Baking Cookies

I like traditions. They are, how shall I put it... traditional! One tradition Sharon and I had was spending Thanksgiving with a good friend of ours and bringing pumpkin cookies. Sharon made the cookies the night before using a recipe she got from her mother and spent the rest of the time until the party trying to keep me away from them. Sharon is gone now, but traditions must go on, so it was my turn to make the cookies.

I knew I had the recipe, I had seen it some time before when reorganizing the kitchen. Now, being me, of course I had no recollection of where  it was exactly! So off I went hunting, looking through her files and folders until I found the recipe in a loose leaf tucked inside a cookbook. Took a look at the recipe and it seemed to e straightforward. Better yet, other than the baking soda and powder I had all the other ingredients already!

A quick trip to the supermarket and 30 minutes later I was breaking eggs, sifting flour, and using the mixer. Usually I have some problems understanding recipes: words like "fold" tend to take on a completely new meaning, leaving me bewildered. This time, however, the instructions were easy to follow and other than measuring, mixing and stirring there was not much else I had to do. So I measured, mixed and stirred and eventually had something in the bowl that looked like cookie batter.

Oven pre-heated, cookie sheet greased, and one hour later I had my cookies. They looked right, but the proof is in the tasting and I have to confess I was a little afraid to try them. I was doing this for Sharon and I had the irrational  fear that if they did not taste right I would have somehow failed her. But they tasted ok, a little less cinnamon-y then hers, but good enough.

So I succeeded in my first ever cookie baking attempt. I was surprised about how uncomplicated it was, dismayed at the mess I created, satisfied with the process and looking forward to doing it again. As for the end result, here is a picture:

Reunion Cruise

I had been looking forward to my 30th high school reunion for some time. It was going to be a small event, with fifteen to twenty fellow students showing up for a 4 day cruise to the Bahamas. It would be an opportunity to reconnect with some friends I hadn't seen in a long time, as well as get to know others better.

I guess the trip for me started on the Tuesday before the cruise. I had to go to the mall to get a new suitcase, as the one I intended to take was broken. And I had only used it  a few times! Well, that's the price you pay for buying cheap stuff. Still, I did find a decent bag, albeit a tad expensive, but it did come with a lifetime guarantee, so I went ahead and bought it.

Packing was done by midnight and by 7 am I was at the airport checking in. An uneventful connection in Dallas, with lunch a the TGI Friday and by 8 pm Luiz, who had come to pick me up, and I were standing at the baggage claim waiting for my suitcase that did not arrive. I was about to go talk to the airline people when Luiz showed up with my suitcase and a big grin on his face: the suitcase had been on the caroussel all along, I just failed to recognize it! After the third trip around Luiz decided to check the tag and we were good to go.

The rest of the evening was a mini-reunion of sorts. I went to Luiz's house and got to see his wife and kids, and eventually was joined by Pedro (who was going on the cruise with me) and his kid, as well as Alberto. We talked, caught up on stories and eventually went out for dinner. I ended up at Pedro's, where I was going to spend the night, and we talked until about two in the morning. Not a problem for me, since I was on vacation, but it was a school night for Pedro.

Next day was a lazy day, which I spent having lunch and then hanging out with Alberto and Alice. Got to see, and be impressed, by some of Alberto's photos and artwork.

That evening the reunion started, with dinner at a restaurant called Boteco Miami. I arrived there at 6 pm, as planned, having forgotten that for Brazilians 6 means 7 if you want to get there early, but really 8 is when you should be there. Still, people started trickling in, not only those who were going on the trip but also several alumni that were now living in the Miami - Fort Lauderdale area. By 8:30 the party was in full swing and everyone seemed to be having fun. By 11 pm we were tired, though, so Luiz and I left for the 40 minute drive back to Pedro's.

Oh, and Boteco Miami had "coracao de galinha", so I was a very happy camper.

The cruise started the next day. Pedro and I drove to the port, parked the car and went to the terminal to check in. Forms were filled out; cards were printed and next thing we know we were walking up the gangplank lugging our suitcases. That was somewhat strange, given that the website had indicated our luggage would be taken from us and would not appear in our cabin until 6 pm or so. No one stopped us, though, so we boarded, found our cabin and went inside. As expected, it had a double bed instead of two singles. Neither Pedro nor I wanted to be that friendly, so I made a small trip to the main desk to have this resolved.

The rest of the first evening was food oriented. We got together  for one hour of Bahama Mamas. I don’t know what was in those drinks but they sure were tasty! I downed a few more of those than I should have, but that was ok, I could blame the “heavy” seas for any instability while walking. After that it was dinner, where we got this huge table in one of the main restaurants.

