator, pilots tend to go elsewhere.

This Post 100% Horse Pun Free

2005-07-25T12:04:00.000-05:00

Police woman
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I almost didn't go for a lunch walk today, since my back is bothering me, and I almost didn't take my camera. I'm glad I did, though, since I met a horse, which is unusual for downtown. She is a mounted patrolman's horse, and her officer was giving her a thorough cleaning and combing before taking her for a ride. I'm not a horse person, so I don't know what was expected of me; it seemed to me that she was looking at me, waiting for something. Or maybe she was just professionally suspicious; she is a police horse. But she did pose for a photo.

Mid-week flight

2005-07-20T22:44:00.000-05:00

Sun, water, wing...
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Finally a perfect July day, warm and breezy with clear blue skies. I got out of work on time, plenty of hours of daylight left, and I was in the mood to roam. A perfect day to go sailing, or ride a horse, or hit the open road on a big Harley. But of course I'm not a sailor, or a cowboy, or middle-aged (snicker) so I went flying.

I had the airport to myself as I pulled 02P out of the hangar, preflighted her, topped off the oil. I took off with a hard crosswind from the left, rolling along on the left wheel as I gained speed. I climbed out and headed south, with no fixed destination in mind. Zigzagging once over the lake, I kept on going south with the wind behind me. I skimmed over Camelback Mountain and circled once over a friend's house - hope I didn't wake the baby, Dale - and followed Route 80 eastwards.

Bombardier view
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I experimented with my camera, trying to find ways to minimize the effects of the plexiglass windows. (Plexiglass shows every scratch; and the windscreen soon becomes bug-splattered, at least in the summer at low altitudes.) I found that I could use the large viewfinder and hold the whole camera out the vent window, taking care to wrap the strap around my arm. It worked best at slower airspeeds; if I flew too fast, it was hard to hold the camera still. Too, the range of motion with my hand is limited through the small window, so I had to aim the whole plane quite a bit to line up my shots.

Golf course
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I got a few decent shots, for flying and photographing at the same time. Obviously the better part of my attention goes towards flying the plane; I can only spend a few moments at a time taking pictures. Better results will be in the offing with a dedicated photographer on board; and, if she's inclined, with the door removed for a real photo flight.

I've been sold

2005-07-20T12:58:00.000-05:00

This is the bench where I often sit and eat my lunch. Today I arrived to find this new advert, carefully handpainted on the back. It's a good location, except when I'm sitting there, when it simply reads "Pizza & Beer".

Ricci's does have good pizza...

Afternoon ritual

2005-07-14T22:56:00.000-05:00

Closeup
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Hugh the cat has come to expect a jaunt outside every afternoon when I get home. He's an indoor cat, but when I moved here I relaxed the rules and let him go out on the front porch on occasion. (Hugh is declawed, he used to live with another declawed cat; and he's a bit too old to defend himself against younger, armed cats.)

He's not very brave, but over time he cautiously extended his comfort zone to the bottom of the steps, and then into the shrubbery; at which point I would usually retrieve him. When Gail came to live with us, he found a new accomplice; she was home during the day, and he found her to be more pliable at the front door.

So now the afternoon sequence of events has changed. I still get a warm greeting at the back door as before; and I am still expected to quickly fill the food dish, which is invariably empty. But once Hugh sees that supper is served, he knows that the next task on my checklist is to open the front door and get the mail, and he dashes past me to go for a prowl.

I'm sure he can smell the other neighbourhood cats; Bailey, the all-black cat from across the street was sitting on our front stoop when I left this morning. But I don't leave him outside unsupervised, lest he have a run-in with another animal. I don't think he would go as far as the road; so far, he has kept his stalking very close to the house.

Today I stalked him with my camera, but he usually ignores me; far too busy looking and sniffing around like a coonhound. But he finally came over to where I was lying under the magnolia, and I caught him intently watching a city bus go up our quiet street.

What I did this weekend

2005-07-11T14:55:00.000-05:00

I went flying! (OK, this journal is lacking somewhat in dramatic revelations. Did anyone not see that coming?)

Hard at work
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

It was a perfect flying day Sunday, and the guys in the two local pilot clubs were having a flyout to the Thousand Islands in upstate New York. 170 miles seemed like a long ride to me, and I prefer vinaigrette anyway; so I decided to fly south instead, and let the prevailing winds blow me along. My old friend Chris in Allentown was getting ready for his first biennial flight review; every two years, pilots must perform a check ride with an examiner to be legal to fly. I figured I would let him get some practice in my plane, and I could sharpen my Flight Instructor skills (barking random orders, and looking out the window.)

Chris handled the Tri-Pacer very well; it's lighter, less stable and underpowered compared to the Cessnas he trained on. We took off and flew west out of Allentown's airspace, and climbed slowly up into the cooler air above 4,000 feet. I suggested a series of basic maneuvers, steep turns and slow flight, and Chris performed them all capably. Then we descended into Reading, where his test was scheduled, and he did three good landings, with only verbal cues from me on the quirks of the old plane.

Custer Channel Wing
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

While he was aloft with his instructor, I wandered around the Mid-Atlantic Air Museum again with my camera. Since Gail and I had visited, there was a new and bizarre shape on the ramp; the sole surviving prototype of the Custer Channel Wing. This is a small twin-engined plane built to explore an obscure aerodynamic notion, that lift might be gained by capturing the slipstream of the propellers. Apparently it worked - somewhat - at low speeds, but was inefficient at high speeds, and suffered from strange vibrations. Plus, those bizarre wings would have been a production nightmare, with their semicircular spars!

I took a few pictures of the Custer and the rest of the relics out on the sun-baked ramp, and eventually Chris landed and taxiied back in. I guess 02P scared him back into currency; he passed his review, anyway! The examining instructor took him aside for a thorough briefing afterwards, and we took off for the short hop east to Allentown.

Arriving back north in Scranton, I landed at the big airport and picked up my mother; I had thought that there was a meeting back at Cherry Ridge, and they typically have dinner in the cafe beforehand. But I had old news; the meeting was to have been a picnic, but it was cancelled due to illness of the organizer. (Get well soon, Joanie!) So I put the plane away, and Mom and I went to Hamlin Corners to have dinner at Kundla's Open Pit Barbecue. Without resorting to hyperbole, I can only say that this barbecue would heal the sick and raise the dead. People were queued up around the building, but the line moved fast, and we got our sampler of ribs, chicken and pork chops, and - not having eaten all day - I ate myself into a religious ecstacy.

Trip to Toronto part III

2005-07-06T12:24:00.000-05:00

Floating
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Late Monday morning we checked out of the hostel, picking up a discounted pass for the CN Tower. This third time we toughed out the queue, only about 35 minutes, and went up the speedy elevator to the top. The observation level, at 342 m (1,122 ft) is clean and attractive, and the walls are full of fun facts about the tower. A most unique feature at this level is a large semicircular section of tough (one hopes!) glass floor. Even after reading the sign on the wall that says the floor was built fully four times the required strength, and could support 14 hippopotami, it takes a moment to nerve yourself to walk out onto the glass. If you are looking down - and how could you not - the sight of the sheer quarter-mile drop below you confounds your brain. I walked right out, thrilling at the insanity of it; Gail must have better instincts for self-preservation, it took her a few minutes to try it. We took lots of pictures, from there and from the normally-oriented windows on the observation level. Unfortunately the summer haze and smog had returned, reducing the visibility; the previous two days had been crystal clear.

Later we stopped by Sergio's apartment, to pick up some of Gail's things that she had brought east for me to take home. Then we drove around Toronto for a bit, looking for a place to eat, and eventually headed down towards Niagara Falls. The long-weekend traffic was congested, and it took us over two hours to get to the Falls; we decided that Gail would take a later bus and I would delay my trip home so that we could tour the falls and take some photos. The car was a liability - they shake you down for $18.00 to park near the falls - so we parked it for free near the transit terminal and took a city bus to the park area.

Niagara Falls
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

We began to take photos of the falls, and the wheeling gulls, and then - shamefully, for us two - we both ran out of electricity! I had left my spare battery in the console of the car, and Gail had mixed up her recharged and discharged cells. So we finished out the day with a quick walk around the area, and a jaunt up the brazen tourist-trap of the Canadian Midway. Niagara Falls is a major attraction, but the commercial glare of the casino and the garish neon are really at odds with the natural beauty of the area. At least they keep the worst of it at arm's length; the area immediately by the falls is kept green and natural.

All too soon, it was time for Gail to take the bus back to Toronto, and for me to head south back to the U.S. We heard the Fourth of July fireworks from down by the falls, and said our goodbyes. With luck, we will soon be travelling together again, instead of travelling to see each other; but as always, I had a fine time.

Trip to Toronto part II

2005-07-05T11:10:00.000-05:00

CN Tower
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Saturday and Sunday were just about perfect, as weather goes; clear skies and comfortable temperatures. (And us with no plane! Drat!) We tried both days to go to the CN Tower - the tallest freestanding structure in the world - but by afternoon, the lines were too long. We didn't want to spend too much of our time standing around like tourists, so we passed on it both days and ambled around the city.

Toronto is an interesting place; I got to truly explore it for the first time. When I was there years ago, I never got more than a few blocks from the University of Toronto. But this time, sober and with the original "racontourist" for company, I was able to get a good impression of Canada's largest city.

Toronto
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I heard the phrase "...the New York of Canada" several times, but the similarities are few, other than that they are both large cities. Certainly Toronto is densely and diversely populated, and has a long history; and it is a major crossroads for Canada and the world. But it has an identity of its own, and on a summer weekend a very inviting one. I think it sells it short to compare it to the United States' greatest city. (Shameless, how I love starting arguments...)

Gail and I visited her friend Sergio's new business, ScoreCuts, a sports-themed hair salon. It's well-positioned next to an established sports bar, which should help out with the target audience of young male sports-fans. I'm only one out of three of those, but I got my hair cut while I was there; a very short crop, comfortable for the summer, but a little too short for Gail's taste. Oh well, it will grow back for our next meetup!

Trip to Toronto part I

2005-07-02T12:49:00.000-05:00

Toronto
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

After making plans to fly up, then deciding not to, then deciding to again, then finding that Canadian Customs would be closed when I got there - I drove to Toronto Thursday evening. I'll have to try the flight again another time, now that I have my paperwork and my customs sticker for the plane. But I made good time in the car, five hours and a few minutes. Just in time to meet up with Gail, Serge and Dax for a quick drink before checking into the hostel.

This is my first time back in Toronto in a long, long time; I came here on a "bolt" back in my college days, 1988 or so. Suffice it to say that I don't remember much; I may have had a drink or two, as was my custom at the time.

Friday was the perfect day to start off a weekend with our neighbours to the north; Canada Day, the celebration of Canada's 138 years of sovereignty. Maple-leaf flags flew everywhere, as Gail and I started our day with lunch, as we are wont to do while on holiday. A combination Hungarian-Thai restaurant, which is a good snapshot of this community; like Vancouver, immigrants from all over the world make Toronto truly metropolitan. After a large meal of schnitzel, spring rolls, goulash and lemon-grass chicken (!) we meandered towards the waterfront, gathering some groceries along the way.

We rushed to the ferry terminal, where we met up with Gail's friend Serge and his friend David, from Chile; and our online friend Dax, and two of his friends. Dax came up with the plan to go out to the islands on Lake Ontario, have a picnic on the beach, and watch the fireworks from a great vantage point.

Which is what we did. The weather during the day and in the city was hot and muggy, but later out on the island it got very cool as the sun went down. So like many of the others on the beach, we gathered driftwood for a campfire. (As a group, we seven were not exactly forest rangers; we had to borrow starter bricks and a lighter from another group down the beach; and even forks, to eat the salads that Wanda had brought!) Dax, Chris and I gathered some driftwood and fallen timber, and eventually managed to set it blazing as the stiff wind whipped around.

