Life on the Lee-Side

Searching for Coffee Photos - Milwaukee

2012-01-23T23:00:00.003-07:00

Searching for Coffee Photos are a photographic diary of the details I stumble by on the jet-lagged search for caffeine in whatever random city I happen to find myself in. They are always so much more fascinating before the clarity of caffeine. As Milwaukee is my third post under the Searching for Coffee Photos label, following Paducah and Sacramento. The blistering cold made for a teary-eyed, six block trek across the Milwaukee River to the nearest Starbucks. It did put a damper on my enthusiasm, but I still managed a few mediocre details worth capturing.

Snowy Owl

2012-01-08T22:38:00.002-07:00

Yesterday I flew from San Francisco to Pasco, Washington, to Denver. As I was clearing the runway in Pasco I spotted a white figure perched on a runway distance remaining sign. It was a gigantic snowy owl. It was at least two feet tall with haunting yellow eyes. I think it was a female, who's white plumage sharply contrasted the yellow grass of the airport grounds. After we taxied to the terminal I asked the tower controller if he could spot her with his binoculars. The terminal was easily half a mile away and I could still make her silhouette with my naked eyes. He had no problem finding her and decided such a large bird on the edge of the runway was a threat to both parties involved. He called Airport Operations to drive out and scare her off the runway. I had a small pair of binoculars and watched as the truck approached. Snowy owls nest on the ground and have no fear defending it against arctic foxes, grey wolves, or other larger predators. The truck had to get really close before she budged. When she did spread her wings and fly away the enormity of her size became apparent. Ed, the operations guy, said her wingspan was at least five feet. Ed napped a few close ups and offered to email them to me, which I readily accepted. Seeing such a dramatic animal so close up in the wild (of the airport) really made my day!

iPhone Pic through my Binoculars

Cropped

(you can see her standing on the black sign directly below the left side of the house)

Close Up

Photo Courtesy of Ed Bayha

Flying Away

Photo Courtesy of Ed Bayha

Waking Up a Sleeping Midget

2012-01-07T20:56:00.007-07:00

In 1972 my Dad bought a brand new MG Midget. He drove it almost daily until the late '80's. Over the years he added lots of switches and gadgets, like every thing else he owned. It has clocks and a compass out of a WWII fighter, custom dash and console, custom engine gauges, an inverter, a smoke screen, and an uga horn. Most of it is disconnected. When my Dad got sick in 2004, he didn't have time to give me anything more than a hand-drawn diagram to make sense of the mess of wires under the hood before he died.

Dad's Midget back in the '70's

Crazy Gauges & Switches

The years of east coast daily driving have rotted the vulnerable British paint and body work. The interior isn't much better, especially the giant piece of foam sticking out of the driver's seat that. I do my best to ignore it! To an outsider the car would be best described as a basket case, but due to my Dad's dutiful maintenance, it is mechanically sound. Ever since he passed away, I've made a commitment to keep it running as long as possible. It gets more smiles, waves, and comments than the M Coupe and brings back nostalgic memories of riding in the passenger seat as a small child, barely able to see over the dash. It spent a couple more years in Maryland before I brought it back to Colorado in 2007. For some reason Diogee took the car. If Jo wasn't with me, he always rode shotgun.

Enjoying the Boulder Foothills with Diogee

He Took this Picture

(dam good shot for a dog)

In the summer of 2008, while driving up a steep hill in my neighborhood, the engine started hesitating. I nursed it home and into the garage. It was the middle of my mountain bike racing season, between work and training I didn't have time to troubleshoot the problem. Summer turned to fall, weeks turned to months then years and the Midget sat in the corner of the garage. The layer of dust thickened, along with my guilt, and the repair evolved from solving a running issue to starting a motor that hadn't been run in years.

3 Years of Dust

Fast forward to 2012. Over the next couple months I have a crazy scheme in the works. I'm not gonna say what it is yet, but I will say that I can't go through with it in good consciousness unless the Midget is running first. When it originally started running rough I suspected either a fuel issue or an ignition issue. I decided to rule out the latter by replacing the 40 year old condenser in the distributor with a solid state ignition. It's a great modern upgrade that remains hidden inside the original distributor cap. I also picked up a new high performance Lucas (prince of darkness) Sport Coil, rotor head, and spark plugs. For bad fuel (if it wasn't bad when I parked, it would be bad now) I compiled a concoction of dry gas, fuel treatment, carb cleaner, and new filter. The battery was long dead so I picked up a new one. It's barely bigger than a motorcycle battery.

The Tools for Awakening a Sleeping Midget

The oil was actually good. I changed it right before I parked it back in 2008. I poured fresh oil into the cylinders and cylinder head. Then it was time to see if the engine was seized. I couldn't turn it by hand without taking the fan belt out of adjustment so I put it 4th gear and pushed it forward slowly. It moved freely! The prep would be completed by installing the electronic goods, flushing the old fuel, cleaning the hell out of the carbs, installing the new fuel filter, and priming some of my gas concoction into the fuel lines. The process took days, but just after dark on Friday night I was ready to try starting it.

Scary Nest of Wires

Solid State Ignition Installed

Jo came out and cranked it while I sprayed a combination of carb cleaner and starter fluid directly into the carbs. It kicked on the first try, but quickly sputtered back to silence. The second prolonged try resulted in nothing. After dumping copious amounts of starter fluid into the intakes, the third try was a charm. It kicked and the revs rose into a grumbly idle. A thick sheen of white smoke poured out of the exhaust as the idle stabilized. Within five minutes it was purring like a kitten, an amazing testament to my Dad's mechanical care.

Dark but Running

WIth air in the tires I headed out to car wash to clean off the dust. An extended road test revealed that the original running issue wasn't totally solved. It happened again going up a steep hill which makes me think I have water or foreign objects in the gas tank. The dry gas in my concoction probably absorbed most of the water. It ran better once the road leveled out, but I don't think it's solved yet. The important thing is the Midget is running again.

Wash Time

Foam Bath

Clean At Last

I laughed out loud at the absurdity of the Midget and its gadgets compared to the sea of boring modern vehicles surrounding me. I can't wait for spring so I can do some proper British motoring with the top down!

Searching for Coffee Photos - Paducah (that's in Kentucky)

2012-01-05T11:22:00.006-07:00

Last month I started a new label called "Searching for Coffee Photos". It's about how the random details of what ever city I happen to be in are way more interesting before caffeine than after. The first post in Old Town Sacramento (here) was easy; with giant golden bridges, steam locomotives, and cool urban art I couldn't help but be enthralled by my surroundings.

The hotel we stay at in Paducah, Kentucky is located across the street from a strip mall. It would be hard to find things worth photographing, even with the benefit of pre-caffeinated haze. The point of the post isn't photographic brilliance, it's noticing beauty or at least wonderment in the minor things that I fail to notice once the hustle and bustle of the day takes hold. The same rules apply, only the iPhone camera and only before caffeine. Here's what I came up with from a morning in Paducah.

New Year's Day Ouray in Style

2012-01-01T22:47:00.009-07:00

Since its beginning Phoenix Multisport has done a winter trip to Ouray, Colorado. It includes ice climbing, snow shoeing, skiing and snowboarding, hot springing, and hanging in the charming mountain town of Ouray. For several years the trip was a highlight of our winter. There is no better way to take in the new year than sipping Martinellis in a natural hot spring in the Colorado Mountains. We missed it last year and I had to work until late on New Year's Eve this year. The only way to get there would be to fly. The last commercial flight into Montrose left before I finished work. I thought about flying myself, Jo and Lisa in a rented Cessna, but a major wind storm ruled out that as a possibility.

Getting a taste of the mountains was looking bleak, but the first day of 2012 was a new day. Enter Jon. I met Jon through a friend at work. He owns a modern Piper Saratoga II TC (TC stands for turbo charged) and is enthusiastic about flying as well as life in general. I can tell we are going to be great friends. The windstorm had been replaced by a stable high pressure system and Jon was excited about taking a day trip to Ouray on the most beautiful day of the year.

Jon's Saratoga II TC

We met up at Erie Airport and loaded up the Saratoga. I've flown some nice planes over the years, but for a cross country machine, Jon's Saratoga is one of the nicest. It has six leather seats, a turbo charged Lycoming IO-540 engine capable of delivering sea level power up to 18,000 feet, 180 knot true airspeed at 75% power, and touch screen Garmin avionics. It is like the BMW 7 Series of the air! We took off and cruise climbed to 12,500 feet. In no time we were over South Park approaching the Collegiate Mountains. With multiple peaks over 14,000 feet, the Collegiates are a formidable obstacle. The winds aloft at mountain top were about 30 knots. In the stable air that was conducive to light mountain wave formation, but the worst of the wave was forecasted to be north of the I-70 corridor. We aimed for Monarch Pass at the southern end of the Collegiates.

Jon and I Up Front

Jo Enjoying the View

Mt. Princeton in the Collegiate Range

I approached the pass from the south side of valley giving us the widest berth from any rotor lurking in the lee side of Bald Mountain. It also gave us plenty of room to angle out of the pass if we hit strong sink. The ride was smooth as glass over the pass and the views of Monarch Mountain Ski Resort and the Monarch Crest Trail were amazing. The remainder of our route took us over Gunnison, Blue Mesa Reservoir, and The Black Canyon where Jo and I began feeling the affects of Venti Latte's. Our bladder's decided that any touring of the beautiful scenery would be cut short by landing as soon as possible. The Saratoga was firm on the controls, but landed smoothly. An airline pilot trying to land a small plane is always good for a laugh, but I kept the drama to a minimum. They will get better with practice!

Monarch Pass

Monarch Mountain Ski Resort on the far side of Rt. 50, Monarch Crest Trail on the near side

Looking Back from the West

The Rim of the Black Canyon

Landed at Montrose

Jonny V met us at the FBO and drove us into the northern San Juan Mountains to Ouray. We hooked up with Scott, Sean, and few other Phoenix Multisport people and had lunch at the Timberline Deli. Jon fit right in with crew, like he'd known everyone for years. Ouray is situated in a box canyon with cathedralesque rock walls on three sides. The sun was already getting low on the snow caps, but the light reflecting off the east valley wall painted the town in rich late-day light. I wandered off for a few pics. The low sun was our cue that we should keep on the move. We met up with Matt and some Colorado Springs folk for a quick hello then headed back to the airport.

