Just Another Trip - NOT

I travel for work and will typically spend 45 weeks out of the year on the road. These weeks normally begin and end at DFW Airport and often include an additional airport or two in between.  Despite the fact that there are no airports on the Alaskapade, some people still ask me why it's not just another trip. Turns out, there is such a thing as a stupid question.  For me, the Alaskapade is the trip.  I don’t consider my business travel to be an adventure, although if you’ve read some of my other stuff, those trips sometimes turn out that way, usually because of some dim-witted action on my part.  The Alaskapade will be enough of an adventure without my help.  But I digress.

I’ll cover thousands of miles passing through eleven states, four Canadian provinces, and innumerable cities and counties; all having never stepped foot into an airport or on an airplane. The travel machine will have no influence or impact on my itinerary. Listed below are some elements from my typical air travel experiences that I will neither encounter nor miss while I’m on the road in June.

Let’s start in the terminal. I’ll skip the security theater details here as many readers (and apparently the TSA) are aware of my clearly articulated opinions and experiences there.

In the departure lounge:

First of all, It's presumptuous of the airlines to call the gate seating area a departure lounge.  Lounge? Really?  I know they work for the airline, but have they ever had to sit in one of these "lounges"?

Priority Carry-On Bags

Passengers with "Special Bags"

On most flights, all of the gate area seats are taken and many passengers are forced to stand. Still, there are inconsiderate idiots who feel their baggage is so important that it deserves its own seat in the overcrowded departure lounge. Some people actually take up both seats on either side of the one in which they're sitting. I personally don't care because I typically stand while waiting for my flight. I'll have plenty of time to sit when I'm in the air. I just hate seeing older travelers having to stand so some snob's Hartmann bag can sit in a chair.

The boarding stampede

I am as guilty as most when it comes to boarding.  The difference is on American Airlines, I am a Platinum flier and I get to board immediately after the a-holes in first class.  They're only a-holes because they're in first class and I'm not.  If I'm upgraded to first class, then it's perfectly acceptable; even necessary. [I'm claiming writer's prerogative on this one.]  I get a kick out of the people who's boarding pass clearly states GROUP 4, yet they charge the jet bridge and demand to board with the earlier groups anyway.  For the most part, the gate staff do a pretty good job of telling them they must wait. I personally believe there should be a trap door through which these dorks are dropped and then forced to ride in the plane's cargo hold.

People who think that wheels on a suitcase, no matter the size, makes their bag a carry-on 

Need I say more?

Passengers who think the weather gods work for the airline

I get a kick out of pASSsengers who blame the flight attendants, ticket agents, or gate personnel for weather related delays. If these employees' name badges don't say Anemi, Aurae, Boreus, or Zephyrus, chances are they don't possess the power to command the forces of earth, wind, and fire. If they did, do you really think they would wast their time at a job where they have to listen to idiots like you?  These passengers should get the trap door and ride with that dork from GROUP 4.

On the plane:

People who slam their seat back with no consideration for how little space there is behind them

I used to carry a wooden door stop type wedge that would fit into the articulating hinge of the seat back. It was always entertaining to watch the guy in front of me push the button and try to lean back, bouncing back and forth and then finally give up. I could have sold dozens of those little gems to the passengers on my row. I suppose the joke is on me because I forgot it and left it on a plane a few years ago.

People who put small carry-on's in the overhead storage bins

These people must be inbred relatives of the inconsiderate dick who's bag needed its own seat. Overhead storage is to passengers as catnip is to cats.  There's always a frenzy to get some. If the space over my seat is occupied by a bag that would fit under the seat and there's no other space near me, I have no problem pulling it out (the bag), asking who's it is, and placing mine in there. Of course, this is after stuffing my other bag under the seat in front of me. You can't be a hypocrite when you call someone else out, ya know.  They usually whine to the flight attendant, who in turn advises them that it will fit under the seat in front of them.

Captain Quaalude

Bueller?  Bueller?

We’ve all heard the pilot make his announcements during the flight. I always wonder to myself if the s-l-o-w, draaaaaged-out, breathy speeeeech is contrived or if thses guys are really that mellow. Maybe they teach it in airline pilot school. Nevertheless, I get the impression these guys could sleep through an orgasm. No matter what they’re announcing, it’s the same monotone pattern that makes reading the nutritional information on a box of rice more exciting. I sometimes wonder if Ben Stein is my pilot. If I were in the cockpit, I guarantee you the announcement would be more exciting and my passengers would damn sure be paying attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened. I’m gonna try something.  I saw it in a cartoon once and I’m pretty sure I can pull it off.”

Flight Attendants who make up excuses for having to turn off your electronic devices

Anyone who flies knows there is no technological reason to turn off your electronic devices when the plane is taking off or on approach for landing. The flight attendants should just shrug and acknowledge the rule is bullshit and admit that it's not their rule to break. Personally, I just accept the rule, nod, and like any seasoned passenger, hide my iPod and phone so the flight attendant can't see it. I don't have to hide them from the other passengers. They're too preoccupied hiding theirs to pay attention to me.

Twenty ears ago, I participated in an extensive study for a major airline who wanted to understand the effect of cellular phones on their aircraft systems. After a six-month study, we delivered a New York City phone book sized report with our findings.  Our tests, which were conducted on the ground, in the air, and in hangars, yielded no interference whatsoever to the "sensitive" avionics. The results were not what this AAirline wanted and they subsequently buried the data. At that time, they were selling phone airtime through their GTE AAirfone product.  They were simply protecting their turf and hoped that physics would back them up.  The flying public in general was not sophisticated enough to know any better.

These days, airplanes are externally bombarded from a wide spectrum of frequencies which, by comparison,  relegate mobile phone measurements to negligible at best.  Avionics systems designs have been refined over the last twenty years and can deal with the increasingly pervasive presence of consumer radio frequency devices. Consumers have become too tech savvy to just accept the lame interference line from flight attendants. I wanted an explanation, so I consulted an insider; an industry expert.  My sister has been an American Airlines flight attendant for over 30 years. She admitted that the FAA, the FCC, and the airlines are well aware that there is no interference from consumer devices.  They just want your attention when they take off and land. So in the interest of passenger safety, all Kindle users must power off their reader. However, these same passengers can open a book and immerse themselves, completely ignoring the flight attendant instructions.  Laptops and personal video players must also be powered down before taking off and must remain that way until the flight attendant remembers to announce that "approved" devices are approved for use.  Interestingly enough, the video screens on the airplane continue to run throughout the taxi and take-off without placing the passengers and crew in peril.

The airlines also tell you that personal electronic devices that are Wi-Fi capable are allowed only if the wireless function can be disabled in order to "prevent harmful interference to sensitive aircraft avionics systems".  I find it interesting that I am allowed to enable my wireless functions if I'm paying to use the Wi-Fi system installed on the aircraft.  It's not clear to me if paying the fee makes the avionics less sensitive or if it makes my wireless function interfere less. This is a hypocrisy the airlines don't even bother to try to cover up.

Misbehaving children

When the kid is screaming and kicking my seat from behind, three words come to mind: Flintstone's Chewable Valium.  The flight attendants should be empowered to forcefully dispense heavy doses of Benadryl at my discretion.

