It ain't all helicopters

We don't save daylight here. Sorta pointless cuz the difference in day length is quite small. Actually, it's kinda pointless everywhere. I remember when i was a kid, the common theory on why we had DST was "For the farmers." As if farmers give a shit, their animals certainly don't and farmers don't feel like they didn't spend enough time outside at the end of their workday. It all started with a bug-catching (few people respect the power of entomologists) mailman in New Zealand. Join me and punch a Kiwi.

I just ran out of Dr. Bronner's so i needed some shampoo. I used Dr. B before I got married, then I switched to whatever frizz control vibrant color bullshit was in the shower, then I got a bunch of toiletries when the Skustads left town, then back to Dr. B. Anyway, i'm in front of all these choices and I don't want to choose (is that RUSH I hear in the background? ) so I grab an orange bottle cuz I'm going through an orange phase. The stuff smells terrible and leaves my hair greasy. I read the label. Turns out it's conditioner.

I grabbed a beer and a burger after flag football (when my muscles started to stiffen I found a spot that I can push on my trapezius muscle that makes the side of my face vibrate, aging is awesome ) on Saturday. It was Kona Brew Fest. I decided not to attend for two reasons, one- it was a daytime event and b- 8 4oz. samples for sixty dollars. That's 30 bucks a point. Anyway, I'm at the bar with the best onion rings I've had in a long time enjoying a five dollar pint. The bar has a great view for lurking cuz it's upstairs and open-air. The streets are full of drunks, which I find amusing and confusing. Two pints? I know people feel the effects more when it's hot, but come on. Anyway, two 25ish yr. old males ask me to scoot down one stool so they can sit together. I comply and we strike up a conversation. These boys are deeee-runk. How a good bartender deals with a drunk that wants more, "Drink this water first, we'll see how that goes." How this bartender did it, "I'm sorry, you're both cut off." First guy tries to plead his case. Second guy storms out, stumbles down the stairs, staggers into the street and gets hit by a car. I'm sure he went limp and didn't get too hurt but he did get a ride in the red box with the flashing lights.

The other Harry Truman

The private pilot license came in the mail yesterday. An envelope inside of an envelope, both with postage paid. Gub'ment waste, that shit adds up. So it has Wright brothers front and back, three planes, no helicopters. It's the same thing with the cover of the regulations, the test prep workbooks, the instrument manuals.

I won't go on a Harley vs. Honda rant but, geez. Helicopters help us realize the dream of flight better than airplanes. Sure, planes have several advantages but Da Vinci never drew one. Ask any little kid what kind of bird he/she would like to be. You find a kid that says, "I want to be an albatross because they have a 22:1 glide ratio," and I'll take you and the poor retarded little bastard on a flight over the lava flows. Ah well, checkers sell more than chess.

Speaking of lava flows, one thing I couldn't show you and the cone-head in love with birds that can only take off in a stiff breeze, is the only house to survive the eruption in the 80's. The old guy turned his luck into a novelty vacation spot. He ran a B+B with heli-only access until Saturday. We've had a bunch of quakes the last couple of weeks, which have increased the lava flow. The old man got to watch the river of fire consume his house from the left seat of a Bell 407.

Eggs Benedict

I had a bizarre dream. I got into a rock-throwing fight while jogging. A few guys from the flight school came to my rescue and it turned into a full-on rumble. A thin version of Bufford T. Justice pulled up and got out of the car, big hat, badge and all. He arrested me and threw me into the cab of an eight-teen wheeler. So weird, I don't jog.

It jolted me awake. I rolled over and had a look at the clock, 3:02. Then our rooster crowed. Fuck. Might as well get out of bed. No way I'd get back to sleep once the chicken symphony kicked in, plus I was gonna get up at four a.m. anyway. Why rise to see the first four of the day? Cuz that's when the forecast comes out.

The first time I was part of a go-no-go decision regarding weather was as a packer in Yakutat. Paul and I decided we could get an old guy up a mountain to shoot a goat before the remnants of a typhoon off the coast of Japan got to us. We spent a long night up on a ridge top taking turns holding up the broken tent poles while the old guy snored. Alaskan Guide Series Tent, my ass.

Before one can test for a Commercial License several requirements must be met. I hoped to check two of those off my list. I plotted a course to Lanai. That would take care of the greater than 50 nautical miles cross country. Routing the flight over to Maui and landing at several airports on the way home would fulfill another. One thing I noticed while planning the return trip was that the Hana Airport notes mentioned wild boars on and in the vicinity of the runway. Plus there's a nudie beach just west of the strip. That figured into choosing my flight altitude.

Why Maui? A friend I used to play baseball and get in all sorts of trouble with in high school was on Maui with his wife for vacation. I hadn't seen him in seventeen years (I usually swear my family to secrecy when I go back to visit) so why not meet for lunch?