Ouray

After a preemptive emptying of our bladders we took off on runway 31 and turned south for Ouray. I cruise climbed up to 11,500' and looked for the right box canyon in the silhouetted peaks of the San Juans. We followed the Uncompahgre River, which lead us straight to Ouray. Even from our high altitude the box canyon was massive with peaks still thousands of feet above us. We were nothing but a spec, a tiny pixel in a 3D landscape that enveloped us. I entered on the west side of the canyon, ensuring we had enough room to turn around (a bad problem to have in a box canyon). I slowed down slightly to keep our turn radius tight and put Ouray just off the left wing. Once directly overhead we did a few 360's waving at our friends thousands of feet below.

Ouray from Above

The View Out the Front

The sun was really getting low now, it was time to head east. We climbed up to 13,500 feet and crossed over the jagged peaks of the Uncompahgre Wilderness in the northeastern San Juans. I fly over these mountains regularly at work and even after countless of hours of looking down I have yet to get bored. Seeing them out the window at eye level was even more dramatic. The pastel pink alpenglow framing the snowy peaks painted a serene picture that betrayed the danger of flying a small plane over the mountains at night.

The Northeastern San Juans in the Uncompahgre Wilderness

Pointing the Nose Eastbound

The Most Beautiful Mountains in Colorado

Jon and I worked well as a team and the Saratoga flew like a dream. He had recently installed a Garmin Touchscreen Avionics package. The moving map display showed our course, terrain, traffic, weather, airport information, and XM satellite radio on a touchscreen iPad-like display. Night flying through the Rockies had nothing on us. Faint apparitions of the mountains lit by a sliver of moonlight passed under us at 200 knots with a tailwind. The ride was smooth up to Kenosha Pass, but even then the bumps didn't last long. Before we knew it we were on the ground in Erie after my smoothest Saratoga landing yet. It was a perfect New Years day spent with friends - old and new.

Touch Screen Garmin Avionics

Swamp Monster

2011-12-29T23:16:00.004-07:00

This is the first post of a new blog label called "Stories of Alex.” I thought it might be time to record some of my stories from over the years, I promise they are genuine and true (at least exactly as I my embellished memory serves).

In 1994 I was 17 years old and living in Western Maryland with my Dad and Stepmom for the summer. There was a mountain lake nearby with a large swimming area that I swam in almost every day. I had recently acquired a high quality diving mask, snorkel, and fins for my birthday. I had visions of becoming a rescue diver and practiced my underwater swimming and free diving during every lake visit.

Hunter Lake was part of Cunningham Falls State Park. It was an elongated oval lake in a pine forest valley with a large cove off one side. On either side of the cove were roped off swimming areas. It was Maryland so there were a million rules regulating the football sized parcels of water. Lucky for me there were no rules prohibiting snorkeling. I used to covertly dive below the ropes and swim underwater along the shoreline until I was out of sight of the lifeguards. It was a gamble because I had to breathe in enough air to make it out of sight before surfacing. Away from the crowded swimming areas was an underwater ecological wonderland of aquatic forests, fallen logs, large and small mouth bass, pumpkin seed sunfish, turtles, snakes, and the occasional muskrat. Maryland's litigious constraints did their best to keep the humans inside the swimming area, but could do nothing to keep the wildlife out. Occasionally a curious snake or muskrat would detour inside of the ropes. A mass evacuation of the predominant city people who frequented the lake would follow. Usually someone would scream “Snake!” and the swimming area would vacate like a scene out of Jaws. The charged crowd reminded me of a herd of deer that would stampede when spooked.

Hunter Lake

One day I went to the lake on a mid-week afternoon. The first swimming area was packed with tourists from DC so I drove to the area on the far side of the cove. It was also crowded, but mostly with kids. The inside of the swimming area was divided by another rope into a shallow and deep section. Parents and kids too small to swim alone occupied the beach. Older kids, say elementary school age, were playing in the shallow area. The scene was an idyllic picture of a Maryland summer, with golden sunrays beaming through green trees into dark fresh water. I dropped my towel on the edge of the beach and waded into to the swimming area, mask, snorkel, and fins in tow.

Once it was deep enough to swim I donned my fins, pulled down my mask, and slipped below the surface. I did a few exploratory laps around the outer perimeter of the deep end searching for pumpkin seed sunfish. They nested just beyond the swimming area at the boundary of the aquatic forest. I usually spent as much time as possible at the bottom of deep end, which was about eight feet deep. When I surfaced I did so as stealthily as possible, although clearing the snorkel made a loud noise and shot water into the air. On this particular day, my attempts to break free of the swimming area boundaries were thwarted by a patrolling park ranger in a motorboat.

Instead I decided to pass the humid afternoon by trying to swim the length of the swimming area in one breath. It totaled about forty yards from end to end, which was super far. I did have the advantage of long diving fins and some experience at swimming efficiently underwater. My first two attempts got me about two thirds of the distance. I chalked those up to good practice and prepared for one solid push by calmly breathing deeply and slowly to saturate my system with oxygen. I also decided to follow the rope that divided the deep and shallow areas to gauge my process.

I inhaled the deepest breath my teenage lungs could contain and gently pushed off the gravelly bottom of the lake. I glided as long as possible and then scissor kicked with full extension back into an efficient glide. I repeated the process underneath of the rope while slowly and methodically exhaling. I made the halfway point with a surprising amount of air left in my lungs, but soon encountered a larger problem than carbon dioxide saturation.

My left leg has always been stronger than my right leg. The muscle imbalance caused a right turn that would become more exacerbated the farther I swam. I had been using the rope to correct for it until a small aquatic forest engulfed me. In the length of one kick I was entangled in seaweed. The feeling of slimy seaweed against my bare skin was horrible. I did my best to keep it together and angled out of the forest. Suppressing the panic I mustered enough determination to continue, even with the added drag of copious seaweed hanging off my head, snorkel, shoulders, and fins.

Without the guiding line of the rope I veered dangerously off course. I knew I was headed into the shallow area, but murky sediment made navigating impossible. The muffled noise of kids playing and underwater footsteps started to get louder while the visibility dropped to almost zero. I was lost, but refused to abandon the mission. To make matters worse, the panic of zero oxygen was setting in. I forced myself to keep it together and get through two more kicks, which combined with the ensuing glide was an eternity. Finally, I subdued the panic for one more kick and then I had to surface. The involuntary breathing response gave me about as much choice in the matter as someone with eminent diarrhea.

Following my protocol, I surfaced just to periscope depth. I was surrounded by playing children, but once I cleared my snorkel and took a deep breath I could dive back down, reverse course, and get the hell out of there. As my snorkel broke the surface I used what tiny bit of air I had left to clear the water and prepared for the satisfaction of fresh oxygen in my lungs. The clearing went normal, but just as I breathed in something went horribly wrong. My throat immediately burned with fire and I couldn't draw a full breath into my lungs. The choking reflex took over and adrenaline filled my body as I grasped for air. I erupted out of the water, which luckily was only about 3 feet deep, with both hands clenching my throat. My arms flayeled and splashed as I tried to maintain my balance, standing while wearing fins. I hacked and wheezed desperately trying to get air in my lungs. After a fit of coughing that would rival the best of any die-hard smoker, I felt the object lodged in my esophagus move. I clenched my abs and coughed a full body cough, which was enough motive force to dislodge the obstruction. Finally fresh air! As the panic waned and death retreated I caught a glimpse of my respriatoral adversary. It was a dragonfly! It had been skimming the surface without a care until a chance meeting with the business end of my snorkel ended its life deep in the bowels of my throat. The odds were incredible! Poor thing, the last thing it heard before the lights went out must have been a loud "thoomp".

Although it seemed like it as I struggled for my life, time did not stop when I exploded out of the water. The many children playing around me had no clue about my underwater mission or the dragonfly that nearly killed me. From their perspective it was a just another idyllic summer afternoon. Then an explosion of water, mud, and seaweed shattered their peace. In a child’s mind the only plausible explanation for a seaweed covered figure to erupt from below the murky surface of a natural lake was a swamp monster. They reacted as such every single child near me panicked, screamed, and trampled their less athletic younger brother or sister on their way out of the water. The screaming was contagious and soon a mass exodus cleared the entire side of the lake. Even the few wading adults decided it was better to run first, ask questions later, and get out of the water. That left me standing alone in the water, mask and snorkel dangling in my hand like a smoking gun. In the eyes of the rest of the world I was guilty of an egregious, premeditated prank that would ruin swimming in natural bodies of water for a number of impressionable youth.

The lifeguard was the first to act, jumping off his stand and running to me. In his eyes I was guilty of multiple violations of Maryland’s code of State Park Regulations. There would be no trail, no jury, just a guilty teenage standing with evidence in hand. I tried to explain what happened, even pointing to the dead dragonfly I hacked up that was slowly floating away. It was to no avail. My day at the lake was over and I was lucky not to be expelled for the rest of the summer. I had no other choice but to hang my head low and walk in shame across the beach to the scorn of every parent and still-crying child. I gathered my belongings and quietly made my way off the beach and up the hill to my car. As I followed the road around the narrow valley echo’s of crying children reverberated off the valley walls. My parting thought was “Maybe the creek at the bottom of the dam is still deep enough for a dip.”

Searching for Coffee Photos - Sacramento

2011-12-22T13:49:00.005-07:00

I don't write much about being an airline pilot. I travel the continent in a different world than the people I am transporting. Traveling has become an incidental component of getting to fly airplanes for a living, though that doesn't mean I don't enjoy it. Normally, it's just a brief foray into a city I would have no other reason to go to. I usually work weekends and trips that start in afternoon, so when I find myself downtown it's usually deserted. If I have time to venture out of the confines out the hotel, it's on a foot-borne quest for coffee.