The guy who stuffs his oversized carry-on into a bin at row five when he is seated in row 33

I have actually moved people's bags to other rows to the other side of the plane just to screw with their heads.  I've also sat and watched them lose it when they think someone stole their bag. On a crowded Air Canada flight to Winnipeg, I found myself on the last row where I got to enjoy the roar of the jet engine outside my window and the aroma of the lavatory directly behind me. Traveling on airlines other than American with no frequent flier status sucks. But I digress. As I placed my bag in the overhead bin, I also got to enjoy the company of a guy who proudly proclaimed that he put his bags in a front row bin so he wouldn't have to drag them up the aisle when we deplaned. I just nodded and smiled as I took my aisle seat.  When we landed, the flight attendant announced that we would be deplaning from the rear of the aircraft and I thought this guy was going to come unglued. I'm normally one of those people who stands up as soon as allowed when the plane lands so I can stretch and gather my belongings.  This time, I just sat patiently, waited for them to open the rear door, and watched this guy's skin crawl off his back.

Pay for food, Pay for drinks

Pay for your checked baggage

Pay for a blanket

Pay for a pillow

Pay for crappy headphones to watch CBS reruns

The airline can pay to kiss my butt.  I paid enough for my airfare. I never check bags, I bring my own headphones, and I drink water, so those fees are out. I can't imagine paying for one of those disease infested blankets that have been used as snot rags, diapers, and baby wipes by thousands of passengers. And the pillows?  How do you think I tolerate the rock hard cushions that comprise the bottom of the seat.  I would never pay for a pillow that I know people sit on for hours at a time.

The exit row emergency briefing

These days, you need to pretty much be a Navy Seal to qualify to sit in the exit row.  Beyond paying my airfare, now I also have the added responsibility for saving the lives of the passengers around me.  The briefing I usually receive depends on the flight attendant delivering it.  Some are as succinct as "you guys all know the routine, right?" We nod and the attendant walks away.  Others practically read the speech to me and they don't like it if I look away unless I'm holding the aircraft safety briefing card and faking like I'm listening instead of my usual habit of trying to guess their age and cup size.

One one flight, I was the only passenger in any of the ten exit row seats.  The flight attendant, one of the oldest I've ever seen,  practically sat in my lap as she conducted the most thorough exit row briefing I've ever had.  Her instruction included using my right hand to grasp the bottom of the door and my left to turn the latch, how and where to place the door inside the aircraft after I removed it, and where to stand on the wing as I directed exiting passengers to safety after we "land".  Ever the smart ass, I informed her that I was left handed and asked if I should sit on the other side of the aisle.  Her head cocked sideways slightly like Nipper the RCA dog hearing his master's voice. Then I asked her what to do with the door since the exit row seats have immovable arm rests that occupy the space where she had instructed me to place the door after I removed it.  More head cocking.  Finally, I asked her if I was supposed to open all four of the doors since I was the only briefed and qualified passenger on this flight available to do so, and if so, in what order should they be opened?  At this point, she looked like Regan from The Exorcist and her head pretty much did a complete 360.

Look, I've been in a plane crash. Not a commercial airliner; a military transport, but a deadly crash nonetheless. So, I know exactly how I will proceed in the exit row if the situation calls for me to respond.  Left hand, right hand my ass. I will chew the handle off and rip that door off with my bare feet if I have to.  Which door?  The one closest to me and God help any passenger who sits between it and me. The door will wind up wherever the hell I throw it. If we have a water "landing", rest assured the door will wind up in the drink and if it floats, I have a life raft. Finally, any passengers who exit after me (which will be ALL of them) will not need any direction as to where to go because they will see and hear my happy ass paddling away on my floating door.  I think they should let me conduct the exit row briefing.

The dirty doo doo diaper changer

I know babies are necessary. Somebody has to speak for E-Trade and model for diaper commercials. I don't mind traveling near babies as long as they aren't mine. On one flight, a woman on my row actually lifted the arm rest between her window seat and the middle seat where her baby was laying, stripped the kid and changed its runny shit-filled diaper right next to me. I glanced over briefly and it looked like she fed him a green chili sauce burrito from Taco Bell. My eyes were watering so much that my contacts fogged up and I thought I was going to barf. Other passengers were turning to stare at me like I farted and all I could do was hold my nose with one hand and point with the other. Then, she folded and taped the doo doo bomb into a neat little triangle and proceeded to take precious and its diaper bag to the lavatory - leaving the bomb in the seat next to me.  I waited till she was far enough away and then stuffed the diaper into the carry on bag she placed under the middle seat. I suppose she thought the flight attendant took the diaper because when she returned, she didn't ask.

ZZZZZZZ

People who snore loudly

I know I snore occasionally, but I do it in my bed. Passenger snoring can be entertaining for a moment or two, especially when they awaken and look around wondering why everyone suddenly looks away grinning.  After a while, I find myself willing to actually pay for a pillow to stuff down their throat.  Nevertheless, don't snore on my row or you'll wind up on my blog.

People who jump up the instant the plane gets close to the gate

I know when we land at DFW, the trip from the end of the runway to the gate often feels as if we landed in Houston and are taxiing up I-45 to Dallas. And heaven forbid the aircraft arrive five minutes early or we get sent to the nether regions of the airport to sit in time out.  Despite all these usual occurrences, there are always people who jump up and reach for their bags in the overhead. I can hear it coming when their seat belts clank loudly. When the pilot hits the breaks and the idiot falls forward, it takes every ounce of control for me to not laugh out loud.

I could go on and on ad nauseam about this.  Indeed, many of you probably think I already have.  My point is that business travel is far more glamorous to those who don't have to do it than it is for those of us who do.  That said, The Alaskapade will have no dirty diaper babies, nobody telling me how to exit, and nobody snoring; except possibly me. And if that happens, I'll be sleeping alone in my tent and no one will hear me.

10,000 Hits!

Wow!  Too cool, people.  Thanks for reading my babel and for being patient.  The posts should become more trip focused as June approaches. In the meantime, my head remains filled with random fodder that tends to spill out on the blog.  So, I'll keep posting and hopefully you'll keep reading.

I've decided that since Google AdSense refuses to respond to my appeals for reinstatement, I shouldn't give them anymore traffic.  I've tried to see things from their point of view, but I can't get my head that far up my own ass. I'd rather go Galt on them than let them benefit from my efforts.

To that end, Alaskapade.com will be launching shortly...just as soon as I can find the time to figure out the publishing tools provided by my hosting company.  Stay tuned and I'll post my progress and links here.

Security Theater – Act II

Scene One – Marked Man

I was fortunate to spend the holidays and most of January off the road, working from my home office. Chaucer said "all good things must come to an end" and so it was for my working vacation from home.

Yesterday, I was carrying out my usual Monday morning routine negotiating the travel machine at DFW airport. Monday mornings can be a traveler’s hell at DFW with all the business fliers fighting to make their morning departures.  Fortunately, the vast majority of people in the terminal are professional passengers who, like me, fly most every week.  Unfortunately, we pros still have to face the Security Theater shakedown that is the TSA who despite carrying out their routine every day, still appear as coordinated as dogs mating – the two actually doing the work are usually surrounded by a pack of semi-interested observers.