'Round the fire
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

With the fire going and the sun setting, we waited for the fireworks. A group of college-age kids came by and asked if they could join us to keep warm, and we all made a big circle. A big giggly circle. I should mention that, not by design, we chose our campsite next to the clothing-optional beach. Now, as I noted, it was quite cool and the wind was blowing briskly; but there was one fellow out on the beach who had chosen the "no" option. A big, bald, fiftyish man was walking the waterfront nearby, au naturel as they say. He shows up, hilariously, in the background of some of our photos. It was just so incongruous; especially when he would occasionally hop up on the picnic table nearby and stand, looking boldly out over Lake Ontario, like he was waiting for the ship to arrive with his clothes.

We couldn't help snickering. Could you? What if he was wearing, as this gent was, dark socks and sandals? We all thought this to be a fashion faux pas; clothing may be optional, but we needn't be savages.

Young Eagles and Old Cubs

2005-06-26T10:31:00.000-05:00

It was a long, hot day in the air yesterday; tons of fun, though. I started the day early at Cherry Ridge, where the EAA was holding a weather-delayed Young Eagles day. This is a great program which offers free airplane rides in small aircraft to children in the community, to encourage interest in aviation. My CAP squadron supports their efforts by helping to brief the children while they are waiting to fly. We tell them how an airplane works, and what kind of sensations they can expect in the air, and it really seems to help them have a positive experience.

While waiting for our CAP plane to fly in, I parked 02P in front of the hangar to help with the briefings; but there was a huge turnout of kids waiting to fly. (A good thing!) The EAA organizers had three Cubs, which can carry one passenger each, but the four-seat Cessna was sidelined with a mechanical problem. So they asked me if I would like to take some riders in my plane.

Well, those who know me know that they didn't have to ask twice! I love taking kids for rides. I ended up launching six times, with two kids on board each time; twelve for me, with the day's total being 67 Young Eagles! The chapter guys told me that that is a record; and a great day all around, lots of big smiles and not one case of airsickness. Most of the kids I flew with were from 9 to 11 years old, and many were first-time flyers. I took them on a circuit around Lake Wallenpaupack, and we watched the boats on the lake, and they got to experience the world from on high. ("This is like a bird's-eye view!") So, to Kelly, Jessica, Garrit, JJ, Josiah, Shawn, Megan, Segen, Chris, Steven, Cody, and Levi - it was great flying with you!

Afterwards, I peeled off my damp flightsuit and refueled the plane. I was planning on going down to Lock Haven, Pennsylvania to catch the end of the yearly fly-in, "Sentimental Journey". My CAP comrade Alan said that his afternoon was free and asked to come along, and I was happy to have his company; we are both old-airplane buffs, and Alan is a Cub flyer from "back in the day".

Levitate
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

A little aviation history: (here he goes again...) From 1931 to 1994, over 100,000 small airplanes were built in the pastoral valley of Lock Haven; our Tri-Pacer was one of them. The most numerous and well-known was the Piper Cub, a simple two-seat airplane that came closer than anything to being "the Model T of the Air". In the decades after WWII, the little yellow planes with the black lightning bolts on their sides were everywhere; "Piper Cub" became synonymous with "small plane" in the way that people now call all small planes "Cessnas".

Plane camping
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Today, thousands of the old Pipers are still flying, and many of them fly to Lock Haven every summer for Sentimental Journey. It's a friendly, low-key fly-in; many of the visitors camp out on the broad meadow that serves as parking next to the grass runway. The old Piper plant is still there, silent except for a small but very nice museum - all modern Piper airplanes are now made in Vero Beach, Florida.

Alan and I parked next to another Tri-Pacer; the field was about half-empty, as this was the last day. Some of the attendees fly in from as far away as Texas and California; an awesome commitment, as the old Cubs only fly at about 75 m.p.h.! Vaulting over the Rockies must be a feat with 65 horsepower, too. We walked up and down the rows of antique planes, had a carnival-food lunch, and toured the museum (making a point, of course, to make a fuss over the museum cat.)

Another hour's flight in the summer haze and we were home. I haven't totaled up the time yet, but I'm sure it was close to six hours in the air! Quite a fun weekend, for a weekend flier.

Philly Flickr Meetup

2005-06-23T07:41:00.000-05:00

Feeling a little burnt out from work and other commitments, I indulged in a little mid-week getaway last night. I flew down to Philadelphia, figuring to drop off some CAP paperwork but mainly to meet some of the local Flickr users, who were having a photo meetup. I posted a message begging a ride from the airport, and Gregory kindly offered to pick me up at the Northeast Philadelphia airport, not far from his home.

The last thunderstorm
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

The weather was cloudy and warm through the day, with some thunderstorms wandering through the area; but all the forecasts called for clearing, as a block of cool air moved south across the area. Scranton was already clear when I left, but near Allentown I caught up to the last big storm cell. The air traffic controller warned me that he had heavy rain and lightning ahead, but I could see it all clearly; I was able to avoid it by detouring a few miles to the west.

When I met Gregory, I offered to show him the plane, and take him for a ride around town; a ride for a ride, only seemed fair! As we strapped in and took off, the storm I had bypassed had caught up to me, but it was passing just off the eastern edge of the airport - we took off into some heavy rain, but as we turned west towards Brandywine the skies cleared. We loitered north of town, waiting for the clouds to part a little and let the last of the day's light in on downtown Philly. Gregory got some shots of downtown, and we circled over his neighborhood before landing back at PNE.

Seuss purchases ice cream
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Soon we were downtown, catching up to the rest of the group, who had just started walking near the waterfront. (It wasn't hard to identify the knot of people wandering ahead, what with the telltale flashes!) I knew a few of them from their online albums; mostly amateur photogs, although Gregory is a pro, and several of us are designers. All very friendly and fun, and nice enough to let the out-of-town kid tag along. We all walked south, into a part of old Philly that I hadn't been to in decades - the Italian Market, the oldest and largest working outdoor market in the United States. The markets were closed, but the aged storefronts and their neon signs offered interest for photos. (And lingering odors of the day's wares, more pleasant than otherwise.)

Neon pig
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I took in the sights, and tried to photograph them, but my Panasonic has always been weak in low-light situations. I got a few interesting shots, and filed away a few places that I'd like to go back to with Gail when she gets back. Mostly I enjoyed chatting and strolling with the new company; it was a pleasant evening to unwind a bit.

When the group broke up, Gregory drove me back to the airport, and I took off into a smooth night sky. The full moonlight was brilliant, bright enough for me to see pale blue forests below, and the Tri-Pacer droned along rock-steady. I listened as a bizjet over Allentown got some disappointing news; there was some system-wide delay in air traffic, and they were asked to hold for an hour before going on into New York airspace! Luckily, I was the only one heading into rural Pennsylvania, and I chugged by underneath as they circled above. (Probably sipping drinks in their comfortable leather chairs... but hey, I got home first!)

Upgrades!

2005-06-16T14:10:00.000-05:00

MSN TV
Originally uploaded by MonaPenny.

I finally got a new PC, and now my mother has some new technology too. Her WebTV unit failed, and it was already replaced once under warranty. So we bought a new one, the next-generation receiver for WebTV (Now MSNTV).

The new unit is much nicer; it can utilize broadband connections, and has USB ports for digital cameras and other accessories. And, it can view movie clips and has much better audio. It seems to display more clearly too - you can see in this photo that she's beating me by over 100 points in our Scrabble game!

When I set up Mom's bookmarks, I noticed that Gail's page was easier to read through this system, with her posts galleyed on the right. So I've changed my template too - since Mom represents a large segment of my readership!

(Hi, Mom...)

A Flighty Bunch

2005-06-12T22:59:00.000-05:00

Playing hooky
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Well, we tried to have our monthly meeting, really we did; but the skies were clear, and the breeze had died down to nothing, and the planes were all out on the ramp... our planes, y'know, with the keys in them, ready to go, beckoning... and it really is better for the planes to be flown, you know, they need that, or Very Important Parts inside the engine will corrode...

Yeah, we all took off like a flock of startled starlings. This evening the Cherry Ridge Pilots Association was supposed to have had our monthly meeting, and even planned a buffet dinner an hour before at the Airport Café. But like my mother and I, many of the guys (and one gal) were making the best of the weather, which only cleared up last night after four days of muggy heat and rain. We landed and parked at the café, but only a handful of people actually showed up - so we had a nice meal, and chatted with a few of the gang, and as a group decided that any business we had to discuss could wait until the next picnic. I spent a few minutes taking photos of the traffic coming and going, and then Mom and I climbed back into 02P.

Summer mode
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

It was great to get into the skies again; as I've mentioned, my plane was laid up for its inspection since the last week of May. We didn't go very far, just up a few thousand feet to the cooler air, and then over Lake Wallenpaupack to chase speedboats. I finally was able to satisfy myself that the plane was all in order, and it is; running cool and strong, climbing like a homesick angel. (Well, a homesick angel in no particular hurry... it is still a Tri-Pacer.)

These are the Pros and Cons of... Scrounging

2005-06-12T12:12:00.000-05:00

Life support
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Last week I took in a stray computer; a little HP Pavilion that one of my co-workers brought in. His daughter got a new machine, and was looking to dispose of her old one. I didn't need it for the office, but I figured it would make a worthwhile upgrade to my home PC; like the shoemaker's kids, I "go barefoot" at home technology-wise. The PC it was was replacing dates from 1997 - the Late Jurassic, in computer history.

So I happily dismantled the HP, and rebuilt it with the best of what I could find in my scrapyard. I filled the memory banks with castoff RAM, added my old HP CD-writer and four extra USB ports; and, though it irked me, I had to part with $14.00 for a network card. I formatted the hard drive and installed Windows XP Pro. Then I spent the next few days installing all of my favorite software, and transferring my old files to the new machine. I was able to import my email archives too, which are complete back to November of 1996!

This was a major step up. Even though obsolescent, the 600 Mhz Pavilion was far faster than my relic Gateway - and at last I could run the latest software, access my digital camera, and use the HP printer that Gail and I bought.

So it was with some chagrin, then, that I switched on Saturday morning and was greeted with an audible pop and a puff of smoke from the back of the new machine. Damn.

The power supply - I hoped. I hadn't switched on the PC, just the surge protector. I dismantled the machine and, sure enough, the power supply was scorched; it was also filled with dust. Apparently it had been living in a dusty environment - I cleaned the motherboard when I rebuilt it, but I didn't think to look inside the subassembly of the power supply.

So after a sweaty day of home repairs at my Aunt's house (and a final Greek meal at the church - mmmm!) I went by the scrapyard again to look through the carcasses for a compatible power supply. I couldn't find one that would fit the microtower case, but I took home a larger unit with a built-in cooling fan. With this unit spliced in externally, I was relieved to see that the HP booted up normally; so I went online to look for a proper replacement. Apparently the original part is only a 100 watt unit, and notorious for failing. I found a 240W replacement for $24.00. So now I'm in for $38.00, but I'm still pleased with my windfall.

Didn't I just write a long post about fixing things? Ah, yes - my weekly irony supplement.

It's that time again!

2005-06-10T22:28:00.000-05:00

It's that time again!
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

As the flyer says, it's time for one of our area's richest (*burp*) traditions - the Greek Food Festival! Last night I had to go to the airport to pick up my plane, but tonight my stomach took precedence and I drove straight from work to the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church on Washington Avenue. I got there early enough to avoid the line that forms - out the basement door and down the street - for dinner; it's a popular event!

Greek feast
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

It's the big community event for the church; they convert the whole basement into an assembly line, and raise tents outside with long tables to accommodate the diners. Over the years, the crowds have grown so large that you can order takeout in a separate line - they even use a side basement window to process phone orders, so you can duck down low and get your food drive-thru style!