Maybe it's the haze of pre-caffeinated delirium or viewing the local world with the lack of purpose that only an incidental traveler can, but I tend to notice the minor details of my surroundings with more fascination than the locals bustling around me. Armed with nothing more than an iPhone camera, small bursts of creativity prompt me to stop and capture my journey. Then after the coffee cuts through my haze I wonder why the hell I spent so much time photographing a street sign or random industrial structure. A mass deletion usually follows, but occasionally I manage to find something worth keeping. This post is the first of a new blog label I'm calling "Searching for Coffee Photos" and starts with my journey to Starbucks in Old Town Sacramento.

Guns, Karate Chops, Mustaches, and the Jensen Interceptor

2011-12-17T16:31:00.004-07:00

I'm stuck in Canada, but luckily the internet can save me HRID (hotel room induced depression). Below is the best example of why Top Gear UK has robbed me of so many otherwise productive hours. Cars are boring and car people are even more boring (just spend 5 minutes watching Top Gear America for proof). There has to be something else. The dry wit, parodic analysis of 70's television, and chemistry of 3 middle age British men make the Jensen Interceptor in the following clip just a side note.

Fall M Coupe Barbecue

2011-11-20T15:25:00.003-07:00

A bunch of Colorado M Coupe and M Roadster owners get together every fall at Jon Martin's. Jon is the developer of mcoupebuyersguide.com, the best M Coupe market resource on the internet. This year our gathering was hampered by an early season snow storm, but the roads had cleared enough for some conservative "touring". Our crew consisted of 3 M Coupes, 1 M Roadster (all 2002 model year) and an E90 M3.

All driving photos courtesy of Colby Gregory

Shells and Dolphins

2011-11-17T23:09:00.005-07:00

Before returning home to face the onslaught of winter, Jo and I relished our short time in Florida soaking up the heat with one last day at the beach. Barefoot and white-chested we strolled along the crushed shells with white wash lapping at our ankles. It was a proper end to our trip.

The Beach

From a Shell's Perspective

On the way back from the beach we crossed a drawbridge over the estuary. At the top Jo spotted a pod of dolphins hunting fish along pier. They were working together as a team to herd the bait fish to the surface then skim below to gulp up the fish.

Dolphins

Waiting for Scraps

Surfing Below the Surf

Peace River Wildlife Center Bird Rescue

2011-11-16T20:25:00.006-07:00

On our last day in Florida we spent the morning at the Peace River Wildlife Center. It's a small non-profit bird rescue on the central west coast of Florida. It had a variety of local species ranging from Pelicans, Owls, Eagles, Hawks, Ospreys, and shore birds. They lived in large mews with similar species. They had all been injured to a degree that they weren't safe to be re-released into the wild. I would think that being stuck in an enclosed space would be hell for any bird, but most of the birds I interacted with seemed content and happy showing no signs of distress. This is probably personification on my part, but I almost detected an air of gratitude.

Burrowing Owl

(he was maybe 6" tall)

Eastern Screech Owls

A mating pair

American Kestrel

The smallest falcon in North America.

Red-Tailed Hawk

Bald Eagle

Sandhill Crane

Brown Pelican

Wood Stork

Black Vulture

This guy wasn't even a resident, he was just visiting. It was so funny how he tired to ease by my feet without me noticing.

Red-Shouldered Hawk

Red-Shouldered Hawks Playing

It looked violent, but it was all show.

Charlotte Harbor Preserve

2011-11-11T08:30:00.003-07:00

The Charlotte Harbor Preserve is a state park encompassing the Myakka River Delta and boundary islands of Charlotte Harbor. The estuary is made of mangrove swamps and border islands. The mangroves are incredibly dense, but have a maze of water "trails" cut through them. They are marked with numbers, without which getting lost would be inevitable. It was like being in a mangrove tunnel filled with wildlife. We heard reports of a Manatee in the main boat channel, but even after searching for over an hour, never saw him.

Charlotte Harbor Preserve State Park

Lighthouse House

Brown Pelican

Mangrove Trails

Looking Back at the Tunnel Entrance

Into the Maze

Mangrove Roots

Tree Climbing Mangrove Crab

(they were perfectly camouflaged)

White Ibis

Emerging from the Mangrove Tunnel

Florida Osprey

Mote Marine Laboratory

2011-11-10T14:45:00.003-07:00

I freakin' love the aquarium! Jo and I are on a short holiday in Florida to visit family. In the Sarasota Airport I saw a giant fish tank of local marine wildlife that was sponsored by the Mote Marine Laboratory. The Mote Marine Laboratory is a full time research, sanctuary, and rescue facility. It also has a sizable aquarium displaying multiple regional habitats and their inhabitants. We spent a day there learning and observing the wonders of Florida's waters.

Black Footed Penguin

(okay this guy wasn't a local)

Shark Tank

Sandbar Shark

Goliath Grouper

Sting Ray Petting Tank

Sea Horses

Jelly Fish

Giant Squid Carcass

Spiny Lobster

Adolescent Logger Head Turtle

Adult Logger Head

Manatees

Spotted Dolphin

High Plains Raceway - Fall Open Lapping Day

2011-11-07T21:36:00.004-07:00

I headed out to High Plains Raceway (HPR) in October to catch one last lapping day before winter. I was joined by Jonny V in his M Coupe, Frank in his M Roadster, and Casey in his E36 M3. It was a good crew to spend the day with. HPR divides drivers into two groups during open lapping days, a fast group and a slow group. The are no restrictions or qualifications to go in either group and open passing is allowed.

Pre-Dawn Drive to High Plains Raceway

High Plains Raceway Track Layout

Two other track days combined with a fair bit of go karting this year has really helped my driving. The karting, especially, has done wonders for my car control. A cold track on worn tires made the early sessions "dynamic", but I was able to keep the M Coupe on the track and the tail-sliding-hoonage to a minimum. Speed is the result of driving the proper line, smoothness, turn exit, turn entry, braking and acceleration. My speed has markedly increased at HPR, but there is always room to improve. Shifting needs the most improvement, partly because the steering wheel blocks my knee from a proper heel-toe angle and partly because I'm inconsistent in matching revs under varying degrees of braking. Turn 8 is the worst because it's the deepest braking turn. My turn-in and entry speed on the slower turns could also use some improvement. I'm entering too fast, provoking understeer and over-wearing my front tires. A more aggressive suspension would allow a more neutral set up and faster turn-in, but until that happens the fastest technique is slower turn entry.

Killing Tires

Random Tow Hook Cam Footage

In the last driving school I learned a lot about telemetry and how to interpret it. A GPS / OBDII Race Box type unit would be ideal, but I would have to settle for a high end iPhone app called Harry's Lap Timer. It features OBD II input, GPS, mapping, lateral and lineal acceleration, and video overlay. I recorded the data with my phone oriented vertically, so my friction circle is canted 90 degrees to the right, i.e. 12 o'clock which would be braking is at 3 o'clock, 3 o'clock which would be left turning is at 6 o'clock.

iPhone Held Perfectly Still for Accurate Data Recording

Max / Min Speed Data Overlay

Lateral G Overlay

One Lap w/ Data Overlay

(G Circle is rotated 90 degrees to the right)

As always, one of the best parts about open track days are the other cars. If you are a sports car enthusiast the paddock is just as exciting at the track. There were Spec Miatas, Vintage Race Cars, German Touring Class Race Cars, Formula Fords, Ferrari F430's, a Porsche 911 Turbo, Ford GT, and a slew of BMW's, and more.

Ferrari F430 Coupe and Convertible

Porsche 911 Turbo

Nissan GT-R

Ford GT

Well Prepped Acura NSX

V6 Twin Turbo Charged VW Beetle

Vintage MG Midget Race Car

Ferrari 330 P4 Replica

From what I can tell this is a Ferrari 300 P4 Replica. The Ferrari 300 P4 was a race car that duked it out with Ford GT40's in Le Man's in the late 60's. There were only 4 original race cars built by the factory. They command an incredible premium, which spawned a market of very high quality replicas made from original Ferrari parts.

The View from the Pits

GTS E36 M3

(my next car)

Expensive Gas

Williams to the Eagles Nest

2011-11-03T21:51:00.008-06:00

Williams to the Eagles Nest and Back

(Vimeo link for Europe http://vimeo.com/32653956)

In August I had a random day off. It was going to be one million degrees in Denver so Jo and I headed to the mountains for a dog outing / hang gliding. I glanced at the weather, but didn’t dig too deep. I was more into just getting into the mountains and spending time with Jo than having an epic flight. We headed for Williams, a launch located on the northern end of the Williams Fork Range. While I flew Jo would drive down and take the dogs for a swim.

Williams Launch

On the lower launch at about 1:00pm it was slightly cross from the north, but not too strong as the thermals cycled through. By the time I was rigged and finished a picnic with Jo a huge cloud street had set up just north of launch that went all the way to the horizon. The air was big with gusts over 25mph as thermals cycled through. As time passed the street filled in even more and the launchable lulls got shorter and farther apart. I waited for about 20 minutes back from launch before I got a small launchable window. It was a big-mountain-air launch that required a little minding of the right wing and awareness of rotor off the bowl to the north of launch. I wasn't too worried about the conditions, as the T2C would have no penetration problems.

The View from Launch

The Cloud Street to the North

Waiting for a Lull

Off

(Look at that Cloud Street!!!)

I had no GPS, but I would estimate winds aloft of 25-35 from the NW over launch. The air was "relatively" smooth for the wind speed and the thermals were super elongated. It took few minutes to hook something, but my first climb was delivering only 3-400fpm. I took that to 11K and pressed upwind along the street to the NW. The next few climbs along the street were epic, 10-1400fpm on the averager, with spikes of 16-1800fpm. The headwind was persistent and inter-thermal sink was averaging 600-800fpm with spikes of over 1000fpm in the lee-side sink eddies. I only had about two hours before Jo would make it down the 4X4 road, swim the dogs, and start to get annoyed or worried. If I had bar mitts and was on my own I would have blasted downwind to the divide and beyond. It was that good.