Anyone who knows me knows of my pertinacity. I am not the most patient man on the planet.  When it comes to travel, I have even less patience for rookies.  I know that some people are put off by the existence of elite level traveler “express” lines in airports.  Me?  I’m put off by the fact that rookie travelers aren’t corralled into their own separate terminal.  There, they could wander around slothfully and aimlessly, stand in the middle of the corridors blocking traffic while staring up at the departure/arrival monitors as their kids scream and roll on the floor, argue over the size of their “carry-on” luggage with the ticketing and gate agents, wait till they get to the front of the line to fumble for their ID, and forget that their cell phone, keys, and iPod, all have metal in them as they set off the metal detector over, and over again.

When it comes to passing TSA screening, I am the epitome of efficiency.  George Clooney’s character Ryan Bingham could take lessons from me.  I can doff my shoes and coat, have two bins filled, my pockets emptied, and be waiting to pass through the metal detector faster than President Obama can dream up a new entitlement program for America’s new crop of moochers.  Today was no different. I checked for the departure terminal from my cell phone and rode the parking lot bus to its last stop at my terminal – bypassing the “correct” stop, knowing that the line for screening at the last stop is always the shortest because the rookies usually get impatient and hop off the bus early.  I received my boarding pass on my smartphone last night, so I don’t even need a paper copy.  (That’s as green as I get, people.) I patiently waited my turn in line and then placed my two laptops, coat, and shoes into the plastic bins. I put my watch, phone, and change in one of those little dog food bowls and waited for the TSA agent to wave me through.  That’s when the unthinkable happened.

I set off the metal detector.

I heard the beep and bumptiously ignored it thinking it came from some clueless rookie passing through the detector to my left.  After all, it couldn’t be me.  The TSA agent held up his latex gloved hands in a halt position and proceeded with the usual questions.  I can only image the look of contempt and that unspoken smug expression of “really” on my face.  The conversation went something like this:

“Do you have metal objects in your pockets?”

            “ My pockets are empty.”

“Do you have a cell phone or change in your pockets?”

            “In my pockets that are empty?”

At this point, the TSA guy’s face pretty much matched mine.  It was a smug stare down except he was wearing a badge.

“Back up and proceed through the detector again, slower this time.”

            “Sure.”

The alarm beeped again.  Suddenly, I’m that guy in the airport that I loathe. The people in line behind me were now looking at me like I would have looked at them.  As I looked at their rolling eyes, I felt as if I could hear their thoughts… 

“Retard”, “Douche”, “ROOKIE!”.

I frantically patted myself down in what must have looked like an old time movie being played at fast forward speed, shrugged my shoulders, cursed the metal detector, and then walked forward again.

BEEP

Now I’m silently calling myself a retarded rookie travel douche and vocally questioning the functional integrity of the metal detector.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

As I was descending from low earth orbit, the TSA agent asked me to step into what he called a advanced passenger imaging machine. I call it a radiation chamber and politely refused, requesting an enhanced pat-down instead.  Actually, I wasn’t very polite.

“Why don’t you get one of those guys holding the wall over there up to do the job I pay them to do and just pat me down so I can board and do the job I get paid to do.”

“Come with me, please” said another voice.

Oops.

They patted me down alright.  But they took me into a closet-sized office behind a locked door to do it.  I surrendered my ID (Concealed Handgun License, not my driver’s license; my attitude was still south) and boarding pass as requested.  After the most thorough pat-down I have ever experienced, I was tempted to ask for a note to give my doctor as a credit to bypass my next prostate exam.  Before I left the closet, an apparent agent in civilian attire asked “Is this you?”  Thinking he was talking about my CHL, I replied “yeah, my hair is longer, but that’s me.”  He turned a computer monitor towards me, pointed, and said “No, this one.”  The photo was the one with my INFDEL license plate used as my avatar for this blog. He turned the monitor back before I could read the text near my photo. “Yeah, that’s the same expression you had in line.”  I gotta tell you, my expression was different after that.  I think it’s cool that this blog is approaching 10,000 hits, but this is the kind of attention a frequent traveler like myself does not want.  I'm a marked man.  I’m also assuming this entry will be read too.  No opinions in this one guys; just the facts.

They attempted to re-pack my roller bag, which was full of cables, USB memory sticks, batteries, antennas, and countless old hotel room key cards.  I offered to do it myself stating that there was a method to my apparent mayhem.  They agreed, released me, and I made it to my gate with time to spare.

So what set the alarm off?  Well, that was (gasp) my fault. I almost always carry two challenge coins around with me. One is a symbol from Atlas Shrugged, the other a symbol from my past.  With both of them in the pocket the dress slacks I was wearing, the jingle and clank sound with every step was really loud, so I separated them and stuffed the NSA coin into my back pocket.  I apparently didn’t feel it during my frantic free form rookie retard self-initiated pat down.

I normally pick up a whole wheat muffin for breakfast from one of the DFW airport vendors, but I skipped it today.  After all, I just ate a smorgasbord of humble pie.  I sure hope it was low carb. 

February 14th

Bucket List? Really?

No, it isn't. I'm not a bucket list kind of guy, but I did enjoy that movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman.  It's possible that the list of stuff I've already done is probably longer than most people's bucket list. It's certainly longer than mine; that is, if I had one.  I don't; really.

Some of the events in my life would be lame by some other peoples' standards. But, compared to most of the people I personally know, It would be like comparing a stamp collector to a sky diver.

• Been a husband, a dad, and now a grandfather
• Witnessed the birth of both of my sons
• Watched my kids graduate high school and my oldest son graduate college
• Served my Country in the Air Force
• Watched my youngest son graduate Air Force boot camp and become a 3rd generation Airman
• Been sky diving - both military and for sport
• Completed military prison camp and SERE training
• Survived a plane crash with two other Airmen
  - Four others on board weren't so fortunate
• Flew in an RF-4C reconnaissance jet as well as in a two-seater F-16, F-15, and an F-111
• Played drums with my band in front of 2,000+ people
• Bungee Jumped180 feet over concrete
• Rode and finished two 150 mile bicycle races
• Fell in love twice
• Free fell from 160 feet into a net (intentionally)
• Became a successful Licensed Massage Therapist
• Recorded two CDs with my band Code Blue
  - One of them almost went Aluminum!
• Raced Motocross, Cross Country, and Enduro
  - My sons and I all won state championships in our respective Enduro classes in 1999.
• Earned a Black Belt in Tang Soo Do
• Bought my first home when I was 22 years old
• Started and ran three successful businesses
• Entered a kickboxing tournament (got my ass kicked)
• Set am AFI-certified world record in model rocketry payload lofting when I was 14
• Met President Reagan and Vice President Bush
• Climbed to the crown room in the Statue of Liberty
• Was beaten and thrown in jail in Spain for taking a photo of a Guardia Civil officer
  - Released the next day
  
• Rode my Harley 2,300 miles in 2.5 days
• Saw Nolan Ryan throw a no-hitter in Oakland
• Crossed Death Valley on a motorcycle - in August
• Rappelled from a helicopter
• Broke more bones than I can count
  - A dubious accomplishment from time spent on dirt bikes and in martial arts
• Went to Tempe, AZ for Superbowl XXX - Cowboys vs. Steelers
• Caught a home run ball at a Texas Rangers baseball game
  - Visitor run; threw it back
• Had Dallas Cowboys season tickets at Texas Stadium
• SCUBA dived day and night and in various sunken wrecks

Still want to do (but have not placed into a bucket list):
Ride my Harley to the Arctic Circle
Drive a rail dragster
Drive a NASCAR
Hang Glide
Fly a helicopter
Become a licensed pilot
Climb Mount Everest

People have asked me and honestly, I've asked myself what I will have to look forward to after the Alaskapade.  Truthfully, I'm not sure but I'm confident something will come along that will capture my imagination. In the mean time, I'll continue to obsessively look forward to the Alaskapade.