The next day we were supposed to spend at an island by owned by the cruise line, but the seas were not collaborating: they were unable to lower the tender, so we spent the day at sea, cruising around and enjoying the boat’s amenities. For us this turned out to be congregating around the swimming pool, drinking, eating and catching up, with occasional disappearances to go partake in the ship’s activities.

My first activity that day was line dancing. Now, line dancing is something I like and did for several years after moving to the U.S.  Granted, I hadn’t done it in over 10 years, but it was like writing a bicycle, right? Once you learn you don’t forget! Wrong! I was awkward, I was clumsy, I kept fumbling all my steps. I tried to blame it on my footwear, clunky hiking boots, but truth be told, that was just an excuse. I sucked! It didn’t matter, though, I had fun!

The lesson was inside one of the ship’s bars and we had a nice view of the outside deck. At some point, a man came dancing outside, with ear buds on, lost in his own world. The whole class stopped to look at the dancing man who had no idea he was being observed. At some point a kid in the class ran outside to tell him what was going on. The man stopped, looked at us and we all applauded. He smiled, bowed, put his ear buds back on and resumed dancing.

That evening before dinner I went to the ship’s spa for my first ever hot stone massage (or massage of any type, as a matter of fact). I am not really enamored with massages, but I wanted to do it because of Sharon, who loved them and had them any chance she had. So in I went, undressed and spent a very nice 50 minutes having my muscles kneaded and relaxing. It was pleasant and I enjoyed it and did indeed feel relaxed, until after the session was over the masseuse started trying to sell me some products for my bath. I made up a flimsy excuse, she kept insisting and after a few minutes of saying no I had recovered all the tension that I had lost. Still, I enjoyed the massage enough that I will probably do it again.

The other highlight of the day was the piano bar, where we all congregated to after dinner to hang out and talk. We were talking, drinking, the piano player was playing Elton John and we were all having a good time until he made the mistake of playing “Girl from Ipanema.” Some members of our group demanded that it be sung in its original Portuguese, there was some heckling and next thing I know I am sitting in front of the piano with a couple other members of our group singing the song. I was actually proud of myself for being there, not because of the quality of my singing, but because this was something that the Alex of 20 years ago would not have done.

Sunday we woke up with the ship docked in Nassau and, after breakfast, Pedro and I set out to explore the island. We walked along the beach and at some point Pedro went in for a swim. I was somewhat out of sorts, and probably not the best company for Pedro, but he was patient and we had an ok time. We eventually ended up at some sort or arts and crafts fair where a lot of things were “free,” but a small donation was required. I got tired of saying no to them, so I headed back for the ship. I told you I was grumpy!

That evening we all got together for dinner at Le Bistro, one of really nice restaurants aboard the ship. The food was excellent, the wine adequate and the conversation really nice. One of my schoolmates, who is able to chat anybody up, got one of the ship officers to take us on a tour of the ship’s kitchen. It was huge, busy and a bunch of us rushing through it after a few glasses of wine made it feel a little surreal.

The rest of the evening was spent in salsa lessons, some really awful dancing on my part and eventually we were back at the piano bar and yes, there was another round of “Girl of Ipanema.” Next morning we had breakfast together, said our goodbyes and went back to our lives, promising we will not wait another 30 years until the next reunion.

To recap, I had a blast! It was good to see some old friends again, make new ones and just enjoy hanging out. I was also happy with myself and how I behaved. I did not revert back to my old “wallflower” habits, but was able to let go of that darn self-consciousness (is this even a word?) and enjoy myself. I really hope it will not be 30 years before we do this again.

Yellowstone Day Three

Day three at Yellowstone was actually a day at Grand Tetons national park. Because of how much we had been walking the previous two days, several of our gang decided they wanted to stay at the lodge and get some rest, so it was left to Alan, Pedro and I to venture south to visit the Grand Tetons.

The drive was uneventful, with the usual stops to enjoy the scenery. Alan chose the route less traveled and we ended at some point in an one-lane dirt road, a very busy one-lane dirt road where we had to move to the side occasionally so other cars could go by.

We did run into the usual assortment of stopped cars, which in that part of the world means wildlife so we had to stop and look. This time it was a female moose and her baby, or as I am told, a moose cow and her calf. We had to crawl through the bushes in order to be able to see her, but that wasn't a problem. And with this sighting I had seen elks, bears, deer, moose and bison and felt I was only missing wolves to complete the set.

Eventually we got back in the car and drove on to Teton Village, a small ski town with an impressive mountain. It looked just like what I expect a Swiss village to look like, sunny and picturesque. Alan liked it to and decided that he and his family would stop there again when he travelled South with his family.