Jo Shooting Me from Launch

Me Shooting Jo

(black truck at the 180 turn)

Green Mountain Reservoir and the Eagles Nest from Over Launch

Beautiful Cloud Street

The Blue River Valley to the South

Instead, I hatched a plan to box the valley by penetrating to the NW, surf Elliot Ridge north of the Gore Range to bench back to the Eagles Nest, then angle out back to the LZ to avoid the massive rotor that I'm sure was lurking further south in the valley. The hardest part would be getting north of Green and Sheep Mountains into the strong headwind. It took three climbs to 16.5K and full speed glides. At altitude I would estimate the headwind of over 40mph. The cloud street was so defined it was pretty easy to angle out of the lift or sink as required and back in to make the most efficient forward progress. I only had box-handling gloves so I had to limit myself by leaving climbs well early. I never got hypoxic, but fingertip numbness was an issue.

Three Climbs Over 16,000'

Closer to Cloudbase

Getting Cold

(note the box-handler gloves)

Eagles Nest Beaconing

After the third climb I decided to angle SW behind Sheep Mountain to Elliot Ridge. It was a moment of commitment, but I had decent LZ's on top of the 10,000' tall ridge with a road that lead to parked vehicles to the north. I convinced myself to commit by thinking, "I have the skill, I have the glider, I have an out - Do It!" When I hooked up to the ridge there was no lift to be found. The ridge was actually pretty flat so even ridge lift was absent. Not wanting to waste precious altitude I hardened my resolve and pressed on to the south. If I was going to land either way, I might as well run the length of the ridge. At the highest point of the ridge I was down to 75' AGL, unzipped, and setting up my approach.

Elliot Ridge

Getting Low

And Lower

Finally, I saw a bunch of crows take the air. They were below the next cloud street to the south, which wasn't as defined as the previous one. It was another moment of commitment, but I had a bail out LZ that was lower behind me. As a rule I "never trust a crow", but I could see the vertical movement in the flock. It worked out and soon I was coring 800fpm on the averager. That got me up to 14,800’, which was a good margin to drive back above the sink to the Eagles Nest. It also took me to the south of the cloud street and into less organized air. The Eagles Nest was the goal so I'd have to make due. As expected lift was light over the craggy peaks, but the view was amazing. Dragging my feet on the northern ridge gave incredible views of Mt. Powell to the south and glacial bowl at its base. It was a treat that I've been seeking for years and a quintessential Colorado flying experience.

The Eagle's Nest

Mt. Powell

Vail and Beaver Creek to the South

Cliff Lake

Upper Cataract Lake

Eventually, I was low enough that diving downwind through the sink would be an issue so I decided not to get greedy. The glide back to the lake was rough, but without drama. The rotor spit me out in 6-800fpm lift for the length of the valley. I had to fly north of launch road to get below 10K. Jo was in the LZ for my landing, which luckily was also without drama!

Cataract Falls

Lower Cataract Lake

Back at Green Mountain Reservoir

Landed

After I broke down we took the dogs for a swim in the Blue River. The water was freezing, which was only slightly warmer than my core temperature. After the swim we finished the day properly at Smash Burger.

Swimming the Dogs

Delicious Smash Burger

Total flight time 1:34.

The SPK Overnight 500 14 Hour Go Kart Race

2011-10-12T15:51:00.005-06:00

For the majority of the last ten years the second weekend in October has always been a special weekend. It's when the 24 Hours of Moab mountain bike race takes place. It's the one race I've usually been able to do regardless of the state of my knee injury. This year that was not to be, but I found a valid replacement.

The SPK Overnight 500 is a 14 hour go kart race held at Summit Point Raceway in West Virginia. That's right I said go kart! They aren't just any go karts; they are French built Sodi RX7 high-speed karts that feature a 9 horsepower Honda GX390cc motor. Equipped with a composite dry clutch, hydraulic brakes, and racing slicks they top out a close to 65mph and can pull 2.5 lateral G's. The track is Summit Point's Washington Circuit, a former auto cross track with tight S turns, high speed sweepers, chicanes, and a long back straight that ends in a tight, but fast left hander.

Sodi RX7 Kart

RX7's Cued Up for the Start

Summit Point Washington Circut

The race is the longest of Summit Point Kart's endurance series. It's 500 miles (1000 laps on the 1/2 mile track) or 14 hours, which ever comes first. The race starts at 8:00 pm, so the majority of it is at night. SPK provides the Karts, you just show up ready to race. The rules are Le Mans style; meaning if you pit for other than a mechanical issue a driver change is required. When my brother Andrew asked me to be on his four person team I laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing. When we showed up at the course and saw how professional the competition was that laugher turned into fear. We were seriously outclassed. The other teams had sponsors, matching race suits, team trailers and racing coaches. In hindsight, that made it even funnier!

Pro Team Trailer

Walking the Track

Our team was called the Black Stigs after the first Stig character on BBC's show Top Gear. We couldn't find black suits so we had to make due with black helmets and green flight suits. We all had proper high speed karting experience, but nothing close to the "professional" teams. The intensity of driving a racing kart is something that must be experienced to understand. It looks so stupid from the sideline, but when you are in the driver’s seat you feel like an F1 champion. Zero suspension, 2 inches of ground clearance, racing slicks, and a sports car-like power to weight ratio make it incredibly intense. The beating of constant braking, accelerating, lateral G's, and feeling every bump on the track takes a huge toll on the body. The neck is usually the first thing to go due to the weight of the helmet. I prepared by wearing a thick neck pad and lateral G restraints (which I didn't end up needing). Padded, but grippy gloves and thin-soled shoes for good pedal modulation were the next on the list. Even something as sedentary as putt putt golf would hurt after fourteen hours; hurling around a track all night was going to be a special brand of pain!

The Black Stig

My Race Equipment

After we completed all of the necessary paperwork (including awareness that being ejected from the kart is a good thing because your energy is dissipated less rapidly), we had to weigh in. To make it as fair as possible weight is added to the karts to match driver weight to the heaviest person there. The race meeting was next followed by the Lemans (running) start. Tim drove first followed by me, Patrick, and Andrew. Tim's wife Kate provided us with food, coffee, and support. Tim had a great start in front of the pack. A crash in the high speed turn following the back straight brought out a yellow flag, but it only lasted one lap.

Our Team

Andrew and Me

With Tim

Patrick, Tim, and Andrew

Tim and Kate

Weights to the Even Out Karts

Race Start

First Laps

The Pits

Tim had to end his first driving stint early due to a glove issue. Luckily, was I suited up and standing by on the ready. It was baptism by fire as it was my first time in a kart in 3 months and I had never driven the track. At first almost everyone was faster than me. Learning the track was tedious. Early on I spun in the high speed turn following the back straight and got black flagged. That meant I had to pull into the hot pit for time penalty. As a team we were only allowed six black flags throughout the race and mine was our second. When I went back out I got the basic line down quickly, but fine tuning it took a long time. Braking points, where to lift and just coast (this was huge), turn-in points, apexes, and what sections of the track had the best grip all came slowly. By the end of my first stint I was running consistent 51 second laps, but the leaders were running :47's. After an hour and fifteen minutes in the saddle I was surprisingly not sore. That was until I tried to extract myself from the kart and walk. The best I could do was hobble. The inside of my shins hurt the most from constantly modulating the pedals.

My First Stint

Patrick went next followed by Andrew. By my next stint we were up to 14th place. I was able to whittle my lap times down to consistent :50's with a few :49's and hold our position. The amount of work it took to gain one second was astronomical. As nice as the Sodi RX7 is, it's not a precision instrument. In a race that is fought in half seconds precision matters most. It was like conducting an orchestra with a telephone pole. I was amazed at how much faster the good people were. The karts theoretically all have the same advantage, but the levels of precision that the fastest teams were able to drive with meant they were lapping us hour.

Enduring the Night

When Tim went out again he threw down an hour and twenty minutes of solid 48 second laps, combined with Patrick and Andrew's driving that moved us up to 10th place. Our position was starting to matter now. At 6:00 am, on my third driving stint, it was up to me to maintain it. I did so by further whittling another second off my lap times to consistent :49's with a few :48's. My fastest lap of the race was a 0:48.7. Then disaster struck! In the S turns after the front straight the kart lunged hard to the right. I fought to keep it under control and miss the wall. Through the next turn it was clear that my kart was mortally wounded. I limped it back into the pits. The right rear tire had rolled off the rim (they are solid tires, so no flats). We lost four places during the kart swap to 14 th place. A driver change was not possible because we would have lost even more. At that point I had been out on the course for one hour and fifteen minutes. It was going to be a long stint.

Dawn had arrived and with it an eerie morning fog. Driving at night was like having tunnel vision. Daylight offered a whole different experience. Oddly people's times slowed down slightly. Then a nasty accident brought out a full course red meaning everyone came to a stop. The driver was okay. He got ejected from his kart after spinning and hitting a tire wall hard. After the track was cleared we were cued up for a re-start. I had been out for two hours, but had moved us back up to 12th.

Dawn

Stopped Due to a Red Flag

Red Eyes

The Accident Being Cleared

Patrick went out next and brought us back to 11th place. At 9:00 am the leaders had completed 907 laps running solid :47's. They would probably hit 1000 laps around 9:45 am. Patrick didn't have enough gas to finish so we would have to do a driver / kart swap, but the team in 12th place was only one second behind us. Fortunately, they had to pit too. When it was all done our lead had dwindled to half a second. Andrew went out to finish the race. He was running :50's, but the team just behind us was running :47's. There were less than 30 laps to go. It was going to be agonizingly close. Andrew was in kart # 1, they were in kart # 9 and closing fast. With 15 laps to go Andrew was only three turns ahead of him. Working to our favor was a group of traffic between them that allowed Andrew to maintain his half second gap. Then #9's lap times fell off to :49 - :50's. We weren't sure if his concentration lapsed or if it was the kart. With seven laps to go it looked like we had 11th place locked. All Andrew had to do was keep driving :50's and not spin or get caught up in traffic. He crossed the line at the checkered flag two karts ahead of #9.