Happy Imbolc!

...if you're into that sort of thing. I'm not, but that eyeball thing is pretty cool and Imbolc is no less idiotic than Groundhog Day, the Easter bunny, or global warming.

Picturing Myself On Top of the World

On Top of the World has been a motto of sorts floating around in the back of my mind over the last few months as I've been preparing for the Alaskapade.  I want to ride to the top of the world, camp on top of the world, take photos of Hester on top of the world, and (if there's connectivity) post a blog entry from somewhere on top of the world. You get the point.  I can think of a few other things I'd like to do up there, but I'm making this trip solo.

My family discounts it all as selfish and a frivolous waste of time and money. I am fortunate to have friends who actually understand me enough to appreciate my reasons for taking this trip and are encouraging of my efforts. One of them is very creative graphic artist who's talents compensate for her being a Green Bay Packers fan. So this weekend, she and her husband presented me with a cool shirt that surprised me and really cracked me up.  Wearing it in public will likely generate equal confusion when viewed from the front or the back, although the front will definitely raise a few eyebrows and probably turn a few stomachs.

Back

Front

Few people will get it, but fewer people actually get me, so I can't wait to wear it.  I know just the place.

Reality Check

Egotism is the anesthetic that dulls the pain of stupidity.  ~Frank Leahy


I was all proud of myself for dropping fifteen pounds, patting myself on the back, and celebrating the result of applied self discipline and focus on a goal. I'm wearing pants I haven't been able to fit in since 2008 - and they even need a belt!  So I thought to myself, what else can I wear? Then, yesterday I dug into my coat closet and pulled out my favorite leather riding jacket; the tapered one with the preacher collar.

Well, today is Sunday and I'm looking for an open bank because I need to cash a reality check. The photos below are of me in this very jacket in 2007 and trying to fit into it today.

2007 & Today

I suppose in the grand scheme of things, an awakening like this is a good thing. Actually, after reading what I just typed, I'm not sure I really believe that.  It's just another disappointing example of how far I've let myself go the last few years.  I had no intention of even taking this jacket on the Alaskapade, but I'll be damned if I can't fit into it by June 18th.

The reality is that having goals to reach for is very motivating for me and realizing them actually brightens many unrelated aspects of my life. That said, this goal is lofty enough that if I realize it, I'll need to wear a welder's helmet to keep from going blind.

225 Pounds - 15 Down - 25 To Go

Dieting sucks. However, the rewards of eating better and working out on a daily basis do not. In my case, these results do a pretty good job of motivating me to continue with the discipline I've been recently enforcing upon myself, which is actually making the diet suck less.

Since I realized (and finally admitted to myself) the terrible shape I am in, I've made some lifestyle changes. I've cut out all processed sugar.  I've dramatically decreased my caffeine intake to an occasional glass of tea with dinner and a 5-Hour Energy shot now and then on weekends. The only soda I drink is Diet Rite Pure Zero, which has no carbs, sugar, caffeine, and no sodium. Despite all that, it actually tastes good.  I've cut alcohol altogether. I was never much of a drinker, so that one was easy.  My diet consists of lean meats, lots of poultry, plenty of low carb/low starch veggies, and if you question my commitment, I'm even eating fish.  People who know me know I do not eat fish. Now that I'm eating the right things, I just need to start eating them in smaller portions. Baby steps...

I've also been in the gym every weekday since December 27th. It's funny, but simply having the LA Fitness bar code tag on my key chain did nothing to advance my physical condition. The tag was peeling apart and the bar code was barely visible. They issued me a new one and low and behold, I'm wearing jeans I haven't been able to fit into in three years and the scale reads fifteen pound lighter. That new tag rocks!

My workouts consist primarily of cardio routines. I usually knock out three miles and 600 calories on the elliptical trainer in thirty minutes with loud, hard rock music blasting in my headphones.  I also occasionally get my a$$ handed to me in the racquetball court. I love racquetball and used to play every day. Even then, I sucked at it. I make a great target for those little blue balls and I usually come home with welts all over my back.  Nevertheless, my plan is to stick to the cardio work through January and then get back to weight training. I always bulk up fast and will have to maintain a balanced ratio of usable muscle and flexibility to just plain bulk.

The true test of my new-found discipline will be how well I stick to the diet and exercise routine when I travel.  Being on the road 45 or more weeks out of the year makes it difficult to maintain a routine. That's my reason, although really it's no excuse.  The reality is I have no excuse because the hotels I stay in all have some sort of exercise facility and I have a per diem rate that allows me to eat healthy.

I'm told muscle outweighs fat 2:1.  If that's true, I anticipate the weight drop will slow down dramatically, even beyond the typical plateau we all experience once I get back into the weights. I'm hoping the proper eating habits will continue to facilitate a consistent weight drop as the muscle mass increases.  I spent the last three years putting this weight on.  It ain't gonna fall off overnight. I have another five months to realize my goal.

Next weight update at 210 pounds.  Don't hold your breath. It could be a while.

Atlas Old and New

My helmet camera isn't the only new toy I've been playing with lately.  My 21st century atlas - the Garmin GPS I recently installed - has more perks than Micheal Jackson's nightstand.  Yet, for all its new found functionality, there are plenty of options I doubt I'll ever use. I know I have a somewhat technical occupation, but I tend to see the world more like checkers than chess and there are times when I prefer the simple to the complex.  One GPS feature I will use on the Alaskapade is its audio book player. The Zumo supports the Audible format and I love audio books. I got hooked on them when I was driving a weekly 600-mile commute to and from Houston for eighteen months. Among countless others, I devoured almost everything from Michael Chrichton, John Grisham, David Baldacci, and all of Dan Brown's work.I'll certainly use the mp3 player too and have literally months worth of tunes to keep me occupied.

I’ve decided on this trip to revisit my all-time favorite novel in Audible format. Written in 1957 by Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged takes a novel approach - figuratively and literally - to explain where America is heading. As a country, we started meandering down a slippery slope of  political correctness and collectivism back in the 1960's.  In 2009, our winding road became a straight vertical plunge at Autobahn speed. To deny it is like saying Ann Frank was just trying to avoid paying rent.  It takes 63 hours to listen to the unabridged version of Atlas Shrugged.  I can’t imagine Ms. Rand knowingly/willingly submitting any of her work to an abridged format, but it was available from Audible.  63 hours is nothing really, because on this trip I have nothing but time.

As I said, I've enjoyed audio books for years.  And really, who doesn’t like being read to?  I remember being read to by Ms. Franklin in the kindergarten class at St. David’s Episcopal Church I attended as a kid.  My family wasn’t Episcopalian.  In fact, my grandfather was a Methodist Lay Preacher.  We only went to church on Easter and Christmas and I remember I always got a new suit.  No wonder I’m an Agnostic now.  Agnosticism  does have its benefits. I'll likely never be born again because I'm pretty sure I got it right the first time. I went to this Episcopal school because my mom worked at Harper Printing across the street.  For some reason, I often saw my mom at the school talking to the faculty.  I suppose it was convenient working so close. Thinking back, there might have been another reason or two; or twelve.