Well, there was a mountain and a a cable car so the next thing I knew we were on our way to the top which was still covered in snow. Up there it was cold and windy but that didn't stop us intrepid adventurers from exploring the summit, enjoying the precipitous vistas and wondering if anyone was crazy enough to actually sky down those cliffs.

Now, here we were close to the Wyoming-Idaho border and I was beginning to think we were the only Brazilians around but man, was I wrong. Not only did I run into two other groups of people speaking Portuguese, but the server at the summit restaurant was also Brazilian. He did make good waffles, though, and that plus hot chocolate is what we had for lunch.

After lunch we made our way back to the bottom, got in the car and started the trek back home. We made a few stops along the way, first to enjoy a scenic view of the Tetons from behind an old barn, and then to stop and take some pictures by the entrance signs to the parks. After all, we had to prove we had been there!

That evening we got together with everybody for one last dinner and said our goodbyes. Alan, Bel and Ian were staying in the park one more day, but Fernando and Gabriel were leaving early next morning on their drive back to North Dakota, and Pedro and I were flying back to Palo Alto. So back to our rooms for a good night's sleep. Next morning Pedro and I woke up at seven, took off by 10 am and, after a stop in Battle Mountain for refueling, were in Palo Alto by 4 pm.

Mischief done.

Yellowstone Day Two

Our second day at Yellowstone started like the previous one, with us getting together for breakfast, deciding on the day's activities, making plans to leave by ten am and actually getting on the road by eleven. Not a problem, though, since vacation is vacation and fun is fun. We got our picnic basket, packed into Alan's and Fernando's cars and off we went.

Our first stop that day was at the Gibbons Falls, the first of many waterfalls we would see that day. It was pretty, it was cold, and some tourists went over the fence and got way too close to the edge.

Next stop was the Norris Geyser basin. Yes, another geothermal place, but possibly even more interesting than Old Faithful.  We walked there for over an hour, mostly on boardwalks but occasionally touching Wyoming ground itself. I liked the colors there, where I saw some vivid green and yellows I had not had a chance to see up close before, really pretty. The geyser and hot pools were impressive, but there is one other thing that wowed me: I counted license plates from 25 different states in the parking lot.

Further North we went, this time in search of the Mammoth Hot Springs Terrace. Now, this place was really different! Apparently there's a lot of calcium in the water which combines with bicarbonates and becomes something called travertine. The end result was that the whole area was covered in this white substance. While the previous geyser basins gave me a feeling of Disneyland, this one made me think of alien planets and Star Trek. An impressive place, but all the going up and down stairs was a little tiring after the first day. Not so for Alan, of course, that man in unstoppable!

By then we had enough and were ready for a break so we stopped for some ice cream and, apparently, elk watching. There were signs all over Mammoth warning us that elks were mean and we should avoid them at all costs, but the elks didn't reciprocate. They had invaded the village and were all over the place, roaming down the streets, grazing in front of the hotel and generally making a nuisance of themselves. We, of course, didn't care. We were tourists, elks in the middle of the village were exotic and we stopped traffic taking snapshot after snapshot. Eventually the rangers chased us away and we decided it was time to go to our next stop, Tower Fall.

So we drove for an hour or so until we got to Tower Fall. No nice view from the road, so we had to walk a little to see it but it was, as everything seems to be in Yellowstone, worth the effort. Beautiful,  tall and impressive, but the best waterfall was still to come.

Back in the car and off to our next destination we had a really nice surprise, we got to see our first bears! A mamma Grizzly was, roaming the fields with her two cubs and we got a good view of them. Well, we got a good view of the mother since the cubs were mostly covered by the bushes, but we got occasional glimpses of them as they frolicked about and it was just exciting.

We stopped for a while at Mount Washburn so Alan could show us the place where he was almost snowed in a couple of days earlier. After admiring the beautiful, scenery, enjoying the sunny afternoon and complete absence of snow we went on to our final destination of the day, Yellowstone Canyon. Unfortunately I do not have the mastery of words required to do this place justice. It was beautiful, it looked like a painting, it was majestic, it was like a work of art; you have to see it with your own eyes to understand how impressive it really is. It also was the only place in the whole park where I got cell phone reception.

Now, Alan was probably feeling frustrated because for the last several hours most of our stops had required very little physical effort, so he decided we needed to hike to the bottom of the Yellowstone falls. Well,not exactly the bottom since we were running out of daylight, but down these iron stairs set along the mountain side for at least a couple hundred of feet so we could get a sense of the waterfall's size. Bel, Fernando and Gabriel were smart enough to decline his invitation, but Pedro, Ian, Alan and I started on our trek down, passing exhausted hikers coming in the opposite direction. With the risk of repeating myself, it was worth the effort. Everything in this darn park is worth the effort!