Andrew Going Back Out

Go Pro Movie of Andrew's Last Stint

Andrew Crossing the Finish Line

We had finished 11th place out of 23 teams, the first 7 of which were pro teams. As absurd as the concept of a 14 hour go kart race is, we ended up taking it seriously and battling hard to finish 11th. The intensity was greater than any mountain bike race, hang gliding comp, or adventure race I've ever done. Battles were fought in half seconds and won by 10th's. First and second were only 6 seconds apart and 33 laps ahead of us.

Santa Cruz Flats Race 2011

2011-10-07T22:22:00.003-06:00

The Santa Cruz Flats Race is a hang gliding competition that takes place every September in Casa Grande, Arizona. If you don't know how it works, most hang gliding comps are similar to a road bike stage race. Each day the pilots race along a predetermined route to a goal. The routes can be point-to-point, out and returns, or triangles. If you make goal you get scored on how fast you flew the route. If you land out then you get a lesser score based on distance. The person with the most points at the end of the week wins. As the course is flown the pilots group together in gaggles, just like a peloton in a bike race. People go on glide and get covered just like riders making breaks and getting reeled back in.

Santa Cruz Flats Race 2011

(you can see the dust storm I talk about later at the end)

The race is held at the Francisco Grande Hotel, which used to be a premier Major League Baseball spring training facility. Now it's a sports resort with a ten-story tower overlooking a palm tree laden golf course. The resort bends over backwards to accommodate the comp, even building a runway for us to aerotow from. Jeff and I scored a room on the 7th floor of the tower overlooking the golf course. The flying is why we come, but the people involved, from the tug pilots to the organizers, ground crew, and other pilots are what make competition hang gliding truly enjoyable. Throughout the week we had good fun lobbing water balloons off the balcony, flying the RC Mustang on the tower roof, and socializing.

View from our Balcony

The Runway

Flying the Mustang on the Roof

Jeff Behind the Safety of His Water Balloon Curtain

This year would be my second time at Santa Cruz Flats. I had high expectations based on my improvement at the Flytec Race and Rally in May. Success in racing hang gliders is based more on decision making than any other factor. Many a hot shit pilot has shown up to a comp only to be humiliated by bad decisions. During a typical flight you make hundreds of critical decisions, any of which could land you on the ground prematurely. Your decisions need to be in tune with the conditions, your skill level, and the competition. My thermalling and gliding have much room to improve, but decision making is my biggest focus.

At The Flytec Race and Rally the conditions were epic, allowing long tasks and intense racing. Most days my decision making was too conservative. I flew too high and slow, coming in late in the day and low in the rankings. Towards the end I adapted and made goal a few times. I also flew with the lead gaggle a few days and got a taste of real hang glider racing. In Arizona I showed up super motivated to race aggressively. This was completely inappropriate for the conditions. Blue skies (no clouds to mark thermals) and light lift prevailed throughout the week. The first three days I flew overly aggressive by leading out glides, leaving the gaggle, and not sticking with people. The worst was on the third day when I landed just past the first turn point next to a Walmart. My independently minded decisions are a carry-over from mountain bike racing where my skill and fitness could back up my aggressiveness. It will serve me in hang gliding one day, but for now I need to stick with the group. Landing out three days in a row offered me lots of solitude to think about my mistakes.

Day 1 Track Log

(click for a larger image)

Landing Out Day 1

Footprints Starting from Nowhere

By the middle of the comp the lessons of my failures had started to kick in. The great thing about hang gliding is that nothing is free, every climb and every kilometer has to be earned. I'm at the stage of the game where every success has to be earned. Every failure is a gift to file away and not repeat. The more I can master the art of loosing the more I will succeed. It's easier said than done, especially when fighting an ingrained independent streak. My victories in Arizona were small and incremental, but slowly I began to claw my score up from the bottom.

The biggest improvement I made was getting in the air early. The logistics of staging are a huge deal. Rigging the glider, rigging the harness, packing the glider bags, dealing with the inevitable radio issues, filling the Camelbac, programming the GPS, sun block, lunch, pooping, etc. Doing all of that in 100+ degree heat is demoralizing. In the past, by the time I got it all done I would always end up at the back of the launch line, which meant I was behind before I got off the ground. At SCF almost everyday I was one of the first flex wings off the ground. Immediately after the morning pilot meeting I would go to straight to my glider and wait. As soon as the rigid wings (who launched first) cued up I would hook in completely and get in the line. It usually meant 30-50 minutes of suffering in the heat, but it set me up to stay with the leaders.

Shade is Valuable Real estate

114 Degrees Fahrenheit

By Day 4 I had started to heed my lessons and make a concerted effort to stay with the main gaggle. All morning a huge area of convective clouds had been building south of our route. By midday, VIRGA was dumping out of the clouds causing a dust storm on the ground. The storm was moving slow, but would eventually converge with our route. The day had not been called yet, so I pressed on with everyone else ready to bail out if the storm got uncomfortably close. I think our collective hope was we might be able to beat the storm to goal, but that hope faded as the day progressed. As we neared the second turn point the task was cancelled. We all turned around and tried to get as close as possible to Casa Grande before landing. I picked a TA truck stop because it would have cold drinks, warm food, and a shelter in which to break down my glider when the dust storm hit. The restricted landing area was challenging, but was worth it when the dust storm hit.

Day 4 Track Log

Running From the Dust Storm

Landed at the TA

My Tracks

Breaking Down in Shelter from the Wind

The Dust Storm

The forecast for Day 5 looked very optimistic. The task was a triangle to the east. The route went northeast to Coolidge, then the turned south along the Newman Mountains to turnpoint 2, which was downwind of Ploken?? Pass. The final leg followed I-10 back to Casa Grande through an agricultural valley where lift would be sparse. The main gaggle was filled with talent. I flew conservative by staying high and following on glides. At the first turn point I got dropped in the climb. I missed a core and in three circles I was alone. I glided hard for the mountains where I found myself uncomfortably low. There were a few tenuous moments, but eventually I clawed myself off the deck and caught the gaggle. The problem was that by the time I got there everyone had tagged the turnpoint. I still had to dive downwind and make it back with enough altitude to clear the ridge.

Day 5 Task

On Top of the Gaggle

On Glide with Glenn and Matt

Enjoying a Gu

Over Coolidge Looking South at the Newman Mountains

Low with Charlie

Working Back Up North of Newman Peak

I caught an 800fpm climb with Davis above Newman Peak. As he left with the gaggle I dove for the turn point. It had a 10km radius. I started a 180-degree wingover at 10.3km that put me a mere 136 meters into the turn point. Traveling at 70mph over the ground I was proud to be so efficient. I made it back to Newman Peak with good altitude, but I was alone and the lift was super light. I scratched on the ridge for an agonizing 45 minutes before a good thermal came through. After topping out at 8900' feet I pressed out into the valley. I didn’t find a bump of lift until I finally caught a 150fpm climb past the last turn point. It would be last climb of the day. I landed 25km short of goal. It was super frustrating, but an improvement from the first three days. I'm confident I would have made goal if I could have stuck with the gaggle at the first turnpoint.

3D Track Log of Tagging the Turnpoint

(click for a larger image)

Landed 25km Short of Goal

(click for a larger image)

On Day 6 a triangle task northwest into the Sierra Estrella Mountains was called. The lift in the mountains was forecast to be strong and high, but we had to cross light-lift agricultural areas in both directions on the way. In the start circle the lift was light and capped at 5000'. The result was the worst death gaggle of the comp. Gaggle flying is a chaotic tornado of gliders all turning and climbing within wingspans of each other. When the lift is light and people reach the top all order erodes as their circles evolve into cloverleaf search patterns. The result is gliders going in all directions like golf balls in a racquetball court.

Looking Down on the Gaggle

After two hours of the death gaggle I'd had enough. I ignored my own advice and left the gaggle early. I had got rolled out by wake turbulence just as two Litespeed gliders left below me. I knew it was the wrong move, but I was so frustrated I didn't care. Of course, just as I left the lift turned on and everyone got up. I had to scratch with Ricker for a while, but we caught back up over the second turnpoint.

Relieved to be High Again

Estrella Airport - The Second Turnpoint

When we reached the Estrella Mountains the lift turned on with 800-900 fpm climbs. I shared a climb with Matt, Charley, and a sailplane. The main gaggle was 4-5000' above us. Out in the distance I saw two military aircraft converging fast. They were AV-8B Harriers doing about 400 knots. White contrails were trailing from each wingtip, which didn't make any sense at their altitude. After they blasted directly above us I realized it was jet fuel being dumped. The air reeked of Jet A afterwards.

The Estrella Mountains

Freeze Frame of the Harriers

Glider Between their Fuel Contrails

Matt, Charlie, and I topped out at 14,000'. They ran the ridge north while I glided straight to the turnpoint. In hindsight this was a mistake because their GPS's showed an optimized route that mine didn't. The result was that I burned away precious altitude and time tagging the turnpoint farther from the course line than I needed to. After the turnpoint I ran back to the ridge and caught my best climb of the meet. I went from 6900' all the way up to 15,200' in consistent 900 fpm lift. In Colorado it's easy to climb into the high teens above high terrain. Arizona is only 1000' above sea level. That meant I was almost 3 miles above the ground! I was already cold from the climb to 14,000' before the turnpoint, but back up at 15,200' it was becoming unbearable. All I had on was thin speed sleeves and box handling gloves. As I left on the long glide to the next turnpoint hypothermia was in the back of my mind. At about 12,000' a sailplane came up next to me. I looked at the warm pilot behind his canopy longingly as my shivering turned into full body convulsions. On the ground it was 105 degrees, but I might as well be on the North Pole at my altitude.

