My New Used Truck

I didn’t want to buy it but I’m so glad I did.

I broke my truck last week. Twice. The second time, I broke it so well that it would have cost more to repair it than what it was worth.

That truck was a 2003 Ford F-350 SuperDuty Diesel with a super cab, long bed, 4WD, and a towing package. I bought it back in January 2013 to replace my Ford F-150. I needed a truck that would pull my RV and although my wasband had assured me that I’d be able to keep his Chevy 2500 Silverado pickup in the divorce, he decided to put some pressure on me by yanking it out of my possession. I responded by trading in my truck for another one that would do the job.

I was done letting him hold me back from what I wanted/needed to do.

I never liked the 2003 Ford, but I had to admit that it did the towing job a hell of a lot better than that Chevy. Got better gas mileage, too. But it was ugly green and the paint finish was wearing off on the hood and roof. The interior was drab and worn. Still, I only needed it as a hauling vehicle, so I really didn’t drive it that often. Owning it wasn’t an ordeal.

And I sure did haul things with it. Not only did I move the mobile mansion between Washington and California several times, but I also used it to haul a flatbed trailer full of stuff from Arizona to Washington in September 2013 when I finally closed down my hangar in Wickenburg. And how about the load of Pergo — two full pallets of the stuff — that I hauled the 15 miles between Lowes and my home in Malaga? One load made a round trip when I realized I didn’t like the color after all and had to return it.

Last summer, someone offered to buy it from me. I told him I couldn’t sell it until I sold the RV I needed it to pull. In hindsight, I should have sold it.

Last Tuesday morning, I hooked up the old Ford to the mobile mansion and headed south for a snowbirding trip to Arizona, which I’d follow up with my annual migration to California for frost season.

Old Ford
Before hitting the road, I stopped at Les Schwab to have my trailer tire pressures checked and adjusted. Yes, that is a ton of snow on the roof; it was still falling off several days later in Arizona.

I noticed on the way into Quincy — that’s about 40 miles from my home — that it wasn’t taking the hills very well. By Mattawa, I thought it was something I should probably get looked at. I worked my phone and tracked down a Ford dealer in Pasco who would look at it that day. I almost didn’t make it. The damn truck just wasn’t interested in climbing hills with its 12,000+ pound payload.

I limped to the Ford dealer by noon, unhooked the RV at the curb, and drove the truck into the service area. I’d driven a total of about 130 miles.

While they looked at the truck, I looked at replacement trucks. They had a 2008 Ford F-250 super cab with a 6.4 liter engine and 4WD. I wanted a replacement that was 2010 or newer, but this one was red and I’m partial to red. I talked to a sales guy. They worked up numbers with me. The final number was just a little more than I was willing to spend. Some friends I was texting with supported my decision to just get the old Ford fixed.

I got a diagnosis and an estimate. It was a lot of money. But they assured me this would fix the problem. Best of all, I’d be back on the road by noon the next day.

I okayed the work and took a dealer shuttle ride to a hotel on the Columbia River.

I called for the dealer shuttle first thing in the morning. While I waited for them to finish up, I started prepping the RV for my snowbirding stint. It had been on a sale lot since October so it was pretty much empty. I’d “packed” it by moving in big plastic bins full of the stuff that had been in it before I put it up for sale. That morning, I worked on the bedroom, making the bed and putting away the clothes I’d brought.

True to their word, the truck was ready by about noon. I paid the bill, drove it to a nearby gas station, and topped off the tank. Then I went back to where the RV was parked and hooked it up. By 1 PM, I was back on the road.

My goal was to get to Salt Lake City to spend New Year’s Eve with a friend. If I made Boise by nightfall, I’d be able to get to Salt Lake just after noon on Thursday. Things were looking good.

Until I started losing power climbing hills. Deja vu.

I’d just gone past La Grande, Oregon, when the truck’s power cut to a low-gear crawl. I got into the shoulder, which was just wide enough for my rig. And then the truck’s engine just plain died.

I’d gone about another 130 miles.

I got on the phone. First, I called the service guy at the Ford dealer in Pasco to give him a piece of my mind. Then AAA. Then the La Grande Ford dealer. There were a lot of calls going back and forth. It was after 3 PM and would be dark in less than 2 hours. I needed the truck and the RV moved off the highway shoulder, preferably back to the same place.

Fortunately, I’d added AAA RV coverage to my policy the week before. I know for a fact that it saved me $350 because that’s one of the quotes I got during my phone marathon. In the end, the La Grande Chevy dealer came out with a tow truck and a truck with the necessary gooseneck hitch ball to move my RV. (Yes, it’s fifth wheel, but it has a gooseneck hitch.) While semis roared past us on the freeway, they managed to get the RV unhitched and rehitched to the other truck. That wasn’t made any easier by the RV’s landing gear deciding to break down. More phone calls to find an RV dealer who could look at that and possibly fix it.

In the end, we got the RV dropped off at an RV fix-it guy and the truck dropped off at the Ford dealer. By then, it was well after 5 PM. I got dropped off at a motel walking distance from the Ford dealer and had to force a tip on the tow truck driver, who I suspect felt really sorry for me.

The motel was called the Sandman. Really.

In the morning, I checked out and walked the 8/10 mile from the motel to the Ford dealer. Although it was 17°F (according to the sign on a bank I passed), it really didn’t feel that cold. Just kind of brisk. I think it’s all about wearing the right clothes — and not having any wind.

They told me they had “the best diesel mechanic in Oregon.” Okay. I told them what had been done the day before and even provided them with a copy of the work order.

While they looked at the truck, I looked at new trucks. The sales guy they hooked me up with, Michael, was a nice guy around my age who knew how to listen to what a person wanted. Of course, they didn’t have any matches. But they did have a nice 2012 Ford F-350 SuperDuty Diesel with Crew Cab, long bed, 4WD, and 6.7 liter engine.

