We’re back, we’re safe, we’re smoked.
Woke up yesterday, got breakfast at a nice cafe, visited the aquarium. Which you really orta do, if you get ’round Monterey. Tell ‘em you’re retired Navy and you get a $10 discount on the admission ticket.
It reads, “Disabled.”
A short flight to Oakland from Monterey. Up the coast and over the top of San Francisco International. Like it didn’t matter. On the way across the bay a 747 carrying God knows how many paying passengers was held down at 3000 feet until they passed us by. Didn’t seem fair. But it did seem right.
We were there first.
Over the top at Oakland, and a series of turns to downwind, then ILS final. Like we knew what we were doing.
People treat you like royalty at the FBOs. Obsequious, like. Operating under the assumption that on account of the fact that we were flying around in a 31-year old Cessna 172 we were rich, and passed out twenties like it didn’t matter. For delivering the rental car right to the plane. Which, of course, we did.
It being important to keep up appearances.
Across the bay and into the city. Which is amazing, beautiful and hideously complex. Got stuck in endless traffic lights in Chinatown. Four stop lights per block, it seemed. And you can’t get there from here.
Doesn’t matter where you’re going.
Huddles of elderly Chinese men hunched over mah jong tables like the fate of empires trembled in the balance. English sub-titles were a clear afterthought. I felt vaguely depaysee, like I’d gotten magically transported across the ocean to Hong Kong.
Or Honolulu, maybe.
Stayed at the Marine’s Memorial, which is always nice. Had lunch/dinner at Pier 39, which is touristy of course. But they had clams on the half shell, which are much coveted in certain quarters. Toured the local thrift stores, because that was what was asked of us. Drove by SFSU, which is not nearly so “urban” as some of us had hoped. While others of us were privately pleased.
Walked roughly seventy thousand miles around the shopping district. Up hill both ways. Our calves are fairly aching today, but the conversation was good. Which is not nothing. No, not at all.
Woke up this morning early, made coffee. Herself huffed, thrashed, rolled and stuck pillows in her ears while the coffee maker burbled and spat. Checked the weather. Saw this.
Summat wicked, that way coming. No coastal tour today, and it was time to get up, and that right quick.
Herself took it all with an surprising degree of equanimity. Dressed and packed in short order, and driving the rental while your host gave directions from the iPhone/Google Maps combo. Which is a pretty cool app, being that it’s free. Especially in a hideously complex city.
We were heading south, but the west route wouldn’t work. The easterly lane would have to do.
I hate pushing off in a hurry, but tarrying meant spending the better part of the next day lingering, and maybe more with another front coming down from the northwest. IFR means only “if required” in small planes, and icing is never to be trifled with in any case. It was go now, or stay for an indeterminate time. The weather to the east looked good. In retrospect, I could have spent more time thinking about the surface winds.
Beat the weather with a good half hour to spare. Filed for our old hometown at Hanford, but ended up stopping for gas at Bakersfield Meadows, having tried and failed to land at the muni airport on the south side of town after working the fuel/distance math and realizing we could make the last leg home undramatic. Winds 130 at 17 gusting to 30 at the muni, and not quite sure we wouldn’t crash on the first attempt. Discretion being the better part of valor with precious cargo, we retraced our steps and found the runway at Meadows more nearly into the wind. It’s alarming how much a light aircraft can get beat around.
Courtesy car for lunch, a quick turn on the ramp and we were on our way.
It turns out that the Sierras stab straight through the direct course from Fresno to Los Angeles. Which is something I’d never quite noticed before, from 27,000 feet. Climbed all the way to 9500 feet (!) before finding that we couldn’t stay up there until we’d burned some fuel down. Took a hard look at the hard terrain in every direction. Got the hell beat out of us crossing the mountains, what with all that high pressure air rushing to fill the low pressure boundary to the north. Told my daughter to cinch up her seat belts, it was about to get rough. She did, and promptly fell asleep.