For story time in Ms. Franklin’s class, we would lie on our pallets (mine was an old bathroom rug) and she would read aloud from various books to us.  The Mouse and the Motorcycle was my favorite, but I always fell asleep during story time so I missed the end of that one.  If that happens with Atlas Shrugged on this trip, I’m in big trouble.

Ms. Franklin was ancient.  Looking back, I suppose she was the Episcopal equivalent of a Nun and she looked like a mummy without its wrapping.  She wore her white hair in a tight bun and she had thick black whiskers sparsely spread over her upper lip.  We kids were all fascinated by her teeth, which she kept in a jar of water on her desk which magnified them to an unreal size.  She only put them in to talk when the pastor came into the classroom. He showed up daily to read us a Bible  story- and to yell at me for something I did.  I remember once asking him if there any Bible stories about Ms. Franklin.

As difficult to believe as this may sound, for some reason Ms. Franklin didn't like me. I’m not sure if it was because I scribbled an entire sixteen color Crayola crayon carton onto the walls of the time out room  (a closet), or if it was because I once locked her and the rest of the faculty out of the classroom, forcing them to break a window to get in at me.  Maybe it was because of the time I knocked over a candelabrum during  a daily compulsory chapel service and accidentally set a tapestry on fire.  Who knows?  It might have had something to do with something I once did with her teeth when she wasn’t looking.  She never would have found out if some other kid hadn't snitched.  Regardless, I remember her being very impatient with me.  But I digress…

I challenge anyone reading this to read Atlas Shrugged and if you don’t see parallels to what is going on in our country today, then you either didn’t really read it or your comprehension level is on par with my crayon scribbles on the wall at St. Mark’s.  In that case, the The Mouse and the Motorcycle might be for you.  If so, do me a solid and tell me how it ends.

Three Weeks in Purgatory

Not much to say with respect to the Alaskapade this week, although the trip is constantly in the back of my mind.  I think about it constantly. I dream about it at night.  I Tivo every DirecTV broadcast that has Alaska in the title.  However,I drew the line at watching Sarah Pailin's daughter on that dancing show.  This week, I'm working in a north central Ohio steel mill where the indoor temperature hovers around 20 degrees.  That isn't terribly cold, really; at least not to the locals.  It's the constant overcast gray skies outside with the absolute lack of shadows that really gets to me.

The world outside the plant can be downright depressing. You can tell any local economy is in the toilet when the largest employers are the public school system and the local hospital.  This mill is located in an economically depressed part of Ohio, which is actually most of the state. I'm told it was once the second largest employer in the city, employing roughly with 1,500 workers.  GM was the largest employer, but they recently closed their plant.  This mill manufactures stainless steel which will ultimately be used in automobile mufflers. Now, there are much fewer employees, most of whom work their asses off in the harshest of environments while constantly looking over their shoulders watching for the human resources ax. It makes me wonder what the state of this mill will be if sales of hybrid or electric vehicles ever gains traction.

This project started way back in April of 2010 with a phone call to ascertain the client requirements and the state of their existing network.  After learning that the existing network at this location was the technological equivalent of a gerbil spinning an exercise wheel connected to an abacus, my recommendation to the sales guy pushing the deal was to send them to Fry’s or Best Buy.  I pretty much blew it off then, figuring the worst that could happen was a few trips to Ohio where the temperatures are pretty mild during the summer.  The client acted in a manner which was as timely as their network was modern and I found myself in Ohio in the not-so-mild winter months of December and January.

My role here is that of an objective third party consultant observing the performance of two wireless LAN equipment manufacturers’ gear in the mill. I get to wear my consultant hat, my architect hat, and my engineer hat. I left my sales hat at home.

Some of the equipment here was manufactured in the 1930's, but its control mechanisms have been updated over the years. There are wireless control options available now that just a few years ago were never dreamed of.  Someone here got the nutty idea that a competitive bake-off between two vendors would yield the most promising wireless solution at the most competitive price.  Even nuttier is the fact that two vendors actually signed up to the challenge.

The implementation phase commenced the first week with one vendor arriving in the morning and selecting the most suitable locations for their radios based on anticipated performance and client requirements. Also considered were radio mounting restrictions due to overhead cranes and areas of intense heat.  When the second vendor arrived that afternoon and saw the first vendor’s placement markings, they miraculously selected the same locations. It was a classic case of “let’s do that they do in case they thought of something we didn’t.”  I must have thought of things neither of them did because I wouldn’t have picked any of the locations they did.  Nevertheless, after a few weeks, the gear was installed by the client with each of the vendors’ radios in very close proximity to the other.  It’s like going to The Home Depot.  Stand in the parking lot and look around and you will most likely see a Lowes within walking distance.

These are the most safety conscious (if not safety obsessed) people I've ever seen.  Granted, this is a potentially hazardous environment, but the company goes way overboard. If there's a hand rail, you must have one hand on it - even if there are no stairs. If there is a crack in the cement, you must stop, look at it, and then point at it for anyone following you before crossing it. Those following you repeat the same exercise.  I suppose with the litigious nature of employees these days and labor union influence, these steps are necessary.

Yum! Kevlar Sleeves!!

I would love to be the sales guy who has the safety equipment account for this place.  They buy everything and then force their employees to wear it while trying to do their jobs. They even have vending machines in the break rooms with reflective vests, safety goggles, ear plugs, and a plethora of other gadgets. To enter the plant, you have to wear a pair of ultra-thick coveralls, safety goggles, a construction helmet complete with a flashing red light, a breathing mask, articulating steel toe and heel boots, ear plugs, and these ridiculous Kevlar-infused cloth sleeves that clip to the coverall shoulders and completely cover the arms and hands. The reason behind the sleeves was to prevent cuts to the fingers and thumbs.  Ironically, the sleeves cover neither the fingers nor the thumbs.  The outfit reminds me of brand new motorcycle riders who buy a Gold Wing and wear the brightest day glow yellow/green coveralls available with reflective stripes sewn into every seam. I was that way with my Honda XL-100 that I rode when I was 15 years old. Despite the nuclear day glow outfit, I still got plowed by a clueless cager one day on my way home from high school - and there were no cell phones or texting to distract the driver. The most high tech equipment in a car back then was a cassette deck.  So much for being ultra visible.  This driver, a woman, was cited for DWA - Driving While Asian.  But I digress.

Monkey Suit Mirror Man

So we dress up in gear that rivals an astronaut's extravehicular activity space suit and attempt to perform work that requires a significant amount of dexterity in an extremely noisy environment with particulate matter so thick that the breathing mask turns black within minutes. If all this wasn't enough, the temperature inside the mill can swing from 20 to 120 degrees in a matter of seconds.  It's freezing cold between steel processing runs and then when the steel flows, you're sweating profusely.  I almost felt sorry for myself for having to be here until I realized some of these workers have been here over 30 years.  It makes my three weeks here seem like a vacation in purgatory by comparison.