More dessert... mmm!
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

All of the meals are prepared by the parishioners, real church-basement cooking, and it's all delicious. Tonight I had my favorite, Pastichio, and it was the best I've ever had - the top layer was cooked to perfection and just creamy underneath, mmmm! I picked up a Greek salad with feta and potatoes, and selected my favorite dessert, Galaktobouriko; custard, wrapped in phyllo, then baked and drizzled with syrup. Oh, baby...

My heart goes out to the church people for all their hard work, especially in today's heat. That little church basement was like one big oven today - no air conditioning, just big fans at the doors to try and move some air through. But they were all cheerful and welcomed everyone, and the bouzouki music played, and everyone left stuffed to the gunwales! Hopa!

Pastichio - Macaroni and seasoned beef, topped with bechamel sauce then baked.

Spanakopita - Spinach, feta and other cheeses and spices baked between layers of phyllo.

Moussaka - Layers of fresh eggplant, potato and ground beef topped with bechamel sauce then baked.

Dolmades - Ground beef and rice wrapped in a grape leaf and simmered in a special broth.

Baklava! - The most famous Greek dessert, layers of flaky phyllo and chopped walnuts and spices, laced with syrup and baked.

Handy

2005-06-10T14:44:00.000-05:00

Workbench
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Gail had me blushing a bit recently, when she wrote about my handyman skills. I do love to tinker, and work with my hands. (Being born in a pre-internet, pre-PlayStation era, I guess I qualify as a "primitive tool-user". Gail is an Anthro geek, she would know. *hee*)

For as long as I can remember, I've been taking things apart, and for nearly all of that time putting them back together. As a kid I built model airplanes; not just the plastic glue-together kind, but the balsa wood skeletons that came out of the box as tiny sticks. It took a long time to learn, but as an only kid I had plenty of time, and I learned patience and developed my skills. Too, growing up with no father around, I managed to develop some facility with household repairs.

I've lived in a few houses over the years, and own my second old house, and it's good to know how to look after things if you don't want to pay professionals for every clogged toilet or blown fuse. And I've accumulated a... well, extensive collection of tools. Gail once asked me if I had a soldering iron, and I almost burst out laughing - I have three, at least, as well as three torches for electrical and pipe soldering.

I have three hand sanders and a disc/drum sander. I have three drills and a jigsaw and a scroll saw, and probably a dozen hand saws. I have blind pipe wrenches and jack planes and prick awls and ball-peen hammers - and an adze, which word has scored for me several times in Scrabble. I have tools that do many things, and tools that do one arcane thing, and tools that I've forgotten what they do. I love tools.

I love the work, too. I tried to explain to Gail that it doesn't feel like "work" to me to fix something; I enjoy the little challenges involved in sorting out a mechanical problem and putting it right. (Not that it's all sunshine - sometimes, you're upside down on the bathroom floor and water is spraying everywhere because the furshlugginer valve broke off in your hand...) But it feels good to be able to do things like this... useful, I guess. When my poor old cat hurt his back, and couldn't jump up on the bed anymore, I took a few pallets home from work and used the lumber to make a set of steps for him. Nothing fancy, but for a few years he was able to get up and down without hurting himself.

Jenny plans
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

The model airplane thing hasn't gone away, either; I still enjoy building and flying them, although most of my free time goes to the C.A.P. these days. My most ambitious project was a scale model I built back in 1997, of a Curtiss "Jenny" biplane of the 1920s; I designed it, drew my own plans and built it from scratch. It flew well (still does) and when I took it to the model meet at Old Rhinebeck, quite a few guys asked me about the plans. One of them was the editor of Flying Models magazine, and he convinced me to write a construction article. I cleaned up the plans and rendered them on my computer, and wrote the piece; I ended up getting eight pages of color, and the cover of the magazine. They paid me for the article, and modelers can still buy my plans from Carstens Publications. (Plan #CD-024)

Annual inspection

2005-06-09T22:55:00.000-05:00

My plane came out of the shop today; it's been there for over two weeks, getting the annual inspection required by the FAA (and a jolly good idea, anyway!) I looked it over for almost an hour myself - checking every hose, belt, wire and linkage carefully, just to satisfy myself that all is in order. I would have taken it up right away for a test flight, but a thunderstorm had just passed and another was approaching.

Cat and logs
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

An aircraft "annual" is orders of magnitude more involved than what you might have done on a car, with good reason. For starters, there are some fundamental legal matters unique to aircraft maintenance; first, that many of the systems on an airplane may only be worked on by FAA-certified mechanics; and second, that the mechanic who does the work must detail the work in writing, and sign his/her name to the work. Flying airplanes and working on them, then, are two of the last vestiges of personal responsibility in the American legal system.

TML Aircraft is the outfit that did my inspection this year. Mike Lovelace, the proprietor and head mechanic, impressed me with his presentations to the Cherry Ridge Pilots Association and with his thorough knowledge of the regs; and, he has moved his business into a new hangar right at the airport, so I didn't have to ferry the plane anywhere. Since this was his first time doing an annual on my plane, almost a third of his time was spent working not on the aircraft, but on the paperwork.

When I bought this 51-year old plane a few years ago, I received a stack of books and papers with it - compact logbooks that record every bit of maintenance and every inspection, starting with the factory test flight in 1954. They make for a fun read, if you're interested in your machine's history, and why wouldn't you be? 02P has had an interesting and eventful past. Highlights detailed in the logs include two complete rebuilds, one after the plane was flipped over on landing in the 1960s, one for restoration in 1992. For a few years in the 1980s, she carried an outlandish electric sign under her belly, and was used for scrolling advertising messages over local sporting events. Only 200 hours ago the engine was completely overhauled with a new crankshaft and new chrome steel cylinders, which was part of my incentive to buy this particular plane.

Mike went through these logbooks in great detail, looking for the more serious matters of compliance with Federal law. There are two varieties of legal items that must be accounted for: ADs and 337s. ADs, Airworthiness Directives, address safety issues that are specific to each type of airplane, and carry the force of law; if they are not complied with, the aircraft is illegal to fly. An FAA Form 337 details any change made to an aircraft that alters it from the design as it was certified; any such modifications must be inspected and approved. These ADs can be expensive, depending on the model of plane; one of the most serious for the Tri-Pacer fleet over the years involved the lift struts, the two steel poles that support each wing (and clutter many of Gail's photos.) The original struts could corrode on the inside, weakening them invisibly. 02P has been refitted with sealed, gas-filled struts as well as new attachment hardware of a thicker size and higher-grade steel.

The strut AD, and 51 years' worth of other improvements to 1502P are now listed on four computer-printed pages, in the fancy zippered binder that TML provided me with. Mike's computer system will provide reminders of when recurring inspections are due, and make next year's checkup easier.

The Wide World of Cats

2005-06-08T12:39:00.000-05:00

The elegant Ebi
Originally uploaded by gailontheweb.

The somewhat less elegant Hugh
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Cats are elegant, graceful, and mysterious. I think mine is broken.

Or perhaps they take after their human counterparts. Ebi belongs to Gail's friend Eliza, who is very elegant and stylish herself, and lives in an immaculate modern apartment in Vancouver.

Hugh belongs to me.

WWII Weekend

2005-06-05T23:18:00.000-05:00

Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

The meteorological curse of the last two years was lifted - just barely - for the annual WWII Weekend airshow and reenactment in Reading, Pennsylvania. It did rain Friday night, wetting things down a bit for the intrepid Civil Air Patrollers who camped out; but Saturday stayed dry, with a broken overcast that probably saved things from going right into heat-and-sunburn mode.

The show is one of the largest surviving airshows in eastern PA, a major event for the quiet new airport and the resident Mid-Atlantic Air Museum. (Gail and I visited the museum a few months ago, when it was cooler and all-but-deserted save for a few Amish aviation enthusiasts.) In addition to the airshow, hundreds of people from the WWII reenactment community converge to put on a full show; combat reenactments, authentic military camps and exhibits, and best of all - a real 1940s-style swing band in the main hangar Friday and Saturday night.

I drove down (oh, the ignominy) as my plane is still in pieces on the hangar floor at TML, getting its annual inspection. But I wanted to see the event, and check in on my crew - the C.A.P. provides major support for the activity, and some of my squadron officers and cadets were there. I arrived just as a vintage Grumman "Avenger" torpedo bomber rumbled overhead, and checked in at C.A.P. H.Q.

The show was great, machine guns popping away as vintage Japanese aircraft made bombing runs; then the Allies took the skies, in displays by a British "Hurricane" fighter, hero of the Battle of Britain, and a Russian Yak-9. Eventually all of the planes were put through their paces, and I walked around snapping photos - and admiring the time, effort and money that people put into their hobbies. Most, but not all, of the larger antique planes are maintained and flown by museums; but many of the smaller craft, and the old jeeps and trucks and halftracks, are kept running by private owners.

Besides having fun, they all work to preserve the history of that era, and it does make a strong impression to see it all live; full-color, realtime, sights, smells and sounds. But I couldn't help but remember that it is a war that's being recreated, and of course the one element missing is the blood. I quietly reminded a few of the kids that these weren't toys or sportscars, but military hardware, built for a grim purpose in a grim age.

But I got caught up in the day too, and enjoyed myself. I met one of the original Tuskeegee Airmen, and looked over a Fairchild 24 flown by the Civil Air Patrol during the war; when the search missions were not for lost civilians, but German submarines lurking off the Jersey Shore. And I was happy to see the cadets having fun, learning how to jitterbug for the hangar dance - while greyhaired soldiers and sailors swapped stories, and the U.S.O. girls adjusted the lines on their stockings.

Soldier Show

2005-06-05T15:21:00.000-05:00

Solo with camo
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Friday afternoon I went out to the Tobyhanna Army Depot, where my squadron headquarters are located. I only knew that there was some kind of public function, and we were invited to put out a table and take the opportunity to interact with the base personnel and the community.

I found out that the event was a performance by Army Entertainment; the 2005 Soldier Show. The cast were all talented amateurs - young men and women from the U.S. Army, from various posts and duties, who perform in this touring show on behalf of the Army's Family Support Center. The show runs 90 minutes, and features all sorts of musical acts; a rock band, solo vocals, hip-hop, and dance numbers.

It was good. Great, even. I forgot about distributing our flyers and enjoyed the show - there were some incredible singers! The rock band opened up the show with a few current songs (hey, according to the program, the Army has a Battle of the Bands!) Other numbers featured some Ray Charles songs, popular again since last year's hit movie, and other soul and pop numbers. I posted a set of photos here.

The theme of the show - despite the glurgy title, "Operation America Cares" - was "A Package From Home", and it wasn't overdone. There was very little flag-waving or gratuitous sentiment; just the occasional reminder that young soldiers stationed overseas can be very isolated from their homes and families, their 'real' lives.

After the show, the performers came out to the main doors and greeted all in attendance, which was a crowd of at least 500. Looking over the program, I read about their backgrounds and military specialties. All the performers have "day jobs", other skills and duties; and are stationed all over the world. They rehearse and perform in this show as TDY (temporary duty) for only six months at a time, traveling to U.S. bases all over Alaska, Korea, Japan and the continental U.S.

MTCMH, Chapter IV - My Buoyant Birthday

2005-06-01T23:44:00.000-05:00

Monday, May 30th - and all over the world, in the impossibly tiny silicon switches and magnetic media where my personal data are stored and duplicated many times over, electrons flow and notch my age from 37 (100101) to 38 (100110). I don't feel any older, still a kid inside; and thanks to clean living, I estimate that my outside can still easily pass for 37 1/2.

Gail had dropped only a few mysterious clues about her birthday surprise; only that I would need a hat and sunscreen, as I would be outdoors. We left Socar's and made our way to Beach Avenue, Gail's old neighbourhood, and continued on down to catch the Aquabus across False Creek to Granville Island. Here we checked in for the surprise - Gail rented a motorboat, for us to spend the afternoon on the waters around Vancouver! My eyes lit up at the idea, I love the water and hadn't gone boating in quite a long time.