That’s trust. Or innocence, maybe.
HIWAS warnings of turbulence and someone who’d experienced 1000 foot per minute downdrafts over the mountains around Gorman way made us right fretful. But it was a long way to the coast, which was socked in any case. We navigated our way around the terrain, with a Pilatus ahead of us on freq telling Center that they were routing around lenticular clouds. One of which was right in front of us, and the word brought back a bad memory of banging my helmeted skull off the canopy in an 18 ton fighter many years ago in similar conditions.
Angels on our shoulders, and – fortuitously warned – we picked our way around as well.
Once clear of the LAX Class Bravo, it was clear sailing. A pod of whales off Carlsbad, and the Hobbit there to pick us up at Montgomery.
It was a good trip, and I’m glad it’s over.
Might be I’m getting old.
Cap’n,
It’s perhaps heretical of me to even consider offering up this small bit of advice, but the next time… consider the trains.
As much as I bleed JP, I do so love the chance to ride the rails, enjoy the view, and from time to time get up, walk back to the salon car and grab a cuppa joe, or even a cold beer and perhaps a sandwich.
Don’t get me wrong. I do love flying, but there’s a LOT to be said about relaxing and watching the pitter patter of rain on the window of the train, vice dodging weather in a bit of aluminum and avgas.
God bless, sir, and I am so glad you had the chance to share this with your daughter. It’s a wonderful thing when a man can spend the time with his girl, for you both will remember it for many years to come.
Agree Tim. We took the long way to DC from Chi Town via AmTrak and while it was much longer it was worth the trip.
At least once.
Wilco/
I love trains also. Used to take the old ICRR “City of New Orleans to LSU from my home in Ill. the 1st 2yrs prior to getting a car. Rode the overnight Panama Limited fast sleeper once too, as well as the Milk-run stop-at-every-station-take-forever
La Louisianne, also. Have also ridden the Santa Fe Super Chief towards the end of it’s heyday in 1956–what a train! (then)
You are a FIB? EEK! Well, I still like you, even so. ( Inside WI and ILL joke )
I live about 75 feet from the Chicago-Mpls Canadian Pacific Main Line. I get to see the Empire Builder twice a day, and it always a pleasure to do so.
We also get Santa Fe coal trains coming through on trackage rights. Holy Giraffes, but EMD SD-90s are BIG!
SCOTTtheBadger/
I left a note for you @Flight Planning#13 about DDs.
If you go the AMTRAK method of travel you would still be on the train! This is called “Train Time” and the Starlight is often called the ‘Starlate’ as it travels over UP trackage. I took it up to Seattle and we were six hours late! Sometimes they have to cancel the trip since they are so late. And the 70′s vintage Superliners need replacing! Rather take a 70′s vintage 172 any day!
Lex … Sounds a bit dicey on your return trip, and that huge weather thing off the coast was very menacing to my inexperienced eye. Precious cargo changes a lot of one’s attitude, doesn’t it? Makes for caution and worries that you didn’t have when you were solo flying. But your two essays bookended a rare experience with your daughter that you both will always remember.
Thanks for sharing …
Marianne
“Might be I’m getting old.”
As in: “Welcome to the club–ain’t we all!”
There’s an ex-submariner with a blog entitled: “a geezer’s corner” that I visit–interesting guy, nice little blog–might be that he has a “corner” on the correct nomenclature, eh?
PS–not to say you’re a “full-fledged” geezer, or anything, (like me) only to suggest that perhaps you’re nibbling on the edge of the “early geezer-hood” envelope.
GEEZER POWER!!!
Virgil? He may not be full-fledged in the geezerdom department, but he’s well on his way. He rides a Beemer, after all.
Young guys with no money ride Universal Japanese Motorcycles so they can experience speed, adrenalin and skin abrasion.