This is my third week here wrapping up the competitive performance tests.  Next week, I will chew on the data and score each vendor’s performance using a predetermined set of criteria. Then, I’ll write up a fabulous report complete with RF coverage maps, data throughput readings, and some really cool photos and diagrams that make me look like a genius. I will be careful to be objective and in my best Officer Bill Gannon persona, will report just the facts, ma’am as I present the findings to my client’s executive team. Afterward, said client will likely ignore all of the technical data and the efforts exhausted to collect and report it, fold the report into paper airplanes,  and just select the vendor with the lowest price.

As frustrating as this process has been, the reality is that working among the people here reminds me of just how fortunate I am to have the job I do.  My sentence in Purgatory was only for three weeks.  These people are here for eternity.

Another Video Test

I took advantage of this last Saturday's clear weather to make another run with the new helmet cam.  This time, I set it at 1080p resolution.  The difference between 1080 and 720 is dramatic.  I also tried an external microphone, which makes the sound much clearer.  The stereo is very clear on this one; well, as clear as a live AC/DC concert could be.

Unfortunately, I failed to properly adjust the rotating camera lens for the camera's position on the side of my helmet, so the video is slanted slightly. Lesson learned!

Here's the YouTube link in case blogspot screws it up.
Helmet Video Cam 1080p Test

More Trip Supplies

Zeus - 3 Years Old

Ebay and Amazon.com must love me. For that matter, so must UPS.  I'm pretty sure DHL doesn't though.  I often leave the front door of my house open with the glass storm door closed.  On one occasion a niece was visiting and my boxer Zeus was on patrol. Boxers are great family dogs. They look frightening to the right people.  They instinctively seek out someone in the house who "needs" their protection and then assign themselves as that person's guardian.  In Zeus' case, protection of the youngest in the house at any given time is his life's mission.  He is every bit as fiercely loyal as he is sweet and gentle.

For all his gentile nature and sweetness, Zeus tends to also be very territorial. He used to run around looking up at the sky and barking at birds for having the nerve to fly over our, or I should say his yard.  Recognizing the above description as fact, it should not have been any surprise that when the DHL delivery guy arrived, Zeus was there to greet him. The driver was unknowingly safe in Zeus' watchful eye as he walked up to the porch. That measure of safety ceased to exist when said driver reached out and committed the Cardinal sin of touching the glass door. With Matrix movie-like precision and speed, Zeus was at the door before the driver saw him coming. Knowing Zeus, speed was of the essence and a warning bark was the last thing on his mind.  So before the DHL driver knew what was happening, Zeus was not only at the foyer, but had managed to hit the latch, opening the glass door. Before the driver was aware of the situation and could react by turning to run, Zeus had bit him in the ass. Zeus stopped the chase as soon as the driver was off our porch. This was irrelevant to the driver who tossed everything into the air, fled across our circular front driveway, and leaped over the boxwood shrubs barely touching the ground before landing in his van and slamming the sliding door shut. I waited for DHL's lawyers to call, although they never did. But to this day, DHL drivers will call and have us meet him at the end of the street to accept a delivery.

What has this to do with Amazon and Ebay? Nothing really. But I've ordered lots of goodies I need for the Alaskapade and most of it has been delivered by UPS.

I wrote in a previous entry about finding the Alpine Catalyst tent at REI. I set it up a few days ago and it took me less than ten minutes sight unseen and without instructions. I originally wanted a single person tent, but Zach at REI talked me into a two-man tent explaining that I would probably want to offload gear from my bike when I camp. A single man tent has barely enough room for one guy.  The tent I scored is labeled as a three man tent.  I gotta tell you, after setting it up and crawling inside, if this is a three man tent, let's just say the three men would have to sleep in an arrangement that would make me question their manhood. Since buying the tent, UPS has delivered a Recon 3 lightweight/cold weather sleeping bag, and an insulated inflatable sleeping pad, and pillow from Big Agnes. All of these are ruggedized and suitable for cold weather.  The best feature of all of them is that they are made for backpackers, so they compress really tightly.  This is absolutely necessary for motorcycle transport. I'm trying to avoid looking like the Beverly Hillbillies riding with all my gear on the trip. I figure that with the inside of my King Tour Pak and the luggage rack atop it, the saddle bags, and the back pack and its top roll that will sit on the passenger seat behind me (giving me lumbar support and storage), I'll have plenty of space for the necessities. I might even find room for Granny's rocking chair.

Alaskapade Camping Gear

Zeus - 11 Years Old

 Zeus hasn't bothered any of the recent delivery drivers that have been bringing my Alaskapade supplies. In fact, I think he's barely noticed them. Maybe he likes the brown UPS truck better than the highly-contrasted bright yellow and red DHL vans. Maybe it's because he's eleven years old now and has slowed down considerably.  He's since retired his black leather spiked collar and his new mission in life is shadowing my thirteen month-old granddaughter, Brooke.  Zeus and Brooke are great pals. These days, Zeus can be found sitting patiently underneath Brooke's high chair waiting for the fallout.

Another New Toy

This one wasn't a Christmas present.  I bought it for myself.  I needed a new GPS after my mom's trip. The TomTom Rider2 I had used since 2006 still has a 2006 map in it and as detailed in a previous post, I can't upgrade it because the TomTom corporation is woefully technically inept.  I picked the new model I wanted back in October, but waited for a deal  to present itself during the end of year holiday rush.  Let's face it; consumer electronics only get cheaper and with Christmas approaching, I found a killer deal.

I hear from riders all the time how they don't want a GPS; they don't need a GPS.  The reality is many of them probably can't figure out how to use a GPS.  One such rider wearing a Harley do rag, Harley leather jacket, Harley chaps, Harley boots, and a Harley t-shirt reminded me that he wasn't a poser and that real riders don't need a GPS.  He added that he'd rather get lost and run out of gas than be seen with a "babysitter" on his scooter. His ride was a 2003 100th anniversary edition Harley Heritage Softail; a great looking bike with a whopping 5,000 miles on it. I didn't bother to point out to him that Hester has over 12,000 miles on her and that her 1st birthday was December 30th.  Granted, 6,000 of those miles were earned on a two-week trip last summer.  But I've managed to ride another 6,000 miles having been out of town on business for 45 weeks last year.

Poser or not, I don't use a GPS on the bike around town.  It came with an automobile windshield suction cup mount and a cigarette lighter power adapter, which will come in handy for finding my way in any of the cities in which I find myself during my work travel.  As for the Alaskapade, many of the routes I'm considering are very rural. I've received suggestions from riders who have made this trek or who live along the route in Canada and Alaska.  Their routes are way out there and I plan to try to ride every one of them.; specifically the route through the Canadian Rockies, Banff National park, and the Columbia Ice Fields.

Lake Louise - Banff National Park

Driver View of the GPS

Back to my new toy.  I picked up a Garmin Zumo 660 GPS.  It's purpose built for motorcycles and it has an integrated mp3 player with 16GB of storage for tunes, audio books, images, and special route functions. It sports a large touch screen that works with riding gloves. I installed a new fuel door on Hester that has a special mount for the GPS. With this mount the GPS sits securely, right in front of me with its wiring neatly tucked under the gas tank console. It detaches easily, so I can take it when I'm off the bike. Not only can I clearly see the large screen without taking my eyes too far off the road, I can also play the music through Hester's stereo speakers, into wired headphones, or via bluetooth to my helmet intercom stereo speakers.  The tank mount is especially nice because there will be two less devices with dangling wires on the handlebars when I leave in June, leaving room for important accessories like my 12vdc Margarita Masters machine.