Charlie and the Sailplane

Stiking High at 15,000'

At 15,000' I Could See Downtown Phoenix to the North

Another Sailplane

I had a decision to make. I could fly the course line at best glide and hope to make goal or deviate into the mountains to the west to search for lift. Making goal in one glide didn't look optimistic so I opted for the latter. It was a long slow glide, flying slow and efficient. At 8000' I finally stopped shivering. After running the mountain range just south of Estrella without a bump I realized searching for lift was moot. I was so far off course that making goal was out of the question; it was all about making the last turn point. I tagged it with enough altitude to set up an approach into a tight gravel lot next to an abandoned gas station. I overshot the field, kicked my feet on a line of bushes, and landed in the next field. I glided a total of 49 km, 30 miles, in one glide.

Jo Met Me on the Ground

Sunset

Jo arrived in AZ that night and showed up on my retrieve. It was a wonderful treat to see her after such an intense flight. The last day was cancelled due to poor conditions. Jonny took Jo up for a Dragonfly ride that was the highlight of her trip. I took a free flight and enjoyed one last taste of Arizona air. It was bittersweet to finally land at the hotel, but not at the end of a task. I busted a few victory wingovers and strafed the hotel tower anyway. We enjoyed an evening in the pool, flying the RC, and socializing.

Flying Over the Hotel

Photo Courtesy of Ricker Goldsborough

Landing

Photo Courtesy of Ricker Goldborough

Stoked!

Photo Courtesy of Ricker Goldborough

My main challenge this comp was to motivate and stay in the fight in the face of day after day of mediocre results. Towards the end I was able to put together a few good flights, but my expectations were higher. That said, I feel good about my progress and will enter next season with more lessons learned in my toolbox. It may not be in the timeframe I want, but I am slowly earning my successes through my failures. It feels good!

Europe - London

2011-10-01T16:22:00.007-06:00

We concluded our honeymoon with a few days in London visiting family. After the flight from Munich we enjoyed a Tube ride through the heart of London to The George Hotel, just north of SoHo. The Piccadilly Line train ended at the suburb of Cockfosters, which when announced in a proper British accent, caused us to burst into laughter. We exited the tube at Russell Square and made the short walk to The George.

Flying Into London

Thames River, Big Ben, and London Eye

Buckingham Palace

Riding the Green Line Tube

To Cockfosters

Russell Square

The George Hotel was a classic London hotel, slotted in a quaint block of century old buildings overlooking Cartwright Gardens. As is convention for such venues, we shared our water closet (literally a shower and toilet in a closet) with everyone else on the floor. A particular burly gentleman would destroy our air quality daily with his morning constitutional. Soon we met up with Mom, Bill, and Andrew. After catching up we enjoyed dinner at the corner pub. I picked up some mini remote control cars at Munich Airport, which Andrew and I put to good use entertaining the after work crowd.

The George Hotel

Our Floor's Communal Bathroom

Meeting Up with Mom, Bill, and Andrew

Racing Mini RC's in Cartwright Gardens

Lord John Russell

And His Pub

In the morning Andrew, Jo, and I decided to take a tour of the city on a trifecta of City Bikes. Similar to Boulder's Bike Share, they are bikes you can rent by picking up and returning at various docking stations all over London. Riding on the streets of London required equal amounts of bravery and skill. It was safest to be aggressive and hold your line against the onslaught of taxi cabs and double decker busses. Our route took us past all the big attractions including The London Eye, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, and Hyde Park.

City Bikes

Navigating the Streets of London

Entering Westminster

The London Eye

Parliament Hall

Big Ben

Riding Across Westminster Bridge

The Mall

Buckingham Palace

The afternoon called for a celebration of Mom's 70th birthday with an afternoon tea at the National Gallery. Dear friends and family converged on the gallery for a reunion that spanned the globe. The farthest traveler was my Aunt Peggy who had come all the way from Western Australia. It was a high culture affair entirely fitting of the occasion. Afterwards Andrew and I had a race with the mini RC cars on the smooth concrete in front of the gallery. Due to the close proximity of street performers in nearby Trafalgar Square a crowd soon formed. Shouric wooed the onlookers into believing it was a proper street show, only thickening the crowd. Everyone that knew better laughed in hysteria as the little cars chased each other around our makeshift track.

The Tube

The National Gallery

Mom's Tea

Shouric and Abby

Melissa, Peggy, and Beatrix

Mom and Peggy

Birthday Cake

Kitty, Kerri, Tessa, and Claire

Steve and Melissa

Caitlin and Corwin

Michael and Chris

Beatrix

Andrew Sipping Tea

RC Cars Out Front

The Family

The next day we took the London-Midland train to my cousin Chris's northwest of London in Newport Pagnell. He lives in a converted school house with a large garden on the side. After a huge barbecue we took a walk through a mid-evil graveyard and along the local canal. It was good fun spent united with family that is normally oceans apart. We had to live in the moment as our reunion was much too short. At dusk we boarded the train back to London to prepare for the long travel that lay ahead.

The Train to Midland

Barbecuing at Chris's

The Garden

Stalking Goldfish in the Pond

Medieval Graveyard

The Family Together

In the morning we took the shuttle to Heathrow for the journey home. The trip over the pond in the Airbus 330 was so much nicer than the 767 going over. We had a 5 hour layover in Philadelphia. My cousin Eliza came and got us for a brief visit with the Hardy's. The tough streets of Philly were a unique welcome home.

Emirates A380 Model

Which replaced the concorde in front of Heathrow,

metaphoric on many levels

Our Ride Back Across the Pond

A Short Visit with the Hardy's

I love traveling because it allows me perspective and enlightenment I would not have otherwise. Europe and the UK have their fair share of problems, but being abroad opened my eyes to some depressing perspective of our country and culture. My most glaring and immediate impressions were our rampant obesity, completely dysfunctional politics, and righteous arrogance towards each other and the rest of the world. I am forever grateful to have won the lottery of the world by being born in developed country like America. Our greatness as a nation is defined by our people and it saddens me to see the direction we have taken. I think a healthy dose of humility, unity, compromise, and perspective would go a long way for all of us. In the months following our trip I've tried to carry those principals into my daily life so my disgust ought not be in vane.

Europe - Lake Garda

2011-09-14T16:27:00.009-06:00

Lake Garda is the largest lake in Italy. It's situated in the foothills of the Dolomites in a moraine valley that widens into flatlands in the south. As we crossed over the northern Gruppo Del Baldo (Baldo Mountains) we caught our first glimpse of it. The setting sun beamed through a heavy mist that swallowed up the lake into a horizon that would have reached infinity if not for colliding with abrupt rock walls that formed both sides of the steep valley. It was a meeting place of worlds – rugged rocky mountains, turquoise water, and distinct Mediterranean villas that populated Riva Del Garda. As we sat on the overlook I strained to visually drink in as much of the scene as the setting sun’s fading light would allow.

First Misty Glimpse of Lake Garda

Our hotel was on the southwest corner of the lake in the province of Brescia, which was still an hour’s drive away. The road there was literally carved through the rock wall. It was comprised of a hundred tunnels, overhangs, and ledges. The ancient towns along the way were geographically isolated until the road was built in the 1930’s. The isolation showed through a rich architecture that was relatively unpolluted by modernity.

The Road Carved into the Rock

Limone sul Garda

Residents there have a mutant protein in their blood that binds to cholesterol allowing people to live to very old ages.

We were staying at the Hotel Colomber, high above the lake in the hills of Garda National Park. Google Maps had picked the most direct route through Gardone Riviera, which turned out to be a narrow set of alleys so steep that the Ford Fiesta bogged down in first gear. The Hotel Colomber is a family owned inn and restaurant several hundred years old. It was refreshingly devoid of the tourists that populated Gardone Riviera below and Salo to the south. The other guests were a group of stately Italian pensioners who were engaged in laughter and bridge on the porch. A visiting family from Denmark who’s oldest son challenged me to a table tennis tournament and an elderly lady and her mother listening to opera on a portable CD player.

Hotel Colomber

The grassy hill behind the pool was home to Big Sur Sky Park. Big Sur is run by former Italian National Hang Gliding Team pilot and instructor Ignazio Bernardi. Iggy had an infectious energy that seemed to have no end. In the morning he showed up with a glider for me, loaded us in his rig (a tricked out Land Rover Defender), and enthusiastically drove us up to launch. At 2800’ above the LZ and another 1000’ above the lake the view from launch was impressive. It was an inverted day, with a muggy stratus layer loitering overhead, but I was still keen to take an extended sledder to the LZ.

Big Sur Sky Park

Iggy Showing Us the LZ

The Drive Up to Launch

Launch

A Giant Mushroom

My Borrowed Rig

Visiting New Zealand Team Pilots

Iggy Doing a Tandem

Taking in the View

The LZ

Landing by the Pool

Post Flight Lunch

After the flight Jo and I headed to the lake for a swim. The best option was a slim stretch of beach on the west side of a small peninsula. In town we scored one raft and one mask and snorkel. The clear turquoise water was just as bliss from underneath as it looked from above. Below our feet steep rocky walls covered in underwater forests descended into the abyss. Between gasps of air I explored the underwater forest harassing every fish I could find. Afterwards we finished the day with our friends at the Hotel Colomber with a traditional spaghetti dinner.

The Beach

One Raft and One Snorkel

A Poorly Inflated Raft

The Snorkel Worked Great

Chasing Fish

Dinner

In the morning we met up with Iggy again, but this time it would be Jo who was doing the flying. She was going to take her first hang gliding lesson. Jo has done a tandem, but never a flight on her own. Learning to hang glide is literally following in the footsteps of Otto Lilienthal and the Wright Brothers. You learn how to fly the kite on the ground by running down a small slope. After a few steps the glider is flying and carrying its weight so all you have to do is control the pitch and roll. By the end of the day most people are “moon walking”, flying a few steps at a time. Jo picked it up astonishingly fast, especially considering her lack of knowledge of the principles of flight. Iggy was a great instructor, yelling passionately “Run woman, run!” By the end of an hour Jo was running off the first incline of the hill, flying with her feet just above the grass.