Middle-aged men ride Harley-Davidsons or 1960′s British bikes so they can pretend they’re Tough Guy bikers and spend their time in the garage fixing and tuning and adding go-faster parts to really customize the ride. This is generally because the darned thing won’t start and gets blown off the line by the kids on their Universal Japanese Motorcycles. A side benefit is all the leather we get to wear to look tough and protect our hides.
Once Geezerdom is attained, the Beemer is purchased. Starts with a press of the switch, goes around the world with nary a time spent on wrenching, rides like an Olds 88 on two wheels. Riders dispense with leather and instead wear velcro-tied tennis shoes and cotton coveralls. The thought of crashing never enters the mind, because the rider is pretty sure there’s a button or switch somewhere that deploys outriggers, there being a button or switch for every other creature comfort available.
Sad, but true.
The safest motorcycle on the planet is, in fact, the one owned by the middle-aged guy. While the UJM and the geezer crowd can press a button and go, we middle-aged guys are probably on our backs in the garage with a wrench in one hand and oil dripping into our eyes trying to make the darned bike reliable enough to ride.
Hard to crash and die riding a creeper in the garage.
Flying the 172? Mid-life crisis. Has to be.
– Max
“or 1960s British bikes”
Like the 500 Triumph on the cover of Dylan’s “Hwy 61 Revisited,” album? IIRC the brakes locked on that baby and threw Dylan in the ditch–old Bob cracked/broke several vert. Serves him right for choosing “cool” over practicality, eh?
(Of course for a guy who once owned a XK-140 Jag, who am I to talk about practicality?)
I had a 1967 Mustang Fastback at one time. It was a blue so dark, that from more than a couple of feet away, it looked black. It was Nightmist Blue, which, as a girlfriend of mine at the time said, is not the color of a sports car, it’s the color of the stockings you wear with a gray skirt.
The Pony had a 289 HiPo, which you could tell was made in the day of 29.9 cent gas. It could pass anything but a gas pump.
It also had an unfortunate ability to attract blue and white Plymouth Gran Furys, with WISCONSIN STATE PATROL printed on them.
I guess I would fall somewhere at the lower end of the “middle-aged guy” spectrum, being as to how my vehicle of choice was a 2005 Triumph America in British Racing Green – looked “Harley-ish,” but without the massive pricetag (not to mention the fact that I’m nowhere near admitting to being middle-aged). And of course, lots of chrome doohickeys to add on at your leisure.
Sadly, my 2-wheeled riding days are a thing of the past – at least until I can walk on my own two feet again (soon!) and find someplace where there are long, quiet roads to explore instead of competing with thousands of college-age drivers during midday rush hour.
As midlife crises go, not such a very bad thing though, nu?
Ummm… I’m in slight disagreement, Max. I did my Brit-Bike thing back before the advent of UJMs (a Turnip Trophy 500, back around ’65… or so), then went to a succession of Yamaha RDs in various flavas over the years. The current ride is a Suzuki SV-650S… Japanese, to be sure, but not of the UJM flavor.
I just don’t see either a Beemer or a Harley in my future… and I’m 64…
Very glad the trip went well, Lex, despite the bumps and high winds. The latter will likely keep me grounded again during the upcoming long weekend, if the forecast is to be believed, so I’m happy someone got to slip the surly shackles of Earth this week.
Thanks for the travelblogues, lex, enjoyed ‘em. And I learned a new word today, too – “lenticular.”
We visited SanFran a while back and gratefully the family voted for Alcatraz instead of shopping. Pier 39 was OK but there was a weird silver painted dude at the beginning and that sort of set the tone.
Lenticular clouds and mountain downdrafts can be quite the challenge for a 172. All part part of the “fun” but I wouldn’t try that on a regular basis. -Yet your daughter was blissfully oblivious.
Teenagers. They can sleep though a hurricane.
I found this bit of vacation story-telling amusing as can be for one reason — most people fly to save time. They ride the rails or take the bus or drive the car to save money.