With the setting sun behind us we completed the loop and went back to Grant Village for a much needed shower and dinner. We went back to the main restaurant at the lodge where we got the same waiter from the previous evening. We ate, we talked, we drank and went to bed exhausted but ready for our final full day of adventures at the park.

Yellowstone Day One

Yellowstone is beautiful! Words can't do it justice, pictures can't do it justice. The best way that I can explain it is with a math problem: if you arrive at the entrance to the park and the ranger tells you that it is 45 miles to your lodge and the speed limit is 45 mph, how long will it take you to get to your hotel? The correct answer is two and a half hours. Every few minutes or so some spectacular view would appear before us and I would make Pedro stop the car so we could take pictures. Streams, meadows, snow-capped mountains, elk, geysers, all of them made making the 45 mile drive without stopping impossible.

Pedro and I did make our way to Lakeside Lodge eventually, registered, got to our room and unpacked. The room was nice, albeit a little small. It did have two twin beds, which was a good thing because Pedro and I are close friends, but not that close. It also had one of those new fangled capsule-based coffee machines which made quite decent coffee, so I knew we were in good hands. The only downside was that we got a view of the parking lot, but even that was hidden behind some nice firs.

The fun started that evening when we all met in Alan's room. Bel and Ian were there, of course, and soon we were joined by Fernando and his son who came all the way from North Dakota. After the traditional gift exchange (we got coffee and chocolate from Alan and his family, they got all the things that they had mail-ordered and had delivered at my house) we settled on a plan of meeting for breakfast at the Lakeside Cafe every morning around 8 and discussing the day's activities, planning on leaving around 10:30 and getting back around 7 pm for dinner, beer and conversations.

So it was that next morning at 8 am there we were surrounded by piles of eggs, bacon and french toast discussing what the day's activities were going to be. I had two must-see places planned for my visit, Old Faithful and Yellowstone Falls. After some discussion we decided to make this first day geothermal centric, visiting Old Faithful and the Paint Pot in the Lower Geyser Basin, with a stop along the way at the Continental Divide.

The Continental Divide was our first stop. It was just a marker and, truth be told, not particular impressive. As a matter of fact, some of our gang had not even heard of it and did not know what the big deal was. But everybody was nice to me, so we stopped, I set up the camera on the tripod and we took the obligatory picture.

The visit to Old Faithful was a sensory experience: the smell of sulfur, the sound of boiling water and steam and beautiful colors all over the place, from the blue of the sky, to the grey of the mountains, the green of the trees and all the colors in the rainbow in all the different geothermal pools. We learned a lot, like the fact that the colors surrounding the pools are really bacteria mats,that the ground around the geysers is a thin crust and possibly dangerous, and that Alan can outwalk any of us.

What I remember most from that visit, though, is the feeling of how unreal everything seemed. Even though I was seeing boiling water coming from the ground and had learned in school how the Earth's hot core was reponsible for making that happen, it didn't feel natural. Part of me kept thinking that Disney was involved with this somehow, that their imagineers had created this park for us. I imagined miles of pipes and pumps underground making the geysers gush, and men adding sulfur to the water to recreate the appropriate smell.

The Paint Pot was another surreal experience, though this one seemed more Martian than Disney-engineered. Bubbling mud in different colors reminded me of those movies from the 50s and 60s where rockets hanging from visible wires took our intrepid heros to Mars and other planets. It wasn't as exuberant as the geysers, but it was interesting in and of itself.

On the way back to the lodge we stopped to enjoy the Grand Prismatic Spring, a beautiful (and huge) combination of colors. It was also the beginning of the trail to the Mystic falls a thirty-minute hike into actual bear territory. Fernando and his son decided to skip this part and go back to the lodge but Ian, Bel, Pedro, Alan and I decided to go for it. No bears were found, though, and the only nature we had to fight were the mosquitos that were coming out to feast on yummy Brazilian tourists. A snake did cross our path, though, causing some excitement. The falls? Beautiful of course, like everything else in the park.

Back at the lodge that evening I had bison and beer for dinner, and we shared the day's adventures. Among the lessons learned that day: bison meat is stringy, Alan needs to slow down so we can keep up, and we all should remember to apply sun block to our calves.

Flying to Yellowstone

Sometimes I wonder why I bother planning things. I had everything scheduled: pick up Pedro at SFO in the evening, sleep until 4:30 am, leave home by 5 am so that we would be at the airport by 5:30 am and taking off around 6 am. This would have us at Yellowstone by 1 pm, getting us there two to three hours before the traditional afternoon thunderstorms.