No red flags in the weather so I headed down to do my preflight. I took off to the northwest and flew the heading I had calculated. You can usually see Maui from the airport but thanks to the vog (volcanic fog, which makes my eyes itch just like the pure air of New Delhi) it was CSS (can't see shit). Plenty of visibility to see and avoid aircraft but a little disconcerting at my skill level cuz if I missed the island by swinging too far to the south, I'd run out of fuel somewhere that would require deploying my inflatable PFD.

There are several systems in place to help pilots avoid that fate like flight following service. So I put the transponder to the code they gave me and tried to enjoy the whales and dolphins below and not think about the possibilities if I heard a new noise coming from the engine. I mean, shit, the water's warm and the tiger sharks eat at night so I should be all right.

But I can tell you that it's pretty yucky to see nothing but blue water and grey sky for the better part of an hour while you go over worst-case scenarios in your head. Oh sweet, if something's gonna go wrong, I hope it's right now cuz I could make it to that boat and they could pick me up. Never mind, they're outta of sight. Hey what's that up ahead? Sweet victory, not real positive that it's Lanai, but it is land.

It was Lanai. I touched down and took off headed to Maui, which I could see. Cake and pie. I arrived a little later than I had forecasted but who gives a hot fuck?

Dean and Mickey have avoided the deep-fried cheese curd physique and generally seemed super happy. They vacillated between giving me mad shit for avoiding them on visits to the homeland and thanking me for flying to meet them.

We hopped into the rented Jeep and headed to Paia for brunch. I had the Kailui pork (pit-roasted pig) benedict to honor the wild boars I hoped to see on the Hana runway. Dean took a shortcut back to transient parking that took us right under the ATC tower and required four-wheel drive. His wife reminded him that just because a high school pal was in the backseat, he didn't have to act like a dipshit.

The trip home was beautiful, bouncy and uneventful. No pigs, no nudists.

Why I love motorcycles, continued

You're out in it, living and breathing with the environs you pass through, not hiding behind safety glass and air-conditioning. Today on the ride home I smelled a dead cat (confirmed with a visual), chocolate cookies baking, fresh asphalt from the patch in the road, another dead cat (see above), and plumeria flowers in bloom.

Phase One Complete

It was a dark and stormy night. Peanuts fans know that Snoopy always bangs that phrase out on his typewriter. Mr. Schultze's beagle gives homage to Edward Bulwer-Lytton. That's the opening line to what many consider the worst piece of fiction ever written, there's even a bad fiction contest named after him. What does that have to do with helicopters? Nothing except that Corbin took his three students out for a drink last night to celebrate. Each passed a check ride this week. A CFII, one CFI, and a PPL. I chose a rum and ginger beer concoction called a dark and stormy. It's a refreshing libation but I bet if you spent an entire evening consuming them, the drink name would be a good description for your commode come morning.

The check ride is a two part evaluation; a 2 hour oral exam followed by the practical exam. I felt pretty prepared for the oral because I've been studying with the big kids (potential CFI's) for the past few weeks. And I spent a bunch of time writing key things over and over. Turns out all that trouble I got in through the elementary years was worth it. Tangent alert. I got caught doing something stupid (no idea anymore what it was) and Mrs. Kluetch assigned me to write something 500 times as homework. That night my dad showed me how to tape pencils together to write two lines at a time. Nine-year-olds think their dads are the smartest men in the world. That night convinced me that I had the coolest dad as well. O.K. back to the front.

Early on Corbin suggested that I spend some of my free time writing various things over and over to make them stick. Do them until you have it verbatim, then once a week after that. Occasionally he would give me a new paragraph or what ever as we went along or he'd randomly ask me to give him the definition of land as soon as practical to make sure I was keeping up with my studies.

It's a super boring way to study but I got the pay off in the oral exam. Question number 1: Tell me everything you know about the rotor system on the R-22. Deep breath. Rattle off: The R-22 has a semi-rigid, deep under-slung rotor system with modified coning hinges. Two symmetrical blades of D-spar construction with stainless steel leading edges, aluminum skins, and aluminum honeycomb. The blades cover 25' 2" and have a 7.2" chord. Pause to inhale. Examiner raises his hand to stop me, O.K., O.K. that's enough, good job. Part of me was all, right on and part of me was fuck off dude, I ain't done, I haven't mentioned the 8 degree twist.

The wind socks stiffened nicely while we were inside. 18 gusting 24. For sure the limits of my ability. The practical exam is a list of maneuvers that you must perform within a certain standard, example: the student will maintain a hover height of +/-2 ft, a heading of 10 degrees, and be within four feet on pivot turns. Well shit, I can do everything maneuver-wise but flying is like skiing, you can tell what kind of day you're gonna have on the first turn.

My first turn was good, I felt loose and relaxed. I banged out a quick-stop (that one took me a while to learn) on take-off. Immediately into the auto rotation. I've never done one into that kind of breeze before so I didn't know how far I would glide but its +/- 200 feet for the private standards so really all you need to do is not scare the examiner to death and you'll pass.