We first had a great brunch of Indian food at the lively Public Market on the island, which features a vast selection of fresh food and booths for local artists to sell their wares; and Gail stopped to buy a gift for my mother - which I won't describe, as I haven't given it to her yet!

gailontheboat
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

We picked up some snacks and drinks to take out with us, as we planned on staying out a long time; Gail picked healthy fruits for us, while I selected some empty sugar calories (hey, it's my birthday!) and we went back to the docks. The rental guy suggested that we take a larger 17-foot boat, since we planned a longer excursion, and gave us a good rate on a newer motorboat; a really nice one, generations improved over the old outboards I had driven in the past. We lowered the top for optimum photography (and wind-in-the-face fun!) and purred out into False Creek.

The weather was overcast, but not as hot as it had been, and we made our way along the skyline south of Vancouver and out into English Bay. Once clear of the marker buoys, I pushed the throttle over and the outboard roared - quietly! This was definitely a very civilized new boat. But it was quick, and came up on the step smoothly, and handled like a waterborne sportscar. We clipped along to the north, making a wide circle around Stanley Park, and turned into Burrard Inlet. Here there were higher waves, from currents in the channel and the wakes of the huge cargo ships that ply the waters here. I was having a ball - I'm used to boating on Pennsylvania lakes, but here there was so much to boggle at - the huge ships, the bridges soaring over the channel, the bright Vancouver skyline and beautiful Canada Place, where the giant cruise ships depart.

Cruising
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

We continued on to the east, noting the warnings on the map on the boat; our plan was to travel all the way up to the end of Indian Arm (here's a downloadable map) past where Gail had been before. We did just that, slowing the boat at times to take pictures, and stopping it when we saw seals in the water - there were quite a few, but they are very boat-shy. I managed to catch a few noses above water with my zoom lens, and also some of the most beautiful scenery anywhere. The low clouds and mist gave a quiet beauty and sense of scale to the soaring mountains on either side of the broad waterway; a few of my photos are here.

Cargo ship
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Coming back, we worked our way down the western side of the Arm, and stopped in Deep Cove to take on some more fuel. As we came back into the Vancouver area, the sun started to peek through, and we got some wild, pounding wake-jumps from a departing freighter. Ah, to be skimming over the water in a sleek boat, the wind in my hair, a beautiful woman at my side - I told Gail, it lacked only the pursuing boats of the Chinese Mafia, shooting at us with submachine guns, and it could have been a James Bond film! Now that's a birthday.

Back on land, we collected our things and packed the two big suitcases with some of Gail's things for me to take home. We saved this night for just the two of us, and Gail had booked us a room in the historic Sylvia Hotel. Thanks to her, it was the best birthday I've had in a long, long time.

Update: Gail tells her story of the day, with much photographic enhancement, here.

MTCMH, Chapter III - Heat, Drink and be Merry

2005-06-01T22:22:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning I was apparently still on Eastern Standard Time, and woke up early. I let Gail and Socar sleep in and went for a long walk around the area in the morning cool, mainly up and down Davie and Granville streets. Eventually I began to look for a shoe shop, when my new sandals began chafing my feet, but couldn't find one and came back for a bagel and coffee at a shop near her building. Later in the day Gail and I met her friend Eliza for dim sum at Kirin, a posh Chinese restaurant in City Square - which is a foursome of brick heritage buildings, joined into a beautiful enclosed space with modern glass roof. Eliza helped us order, and all of the food was amazing (although we shied away from some of the menu items - one rare type of soup was $288.00, and another was tagged at $600.00!) Gail and I continued our unplanned crusade against the wily squid; more great calamari, mmm!

After I had my sandals adjusted by a friendly cobbler, we made our way back downtown, stopping for a few touristy photos of me by City Hall, and some minor shopping. Gail's dad was out at a picnic, so we passed the time in the city the best way - more eating! Last time I was here, we missed out on tapas and sangria at La Bodega, one of Gail's favorite haunts; so we trotted over to correct the situation. The cool, fruity sangria hit the spot, and everything was delicious, including - you guessed it - the calamari! Whee! Greek, Japanese and now Spanish calamari, within 24 hours! Later, back at Gail's father's, we dried off from the daytime heat and spent the night.

Supervising the cake-cutting
Originally uploaded by gailontheweb.

Sunday was the big Allan-and-David Birthday Bash; Gail's older brother and I share a birthday, May 30th - it was his 34th and my 38th. Gail, her father and I did some food shopping in the morning and went over to Allan and Cheryl's new place, where I also got to meet Gail's younger brother Alvin. We sat down for a lively meal, all of us and the five Ms, and then I got to spend some quality time with the kids out by their new swingset. When my energy reserves began to run low, we all went back inside for cake and coffee, and the exchanging of gifts and cards.

gailontheweb: Joint Birthday Bash

Since we had filled up at the birthday party, we pushed dinner back an hour or so, and made plans to meet with Gail's cousin Tosca and her husband Mike. They picked us up and we drove to the Thai House restaurant, where we appetized on spring rolls (natch) while waiting for the rest of our party, Gail's friends Erich and Caroline. (Gail took a raft of great photos at their wedding last year, so I felt as though I'd already met them!) When they arrived, the six of us decided that we would all order different entrees and appetizers, and share everything in one big Thai smorgasbord, to mix cultural references. And we did, and it was all delicious - including the calamari! Hee! That made four times - Gail and I were devouring squid like a medium-size thresher shark!

MTCMH, Chapter II - Rats!

2005-06-01T21:40:00.000-05:00

Rat A whiskering
Originally uploaded by gailontheweb.

Rat B's big ol' nose
Originally uploaded by gailontheweb.

Friday and Sunday nights we crashed with Socar at her apartment. Her building manager seems to be far behind on the maintenance, so while I was there over the next few days I endeavoured to repay her hospitality by fixing a few things - namely a very leaky toilet, and some minor computer repair.

I also enjoyed meeting Rat A and Rat B, her whiskery little flatmates. While we were all sweating out the heat wave, I would open their cage door and let them explore my hand in their cautious way; eventually, Rat A got bold enough to walk all the way out onto my lap or hand. If I stood very still for a long time - which, thanks to public schooling, comes easily to me - they would walk into my hand, sniff my fingers, and nibble on them a bit. (They were mostly curious to see whether I would feed them, of course!) On Monday I finally gave them a whole strawberry, which they had a merry time swiping back and forth from one another.

When not creating haunting artwork, or writing in her brilliantly witty journal, Socar indulges in her not-so-secret habit: video games. I watched her proficiency with interest, and she introduced me to a quirky but addictive game, Katamari Damacy. It's an odd mix of obviously 3d-rendered graphics, harmless fun, and rollicking Japanese translations; plus an infectious soundtrack that rolls up an assortment of different musical styles into - well, a big ball. Socar described it, about as well as one can, here.

My Terrific Canadian Mini-Holiday, Chapter I

2005-06-01T21:34:00.000-05:00

I had an amazing long weekend in Vancouver with Gail; too busy to write about it as it happened, of course, and we were rattling from place to place anyway. I already mentioned my good fortune on my flight out on Thursday; that streak of luck went on to give us four rain-free days! Not a drop until Tuesday morning, when we headed to the airport for my flight home. On arriving back in the Land of Free (after my interrogation and partial strip-search) I found that it had been raining rather a lot here.

Friday I arrived in the wee hours of the morning, and was reunited with my baggage and with my cherished fiancee; Gail and her dad picked me up at the airport, and we went back to his place for a few hours' sleep. Later that morning Cheryl came by to drop off the three older Ems, and we spent the next few hours with them while the twins went for a checkup. Gail, her father and I walked with Melissa, Michael and Madeleine to a nearby mall for a meal. While we were there, I bought a pair of shorts and some sandals; I hadn't brought enough cool clothes, and the weather was unusually hot - in the upper twenties, even over 30 for the next few days. (Okay, for my countryfolk, that's 80 to 90 degrees! I heard someone on a bus mention "32 degree weather" and yes, I thought of skiing...)

Bubbles with Auntie Gail
Originally uploaded by Allan & Cheryl.

Back from the mall, we broke out one of the gifts I had brought for the kids; a big bucket of assorted bubble wands and pipes, and lots of bubble soap! Gail and I went out on the balcony and blew bubbles with the trio for a while, then came inside to see some photos from Mr. Edwin's recent trip from the Philippines, and watch some flying video that I had brought.

Friday evening we packed up our kits and took the Skytrain into Vancouver for a birthday dinner with George, his wife Lana and a circle of their friends. George (www.theflyinggreek.com) is one of our online friends, a pilot for Air Canada, and quintessentially Greek! We took public transportation to join everyone at "The Mad Greek" restaurant in Richmond, BC, just south of Vancouver; George is a regular there, and gave us excellent advice on the menu (great roast lamb, far above the ordinary!) and treated everyone to appetizers and wine. It was here that I began my reign of terror over the local squid population, snacking on some delicious calamari. Later, as the food and wine worked their wonders, George got up and gave some lessons in Greek dancing - hopa! Gail and I stayed and chatted with George and Lana until the restaurant was closing, and they generously drove us all the way back to town - they, too, are far above the ordinary.

Yes, please...

2005-05-28T03:16:00.000-05:00

(I have no) business class
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

...is what you say when the flight attendants offer you anything, in Cathay Pacific's business class. Which is where I ended up, in the wee hours of Friday morning, on my way from JFK to Vancouver.

I was late leaving my office on Thursday, and lost more time with some last-minute shopping on the way home. So I rushed through my packing, and left the house almost an hour late - which was my buffer hour, in case I hit any traffic going into New York. As it happened, I didn't hit much traffic, but I did have to park in long-term parking, a long way from Terminal 7, even by AirTrain.

So I was among the last stragglers at the check-in desk, and the ticket agent and her companion were furrowing their brows; they couldn't find an empty seat on the flight. I knew the flight was heavily booked, this Thursday before Memorial Day, and I began to sweat the idea of being bumped due to overbooking. (One of the peculiarities of the airline industry; selling more of a product or service than you actually have to offer.) But the chief booking-agent-guy came over, hit a few keys, and up popped my boarding pass.

I didn't realize until I got to the gate that they had seated me in business class; and just in time for my first perq - I got to walk straight through and board immediately, rather than wait in a 100-deep queue.

Arriving at my seat, I began to revel in the other windfalls of my situation. The seat was capacious, a power-operated Barcalounger with enough room to open up into a small bed. The meal menu featured Thai prawns, and a fantastic salad with lobster meat and marinated mushrooms. The cabin crew busily brought me goodies - a selection of cheeses, champagne, port wine, and a nice little deluxe travel kit. And time and again, those wonderful hot towels!

This was actually the fourth time I have flown in a higher class that I booked; I have never actually paid for a seat upgrade. But I must say, this was probably the nicest, most pleasant airline flight I have ever been on. Even the cabin noise seemed remarkably low. The only hiccup came when we landed, over half an hour early. Parked at our gate, engines shut down, we waited for 15 minutes because the air bridge - the telescoping tubelike hallway that meets up with the aircraft cabin door - would not move. They finally had to use a tug to push our plane back, and tow it to the next gate over.

But all ended well, we still got into the airport at our proper departure time, and I arrived refreshed and happy. Which I would have been in any case, since I was here to see Gail; she met me as I cleared Customs, and we've been having a great time since then. More later, it's her turn to upload some photos, and I'm on her Powerbook!

OK, last one out get the lights...

2005-05-25T21:08:00.000-05:00

I got in from a long day at work, and lots of last-minute errands, and immediately fell asleep on the couch; a little trick I learned from my cat. But I woke up just in time to catch the last 20 minutes of the amazing, superspectacular, blowout final American Idol show. So I feel quite fortunate, in not having missed the most important moment in television history.