We did wake up at 4:30 am, but between checking the weather (cold front arriving at our destination airport around 4 pm), packing all the things we forgot to pack the previous  night and brewing some coffee, we arrived at the airport at 6. One hour late, but we shouldn't have worried, the club forgot to leave out the keys to the plane. So we camped up in front of the club waiting for someone to arrive so we could go inside and grab the keys, me getting more and more worried by the minute and Pedro trying to get me to relax. Around 7 am someone arrived, we followed them inside, grabbed the keys, loaded the plane and by 8 am were on our way.

I filed IFR to Winnemucca, NV, our first stop, so that we could get out of Palo Alto which was covered by the traditional marine layer. After making sure the airplane was ok we contacted the tower and soon found ourselves climbing through the clouds. Air traffic control rerouted us over Sacramento and eventually we got to the Sierra Nevada foothills. At that point they asked us to climb to 13000, but the weather was good so we cancelled our IFR plan, climbed to 11500 and proceeded according to our original plan. Pedro did the navigating, the autopilot did the flying and I did the supervising and after a little over three hours we were landing in Winnemucca to refuel.

The 182 on the apron at  Winnemucca, NV

A bathroom stop, weather check, conversation with the line guy (he was from Texas!) and twenty minutes later we were back in the plane for the second leg of our trip, which would take us from Winnemucca, cut through Nevada, skirt the Utah border, cross Idaho and end in the southeastern corner of Montana where West Yellowstone airport waited for us with its 8000 ft long runway. This was also the leg where we would spend the longest stretch away from civilization: over thirty minutes away from roads and towns and airports. So, being me, I was a little worried, but we took off, pointed the plane vaguely to the northeast, climbed to 11500 and settled in for the second leg.

Turned out we didn't need to worry about the lack of civilization; there was always a place to land close to some human construction, we had plenty of water and junk food on board so I settled down and watched the autopilot fight the updrafts and downdrafts trying to get the plane to hold altitude. It was amusing to see the nose point up in the downdrafts, the ground speed go way down and have everything reverse in the updraft; the GPS "time to next waypoint" kept changing drastically with the change in speed. This was lesson learned, by the way; next time I will turn the altitude hold off and let the plane climb and descend with the drafts instead of fighting it so much.

On the subject of GPS, mine comes with Nexrad weather information and the dreaded afternoon thunderstorms were beginning to appear on the screen. Nothing serious yet, but they were coming and I had something new to worry about.  We had entered Idaho by then and there were plenty of airports where we could land if the weather became too bad. So we descended to 9500 to stay under the clouds that were forming and kept pointing the plane northeast. The last hour of the flight consisted mostly of flying a zigzag course, dodging any clouds that were too dark or that had visible rain beneath them. One persistent cloud seemed intent on getting to West Yellowstone together with us, but we managed to get there first.

The storm we barely avoided

Landing was uneventful and soon we had the plane parked and tied down at the apron. Pedro proceeded to unload the plane while I went to get our rental car. Fifteen minutes later the car was loaded, the plane secured and we were on our way to Yellowstone Park.

That is when the hail started.

Yellowstone: The Prequel

This time I blame it on Yogi Bear. I grew up watching his cartoons, and through them learned all about smarter-than-average bears, picnic baskets, forest rangers and national parks.  One day I found out that Jellystone was actually based on Yellowstone a real place, and since then I always wanted to go there.

Well, a friend is also responsible. Alan and I were talking a year ago and he mentioned he was going to Yellowstone and suggested I join him and his family. At the time I was not sure I would be able to make it, but I made the lodge reservations anyway. One year later, here we are, getting ready for the trip.

I decided to make it a fly-yourself there kind of trip. The way the airline hub and spoke system works, it would have taken me about the same time to fly there via the airlines as going a more direct route on a small plane by myself.  And flying yourself is way more fun! It does take some preparation, though.

The first step was to get checked out on the plane I intend to use for the trip. Last time I had made a long trip I took a Cessna 172, but this time I would be dealing with higher altitudes and thought a little more power would be useful, so I decided on a Cessna 182. That's 55 more horses under the hood and better performance up there where the air is thin. So I got an instructor and went flying with him, practicing until he was satisfied with my performance. This was followed by a few months of flying the plane on my own, taking small trips and practicing instrument approaches until I felt comfortable with how it handles.