Lex just burned up as much money as he would have spent on train fare actually doing the work and piloting a 172 around California, and to top it off does it for bonding time with the child process.
I keep having this mental image of Lex in a TV show, sort of a “Here Comes Bronson” colliding with “Family Ties.” Which, I’m dating myself again, aren’t I?
At the risk of making a pun, good show there Lex.
– Max
I’m jealous, a bit. Glad the trip went well for you and she.
It’s pouring up here now, and snowing in the Sierras. Nice of the weather to have mostly held back for you.
Ummm… Lex? Next time you’re enjoying those oysters on the half-shell? Ponder it a bit, who was the first person to stop and think that, “If I only broke this rock open, heated it up, and then ate the gooey-looking stuff inside, why it might be a tasty meal!”
I’m pretty sure it was the same guy who watched a crab scuttle sideways across the beach, or first found that giant aquatic cockroach the lobster and thought, “Boil it, break it open, it’s probably edible.”
That had to be one hungry dude.
Today, it’s considered a delicacy.
That goes a long way towards explaining the existence of kimchee, sauerkraut, and lutefisk.
Not to mention fruit cake.
– Max
Max,
Oysters are usually “enjoyed” (and I use the word loosely) raw, not cooked. I won’t tell you some of the nicknames restaurant people have for oysters.
As for lobsters, they are -in fact- genetically related to cockroaches. And they’re cannibals.
I doubt our prototypical culinary genius was eying a King crab when he had his brilliant idea; those puppies get big enough to fight back. Heh.
Casey/
I wish you hadn’t posted that. As a devotee of Louisiana boiled crawfish who devours them by mucho pounds worth in a single setting, and loves to “suck da heads and pinch da tails” the geneaology of the lobster–a close kin of the crawfish–upsets me. I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that little fact. Damn you, keep your smart-ass knowledge to yourself!!
Virgil, the only thing a true Cajun cares about concerning crawfish is simply will there be enough for him to eat (say about 30 pds or so) and enough Dixie beer to wash ‘em down. The rest is just details, my son, details!
Byron/ Talking about “mass
quantities,” one of the finest boiled sea-food restaurants I ever ate at was a place in Lafayette called “Rocky’s Tails and Shells” on old Cameron Rd in the north part of town. Not only was the food seasoned just right, but they had the greatest, most unique eating set-up ANYWHERE, EVER. To wit:
Picture a table comprised of a square, stainless-steel trough about 2′ wide with a square hole in center with a large plastic garbage can placed in the center. Immediately over the open square in which the garbage can was placed is a sq. platform raised on 4 legs welded attached to the 4 inner corners of the squared trough, upon which the condiments are placed. And on the underside of the platform a large roll of paper towels is mounted–all this within easy reach of the hungry animals, er, diners. The boiled seafood and corn onions, potatoes,etc., is then slopped into the trough where you can have at it to your messy hearts delight, simply tossing the shells into the garbage can conveniently in front of you and ripping off paper towels as needed from the roll mounted immediately above. No need to worry about “Emily Post” polite white linen dining! A true Cajun’s delight! The guy who owned the place even had the contraption patented! A GREAT way to eat inherently messy boiled sea-food! Only in Louisiana! LOL!!
(A sad PS: When the 80s oil boom went bust, so did Rocky’s, which (sob) is no more.)
Max/
I see your mind is at it’s usual inventive best. But Charles Bronson? Which version?
BTW, left another comment back at our discussion about health-care for you if you want to take the trouble to go back.
Virgil, alas, I can’t *find* it. I am far too old to be recollecting which topic here devolved into a discussion on health care, and a search on our names turns up nothing.
Perhaps Lex can save us?
– Max
I’m actually wondering at the difference in perspectives. Can any of us imagine SNO going for a Cross Country with the host and going to sleep? No, he would have taken an entirely different view on things.