Or so they said, anyway. By now your local emergency broadcasting service will have notified you, but Carrie was declared the winner, and wept and celebrated in the manner of a Miss America contestant - which of course she was. But I reflected last time, many of the other contestants have contracts to record and perform, and they were here for the big show. Before the announcement, we were favored with a medley of songs featuring the various "Idols" booted off over the past few months, performing with some of the original artists (who became famous the old, tedious way.) I didn't catch all of it, but it was neat to see George Benson reprising "On Broadway", and I genuinely enjoyed hearing Vonzell again performing with Billy Preston; she sounded terrific. Bo performed with Lynyrd Skynyrd, appropriately enough, looking like a 20-year younger member of the band.

So here I end my brief tenure as a Fox viewer, and my reports on this season's Idol competition. Er, "competition". Carrie is presumably off to a good start on her country-pop career, and I'm sure that more will be heard from the other contestants as well. (Heck, ten of them are coming to my local arena this summer!) Personally, I hope Vonzell and Bo get a good ride too; they added a little soul to this enterprise, which otherwise might have been a little - dare I say it - contrived.

Good night, America - Fielding out.

Monday Night of Terror

2005-05-24T09:43:00.000-05:00

It started off as an ordinary day... I went to work, came home as usual, mowed the lawn... and then the sun went down, and I drifted off for a nap. When I awoke, things were no longer as they had been...

Eerie moon
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

First, I went out to the car to bring in some things I needed to pack for my upcoming trip. But halfway there I stopped - the whole neighborhood was quiet, and suffused with a cold blue light. I looked up at the moon. It was full, and bright, and broken clouds were drifting slowly across its baleful face. I retrieved my camera from the car and steadied it on the roof, and zoomed in as far as it would go. As I made adjustments to the exposure and color, trying to capture this unearthly sight, the moon's visage seemed to change; like a face it was, turning left and right, considering me from all angles. I shivered, and stole back inside to the warmth and lingering adhesive fumes.

But my ordeal was only half over. Upstairs, in my study, I searched in vain for an old volume I intended to revisit. It struck me that it must be among the books I had crated and taken to the attic, to make room on the shelves for my faraway love. I took lantern in hand and pulled down the creaky attic stairs, with much screeching and pinging, and ascended into the dark, peaked cavern above.

In the weak glare of the sole naked bulb I squinted into the corners. There is dusty flotsam up there that was not mine, but here when I moved in; an small old bed, packages of tile, the old cupboard doors. Ah, there were the boxes of books I sought. I moved to retrieve them and then I saw it...

AAAAIIIIGHHHH!!!

Artifact
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

The original chandelier from downstairs! I thought the most horrid of the the decor was still on the walls and floors of this old house, but the most hideous perversion was lurking up here all along! It's a heavy wooden hexagon, with fake bronze straps at the corners - and plastic candles, with sockets for electric bulbs; no doubt, the kind that look like a frozen glass flame. This abomination must have once hung as you see it here, from its nightmarish fake-bronze chains, in the master dining room. I picked it up gingerly, as one might lift a thousand-year-old mummy to nick his wallet, and hung it on a nail to document it.

Anyway, if anyone out there is shooting a low-budget Gothic horror film, and you need lighting for the dining hall - where the fiend entertains his unsuspecting guests, before dragging them to the basement for unspeakable tortures - I have just the thing for you. It looks to be regular 120V, and you'll want to brace it to the nearest stud or joist - it's heavy!

The dust settles

2005-05-23T11:50:00.000-05:00

"After"
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Well, I put in a late Friday night and most of Saturday finishing off this round of changes to the kitchen. I still have some work to do; I have the backsplash pieces cut for the other side of the room, and I have yet to paint behind the fridge (or inside the pantry closet. Oops! How did I miss that?) I posted a set of photos showing the progress over the past fortnight.

When Gail comes back, we will decide what to do with the dark cabinets. They can be painted, refaced or tossed out entirely and replaced. But the "working" side of the kitchen is much brighter and more livable now. The new range hood has a lot more (and warmer) light than the old buzzing fluorescent, and a quieter variable-speed fan. (I had fun turning it on "full", and running outside to see the breeze from the outside vent.)

The backsplash material is paneling, made for kitchens and bathrooms, that has a glossy ceramic-tile face. It's quite inexpensive, less than $20 for a 4' x 8' sheet; I only needed two sheets. I chose one with sand-colored tile and white "grout" lines, and ran a line of white caulk into the corners. I finished the edges with some 3/8" pine corner stock, cut down to the thickness of the paneling where necessary. Now it's all waterproof and easy to clean; it's a good solution for a quick DIY makeover. (Hmm, he thinks, casting his eye on the downstairs bathroom...)

Anyway, it's been a long time coming. I bought this house back in 2001, basically sight unseen; the location, size and price were exactly what I wanted. So when I walked through it and saw the hokey 70s decor and the mud-dark colors, I just figured I would pull down the wallpaper and paint when I was ready. But then I just got used to it, and since I spent most of my time flying I wasn't home that much anyway. But now I'm looking forward to sharing it with Gail, and I really want to make it a comfortable place for us. A home.

A belated word...

2005-05-20T11:25:00.000-05:00

...about American Idol. I did watch it this week, on tape on Wednesday afternoon just before the hatchet show. I'm not going to rehash the whole show, just report on my impressions. I'm saving the tape for Gail, because some of the performances were rather good.

There is a lot of consensus that Bo Bice was the standout of the final three competition; I agree. He took the assigned songs and sung them with clear originality, and looked relaxed and confident on stage. For his song choice, he threw all caution to the wind: no backup band. Taking the stage in silence, he stood in a lone spotlight and sung a capella; and his voice alone, in near-perfect time and tune, filled the hall. Gutsy; and proof that he is truly a musician. His voice has a soulful texture, and an honesty that increasingly makes him seem out of place in this pop-music "competition".

Vonzell Solomon was voted off, and I was sorry to see her go. She seems sweet and likable, and has a vulnerability about her; yet her voice is so powerful. In the first few weeks she seemed to be struggling, and she still is; but I think with each performance her confidence and skill were growing. Look at the shoes she slipped on for this week's three songs: Dionne Warwick, Aretha Franklin and Donna Summer! Three of the greatest female vocalists of all time. And Vonzell did all of them proud, in my opinion; heck, if she released that performance of "On the Radio", I'd pick up a copy.

Carrie Underwood seemed nervous and uncomfortable this week. Her voice was clear and in tune, as always; but the oft-repeated criticism, that she lacks emotion, was laid more bare than in any of the previous shows. "Wooden"; "robotic"; "stiff" - all quotes from the judges, on her various performances. The two songs she was assigned seemed tailor-made to help her break out of this colorlessness: "Crying" by Roy Orbison - my gosh, Roy could actually make people cry with this heartbreaking ballad, but Carrie sat and delivered it staring ahead like an eye test. And "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" by Shania Twain is silly, sassy fun with a country twang - it should have been right across the plate for Carrie, yet it was her third strike of the evening.

So the "winner" (I'm inclined to use quotes where the notion of competition is concerned; since eight of the "contestants" are touring together this summer, and nearly all are already under some kind of recording contract) ...the "winner" of American Idol will be either Bo or Carrie. Not all that surprising; they both have the kind of middle-American heartland* appeal that got George W. Bush reinstalled. Personally, I would much rather watch Bo perform; I think he is a natural entertainer and musician. But Carrie is blonde and has straight teeth, and can parrot songs in the current country & western style with tape-recorder precision.

So there's no telling whom the voters will choose, if in fact the voters are determining the outcome. Simon Cowell should get a dramatic Emmy, just for showing up every week and acting like it makes a difference.

*So named because the brain isn't there.

Aerospace Day III

2005-05-17T21:57:00.000-05:00

The goal
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

My C.A.P. squadron had a major activity Monday - we went to the Pocono Elementary Center in Tannersville, PA to teach their students about aviation. We have done this twice before, in the last three years, but with much smaller groups of students. Aerospace education is one of the functions of the Civil Air Patrol, along with our search-and-rescue mission and our cadet program.

The principal, Catherine Sweeney, allowed us to fill four long periods through the school day, for all 950 (!) of the students, so we had our work cut out for us. We marshalled all of our cadets, and all of our best classroom materials and activities, and spent a long time working out the schedule and practicing the lessons. Many of our younger cadets were getting their first experience teaching classes, and in front of some big groups! This was a maximum effort; we had less than twenty of our kids and seven CAP officers to take on this large student body.

We also brought in some help, as we have before, from the local aviation community. Carl House and Dave Zahorsky from the Waymart Wings model airplane club set up a model airstrip and flight line, and brought an impressive little fleet of airplanes, gliders and helicopters. John Vogler, a retired gentleman from the Stroudsburg chapter of the EAA, graciously agreed to trailer his full-scale homebuilt aircraft to the school and give a presentation. He put in a hard day's work in the sun behind the school, describing his partly-completed Pietenpol Aircamper - a beautiful design from the 1930s, crafted mostly of wood.

In previous years, we had flown in helicopters; and also done candy parachute drops, to start the day off on a high note. The school staff was concerned about the liability of landing the helos, though, so I opened the day by flying over the school in the C.A.P. Cessna. The airport is only seven miles from the school, so I took off and circled until the appointed time; at 9:29, I dove on the school from the north and let the airspeed build up. At 9:30 exactly, I skimmed over the school, where the first classes were gathering outside. I did a low pass at high speed, over 150 m.p.h., and pulled up into a maximum-performance turn to the left. Not that amazing in airshow terms, but a decent little demonstration, and I climbed to orbit the school and take a few snapshots.

After landing back at the airport I drove over to the school, where our cadets were already at work teaching a variety of subjects. The most ambitious was the rocketry presentation behind the school, set up by our very advanced 13-year old Frankie Arnold. Cadet Arnold brought his model rocket launch pads, and made some impressive visual aids out of found materials; he taught four long classes, and at the conclusion of each called for volunteers from the Pocono kids to help him launch a few rockets. The kids were awestruck, of course, and today in our first batch of thank-you cards many of them mentioned his class as their favorite.

Three of our young lady cadets - Annalea Littleton, Julia Rasely and Grace Tighe - took on the task of preparing lessons for the youngest classes, the kindergarten and first grades. They adapted some lesson plans we got from NASA, which has many excellent resources for teachers. Using streamers, balloons and straws, they demonstrated that air is a substance and has pressure, and can do work. They bubbled with energy and did a great job of connecting with the kids, as good as any college student teachers.

Juan Montealegre, one of the youngest but most enthusiastic of our cadets, headed the class on parachutes; he and his comrades worked hard in the preceding days making dozens of small clothespin parachutes. They filled the second half of their allotted time with "AlkaFuji" rockets, made from film canisters and powered by Alka-Seltzer tablets. (They pop off the desk, surprisingly high, in a lovely frothy mess!)

Some of the older cadets gave presentations on the Civil Air Patrol and our search-and-rescue missions, demonstrated radio direction-finding, and our field gear. I took the last segment of the day to teach the fifth and sixth grades about the basic physics of flying, the "four forces", and concluded with a Q&A period. Afterwards, I had a semicircle of fifth and sixth graders around me, asking about our cadet program and how they can get involved.

All in all, the day went off as seamlessly as we could have hoped. The weather was beautiful, the school kids had a ball, and the faculty was very appreciative. I couldn't be prouder of the officers and cadets in my unit; they all worked hard to make this happen. I've uploaded some pictures of the day in my Flickr album here.

Kitchen progress

2005-05-13T09:30:00.000-05:00

Kitchen progress
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Yesterday I took a break from painting for an hour to mow the lawn, then went back to work. It's slow going, because there are lots of angles and corners and little pieces that don't lend themselves to the roller. I suppose they have lots of fancy corner-and-angle tools at the hardware store, but I am working with a plain old 2" brush.

And there are a lot of dark stains that are hard to cover up. When the previous owner stained the woodwork around the windows and doors (a very dark brown) he didn't mask the wallboard around them; figuring, I guess, that they were going to wallpaper over it anyway.