Next came the route. Figuring it out was juggling three factors: time, altitude and distance to civilization. I could fly high and go in a straight line, but that would involve long periods of time away from everything. I could fly low and stay close to roads, but that would make the trip way too long. In the end I settled for a compromise: I chose a route that would require climbing above 12500 ft (the magic altitude at which oxygen is required) only for a short period of time and that would take me away from civilization for about forty minutes.  I sat down with two pilot friends to go over the route and they both agreed that it was a reasonable one. The flight planning software told me it was a six hour trip, so the route was set.

Finally, it was time to go shopping for essentials. Most of the survival equipment I needed I had already bought for a previous trip across the U.S., so that was a done deal.  Oxygen, in case I needed it, I borrowed from a friend. All that was missing was emergency rations (aka junk food) and a trip to the supermarket took care of that. I needed a container for the food, though, and a good friend provided me with the perfect container for a trip to Yellowstone: a picnic basket.

The 47th Hayward Air Rally

It was all Facebook's fault. I posted that I was planning on flying around California, some friends commented that  I should go visit them in Bend, Oregon, another friend added that if I was going to Oregon there was an air rally that ended there. Next thing I know, Ed and I were discussing entering the rally. When I asked him what his attitude was towards the race, in it to win or relax, have fun and enjoy the ride, he replied the latter and, just like that, Race 12 had a crew.

The Hayward Air rally is a competition where the objective is not to get there fast, but to get there accurately. Namely, the organizers tell the contestants the route and the contestants have to tell how much fuel they will use and how long it will take them to get there. Whomever gets the closest to their estimates, wins.

Our first task was to put numbers on our plane, Ed's Cessna 310. In theory it was supposed to be easy: a trip to Home Depot to get the appropriate tape, and then half an hour cutting strips and applying them to the tail and the bottom part of the wings. In practice, it involved trips to several stores in order to get enough tape and over two hours out in the tarmac, under a hot California sun, lying on our backs before this task was done. This should have been our first sign that we had underestimated what we were getting into.

That evening we had the route briefing and a chance to meet our fellow racers. The route was straightforward, with three checkpoints before our first stop at Redding, and another three before our final destination of Bend. Our fellow racers were competitive: going over and over their calculations, checking their plans, using Google Earth to check the route, and one going as far as adding a hose and container to their plane's fuel vent so that they could capture any fuel lost and reuse it.  Ed and I just shrugged and said, we'll figure it out later. By we, of course, I mean Ed; it was his plane and he knew the numbers. My job was, at this point, just to look good.

After rising way too early the next morning we eventually found ourselves at the pre-race briefing for last minute instructions and, most importantly, coffee and pastries. After that it was off to the ramp, for our official team pictures and to wait for the morning fog to clear so we could be on our way. They gave us GPS trackers, something new they were testing this year, and around 9 am the clouds started clearing. By 9:30 Ed and I were strapped to our seats, and soon after we were taxiing to the runway. A quick runup to make sure things were fine, we lined up with the runway and waited. Soon the official lowered the flag, Ed pushed the throttle forward and we were off. Our race had started!

As we headed towards our first checkpoint I realized we had never actually figured out what I was supposed to do, and how we were supposed to interact as a team. I had a vague notion my job was to navigate, keep track of time and spot he checkpoints, but that was it. So, at 160 kts I looked at Ed's flight plan, started adding numbers and trying to figure when we were supposed to be at each checkpoint in order to get there at the appointed time.

The first checkpoint was an adventure: Ed said we were there, his GPS said we were there, my GPS said we were there, but neither of us could find the airport to be able to answer the question (how many T-hangars in the southwest corner of the field). Never mind, we could figure that out later, so we took a picture of the general area and headed off to the next checkpoint. Oh, and we were two minutes ahead of our schedule.

Off to the second checkpoint we went, all the time looking out for airplanes and checking our estimates. This time around things were a little easier and we were able to count the number of green roofs at the end of the runway, but we were still two minutes ahead schedule.

At the third checkpoint, before we were supposed to go in for our timing run (flying low over a specific airport so the officials could time us), we were still two minutes ahead of schedule so Ed did a 360 turn to kill some time. Then we called in to the officials saying we were coming for our timing run, they gave us the ok and off we went, looking for a lake, houses, and eventually the private strip we were supposed to fly over.  This was also the time I figured out I couldn't add time up and had all the expected checkpoint times off by, you guessed it, two minutes. And that's approximately how much we were off by on the first leg.

We took an one hour break in Redding to check the weather ahead (isolated thunderstorms), grab some food and rest. Back in the plane, we taxied for takeoff when Ed noticed the alternator light go on. Take off was cancelled and we taxied to a mechanic to try and identify the problem. He opened the engine, poked around but did not find anything. The light did not come back on, so we decided we were ready to go. Taxi to the runway, wait for the flag and off we went on the second leg of our adventure.