Jo's First Hang Gliding Lesson

Iggy Flying with His Feet

Success

After a lunch of fresh mozzarella and incredible views Jo and I bid Iggy a fond farewell and headed down to the water. The beach at San Felice del Benaco rented paddle boards. Lake Garda’s largest island, Isola del Garda, lay just across the other side of a busy strait. Paddle boarding is the recumbent bicycling of board sports, but even so it is super fun. Camera in my pocket and snorkel around my neck Jo and I set off. It was slow going at first, but we soon found our rhythm. Cross in the strait was super hectic. There were boats of all types and all speeds coming and going from every direction. Their churning wakes made a cauldron of waves that would be hard to paddle a white water raft through, much less a paddle board. Jo exercised good judgment and turned back to shore while I paddled on, determined to make it to the island. Crossing the strait was sketchy, but the reward was worth it. On the west side of the island was a sheltered clear-water reef that was teaming with swans on the surface and fish below.

Lunch

San Felice del Benaco

Paddle Boarding to Isola del Garda

Taking a Break

Made It

The Reef

Snorkeling the Island

After an hour of snorkeling it was time to paddle back to shore. Our time in Italy was near its close, I paused to take in the scene. Turquoise water was lapping at my feet. The low sunlight was casting long shadows off the rocky walls. A vacation is supposed to be a break from the daily grind. Ours was more of a desperate escape from it. The idyllic scene was a stark contrast to the months of monotonous work that preceded it and the inevitable months that lay ahead. I breathed a deep sigh, committed myself to the moment and paddled on. I met Jo at the beach and we loaded up for the long drive back to Austria. On the way we had dinner at Bogliaco, a harbor town in the middle of the lake where the shoreline gets really steep.

Bogliaco

It was a five hour drive to Northern Austria. The drive through Bolozano, across the border, into the Alps was transformation from the rocky faces of the Dolomites to the manicured green Austrian Alps. The sun had long set by the time we hit Innsbruck, but the faint outlines its dramatic mountains penetrated the dark. Our hotel for the short night was about ten kilometers off the A12 in the mountain village of Westendorf. It looked like a mountain biking mecca. Unfortunately, we only had enough time to experience it through the posters that were plastered on every wall.

The Drive to Austria

Our Inn at Westendorf

Where We Could Have Done This

Or This

Europe - The Dolomites

2011-09-13T20:32:00.005-06:00

After an exhausting day in Venice it was time to venture from the flatlands of Venice into the mighty peaks of the Dolomites. Named after the carbonate mineral they are composed of, The Dolomites were somehow even more impressive than the Alps. Steep towers of rock rose from lush green bases like natural castles with dramatic veils of clouds shrouding the tallest peaks. At their feet were meandering valleys dotted with quaint historic towns, each possessing their own unique charm. Our circuitous route headed north out of Venice to the town of Ponte Delle Alpi, then east through the National Park of Belluno Dolomites, over the San Pellegrino Pass and back down to Trento in the Adige Valley.

Our Route

Torrente Cordevole

The National Park of Belluno Dolomites

Agordo

Once we were deep in the Dolomites we hung a left at the town of Canale d. Agordo and followed the road up a narrow box valley. The road ended at a small alpine village named Gares. There were several signs depicting a waterfall, but the language barrier made finding the trailhead difficult. We hatched a plan to park in town, perched high on the eastern slope of the valley, and traverse the ridge laterally to the falls. There was no way to tell how long the hike would be, it could be one kilometer or ten. We were under-prepared for a long hike, but once we got started we were determined to finish. In the end it was only a few kilometers each way, but a total lack of food and water made it a slight epic. The thick forest made it impossible to navigate by sight so we followed our ears until we emerged to see the stream cascading from a notch in a slightly overhang wall. It was on par with the best of Austria.

Canale d. Agordo

The Narrow Valley to the South

The Alpine Village of Gares

The Waterfall Trail

The Reward at Its End

Can You Find Me?

Severely bonked from our short epic we desperately searched for lunch. Unfortunately, due to the afternoon siesta we couldn’t find food until the town of Falcade. Once nourished, we pressed on cresting the San Pellegrino Pass and descending down to Adige Valley. On the way I thoroughly enjoyed the driving bliss that only a mountain road in Italy can offer. Right up until I enjoyed it too much by “removing” the passenger side mirror during a perfectly apexed turn. A road marker was leaning into the road and smashed the mirror into pieces. It looked like someone hit it with the backside of a snow shovel. Jo was not pleased. I continued driving for a few minutes to gather my thoughts and figure out a plan. The internals of the mirror were hanging in a mangled web of plastic, wires, and twitching electrics. The painted cover was long gone. It was probably destroyed, but was worth a shot at turning around and looking for. As we pulled over we caught a glimpse of one of the prettiest sites of the trip. It was the town of Moena framed by the heroic peaks of the Latemar Dolomites. After a few shots we drove back up the pass, found the mirror cover intact, and I managed to miraculously piece it all back together like new!

Falcade

San Pellegrino Pass

Perfectly Apexed Mirror Removal

Fixed Like New

Moena and the Latemar Dolomites

The rest of the drive down the Adige Valley was drama free. We joined the A24 and headed south past the Castle Beseno to the town of Mori. Then we crossed over the northern Gruppo Del Baldo (Baldo Mountains) past the Castle di Arco into a scene that was beyond my meager vocabulary’s ability to give justice to. It was ancient glaceral sculpture that is Lake Garda. For more words on that you'll have to wait for the next post.

The Adige Valley

Castle Beseno

Castle di Arco

Europe - Venice

2011-09-06T16:11:00.013-06:00

We caught the 9:00 am train to Venice so we could meet up with Jamie and Tim, who were also on their honeymoon. As we walked out of the train station we were immersed into the three dimensional postcard that is Venezia. The most romantic city in Europe was at our feet, it was time to explore. Beyond Venice’s contagious romance, the concept of an ancient city where water serves the role of pavement was fascinating. I really wanted to experience and photograph what life in Venice is like beyond the tourist attractions, the small alleys and canals that were off the beaten path. For us, those would prove to be the most interesting and romantic.

We met up with Jamie and Tim at the far side of the Ponte D. Scalzi - The Barefoot Bridge and took in the city. We split a gondola ride through a quiet part of the city, wandered the offbeat canals of the Jewish Ghetto, battled the hordes at Piazza S. Marco - St. Mark’s Square, mingled with the posh trend-setters in the shopping district, and enjoyed a romantic Italian dinner against the setting sun on the Grand Canal. I’ll let the pictures tell the full the story.

Train from Quarto D' Altino to Venice

Immersed into the Post Card that is Venezia

Church of the Scalzi

Grand Canal from the Ponte D. Scalzi - Barefoot Bridge

(One of Four Bridges Spanning the Grand Canal)

Meeting Up with Jamie and Tim

Into the Canals and Alleys

The Boats

Water Taxi

Polizia Boat

Ambulance Boat

Work Boat

Sports Car Boat

General Lee Boat!

Even Italia has Rednecks!

And Of Course the Gondola

The Front is Meant to Resemble the Doge's (leader of Venice) Hat.

The 5 Forward and 1 Rearward Notches Represent the 6 Sestieri (Areas) of Venice.

Gondola Traffic Jam

Don't Text and Row

Our Gondola

Jersey Shore

French People

The Ponte DI Rialto

A market bridge that crosses the grand canal into the rialto market, the commerce center of Venice.

Rialto Market

Piazza San Marco - St. Mark's Square

Church of St. Mark

St. Mark's Campanile - Bell Tower

Torre D Orologio - St. Mark's Clock Tower

Island of San Giorgio Maggiore

Working Our Way Back Through the City

Dinner

Crossing the Grand Canal One Last Time

On the Ponte Dell Accademia - Accademia Bridge

Venezia

Europe - A Day at the Beach in Jesolo, Italy

2011-08-31T10:51:00.004-06:00

Our first day in Italy would be spent in the beach town of Jesolo. Many times over the years while suffering through a 24 Hour Race or huddling over a survival fire we always joked that we never go sit on a beach on vacation. Jesolo was our opportunity to do that. It was conveniently located near Venice on the Adriatic Sea, but far enough away to not be touristy. It was also an opportunity to spend a few days in a nice hotel, a treat that I promised my wife.

Following the Canal to Jesolo

The Adriatic Sea

Italian Beach Mobiles

I found Jesolo and our hotel, The Queen Anne on Google. It occurred to me that it might be a little odd that The Queen Anne’s website mostly had pictures of the swimming pool, but I booked it anyway – for three nights. When we arrived we discovered why. It was just a bit run down. Within the first 5 minutes in the room I managed to break the sliding garage door type shade, blocking out the view and sunlight. Then the bathroom lights didn’t work. Then the bed was less comfortable than a yoga matt on concrete. Under any other circumstances none of this would have mattered at all, but it was supposed to be our nice-hotel-honeymoon experience. In fact none of those things were deal breakers as the imperfections added a certain collective charm that overcame their individual shortcomings. The deal breaker was the all night partying by every single person in the hotel. I slept a total of 15 minutes in the door slamming, drunken shouting, disco tech-pumping wall of sound that engulfed us. I would take my revenge during the next day’s siesta, but we would need a new hotel for the remaining two nights. Doug came to the rescue, helping us secure a night at the Crown Plaza on the rail line to Venice, oddly for much cheaper than The Queen Anne. In the morning we decided to spend the day enjoying the beach, the pool, and Jesolo before departing for our new accommodations.

The Queen Anne Hotel

Broken Garage Door Window Shade

Yoga Matt-on-Concrete Bed

Tiny Shower

The Pool Made Up for it All

And the Restaurant was Nice Too

Swimming in the Adriatic Sea was a new body of water to check off my list. It was a unique shade of dull turquoise that easily disguised the basketball-sized jellyfish drifting gracefully below. The Italian beach was lined with neatly organized chairs and umbrellas in front of each hotel. The local vacationers were playing Bocce Ball, sipping espresso from the many stands, and fending off Moroccans selling cheap knock-off purses - which other than us were the only non-Italians in sight. The relaxation in the air was contagious, but after a half day of sunning, swimming, searching for wild life, and harassing Jo I was bored out of my mind. It soon became apparent why we never sit on a beach.