I'll probably lay on a third coat of white primer tonight and start the color tomorrow morning. I'm still trying to find a good material to cover the burnt orange backsplash, short-term, since I don't want to pull down the cupboards to remove it. But the kitchen is definitely looking less kitsch.

American Idol - Final Four

2005-05-11T00:01:00.000-05:00

I just got back from my C.A.P. meeting, and rewound the tape to zip through American Idol. I'll write my report on the performances now, while they are ringing in my ears, for better or worse.

The two themes for the show were based on two distinctly American cities - Philadelphia and Nashville. For the Luther Vandross/Patti LaBelle Philadelphia sound, the contestants could pick from the songs of Gamble and Huff, who were present at the taping. I didn't catch any rules for the Nashville songs, other than the country theme. The Nashville round was first, and who could be happier that the first contestant...

Carrie, who sang the Dixie Chicks' "Sin Wagon" - and yeeee-haw, ain't nobody more country than her! The vocals and arrangement were as deep-south as collard greens, and Carrie grinned and showboated through it. An up-tempo song, and her vocals were perfect; the crowd was hooting in appreciation, and even Simon allowed that she sang great "...and we saw personality, too." In case anyone can't tell yet, Carrie is a great country singer.

Bo may be a rocker, but he's a good ol' boy, too; he sang Travis Tritt's "It's A Great Day To Be Alive". Upbeat and sunny lyrics but kind of a slow, lazy song; I thought he was drowned out by the band a few times. Natural, no mistakes and the crowd liked it, but Simon used the same word I wrote down - lazy, and he added boring. I just think this is a tough place to bring a slow song.

Something apparently happened to Vonzell the day of the performance; she was obviously nervous, and Paula and Simon both seemed to know about it. Her song was Tricia Yearwood's "How Do I", and her performance was obviously affected by something - her voice wobbled, she went flat twice, and even forgot a line of the lyrics. But she did fight through it, and the judges were obviously being gentle with her; she was crying as Ryan Seacrest talked her off.

Anthony sang the vastly overplayed "Already There" by Lone Star. A challenging vocal, and he barely carried it off; but the cheesy, phony choreography made the song totally unbelievable. Pleading eyebrows, reaching for the camera... gack. Simon called it "gooey", and that's the kindest thing he could have said.

Next it was off to Philadelphia; Seacrest takes a few moments to welcome songwriters Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff, who defined the Philadelphia Sound from the sixties well into the eighties. They wish the contestants well, and are happy that a new generation is appreciating their music.

Carrie led off again, and in the next two minutes proved the same point as her first song - she is a country singer. She chose "If You Don't Know Me By Now", by Teddy Pendergrass (and many others). It was awful. As confident as she was in the first number, in the second she looked like she strayed into the wrong neighborhood. The timing was all wrong, and Carrie seemed to look around the room wishing it was over. All three judges - even Paula - agreed that it didn't work.

Bo thundered into the O'Jays classic "For The Love Of Money," now famous again as the theme of the Donald Trump show "The Apprentice". I thought it was great; Bo really sold it, hair and mike stand swinging, sunglasses on. He put his own stamp on the song; kind of Soul Train meets the Allman Brothers. The crowd agreed - they went NUTS, it was a long time before Randy could begin his comments.

Vonzell was far more in control for the second song, "Dont Leave Me This Way," made famous by Thelma Houston; a tall act to follow. But Vonzell started off well, and swelled with energy as she worked through the song. When she hit the chorus, her voice just exploded into a premium-quality growl... "BAY-BEE! My heart is full of love, and DESIRE FOR YOU!" Then, almost recklessly - she went up an octave, and did it again! She might have been shaken up today, but her voice and that song just overpowered and made a great impression. All the judges agreed that this performance was much better, although Simon thought it was a little frantic.

Anthony sang... uh, the same song as Carrie? Yes, he also launched into "If You Don't Know Me By Now". Rather than sing it with style and emotion, like - oh, Simply Red, or anyone else who has covered the song - Anthony decided that maybe angry shouting was the way to go. He seemed to glare into the camera and pound every line convulsively, in all the wrong places. Simon stated that Anthony had "no soul", and was again too kind by far.

My Prediction: Oh, please, please, please... get Anthony out of there. I can't imagine that even the "votefortheworst" crowd can sustain him past this week.

The Age of Aquarius is Ending

2005-05-09T08:52:00.000-05:00

Kitchen progress
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

In our kitchen, anyway. Friday afternoon I began one of the projects I planned when I bought this house four years ago; to do away with the Very Brady Kitchen.

I began by stripping off the funky, brown-and-burnt-orange, flower-and-bamboo (!) wallpaper that was lurking on the walls. I hardly needed the wallpaper removal solvent; the stuff practically disintegrated when I began tugging at it. When I was down to bare wallboard, I found that there were several repairs needed, so I went to work with spackle and blade.

While the repairs cured, I started painting out the red-with-black-mortar, amazingly-faux brick that covers two of the walls. (I have posted some before pictures, lest you think I am embellishing on the awfulness of this decor.) This dungeon theme was applied painstakingly, brick-by-fake-brick with epoxy glue onto the bare sheetrock, so there was no way to remove it short of a sledgehammer. The brickesque surface is taking forever, as the paint has to be teased down into all of the mortar lines with a 2" brush, and the ersatz bricks soak it up like Old Milwaukee at a frat party.

By Saturday night, I had one side of the fake brick done and most of the kitchen dressed and ready for paint. I'm doing the brick in semigloss white, which looks good so far and makes the brick look substantially less faux. The remaining walls will be a cheery pale yellow, "Summer Sun" I think, and then we will decide what to do with the cabinets. The lurid orange formica backsplash (sorry, hope you haven't just eaten) will have to go, but we haven't decided whether to paint the cabinets, or leave them for now and just replace 'em all later. They are not of any great quality, plywood and particle board, but we're saving up for more important stuff (wedding, honeymoon) at the moment. This is a low-budget, emergency decor adjustment, not a major renovation.

I'll post updates as work progresses. Those who are studying design trends of the Nixon era, or the morbidly curious, may inquire about the powder room or - gulp - the carpeting in the third bedroom. Gay males with diagnosed heart conditions may be asked to sign a waiver.

The Wicked Wind

2005-05-09T08:40:00.000-05:00

Sunday morning I met one of my cadets at the airport for an orientation flight; one of the hour-long rides that are a perq of the CAP cadet program for teens. The air was totally clear, but the winds were quite strong and getting stronger. I warned Justin that the ride would be bumpy, but he assured me that he was up for it, and further that he had not eaten a big breakfast. (I'm proud to say that in over 230 such flights, I have only had two regurgatory incidents, and one of those was a college kid with a hangover.)

The wind was 20 degrees off the runway, at 10 knots gusting to 21. An eleven-knot gust factor is considerable, for a plane that stalls at around 40 knots, so I made a shallow climb and kept the airspeed up. I climbed to 6,500 feet, just above some lingering daubs of cloud, guessing that the air would smooth out at that height. Justin (age 16) was able to take the controls and accomplish some turns, and we explored the turning errors of the magnetic compass and the relationship of pitch, power and airspeed.

When we descended again on our way home, over the Pocono Raceway, the air turned rocky again and Justin asked me to take the controls. I checked the automated weather on the radio, the wind was now at 16 gusting to 24, and fluctuating over a sixty degree arc. I tightened my seatbelt and had my passenger do the same, and we entered the traffic pattern for landing. I used half the normal flap setting, and kept about 15 extra knots of airspeed; having flown there for a decade, I know too well the built-in wind shear on the south end of the Mount Pocono airport.

All my hours of Tri-Pacer time must have me in good shape; we got down to a smooth touchdown despite the raging, invisible rapids of wind. The Cessna is larger and heavier, and rides the bumps a little better, but doesn't have the snappy control response of Zero-two Papa. We taxied back, slowly, as the wind was still trying to flip us over; on days like this, you don't stop flying the plane until it's tied down. Justin resumed his normal stream of chatter, and said that he enjoyed the ride; I did, too. As my primary instructor used to say "You can't learn to fly on the calm days!"

Be Nice to the Substitute...

2005-05-06T12:23:00.000-05:00

Since Gail has gone back to Canadia for a while, there to await her visa, she and I won't be watching the last few weeks of American Idol together. Gail has been blogging our reluctant foray into the world of Fox programming, through last week when she reported on the "Vote for the Worst" theory. Since Fox is not broadcast freely in British Columbia (and gosh, doesn't it sound better every day) it falls to me to tape the remaining episodes and file our reports.

We did manage to watch this week's episode together while Gail packed for her trip. Since the number of contestants is dwindling, there was time in Tuesday's show for each to do two songs, with a verse or two snipped from each. The two given themes were "Lieber and Stoller", picking songs from the five-decade songbook of that rock 'n roll songwriting duo; and "This Week’s Top 40 Hits", allowing any song currently on any of the current Billboard charts.

ROUND ONE: LIEBER AND STOLLER, WITH NO APOLOGIES

Anthony got the show off to a dull, colorless start with his L&S pick, "Poison Ivy". My impression was that he took a playful, fun song and sung it in the same cheesy, boy-band delivery that he struggles each week to perfect. He was wearing his glasses again this week, so he no doubt saw clearly the bored looks on the judges' faces.

Scott was up next with "On Broadway", which suited the booming alto of his voice, and with most appropriate lyrics; he defiantly pointed to Simon as he sang "...oh, but they're wrong - I know they are!" Scott actually delivered a credibly good performance of the song and had the crowd's approval.

Vonzell seems to gain confidence in her voice every week, and it is a great instrument; powerful and brassy. She turned it to the Elvis classic "Treat Me Nice", and gosh, why wouldn't you? Vonzell is just so darn nice herself. Simon was the only one in the room who wasn't impressed, and was loudly booed for saying so.

As he must always be titled, Rocker Bo was up next with "Stand By Me". It's been sung by better singers, but Bo showed that he can sing melodically when he tries. He was relaxed and largely on-key, connected with the audience - and left the mike stand on the floor, to the delight of the stagehand who has to wax it every week.

Carrie tried to stir up some "Trouble", another Elvis classic; but it just doesn't play, somehow. She can growl, furrow her little eyebrows and kick the mike stand over - sorry, stagehand - but she's still just a nice little blonde girl, although certainly one with a clear, dazzling voice. Carrie can't get in any trouble at this point, and the judges agree.

ROUND TWO: CURRENT TOP 40

Anthony sang some crappy Backstreet Boys song, without their harmonies and with the emotional depth of an Earl Scheib paintjob. Gail and I discussed the merits of our reheated Indian meal and waited patiently, with the audience, for the next act.

Scott proved that even with your eyes closed, he is still in fact a Caucasian. He took a swing at Brian McKnight's "Every Time You Go Away", but stumbled through the quicker hip-hop riffs. Randy says he pulled it off, but Randy is wrong.

Vonzell took "When You Tell Me That You Love Me", recorded by the American Idol kids as a group effort, and presented it as a powerful solo piece. The crowd was cheering loudly, we thought it was good, but Simon shook his head and declared her "vulnerable". (I don't think he really likes music, necessarily.)

Bo... sorry, Rocker Bo sang "How Far Is Heaven" by Los Lonely Boys, delivered in the southern-fried growl that comes so easily to him. Even Simon admits that it was a professional effort, saying that Bo made the others look like amateurs.

Carrie stayed in her safe place with "Broken Road", from the Country charts; I don't know whose song it is, but I've heard it, it's a male artist. Carrie sung it flawlessly, with the commercially-perfect level of country twang, but palpably lacking in emotion. Simon hit the nail on the head, acknowledging that it was beautiful if a little "robotic".