We reached our first checkpoint and I found out that, according to the plan, we were 15 minutes ahead of schedule. This time I double checked my math and the numbers were not lying. So we made the only sensible decision: forget the time and let's enjoy the ride. So we flew towards the first checkpoint, looking for a big plane on  display near some airport. We managed to find it near the on ramp of some highway and off we went to look for our second checkpoint, two circular structures at the top of a mountain. Those I found, as well as the orange roof between them that we were supposed to look for. The third and final checkpoint was also easy to find, a nice big antenna.

Then it was time to descend and go for our timing run, which involved finding a town and then following some power lines until we found the airport. The process was straightforward, though I still think calling four buildings a "town" is a little bit of a stretch. But hey, if that is what they want to be called, I'm ok with that.

Ten minutes after the timing run we were landing at Bend, Oregon. The officials refueled the plane, took note of the amount of fuel used and that was it, we were done with the rally. We spent the rest of the Saturday hanging out at the hotel and sharing stories with other pilots at the hospitality suite. This was followed by dinner, some needed rest.

Birthday in Santa Barbara

I decided to celebrate my birthday with a trip down to Santa Barbara. Truth be told, I was kind of running away. It was going to be my first birthday without Sharon and I did not feel like celebrating. If I stayed home, my friends would probably want to go out and I was not in the mood for that. Given how busy work was, what I really wanted was just some quiet time for reflection. So Santa Barbara by myself it was.

I decided I was going to fly myself there, and I was going to do it IFR, not because the weather called for it, but because I wanted to have my first trip doing such a trip solo using the system. So I went out, bought the charts and spent an evening pouring over them, figuring out the route and studying the approaches. Fifteen minutes with DUATS showed that the weather was ok so we packed and went to the airport, eager to be on our way.

Alas, things did not go as planned. The airplane had a problem with its attitude indicator, which made flying IFR a no-no. So we tried to change planes, which took some time; there was no plane available for the time period I wanted, so the front desk people had to make some calls to see if other members were willing to change planes. Two hours later things were sorted out and I got the keys to the new plane and off we went again.

And again, we were not able to go. This time the problem was a bad contact with one of the GPS buttons which made it impossible to enter flight plans. Technically I could have flown with a faulty GPS, but I was already several hours late and this last little problem was enough to put me in the wrong state of mind for flying. So I cancelled the flight, went back home and scheduled a plane for the next day.

The next day, things worked like a charm. The plane was there, all the systems were working fine and we embarked on our first IFR trip. As usual, or so I am told, the route we filed has nothing to do with the route that we get. ATC (Air Traffic Control, for the non-pilots), had me fly almost into California's Central Valley before turning me towards Santa Barbara. This made a two hour trip take almost three hours, but the air was smooth, visibility was great and I just enjoyed the experience.

Arrival at Santa Barbara was straightforward. I was asked to use the VOR approach, which involved going a few miles away from the shore. This would have delighted my friend Alan; he knows how uncomfortable I get flying over open water and I could hear his voice making fun of me. But the approach was uneventful and soon I landed, parked the plane and was ready for the next step of my Santa Barbara adventure., renting the car.

The FBO people dropped me off at the car rental agency where I just walked in and asked for a car. I did not have a reservation, but the agent was very helpful and soon I left the place with the keys to a Ford Explorer, a map, hotel recommendations, suggestions of things to do and wishes for a happy birthday.

I found downtown Santa Barbara easily and drove along the beach until I found a hotel I liked. They had rooms available and I decided to splurge and treat myself to a room with an ocean view. It was, after all, my birthday! The room was nice, clean, and when I opened the windows I could see sand, palm trees and the Pacific Ocean.

Having secured accommodations, I was off to do some tourism, which in this case meant a visit to Mission Santa Barbara. It looked like most any other mission I have visited, an adobe building forming a rectangle, with a garden in the center and a church on one of the sides. A quiet, peaceful place, though, and I enjoyed hanging out there. As a bonus I got to light a candle for Sharon, something I've been meaning to for a long, long time.

After that it was off to pier (with a stop on the way for some coffee) to enjoy the view, listen to the ocean sounds and enjoy the solitude. I made my way to the edge, sat on a log and spent the rest of the afternoon there, until the sun disappeared behind the mountains. I just sat and thought, remembering the good times with my wife, missing her very much and trying to figure out what I want do with my life. No big insights, but it was good to have time to think about it.