That doesn’t make the trip any less, just different…
I’m glad you had a good trip and your back. About all of these old fools getting on your case about getting older and “Geezerhood”, it is much better than the alternative. Note, younger is not an option. Did you ever notice they’ll start talking about the past. Then you ask for a time frame. Reply, “Oh, it was like yesterday, more like it was 10, 20,30, 40 or 50 or more years ago. The real wake up call is when you realize the person you’re talking to is 20 years old. Yeah, they tell me I’m an old “Geezer”. My reply, “The status only means I know more ways to get even.” Honestly, if I caused a chuckle, smile or even a laugh we’ve both won.”
On a more serious plane, you have been quite the “Patriot”! You have shined the searchlight on the iceberg of Veterans’ Issues. There have been two that really stood out to me. The first was on the James Emerick Dean situation and last week’s, “L’il Help”. They both were tough to write and were a service to the Veterans’ Community. Thank you, Grumpy
PS Time to get a few more hours of sleep.
Many thanks for the SanFranTales, brought a tear to this old geezer’s eye – that first one. And glad there was a safe return.
Lex,
If you are ever flying the central valley again, I highly recomend flying into Harris ranch in Colinga (308). They have probibly the best steakhouse you could find anywhere. They have a private 2800 foot paved runway, however its only 30 feet wide, so you need to be up on your x-wind landings if there is an kind of serious winds. One taste , and I guarantee that you will be hooked
Harris Ranch? There is a “Wanted /Shoot On-Sight Poster” of Lex from his Lemoore days that he did not want to explain to the little gal.LOL
He’s probably right, you know.
When things get a little slow it sounds like there is a story ready to be written just waiting to see the light of day. Or not. Of course using fictional license it might be a story ’bout some other guy instead – other than some of the brotherhood who’s to know what’s true. You can’t believe everything you read on the internet…
“you can’t believe everything you read on the internet..”
OldT6Flyer seems now a fast learner indeed…
Plus, how can one stand the smell at Harris Ranch???
Are your Legions are thankful for safe return. Prayers answered and all. Now the real question- where has the youngun decided to spend the next 4? Welcome back.
Portland, actually. If she can ever find a way. Would have loved to fly her up there as well, but that would have meant eight more hours and a couple more days, neither of which is affordable, just now.
She’s looking into the local community colleges to see if she can save a bit up front and become a resident.
Life’s a journey, I keep telling her. Not a destination.
But, you know: I’m old. What do I know?
Portland’s a nice town, I hear; used to work with a guy who’s up there now. They make good beer too.
After some travail I went the community college/transfer route. It worked out pretty well, especially considering what a waste of time (and money) the first two years of many college curricula are these days. Do the basics on the cheap and then go to a good university to get the important part of the degree. Plus you might decide you want to do something different, two years downstream, than you thought you wanted when you started, and it’s a lot easier and cheaper to do that via the CC route.
Glad y’all are back home safely. I saw that weather coming in and did a little worrying myself. Thanks for taking us along on the trip. It was a blast, except for that 70,000 miles of shopping, at which I’d have drawn the line.
A trip to Frisco, and the Wharf
without a B.V.I.C.
Your precious cargo has been left uncultured.
My guess is that the flying conditions would have been a lot less stressful with different cargo.
The real wake up call is when you realize the person you’re talking to is 20 years old. Yeah, they tell me I’m an old “Geezer”. My reply, “The status only means I know more ways to get even.”
I took Venture Crew 69 on a 65-mile canoe trip in western Michigan this last summer. We camped with the Troop the day before we left, then packed up our gear and went down the Pere Marquette river from Baldwin all the way to Ludington. Things went well enough to be successful but provided enough obstacles to be overcome to be a meaningful and memorable trip.
On the last leg of the last day the boys in the other canoes told my bowman “Last chance!” to which he made comments along the line of “I don’t know …”. We landed among a couple of comments like this as well, pulled the canoe up, and awaited our pickup. I found out when we got back to camp that the other leaders, my colleagues for the last 17 years in one form or another, had taken the boys aside before the trip and had offered them a $20 reward should they provide me with an impromptu and involuntary swimming lesson during the trip. However, the boys quickly realized that should they try it, our relative skill levels ensured that I would be able to get back in the canoe, chase them down and return the favor.