Atop the Fuel Door

Gas & Go

I only have one other techie piece to acquire for the trip.  The Find Me Spot GPS Tracker is a must have for a trip like this.  Details on that when I pick it up.

Gotta Drop Some Weight

Holy $hit!  I stepped on the scale and realized that I weigh 240 pounds.  That's fine for a linebacker, but I'm only 5'-10". People who know me didn't believe it when I told them (or maybe they were just being polite) and quite frankly, I'm having a hard time accepting it myself.  Who knew longer hair weighed so much? Seriously, I have no excuse.  Yes, I travel excessively, but I'm fortunate to work for a company who puts me up in decent hotels with gyms. I also have a LA Fitness membership that's been idle for over a year. The reason is a lack of discipline.  That may be a reason, but it's no excuse.

So along with the Alaskapade preparation goal, I have a concurrent goal of dropping forty pounds by my June 18th departure date.   I'm not the weight loss pill, cream, or juice fad type and this isn't so new year resolution whim. Both of my parents died way to young because they failed to take care of their bodies.  I'll do this the old fashioned way by hitting the gym, cutting the crap out of my diet, and just flat eating less.

The photo here is me at 240 on January 1st, 2011. I'll post pics as I reach significant milestones.  I posted this here as a measure of accountability more than any sense of vanity. Believe me; I'm not proud of how I look.

New Toy!

I got a 1080p HD helmet cam from Drift Innovation for Christmas. It came with several attachment options and mounts. I bought it for the Alaskapade! and took it out yesterday for a test drive. So far, I really like it. It has a rotating lens so it can be mounted on the side or the top of a helmet. The articulating mounts are nice in that they allow you to maintain level framing regardless of where or what angle the camera is mounted. Another great feature is the remote control that can be handlebar or wrist mounted for instant start/stop recording without fumbling for the right button while riding. There are Drift user forums on the Internet that offer techniques that I will be trying to reduce the wind noise and I haven't figured out the remote control zoom yet. I have plenty of time.  I hit 110mph on the bridge, but had to dial it down because the local municipal revenue generation patrols hide out at the end of the bridge as you cross back into Dallas county.

This, along with my handlebar-mounted video camera will provide some great footage for my Alaskapade! documentary.   Look here for occasional interesting videos (or at least what I consider interesting) between now and June. Here's a sample of my first ride.

If Blogspot porks it up, you can see it here.

New Riding Partner

Those of you who know me know that I keep my cards close to my chest when it comes to my personal life. So, it may be news to some readers here that there's been a new girl in my life and she's been in my heart for about a year now.

There are countless ways to demonstrate one's feelings for another, especially when it comes to the gifts you buy them. That said, I considered two facts when I was looking for the perfect Christmas gift.

1. I love riding and consider the hours I am fortunate to enjoy in the saddle to be among the best in my life.
    
2. Few will dispute the fact that girls are cuter on a motorcycle. Many look kinda hot riding bitch, but most all chicks look hotter riding their own bike.

That said, what better way to demonstrate my love for her than buying her a bike of her own. She refuses to wear a helmet and proper riding boots, but I'm not worried about her getting hurt. She's confident, well-balanced, and eager to try new things and take risks. She's my kinda gal.

I managed to get a photo on her first outing. She'll be hell on wheels in no time.  Blogspot is acting screwy again, so scroll down to see the image.

Well that Was a Disaster

My sincere apologies for the disastrous attempt at another ad revenue stream.


Hopefully, the video answer (below) to the age old question will entertain. More quality posts to come.

Boxing Day

Well, Christmas has come and gone.  I have to admit I was dreading it for a number of reasons.  I also have to admit that despite all those reasons, it was the best Christmas I've had in years and I credit my granddaughter for the turnaround.  At just thirteen months, her enthusiasm was infectious.  She had no clue what was going on and therefore, had no expectations whatsoever.  She was simply thrilled at everything she saw, everything she got, and everything everyone else got for that matter.  The boxes, bows, and wrapping paper proved to be the best friend a baby girl could have on Christmas day.

In a few days, I can concentrate on a six-month countdown to my trip.  It seems like an eternity now, but I suspect I'll find myself scrambling to sew up loose ends during the last week or two.

Ads...Again

I'm experimenting with another ad agency in hopes to offset my trip costs.  Google AdSense never bothered to reply to my appeals after they cut me off.  After a little research, I learned that AdSense apparently makes a habit of cutting people off with no regard to their content providers' concern.  Interestingly enough, my site hits increased over 150% since they axed me, proving the hits are content driven.  Google AdSense can get in line behind Ned Ludd and TomTom.

Please be patient and I'll tweak the ad settings to be as minimally invasive as possible.

Merry Christmas

After weeks of unsuccessfully trying to convince her that he isn't scary, my thirteen month old granddaughter finally sat with Santa Claus...at least long enough for a photo  I usually loathe the holidays and wish only for them to pass quickly.  But after seeing this and having her around to brighten things up, this year just might be the turning point.

Bug Off!

I'm told the bugs in an Alaskan summer are fierce.  That seems odd to me; I mean it's Alaska, not Texas. But I accept what the locals and others who have been there tell me and I'm taking steps to prepare accordingly.  Hey, at least I don't have to get shots!

Years ago, I was in the Air Force.  I served seven years and spent the last few working indirectly for an organization some refer to as "No Such Agency". As such, I frequently found myself south of the border in some pretty interesting garden spots, all of which required numerous inoculations before I could operate there. I remember asking one of the medical techs what a particularly ominous-looking gel in a large syringe was supposed to prevent.  He looked at a piece of paper and then back at me, sighed, and said "You don't wanna know".  He was probably right.  I remember the needle was so long and thick that they had to inject me at the top of my butt pointing the needle straight down parallel with my leg.  It looked like a liposuction tool.  I limped for two days after that one.

One aspect that made these trips unique was the secrecy of the missions.  These events took place during the Reagan/Casey/North days, so use your imagination.  There were times when we didn't know where we were going until we got there, and even then we questioned it. We would often depart from known US operating locations in Honduras aboard helicopters and fly south to said garden spots.  The helicopters never landed (for plausible deniability?), so we always hopped out from a few feet above terra firma and sought out our targets.  We referred to ourselves as the "Noun Patrol" because our typical role was to search out people, places, or things.  We were rarely armed with more than a radio to call for extractions, a GPS receiver, and a satellite up-link kit. Even for military applications, this was some pretty weighty gear. Tools like these were smaller than their Vietnam-era predecessors, but were far from the electronic miniaturization marvels we enjoy today. Once we acquired our target, we would paint it with an electronic compass-equipped scope and its coordinates were collected.  Those coordinates were up-linked to a satellite and stored so that the target could be tracked if it moved.