WEDNESDAY: A LONG TIME IN COMING

Brickable Ryan Seacrest tried his best to stretch 15 seconds' worth of drama into a 22-minute show, but no one (except Scott) was fooled when he sent the lowest two scorers to the couch and left the top three on stage. So Vonzell, Bo and Carrie stood up, and Anthony and Scott sat down on the couch. Gail and I have been raging at the screen for long weeks, pleading for the removal of Anthony and Scott, respectively; so one of us was about to be rewarded.

And this week, it was me - brutish, inarticulate, alleged domestic-abuser Scott Savol was finally shown the door. I'll admit, he has a fine singing voice; but I never could reconcile the rich, warm music that comes out of him with the mumbling ghettospeak and the prison scowl. I don't know if the beauty of his singing is something he merely parrots, or is really hidden beneath all the urban-Ohio trash talk; but in any case, he's all gone now. With any luck, the wardrobe people are sewing a target onto Anthony Federov's pastel shirt for next week, and Gail will get her wish.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2005)

2005-05-01T00:46:00.000-05:00

(Film Review: 3 Stars)

Gail and I just returned from seeing The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and we represent both sides of the audience experience. Gail was unfamiliar with the stories - whereas I have read all five of the Douglas Adams books, heard the BBC radio series, seen the BBC television series... a fan-geek since the early '80s, in other words. So the following is my review, from the dyed-in-the-wool, able-to-recite-lines Fan perspective.

The story, repeated in so many media over the years, begins simply: The plant Earth is destroyed. Douglas Adams once revealed in an interview that he had decided to write a science-fiction story that began with the destruction of Earth, rather than ending that way. The story spirals outward wildly from there, following the trials of the planet's lone survivor, Englishman Arthur Dent; who survives because his friend, Ford Prefect, turns out to be an extraterrestrial researcher for a galactic travel-tips book and whisks him away at the last minute, in his bathrobe.

Adams himself was working on the screenplay when he died, suddenly, on his 49th birthday in 2001. The screenplay contains many of the elements and characters from the book, but the plot diverges widely for the latter two-thirds of the film. (Old-time readers, take note: This is very much a new story, not a retelling of the book, as the old BBC projects were.) A large part of the appeal of the original HHGG series, besides the absurd situations, was Adams' prose; engaging, wildly roundabout, with tremendously baroque sentence structures that roll on and on in dry British manner. It's not always easy to reproduce in performance, and the film doesn't strive all that hard to do so.

But the characters are there, and a lot of the film's goodness comes from how they are brought to life. Martin Freeman (of the BBC comedy series The Office) makes a fine Arthur Dent, hapless yet persevering. Alan Rickman voices Marvin, the Paranoid Android - one of the book's most memorable characters - to perfection, his voice rich with misery. And Sam Rockwell comes up with a new spin on freewheeling Galactic President Zaphod Beeblebrox - with an American accent reminiscent of a certain other well-known, dimwitted Southwestern figurehead.

A real treat of the film is that the Vogons, and many of the other fantastic aliens, are recreated not by CGI but by Jim Henson's Creature Workshop. The work they've done here is amazing, as always - hilarious caricatures, ingeniously brought to life.

I wonder what the impression will be for those who are new to the tale. The books themselves are sketchy, more like a series of episodes than a seamless story, and the film can be quick and confusing. But then, that's the authentic Arthur Dent experience - being thrown into a strange universe, on short notice, and struggling for meaning and survival.

Don't Panic.

This Just In

2005-04-25T22:18:00.000-05:00

(A bit of history geeking.)

While looking around the web for facts about the National Mall in Washington, I ran across the story of Pierre Charles L'Enfant, the namesake of the L'Enfant Plaza, among other things. His story, and the story of the genesis of Washington, D.C. are quite interesting, but I won't recount it all here.

Pierre Charles L'Enfant was a French-born Major in the United States Army, under General George Washington. He was hired by Washington to be the architect of the new nation's capital city in 1791, and in the next six months created a grand plan for the city. Six months after that, he was fired by Washington because he "forged ahead regardless of his orders, the budget, or landowners with prior claims."

Apparently, L'Enfant was a difficult genius; he envisioned that the United States would one day be a giant empire, and the reports of his original plan indicate that it was rather more baroque and imperial than the city which eventually emerged, being compared to Versailles and Paris. As his name suggests, upon being relieved he childishly took all of the plans for the city and returned to France, although he came back to end his days in the U.S., in disrepute and petitioning Congress for back pay.

With the plans gone, commissioner Andrew Ellicott would have been in trouble, but for one of his assistants: Benjamin Banneker, son of a former slave and a free black woman. Most unusual for a black man in that time and place, he was a highly educated mathematician, astronomer and publisher - even held in high esteem by Thomas Jefferson, who sent along Banneker's astronomical almanac to the French Academy of Sciences. Banneker saved the capital project by reproducing the plans in their entirety from his own memory, which were subsequently improved on to create the modern city in place today.

So the capital city of the United States of America was designed by a rude Frenchman - and a brilliant black man, in between two of the biggest slaveowning states in the country, Maryland and Virginia.

Capitol G, day two

2005-04-25T13:54:00.000-05:00

Hirshhorn
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Late Sunday morning we headed into D.C. again, but at the Smithsonian Metro station Gail hopped off the train, while I rode on for a sidebar of my own - The National Postal Museum.It's located in the old Post Office building next to Union Station, which is a grand place that I will have to go back and revisit.

The Postal Museum is not that big, and lightly attended, as you might imagine. It takes up one floor and a courtyard, and documents the U.S. Postal Service of course; most of the exhibits would only be of interest to philatelists. (Among them: "The History of the Envelope!" Whee!) But in the courtyard they have three old airplanes suspended from the ceiling; in the center is an Air Mail D.H. 4 biplane, the significance of which I describe in my photo caption. It wouldn't draw much attention in the Air & Space Museum, just an old dun-colored biplane with no guns or bombs or famous pilots. So it resides quietly here, along with an old mail truck and a horse-drawn delivery wagon; I photographed it from every angle, in my own unique awe. I've read everything I could find about the exploits of the Air Mail fliers, and I imagined what it must have been like to pilot a machine like this, through all kinds of weather, across the nation. It was difficult and dangerous, and I'm glad I fly with the benefit of modern technology - innovations these pilots came up with to save their own necks. From everything that I've read, most of them did it for their love of flying, and I guess that's why I feel a kinship with them.

Having figured out the Metro system, I gave it a miss and walked back to the National Mall, crossing in front of the Capitol dome. My path to the Hirshhorn Museum, where I was to meet Gail, took me by the Museum of the American Indian, which I had never seen. It opened on September 21, 2004, and is a fascinating building to behold. The architecture is like a stylized Pueblo village; it was designed with Native American consultants, and incorporates a creek that was in place at the site. For such a large building, it is very organic; almost no straight lines, and well integrated with the ground beneath it. The redirected creek flows down the side of the building and splashes over massive natural rocks, before flowing around the side of the building.

Continuing past the Air & Space Museum (which I've explored many times, natch) I came to the Hirshhorn, one of the Smithsonian's art museums, this one devoted to contemporary art. It too is an architectural wonder, built as an upright tube; the gallery floors are circular, and consist of an inner ring looking on the courtyard and an outer with natural light. The whole building seems to float in the air, as it is built on tapered pillars that lift it a full two stories off the street level; the space created under and around the building is unique and ultra-modern, yet very comfortable. in the center is a tall fountain, and sculpture gardens line the perimeter. I walked around it once, then went inside to find Gail, who was just finishing her trip through the exhibits.

We went next door to the Air & Space Museum for the last hour before it closed; Gail explored the machines that interested her, and I revisited my old favorites. Then we finished the day on the Mall in front of the Capitol, trying to snap photos of the seagulls and exploring the older fountains and sculptures at this end.

We will surely be back; we have only begun to explore all the sights in Washington. What's not to love - clean public transit, free museums and tapas!

Capitol ideas, day one

2005-04-25T00:25:00.000-05:00

Dome
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Scranton, despite being nestled in the Pennsylvania hills, is well-positioned for day trips to some of the biggest cities in the northeast. Over the past few months I've been happily re-exploring my region with Gail, my peripatetic paramour. Last weekend we turned south to enjoy the spring weather in Washington, D.C. for a few days.

Washington would have been a short flight, under two hours, but the Baltimore/Washington airspace is still somewhat restricted; all flights must be filed ahead of time and flown precisely as filed. The penalties for deviation range from the severe (loss of flying privileges) to the extreme (interception!), considerations which take some of the lighthearted fun out of private aviation. Besides, the old problem of transportation; there are no longer any easy-access general aviation airports near the capitol.

A far easier matter to drive, less than 3-1/2 hours to New Carrollton, Maryland where there was a reasonably-priced Ramada and a MetroRail stop. Washington has one of the nicest subway/rail systems in the country, so we were able to leave the car and zip into town, cheaply and in about 20 minutes. (What we didn't find out until the next day is that for only $6.50, we could have purchased unlimited-travel weekend passes! Oh well, that's what I get for not reading the machine carefully.)

Thus delivered via Metro to the downtown area, we emerged soon after lunchtime Saturday from the L'Enfant Plaza station - named, no doubt, after some French toddler who was somehow a key figure in the American Revolution. (Research is not my long suit.) We made our way to the main building of the Smithsonian Institution, the castle, and spent some time exploring the beautiful flower gardens in the cool sunshine.

Looking over the plentiful signage outside, we decided to make our first visit to the Museum of Heritage and Culture; to indulge our avid interest in things cultural, and because Kermit the Frog is there. He was, as promised, along with many other fascinating exhibits - such as Julia Child's kitchen, transplanted from her New England home. Admission is free, by the way, to all of the Smithsonian museums; and they are among the best anywhere in the nation.

After the museums closed, we spent some time walking up and down the huge National Mall, taking pictures and watching the sun set. At the new World War II Memorial, a school band played patriotic music, and we explored the area in photos. The new monument is smaller than I imagined, at least on the scale of the other landmarks on the Mall, and somewhat fragmented - it feels like they tried to put in a lot of ideas and detail about the great conflict, an impossible task. But it works well, very approachable on a human scale; and the complexity of it reflects the many facets of American involvement in the war - one which still shapes this nation's view of the itself and the world, sixty years later.

As the sun set, we realized that we had wandered a long way from the commercial sections of town, so we hailed a cab and asked to go to Chinatown. The driver left us in front of a chophouse which looked okay, but we walked two blocks farther and I spotted a sign: "La Tasca", a Spanish tapas bar and restaurant. Tapas! Gail's favorite way to eat, and we had missed out on tapas and sangria when I was in Vancouver. We made a beeline for the door, right across 7th Street. We ordered two sangrias while we waited for the table, which was ready almost immediately; the dishes were all fabulous, and the restaurant has a great atmosphere and decor. A keeper.

"The nose, it is huge!"

2005-04-21T13:45:00.000-05:00

Wide eyed
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

I was idly searching for references to my Flickr photos on the internet; most of them are from Gail's site, naturally. But then I came across this entry from a blogger in Japan, and laughed out loud. Seeing Hugh's face among all that Kanji script was funny enough, but then I fed the link into Babelfish for a translation.

The headline: "The, the nose it is huge the !"

The caption: "When... with you thought, it was pattern."

Hugh is now officially world-famous! My thanks to the person who posted his photo, and to all his fans out there.

Another weekend flies by...

2005-04-13T10:45:00.000-05:00

We wrapped up the weekend at our home base, bucolic Cherry Ridge airport. The weather was still unreasonably great, so I took my mother for a short ride over Lake Wallenpaupack - which was deserted, this early in the season. One sailboat and a lone fisherman were the only human presence on the long lake, not even worth going down for a buzz.

High-speed pass
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Gail took some more video, including my version of a high-speed pass; I made a low approach at cruise speed and flew down the runway at about 125 m.p.h., which is as fast as I care to go in my 50-year old plane. Then I topped off the tanks and put 02P in the hangar, and went to join Gail and Mom in the airport café for a buffet dinner, before the Cherry Ridge Pilots' Association meeting. This august body meets once a month to discuss matters of import to the pilots based here, such as maintenance and improvements to the runway, fuel costs, et cetera.