My announced response once I was told by my fellow Scouters was that it was a clear sign that the boys had respect for my leadership, as opposed to their status.
Did you see “Bushman” when you were around Pier 39/Fishermans Wharf area? Great gig, kneels down holding up a couple little pieces of tree limbs and scares the bejesus out of people as they walk by. And people pay him for the laughs! The even sell “Bushman scared the s**t out of me” T-shirts in the shops. So many inventive ways to make money.
Glad the trip worked out. I love both San Francisco and the Portland area, to visit. I’m a little too Conservative (okay, a lot too conservative) to make permanent homes in either place though. Visiting them is kind of like going to the Zoo to watch the funny animals.
And Portland? Two words; Powell’s Books.
All this posting about GA flying has me itching to get current. I’ve got the medical up to date and I was looking longingly at the Civil Air Patrol, Garmin 1000 equipped, 182 last night. Just a few more dollars in the old bank account and I’ll get checked out. Then I get to fly (sometimes) on the CAPs dime.
Yep, Powell’s. That and Alibris are my favorite Internet Booksellers.
Heh. If you ever get a chance to listen to Rod Machado speak, do it. He’s got a spiel where he’s in a puddlejumper going toe to toe with heavy iron that will keep you in stitches.
Also reminded me of a Bob Stevens cartoon; the caption was “Citabria 1234N, cleared for takeoff Runway 23. Pan-Am 987 Heavy hold short Runway 23; caution wake turbulence departing Citabria.”
Several years back the Smithsonian was showing Apollo 13 in IMAX, so I decided to take a gander. Lady at the ticket booth asked if I wanted the Senior Citizen discount. Being the honest man that I am, I said I wasn’t elegible.
Or maybe pride goeth before the wallet.
Glad you ‘n the Biscuit had a good time, and welcome back.
Talking about Oakland International reminds me of a story you wouldn’t want to tell your squeemish passengers. Years ago, (almost 30? )while working on my instrument rating, my instructor and I took a x-country to the Bay area. On one leg we were cleared for the ILS approach to runway 27 Right (if I remember correctly.) The tower also cleared an airliner to 27 Left. When we were on short final the airliner came up on the radio and asked the tower if “that little guy ahead of me is going to go around.” Tower came back and in a fairly strident voice said, “You were cleared for 27 Left, I repeat, 27 Left!” The airliner came back and said, “Oh, sorry.” Might have ruined our whole day if we were in real IFR conditions.
Same thing happened to me landing Chicago Midway some years back -parallel runways. Most of the time controllers do a great job but I never forget to pay close attention to the other guys radio calls.
I only hope you are able to fly your next daughter around. If you don’t she will never forget it.
Like all here, glad for the safe return of you and the uber-precious cargo.
I well-remember long days as a teenager spent in the car with my dad as I accompanied him on sales calls. Lots of driving which meant lots of time for conversation.
Even though that was nearly 30 years ago, and my dad has been gone for nearly 15, I still remember each one.
You gave The Biscuit a tremendous gift Lex – one that she will treasure for the rest of her life.
“On the way across the bay a 747 carrying God knows how many paying passengers was held down at 3000 feet until they passed us by.” A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away there was a VR (rejoicing under the sobrequet “Pineapple Airlines”)squadron that used to fly C-118s out of Alameda to Hawaii and other destinations on the West coast. The climb out over the Bay Bridge was usually pretty exciting, often causing one to wonder if we were going over or under.
Lex, when in Hanford did you ever live in the condo’s with the pond [Mussel Slough] ? Lot’s of jet drivers here.
Came here from Fletcher Hills eight years ago, love it.
Glad you let us ride with you and your VIP pax.