The Beach

Basketball-Sized Jellyfish

We decided maybe the pool would be more interesting. It was probably the nicest pool I have ever encountered. Nothing too fancy, just incredibly clear water that met an infinite-horizon edge. The pool was blistering with activity; kids, parents, and teenagers all recreating. After roughhousing with Jo I kept busy trying to swim the length of the pool and back under water. When I emerged after a particularly long stint an eerie silence had overcome the scene. Like clockwork all activity had just stopped. Everyone was suddenly asleep so fast that the soccer ball hadn’t stopped rolling yet. It was siesta time! Amazingly the entire world stopped for a few hours while everyone had a nice nap.

The Pool

We had misgivings about leaving The Queen Anne early, but we were trying to fit a summer’s worth of vacationing into two weeks and sleep was valuable necessity. When everyone emerged from their siesta they would be recharged and ready to go all night. It was time to head inland to the Crown Plaza. The Plaza lacked the charm of the Queen Anne and its close proximity to Venice resulted in a disturbing number of American guests, but it satisfied the nice hotel goal. I stay in a ridiculous number of hotels, but I have to admit the room was a treat. There was even a face-washing sink next to the toilet. You have to applaud the Europeans for their efficiency.

Our Room at the Crown Plaza

Face Washing Sink Next to the Toilet - So Efficient

Dinner

We slept like rocks in the comfortable bed. We would need it because in the morning we would be off to Venice.

Europe - Lienz into Italy

2011-08-29T20:32:00.001-06:00

It was five days into our trip and time to head south into Italy. On the way we stopped by the skiing town of Lienz, Austria. Lienz was a surprisingly large city to find in an isolated valley in Southern Austria. On the other side of the modern downtown, winding its way up the ski hill above an ancient castle was the Osttirodler. Colorado has alpine slides and even a few alpine roller coasters, but none were like the Osttirodler. It spanned the length of the mountain and hit speeds that American’s litigiousness would never allow. It's just like an alpine slide, except that you ride the sled down a roller coaster track. You control the speed by applying a brake, which I vowed not to touch. The elevated track follows the slope of the mountain down through the trees. It reminded me of the Forest Moon of Endor in the Return of the Jedi.

Headed to Lienz

The Osttriodler

On the Ski Lift

Petting Zoo at the Top

Riding the Osttirodler

I Vowed Not to Touch the Brake

(click to play)

As we headed east out of Lienz we were looking for a place to have lunch and I spotted a sign that said Wasserfall. I followed the signs to an isolated dirt lot that was surrounded by some more disturbing signs. They warned of a Federal Defense Force shooting range that was not fenced nor had clearly marked boundaries. This definitely wouldn’t fly with the lawsuit obsessed. We crossed the gate, skirting the shooting range, up to the most beautiful waterfall of the trip. Its crystalline water took a two-tear plunge down a dark marbled cliff into a blue pool that begged to be jumped in. The water was, impossibly, even clearer than what we encountered on our Via Ferrata the day before.

Ominous Warnings

The Frauenbach Wasserfall

Clear Water

This was 2 Feet of Deep

Lunch

Treehugger

Our route to Italy would take us over two mountain passes. The first was Gailberghone into the town of Kotschach. It was only one valley to the south, but the Italian influence was very apparent. We stopped in the square and happened to see the door of the local church was open. Jo called me inside to an intricately decorated temple that could rival any of the great cathedrals, except that ours were the only souls in the sanctuary.

On the Way to Gailberghone Pass

The Kotschach Cathedral

The next pass was named Ploken and the Italian border lay at its peak. Rain was moving in which would make the treat that lay ahead even more enjoyable. That treat was one of the best driving roads I have encountered in my life. On Top Gear UK the boys decided the best driving road in Europe was in Switzerland, but I beg to differ. Route 110 over Ploken Pass had it all; super tight turns, high-speed sweepers, tunnels, snow sheds, massive cliff exposure, and best of all Italy’s crazy drivers. I fit in like a peg. I was even more at home than on the autobahn. Aggressive was the only way to drive, but it worked because everybody did it.

Alp Frischenkofel West of Ploken Pass

Route 110 Up the Pass

Driving Bliss

(click to play)

Italia!

Mt Kl. Pal

Can You See the Climbers?

After the blissful (for me) and terrifying (for Jo) descent down the Val Grande between Mt. Terzo and Mt. Paularo in the Eastern Dolomites we followed the But River Tributary into the plains north of the Adriatic Sea. The drive was only a few hours, but the cultural shift from manicured alpine Austria to Mediterranean Northern Italy was as vast as the Great Valley that brought us there. Thick stonewalled farmhouses dotted a landscape made up of wine vineyards and wheat fields. Driving on the Autostrada was just as enjoyable as the Autobahn, but instead of polite uniformity there was aggressive chaos. We got caught in an afternoon monsoon and the aggressiveness turned into immediate caution as everyone collectively slowed down and turned their hazards on. In America it would have been a shit show, but we collectively negotiated the torrential rain and moved on. On the secondary roads, with no shoulders, cars can pass by splitting traffic and straddling the centerline, forcing the other cars to the outside of the lane. I don’t care what the Austrian’s say, driving in Italy was brilliant.

Our Route into Northern Italy

Europe - Greifenburg, Austria

2011-08-26T09:55:00.009-06:00

The storm we had been trying to out run since Werfen was no match for the mighty Austrian Alps. When we emerged from the last of the tunnels through the Western Tauren Range the storm was nothing but distant cloud fingers clawing in vain at gaps between the peaks. Greifenburg is a quaint village located in the Upper Drau Valley between the A10 and the ski town of Lienz. Its colorful buildings (maybe a dozen at most) surround the intersection of two roads leading off into a maze of even smaller settlements.

The Upper Drau Valley

Greifenburg

Waisach, home of our bed and breakfast, was one of those settlements on the other side of the Drau River. The 500-year-old building has been continually improved and upgraded into its present form, a picture perfect Austrian villa. It was by far our favorite lodging of the trip. Our host was named Bettina and her hospitality was icing on the cake. Down the drive was a small chapel complete with an Onion Dome clock tower and church bells. Bettina’s free-roaming pet rabbits completed the idyllic setting. At night they would mischievously nibble graveyard flowers, causing a great deal of trouble. What a place to live!

Waisach #7 Our Bed and Breakfast

Waisach Chapel

One of Bettina's Rabbits

Greifenburg is a hang glider's dream. Down the road from the church was a long, grassy LZ. I spotted a glider being broken down and sped down to meet the pilot. He told me about Fliegercamp or Flying Camp. It was an upscale European campground complete with a full restaurant, fun park, swimming pool, lake, grass LZ, and hourly shuttle to launch. It was just across the river from Bettina’s place. I had brought my beater harness and helmet, but there were no hang gliders for hire at camp. The pilot I met was with a group of Dutch students and instructors, one of which offered to lend me his Sport 2. It was an all to common testament to how hospitable the hang gliding community is.

Fliegercamp

E30 Touring w/ Hang Glider Rack

Renault 4 GTL Camper Car

This thing was awesome!

The next morning the remnants of the storm had made it to Upper Drau Valley and shaded the sky with a thick stratus layer. We drove up to launch behind the Dutch pilots and rigged. The manicured launch was 4,000 feet above the valley floor. It was one of the nicest I've seen with a log cabin featuring indoor bathrooms and even a snack bar! The morning's stillness lingered in the air offering only sled rides to the students that launched. I could have waited a few hours for the clouds to burn off, but this was our honeymoon, not a hang gliding trip. A sledder would have to suffice. In the Sport 2 I would have enough reach to explore the valley, but not be able to venture too far away from the LZ.

Greifenburg Launch

My Borrowed Sport 2

Flying in Austria was a treat. The air was smooth, but rich with the smells of morning. I enjoyed a three dimensional tour of the Drau Valley below steep rocky peaks, green valley walls, and the glacieral turquoise waters of the Isel River. If I looked carefully I could almost see Julie Andrews singing the Sound of Music in the grassy alpine meadows below.

My Flight

Greifenburg

The Upper Drau Valley to the West

To the East

Bettina's Place

Fliegercamp

Movie of my Flight

I landed at Fliegercamp in front of a considerable crowd. I promised Jo I wouldn’t hotdog the borrowed glider, which I kept with the exception of a diving turn to final. In short order she showed up and we were of to our next adventure. The choice was between rafting, cayoneering, or Via Ferrata. A super nice lady at Fliegercamp’s activity center, who offered to lend us her Via Ferrata gear, made the choice simple.

Via Ferrata is a method of negotiating rocky terrain through a network of fixed spikes, ladder rungs, and cable bridges. It was first used in WWI to move troops through the Dolomites. While not as technically challenging as rock climbing it still takes a fair bit of athletic ability and tolerance of heights. It was like negotiating a huge natural jungle gym. The ease of the climbing features was negated by slippery wet rock and metal. At times it was like climbing a slip and slide. A few of the cable bridges spanned violent waterfalls who's boiling waters had carved subterranean tunnels through the rock. If you fell into the caldron your body would wash up down stream naked and bloated. Even hooked-in the stakes of a fall are higher than rock climbing, with the potential for a long fall through anus-tearing spikes before the arresting gear took hold. As a result, other than in a few spots, Via Ferrata hasn't really taken a foothold in overly litigious America.

On the Way to Unterpirkach

Our Via Ferrata Route

The Bottom of the Canyon

The First Bridge

The Route to Get There

The Second Bridge

Jo After the Third Bridge

The Fourth Bridge was the Scary One

Clear Blue Water

The Final and Tallest Waterfall

Success

I Swear I Saw this Dam in a Bond Movie

The View from the Top

After the hike down we headed back to the lakeside town of Weissensee for dinner. Back in Greifenberg the town was celebrating Friday with traditional Austrian music and fireworks. Bettina said it happened every Friday night all summer long. We hiked down to the cornfield and listen to the show. The reverberations of the fireworks against the steep valley walls produced a surround sound effect that my iPhone movie just can't do justice. It didn’t take long for us to collapse in exhaustion from a day well recreated.

Reverberating Fireworks

The next day we bid Bettina a warm farewell and headed west for Lienz and beyond.