On most missions, my team would receive location details only moments before our deployment.  We would collect the coordinates and the helicopter navigation system would be programmed by a technician operating a special console in the Intel office.  We would then carry the newly-programmed nav box to the waiting aircraft for installation and immediate departure. The aircrew was usually as clueless as we were with respect to the mission details and our destination.  I'm amused by the fact that the Garmin GPS unit I have today is probably more sophisticated than the navigation system on board those helicopters, especially since the government removed the induced error to non official receivers and eliminated Selective Availability.

On one particular mission, we were airborne well before dawn for an hour's flight "south".  It was still dark out, so the aircrew had to rely heavily on the navigation system and terrain following radar. This was always  a hair raising experience for me because we usually flew just above the jungle canopy.  Somehow, the aircrew always knew when we were near a village, despite the darkness and lack of prior knowledge of the flight path and ultimate destination.  On this flight, after hearing one of them mention it, I piped up and asked over the headset intercom "how do you guys always know that?"  The co-pilot shined a flashlight on the lower forward starboard window and replied "because of that."  The outside of the window was almost completely covered with a thick, deep red coating.  Before I could ask WTF, he spoke up again and said "the mosquito swarms we're flying through are full of blood. Gotta be people near by."  That image and explanation gave me more nausea than the roller coaster terrain following flights ever did.

I expect my Alaska trip to be at least somewhat less traumatic.  I've picked up a great tent and sleeping bag with mosquito netting.  I'm hoping a few citronella candles and some DEET will help do the trick.  One thing is for sure; I don't anticipate any liposuction needles.

In a Perfect World...

In a perfect world, cagers would only occupy the right lane.

In a perfect world, holiday rookie air travelers would have their own airport, leaving the rest of us to negotiate our airports without delay.

In a perfect world, our dogs would live as long as we do.

In a perfect world, there would be no cats.

In a perfect world, lost loved ones would still be around and the holidays might actually be bearable.

In a perfect world, Obama would have never become President and Republicans wouldn't have behaved in a manner which facilitated his rise.

In a perfect world, John Galt would be president.

In a perfect world, the hearts we affect would only be affected positively.

In a perfect world, people who didn't share or even understand your dreams would at least accept and respect the fact they they are yours.

In a perfect world, our emotions would be boundless and could be expressed without inhibition.

In a perfect world, the sense of entitlement felt by those for whom we provide would be matched by a sense of appreciation.

In a perfect world, tomorrow would be June 18th, 2011.

The People of REI

Have you seen the web page PeopleofWalMart.com?  After Saturday morning, I believe there ought to be a People of REI web page.  As noted in a previous entry, a local REI store was having their annual garage sale and I stopped by in hopes of scoring some inexpensive camping gear for the Alaskapade.  The sale, which consisted of returns and outdated items at fifty to eighty percent off, started at 10:00am.  I figured I would beat the rush and get there early in case there was a line.  I pulled into the parking lot at 9:00am and realized I was way too late.  The line ran around three sides of the building and was comprised of some pretty colorful characters.  As I hunted for a parking spot, I began to wonder if I was at a garage sale or a Toyota Prius convention. The lot had the usual suspects - tiny cars with anti-everything bumper and window stickers.

Cars with Causes

It was a friendly crowd, and a happy one given the early hour and the temperature. Honestly, with all the dreadlocks, Frisbees, and tie dye, it looked more like a line for Grateful Dead or Phish concert tickets than it did a camping gear sale.  This was definitely a Save the Whales, seals, Darfur, Earth, and [insert your cause here] crowd.  There were people stretched out on cots, sitting in umbrella chairs, and others standing next to portable heaters - all of whom appeared to have been there all night.  It was like an overnight tailgate party for the eco-Nazi crowd.  All night.  For cheap camping gear.  Insane.

Somebody Has Sense!

I parked my gas guzzling full-sized Chevy pickup truck in between a couple of Mini Cooper Matchbox cars and wandered around to the back of the building to get in line with all the other losers who slept in. On the way, I managed to snap a few photos of the vehicles.

"Lady Who?"

I was quickly joined in line by some pretty interesting characters.  One guy apparently wearing his sister's lime green hoodie and birth control glasses kept talking to himself aloud.  This guy probably has never heard of Lady Gaga, but could probably tell you Mr. Spock's mother's name back on the planet Vulcan.  The fact that I happen to know Spock's mother was T'pau is irrelevant. At least I've heard of Lady Gaga; so there.  Anyway, I thought he was talking to me and I responded, but he just kept staring at my leather jacket, which in this crowd was about as welcome as a Tea Party candidate in a union meeting hall.  I looked to see if he was wearing a bluetooth headset or something, but gave up and assumed he was just talking to others of his species from his native dimension.  After looking him over briefly, I pondered the necessity of the birth control glasses and then considered the fact that I still had my appendix and tonsils, neither of which would ever serve any real purpose on my body either.

"Let me think on it..."

Also near me was a woman (I think) with her head wrapped in some sort of multicolored native American ceremonial garb. Upon closer examination of the photo, I think it was actually Meat Loaf attempting to be incognito.

Hey! I like this hat!!

 Once the line started moving, we were all corralled upstairs into the REI attic where the sale items were tagged and laid out on tables. At this point, the compassionate saviors-of-all-things-liberal transformed themselves into the stampeding mob from that Cincinnati Who concert back in 1979.  People were frantically swooping up handfuls of stuff - anything - as much as they could carry - and then dragging it to a corner to inspect it and see what they got.  Some of the items were unidentifiable crap and yet people still scooped them up.  I figured out that some of the shoppers were working in concert ,with one person guarding and evaluating their stash while others from their pack foraged for more.  When one woman placed a sleeping bag back on the table, two other people grabbed it simultaneously.  One looked at the other and said "Rock, paper, scissors?"  I rolled my eyes and wandered away.  We all know that in the real world, a rock would always win.

Damn! Too late.

I managed to score a nice tent that was returned because the zipper was reported to be malformed. I proudly carried the tent around a while - much like a dog does with a toy, challenging anyone to take it from me.  With a death grip on my kill, I looked at the remaining piles of crap, which by this point were scattered from Hell to breakfast throughout the REI attic. Several people asked me "are you going to buy that?" and then "what is it?"  They didn't seem to care what it was as long as it was a good sale price. In my case, it was. I examined the zipper and with a little effort, tugged it past the bent teeth, straightening them out in the process and rendering it completely serviceable. It was a $155 tent for $49. I Googled the make and model and found many excellent reviews, some of which were from motorcycle campers.

Do I look fat in these?

I made my way out of the land of misfit toys and back downstairs to pay for the tent.  Along the way, I observed people changing into pants, trying on socks, erecting tents, and blowing into inflatable mattresses that were clearly labeled as unable to hold air.  Now it was time to stand in line with the others and gloat over what we scored upstairs.  One guy offered to trade the Yakima bike rack he was carrying (that was missing all the nuts and bolts and one mounting leg) for my tent.  Turns out, he was offering the trade to everyone in line for whatever they had.  Tempting as his offer was, I opted to keep my bounty, paid for it and made my way out to my truck.  Finding my truck was easy as it towered above the eco-friendly ultra compact cars in the parking lot.  I headed home and set up my tent to admire the fruit of  my morning's efforts.  I'm still on the hunt for a good, tightly-compacting sleeping bag and an air mattress.  There are other REI stores in the Dallas area with garage sales scheduled before year end.  I think I'll just sleep in and check Amazon and Ebay.

Happy Tent