When possible, we have a guest speaker at the meetings; Sunday we met Bill Starr, a private pilot who is working as a volunteer copilot on a vintage C-54 transport. The plane, named "Spirit of Freedom", is a 4-engined airliner built in 1945 as a transport for the US military, and one which participated in the historic Berlin Airlift during 1948 and 1949. The interior of the plane has been remodeled as a museum, and tours the country and world to commemorate the event.

Starr gave an abbreviated version of a PowerPoint presentation about the Airlift, and told us about what it's like to fly the vintage machine. When he was finished, Gail prompted me to ask Bill for a copy of his presentation, which he cheerfully shared with us; Gail copied it to her Powerbook, along with all the period videos.

Later at my mother's house we looked over the weekend's flying pictures and video, and enjoyed our increasingly-competitive 3-way Scrabble game. (Read that as, "Mom and I are not getting beaten quite so soundly by Gail lately!) The three of us are also playing online games during the week at The Pixie Pit.

Firefly, in a City of Lights

2005-04-11T12:34:00.000-05:00

Saturday we slept late and lazed around the house until afternoon, then headed back out to the airport, as the great weather continued to beckon. I suggested heading south; we could look up some 'net friends, and/or visit my old chum Chris. Which is what we did, as it happened; Gail and I had dinner with Chris and his wife Carrie, and their little girl Kyra, who was pleasant company despite being not quite over an earache. We didn't get any other replies to our short-notice invite, so when we left Allentown we decided to go east and have another look at Manhattan from the air - at night!

My flying comrade Dale had recommended the Hudson River flight at night; it's certainly one of the most striking sights in the country, and we arrived at the Verrazano Bridge in less than an hour. Rather than go through Air Traffic Control as we did last time, I descended to below 1,100 feet to scurry under Newark's airspace, and we skimmed low over New Jersey and out across the dark water. (As I checked out all my gauges, to see that our trusty Lycoming engine was ticking away happily.)

Barnstorming Manhattan
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

The VFR-legal airspace is a narrow layer between 800 and 1,100 feet, and the uprights of the Verrazano bridge reach almost that high. I approached the bridge on an oblique from the southwest, then flew right between the goalposts and turned north towards Manhattan. The water below was dark, but everywhere there were lights; cars, highways, buildings and even the ships on the bay shone like diamonds. As we crossed Governor's Island I slowed the engine, flipped on our landing light and announced our position on the radio, as Gail carefully worked the video camera. (Some stills from the video are in my album here; Gail's journal entry is here.)

Air traffic was light in our immediate area, although helicopters crisscrossed the city and international jet traffic swam far overhead. I was busy keeping an accurate course and watching for traffic, but I still had opportunity to boggle at the massive city on my right wing. At 950 feet, several of the skyscrapers reached higher than we were. Seen from our vantage point, the city was a brilliant crosshatch of lights and glowing towers, with traffic flowing in the streets like molten lava. When we passed downwind of the tallest buildings, we were rocked by some light turbulence, and I held tight to the reins so that Gail could keep filming.

We kept on all the way up the west side of Manhattan, and after a while we crossed the George Washington bridge and passed east of Teterboro. I increased the power again and turned west, and waited until we were clear of the New York airspace before climbing up to 4,500 feet. The night was brilliantly clear, though moonless, and Gail dozed as we droned over the mountains. In 35 minutes we were back over Honesdale, and I circled and keyed my transmitter to turn on the runway lights. (Or what's left of them; many of the marker lights are out, mostly on the east side.) I eased us lower until the landing light picked out the trees, slipped into the dark clearing and touched down.

Weekend plans? Up in the air!

2005-04-11T11:43:00.000-05:00

Landing
Originally uploaded by AviatorDave.

Spring has well and truly sprung here in the northeast - this weekend was beautiful, perfect flying weather. And fly we did...

Our Tri-Pacer had some attention from the mechanic last week, for a weak left magneto (there are two separate ignition systems on the engine, as a backup. Normally both work at the same time, but before takeoff it's standard procedure to run the engine on each side separately to test them.) The mechanical trouble turned out to be minor, and 02P was pronounced fit to fly. Still, I don't like to expose my passengers to unnecessary risk; so I decided to take the plane up for a short solo flight to make sure everything was in order.

Gail wanted to try out my old video camera anyway, so she stayed on the ramp to take pictures of me and the plane in action. The resulting video was neat to see; I've never been able to see myself fly from the outside, or my plane in the air. (Of course, when I'm out on the ramp, I always watch the other guys, and silently rate their landing technique!) The most striking thing was how slowly the plane seems to be moving on landing, and it does land slower than more modern planes. It was built in the grass-strip era, and like its ancestor the Piper Cub it can alight very sedately, at around 50 miles per hour.

The plane was running great, and apparently is making a bit more power now that the ignition is timed correctly. So I picked Gail up and we headed out for a flight around the area. We landed at the International airport in Scranton for some oil, then took off again to watch the sunset. Coming back north to Cherry Ridge, we did a touch-and-go landing back at Scranton - then, I had an opportunity to scare myself a bit. Climbing out of Scranton, I reached down to switch fuel tanks; the valve is out of sight next to my left knee, and invisible in the dark cockpit. About 30 seconds later, a most unsettling phenomenon - the engine quit! Bad news, since there's only one... Training kicked in and I pushed the nose down for best glide, and turned back to the runway, still well within gliding range behind us.

I got on the radio and called for an emergency, and was given clearance to land on any runway. I switched back to the left tank and pushed the fuel mixture to full rich, and the engine caught again; I kept on course for the airport until I was satisfied that we had power restored, and could run on either tank; apparently I had overswitched the valve in the dark, and the handle was leaning towards the "off" position. Feeling a bit foolish, I told the controller that we were OK and turned back north for home.

Gail wasn't too shaken up by the incident; unflappable as always. I'm just glad that I reacted as I was supposed to do, and that if had been a more serious problem we would have gotten down safely. And now, one more factoid is programmed into me: grab a flashlight and LOOK at the valve, when flying at night. I'm already in the good habit of only switching tanks near a runway; that little brass valve could always break or jam when you turn it. Healthy pilot paranoia...

We flew again Saturday and Sunday; I'll post separately, more flying stories to come. (They get better than this one!)

Friday Five

2005-04-04T09:16:00.000-05:00

OK, it's Monday, but I got these from Mick's journal:

1) What's the one movie you've seen more times than any other?
Hard to say, but my hunch is that Casablanca edges out Star Wars by several dozen viewings.

2) If you could turn one book, comic book or other print story into a feature-length movie, what story would you pick and why?
One book that I've always thought would make a great Sci-Fi movie is Ringworld by Larry Niven. With today's CGI, it would be tremendous visually; and it features some great alien-race characters in lead roles, which would be an interesting acting challenge. But hey - we all believed Gollum, right?

My favorite books of all time are Asimov's Foundation series; but some Hollywood vandals destroyed I, Robot. And George Lucas shamelessly harvested a lot of ideas from Foundation for his disastrously dull Star Wars Episodes I-III.

3) Whom would you cast?
Hum - the lead character is Louis Wu, a 200-year-old (but young-looking) human. Described in the book as multiracial, a worldweary guy with a sense of humor - I dunno, Bruce Willis would be fun. There's action in the role, too. How about Samuel L. Jackson as Speaker-to-Animals?

4) What one movie would you like to see "updated for the year 2005"? (IE, a remake)
Gosh, it seems that everything out lately is a remake or sequel; almost always disappointing, with a few notable exceptions. I'm more likely to hope that they don't have a go at one of my favorites, as a vehicle for whatever emaciated hack is hot that week. (Please, please, please - stay away from Casablanca!)

Hey, I thought of one: The Flying Tigers. It's a true story, and a good one. It would be great to see it treated dramatically, without John Wayne's bombastic lurching around.

5) What one movie are you most looking forward to this year?
I'm with Mick - The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

The Perfect (Snow) Storm

2005-03-24T12:40:00.000-05:00

Pennsylvania has four distinct seasons, each of approximately 3 months duration. Around here, March generally conforms to the old maxim "in like a lion, out like a lamb" - and was showing every sign of doing just that. Until yesterday...

What if a mass of moist air came up from the southwest? What if it chilled down to around the freezing point, right where ice cream keeps the best? What if every area meteorologist mistakenly forecast it as an afternoon rain shower?

What if it descended as a wet blizzard - AT RUSH HOUR?

Here the trailer fades to black for a moment, then the first clip hits for maximum impact - oh, say, a semi truck toppling sideways over an embankment. That scene, and many like it, were part of my drive home from work yesterday. I've been doing the same 15-mile commute since 1997, and I have never seen such a godawful mess on the roads.

The precipitation started as sleet and freezing rain, then changed to
fat, wet snowflakes, falling at the rate of 2 inches an hour. It coated the roads with an inch-thick sheet of ice, overlaid with slush, about the same as driving on axle grease. I left my office at 4:00, stopped at the store for a few items, then set about the grim task of picking my way home - along with ten thousand or so of my fellow commuters. What follows is an exercise in winter motoring survival.

My first choice was Interstate 81, my normal route and the most direct. The traffic report on my favorite FM station is no help: the reporter just made the blanket statement "Every road in the area is awful". Great. I tried anyway, but as I turned up the long ramp to the interstate, I saw a line of parked traffic over a mile long; I wheeled around and headed towards the mid-valley. It took me over thirty minutes just to go around the mall and hospital, about half a mile; in front of me was a logjam of cars, including two ambulances with their lights and sirens going; they were stuck fast, and I hoped there weren't critical patients on board.

At last moving away from the mall, I had to choose between the local Route 11 which runs along the river, and Route 315 which parallels I-81 and leads to the turnpike. Still no help from the radio; after five tries I get a cellphone call through to tell Gail not to wait for dinner. I briefly considered checking into a nearby freeway motel, while there were still rooms to be had; but hell, I'm a northerner - I resolved to push on. I chose 315, since in four miles it would reach a junction with the PA Turnpike and I-81; the 'pike is generally better-maintained than the Interstates, so I would have at least two choices.

315 rises and falls over the hills like a rollercoaster, was slick as Teflon, and bumper-to-bumper. Snow was falling at whiteout-rate. At every uphill stretch, we lost a few more vehicles - first, someone in a New Bug gave up. Then a two-wheel-drive pickup with an empty bed could go no farther. A new Lexus slid off the right shoulder - don't those things have traction control? Then the damnedest one, a big brand-new semi rig going the other direction. The trucker was sliding left and right, desperately trying to keep moving; then he dropped the outboard wheels over the shoulder, and the whole truck toppled sideways into the ditch like an oak. I boggled, wondering why he didn't prudently park his rig in the center and wait it out, as many of the other drivers did.

Amazingly, my little front-drive Ford Focus wagon continued to scrabble up the hills. It took almost exactly an hour to go those four miles. When I reached the highway exchange I saw that traffic was stopped going southbound, but creeping steadily north on 81. I joined the parade and made good progress, although at anything over 25 m.p.h. the car began fishtailing in the heavy ice and slush - the median and shoulders were littered with vehicles driven by the less prudent. I didn't see anyone stranded or injured, though; those who ditched were being picked up by the next vehicle along. I also didn't see any snowplows or PennDOT trucks!

Eventually I arrived at my exit and stood at the bottom of my hill, the last steep half-mile to my abode. There is another way to reach my neighborhood by circling around Lake Scranton, but it too was a stopped line of cars, so I shifted into low gear and pointed the Focus upslope. Following a minivan, we weaved around two more mired vehicles, and I managed to make it to my block! With a grin I skidded askew into my garage and switched off the ignition.

At ten-to-seven. Two hours and fifty minutes, for a drive that takes 20 minutes on a dry day. Phew! I've had some tough commutes, but this one deserves a folk song.