He got out his red pen (it really was red) and scribbled a bunch. He looked over and said, don't worry this is just for the debrief. Remember what I said inside, each maneuver is pass/fail and I'll tell you right away if you failed so no news is good news. Now show me a shallow approach to North Lima.

That was a beautiful shallow approach, nice job on the power management. But this is North Charlie. Check ride nerves, relax, you're doing fine.

We ended with my nemesis, the slope landing. Luckily the wind was still nice and gusty so hovering was a bitch, much less landing one skid at a time. I approached the slope and yawed to and fro while I tried to keep her steady. I started a descent then pulled in power, announced I was starting over and backed away from the slope. The examiner said, remember movement is stability. Just set it down.

So I did. Then I picked up and he instructed me to ask Tower for a full stop. Shit did I fail? Must have, cuz we haven't done a governor off landing yet. O.K. Shane, I'm satisfied. Your ground knowledge is impressive and your flying is right where it should be at this level. You don't have any bad habits that need correcting. Congratulations. Really? Yeah, really.

Grounded hog day

Well, I stepped outside this morning and saw my shadow. It startled me, so I ran back inside to ponder six more weeks of highs in the low 80's. Frightening, but I'll make it. So I've met all the requirements set by the FAA to take the practical exam for private pilot. Including a solo cross-country flight involving landings at three airports. Corbin and I flew the exact route the day before per FAA regs. We bounced a bit on the leg up the coast to Upolu. It's on the northeast tip of the island and subject to the sea breeze from the west and the trade winds which usually blow northeasterly. Some of the trade winds get over the top of a ridge line called the Kohalas. Mixing wind speeds and directions mean the captain just illuminated the fasten seat belt sign in a big plane. In an R-22 it can mean changes in altitude of tens or twenties of feet per second, constant strain on your seat belt, and a heli that generally feels like it's flying you.

What are you supposed to do in that situation? Probably speed up and get the hell out of there, right? Nope. Slow down, hang out, try to keep the ship straight and level. Oh yeah and it's time to change radio frequencies. So take your eyes off the road (so to speak), fix the radio, halfway thru check outside and make sure you're still an agreeable distance from that mountain, back inside finish dialing in WKRP, exhale.

We did a couple of landings at Upolu then it was off to Waimae. The air was a little smoother but not much cuz Waimae lies (or lays, I never remember that rule) between the Kohalas and Mauna Kea, at 13,796', the highest point in the Big Island, so wind naturally flows through that opening before going over the top of either obstacle.

The Upolu leg is much more beautiful with its steep hills, coastline and sparse population. But Waimae has a highway to follow all the way and a couple of golf courses. Which while not as ascetic, offer some sweet crash landing options in the event of an engine failure or other such thing my mom doesn't want to think about.

But Corbin does. He constantly asks me where the wind is, where I'd try to get to, that sort of thing. What would I do if I had an electrical fire? Engine fire? Pants on fire? Sometimes he does fun stuff like say, "Hey, are those whales over there?" I look out that direction and he closes the throttle to simulate an engine failure. And simulate ain't quite the right word cuz bad shit starts to happen quickly if not corrected.

So we landed, filled out logbooks and talked about the next day's solo flight. We had a sobering conversation about my odds of limping away in the event of a real engine failure. I got a bad night's sleep, did a pre-flight, and took off to the northeast all by my lonesome.

It was pretty kick ass.

Shot in the dark

Just when you start feeling comfortable in air it's time for the night flights. The rules state that to fly at night there must be sufficient ground lights and/or celestial illumination. The timing with the full moon worked in my favor. We discussed illusions specific to night, did a pre-flight and talked about fast-food (all you Arbie's lovers know that the roast beef shows up at the franchises in a forty pound bag of grey gelatinous goo that the minimum-wagers add water to with a special implement, after which it turns brown and hardens enough to be sliceable for your five for six bucks sandwiches, right?) until civil twilight.

We headed north after fueling up and even with a moon, it was black as. There isn't much out there for the first twenty miles north of the airport. Savvy pilots spend flights looking for spots to land in the event of an emergency. I could hit that golf course, there's a turnout next to the highway, that beach is pretty wide, etc. At night, it be different. It all looks the same, mostly. Well actually you can see the road if there are cars on it. So you could shoot for right in front of the traffic which would be sweet except then you'd get smashed.

On the Big Island it's easy enough to tell the ground lights from starlight cuz it's against the rules to have white ground lights. The orange tinted ones are the law of the land. They produce less light pollution which is important for the biggest telescope on the planet which lives on the top of Mauna Kea. But it's easy enough to imagine how hard it would be if the lights were white. Then there are the lights that go up the ridges. You could easily align yourself level with them and trick yourself into thinking you were flying level as you banked a gentle right turn way off course or into the mountain.

Just when I started to think I was getting it down, Corbin had me turn back to the south over the ocean. Black on black is a great combo for a cocktail dress and silk panties but for flying it's creepy shit. You can't really tell if your climbing, diving, or Goldilocks.