When the sun set, and it became too cold I was off to a seafood restaurant recommended by the hotel for dinner. I had their clam chowder and a tuna fillet with coleslaw and almonds. The food was decent, but not exceptional. The place was bustling, though, and while waiting for my table I got to meet a musician from Argentina that had come to the U.S. for the music scene.

After that it was time to go back to the hotel, check the weather and get a good night's sleep in preparation for the trip back. And sleep well I did, waking up to a hazy day and going downstairs for my continental breakfast. I don't know why, but most hotels offering continental breakfasts consisting of assorted pastries, while I keep always expecting it to be bread, jam and cold cuts. Apparently I am incapable of learning from experience.

Then it was off to the airport. I parked the car at the FBO, dropped off the key and went to preflight the plane. Thirty minutes later I was on my way back to Palo Alto. The air was smooth, the flight was uneventful  and in two hours I was landing back home. The only interesting thing about the flight was that ATC gave me direct to DOCAL, the initial approach fix for Palo Alto when I was over Paso Robles, still over 100 miles away.

And that was it for this adventure, or almost. Two days after I got home I got a call from the car rental agency, politely asking me if I was enjoying the car and when was I planning to return it. Apparently the FBO people had forgotten to call them to come and pick it up. I explained that I had returned it and they promptly told me not to worry, there would be no extra charges.  So, a happy ending when all is said and done.

The Eulogy I Wanted to Give

My wife passed away a month ago after a valiant fight against cancer. We had a memorial for her five days after her death, but I was too distraught to be able to talk. Today we had another memorial for her, this time in her hometown . It was very nice to see people who knew her and loved her talking about their experiences. This time I knew what I wanted to say, but was too emotional to say it well. So here goes another attempt.

Sharon came into my life thirteen years ago, first as friend, then as a girlfriend and finally as my wife. Our time together was much shorter than I wanted, but during our brief time together I came to know how multi-faceted she was.

There was Sharon the pilot, the first one I met. As a kid she wanted to be an astronaut and a pilot, and though the first dream was out of reach, the second one became true and together we flew all over the skies of California.

There was Sharon the astronomer, who bought astronomy books, magazines and celestial maps, and who, when presented with a clear night would drag her telescope outside to look at the moon, the stars and the planets. I still remember her shouting, "It's just like Galileo's notebook!" and grinning from ear to ear the first time she saw Jupiter and its moons.

There was Sharon the athlete, who jogged almost every day and did not miss a single "Bay to Breakers" or "Run to the Far Side" race, who even took part in the Santa Cruz half-marathon.  For this Sharon, two things were important: finishing the race and getting the t-shirt.

There was Sharon the adventurer, who went to spend a summer in Finland and, that not being exotic enough, decided she needed to explore nearby Leningrad, deep inside "enemy territory." This Sharon traveled to Europe on her own, climbed the Tower of Pisa, rode gondolas in Venice, saw the Vatican and the pope, rode submarine bikes in the Bahamas, snorkeled in Hawaii and on her first trip to Brazil wanted to make sure she was awake when she crossed the Equator.

There was Sharon the scholar, who not content with a college degree went on to add two masters, one in business and one in fine arts. This same Sharon did not hesitate to take up Portuguese once our relationship got serious, and, on quitting her job to dedicate herself to treating her disease, filled her time by studying physics.

There was Sharon the loyal friend, taking the side of friends and family, helping and supporting them any way she could. She cried with them, laughed with them and was always there with a helping hand or advice when needed.

There was Sharon the theater fanatic, who not only took part in school plays, but went to New York to be a theater director. This Sharon knew her musicals and once was frustrated she only recognized 13 of the 15 songs in a Broadway medley show. This Sharon also made sure we had season tickets for the local theater company and did not miss a play.

There was Sharon the businesswoman, working as a manager and director in Silicon Valley, helping companies build the software that runs the world, and still finding time to mentor and support her employees.

There was Sharon the artisan, who won a blue ribbon at the Greene County fair with her  a-line skirt, who knitted and did needlepoint. This Sharon who did art and built the only napkin ring-based art-piece I have ever seen.

There was Sharon the reader, who consumed books voraciously, 30 to 50 per year, on all sorts of different subjects. Novels, science fiction, history, current events, astronomy, everything was of interest to her.

There was Sharon the writer, who constantly wrote down on her notebooks her thoughts and feeling, and who was know to produce the occasional short story.

And there was Sharon my wife and best friend, who welcomed me home every day with her beautiful smile, who snuggled with me in front of the TV, who laughed easily at my jokes and with whom I had wonderful conversations on the most esoteric subjects, such as a taxonomy for sports and the nature of man's need for religion.

I am glad I have met all those Sharons and that they became part of my life. I will miss them all, for they are the Sharon I love.