That was a lot more truck than I needed. I planned to replace the mobile mansion (eventually) with a truck camper and had been advised that a 3/4 ton pickup would be enough. I figured a 2010 F-250 or equivalent with a super cab and long bed would be enough.

But this truck was nice. It had the Lariat package — that’s Ford’s deluxe truck package. That meant perks like heated and air conditioned fully electric leather seats, bluetooth voice activated stereo system, back up camera, tail gate step, full running boards, electric back sliding window, sun roof, etc. All kinds of bells and whistles I’d never had in a car or truck. It had a factory spray-in bed liner, was rigged for a gooseneck hitch, and had a towing package that included integrated trailer brake controls. In other words, this thing was not only a nice truck, but it was already completely set up for me to tow my rig.

It was expensive. I won’t deny it. It was a lot more than that red truck and a ton more than I wanted to spend. And it wasn’t red. It was a classy two-tone silver that I had to admit looked pretty sharp.

I sat on the fence for a while. I tried to contact several friends who were knowledgeable about trucks to get their input, but none of them were around.

I thought about what my wasband would have advised: Don’t buy it. Do more research. You don’t need it. Cancel the trip. Go home.

So I bought it.

New Truck
My new truck at the fuel pumps, getting its first tank of diesel for me, courtesy of the dealer. Did I mention that my new truck is big? That’s a full-sized van sitting behind it.

We did a bunch of paperwork. Michael took me to the gas station and topped off the fuel tank, as well as the reservoir for some sort of additive I’ll need to put in every 10,000 or so miles. (Yeah, I need to read the book.) I bought him lunch. We got back to the dealer and pulled up to the bay where my dead truck — which they’d never even gotten started — sat with all kind of diagnostic equipment attached it it. (The diagnosis was bad. The Pasco dealer had misdiagnosed the problem and fixed one of the symptoms but not the cause. In all honesty, I was lucky the La Grande dealer was willing to take it on trade.) While I moved everything out of the truck’s interior, the work crew moved my 100LL fuel tank off the back of the old Ford and onto the back of the new(er) one. We strapped it into place — I’ll likely have it permanently removed when I get home with it this spring. Then I said goodbye to the old truck and left it behind forever.

Good riddance.

Michael came with me to the RV repair place, where the owner had just finished fixing the RV’s landing gear. I think he just wanted to drive around in my truck. I paid the bill there and hooked up the RV. I dropped off Michael on my way to the freeway.

It was about 1 PM when I got on the road.

By this time, it was already New Year’s Eve and far too late to meet up with my friends in Salt Lake City. I adjusted my travel plans accordingly. Boise was still my destination for an overnight stay. I hit the freeway running — and immediately experienced an amazing difference in the way my new rig ran.

Uphill, downhill, flat ground — that new used truck pulled the 12000+ pound load as if it were nothing.

New Ford
My new rig in a parking lot in Ely, NV on the fourth day of my extended journey. Looks pretty sharp, no?

We made excellent time to Boise, mostly because I was actually able to drive at the speed limit, even uphill. We spent the night in a less than satisfactory Super 8 near the airport, then hit the road at 5 AM local time. We were in Vegas by 3 PM. The next day, we were in Ehrenberg in time for lunch with my friends.

Since landing at our first campsite on the Colorado River backwaters, I’ve had a chance to drive it on the freeway and back roads without the fifth wheel attached. This truck is fast. And comfortable. And a real pleasure to drive.

A few of my friends, on hearing that I got a new truck, told me that I deserved it. I doubted them at first, but now I have to agree: I do.

And it was worth waiting for.

Cheap Power in a Great Place to Live

Summed up in a video.

Last month, my electric bill was $27.73. The month before, it was $37.24. And my August bill, which covered the brutally hot July we had, was only $40.07.

And yes, I do run my air conditioner. That can be pretty frequently, since I’m home most days in the summer. I also have all electric appliances: stove, dryer, water heater, etc.

The power in Chelan County is supposedly the second cheapest in the country. (The cheapest is supposedly across the river in Douglas County.) Our current electricity rate is 2.7¢ per kilowatt hour. Compare this to the last place I lived, in Arizona’s Maricopa County, which was 13.27¢ per kilowatt hour. The national average is 9.84¢ per kilowatt hour.

Rock Island Dam
The Rock Island dam is just downriver from where I live.

Washington’s power is cheap because it’s renewable energy from numerous hydroelectric and wind turbine sources. The Chelan PUD is especially proud of its hydroelectric plants and the work it’s done along the Columbia River to enhance the lives of residents. I’m referring mostly to the numerous parks and publicly accessible boat ramps, many of which are free.

Back in 2014, I did some flying work for one of my video clients. Here’s the resulting video. (All of the aerial footage was shot from my helicopter.) But what I really like about the video is what is says about life in this area of the country. This is really a great place to live.


Our Public Power: The Next Generation from Voortex Productions on Vimeo.

Motorcycling with “Biker Bob”

A weekend motorcycle trip with a good friend.

We’d been talking about doing it since spring 2014: riding our motorcycles on the Cascades Loop. That’s a scenic drive on Routes 20 and 2 in Northern Washington State that goes through the Cascade Mountains. Here’s a great description from the Cascade Loop website:

Beginning just 28 miles north of Seattle, circle through the Cascade mountains, along the semi-arid Columbia River Valley, past glacier-fed Lake Chelan, through the wildlife-filled Methow Valley and North Cascades National Park, and into the Puget Sound. We are a path into nature, a road through friendly towns, and a rest stop at the end of your day with comfortable lodging and delicious Northwest cuisine. The Cascade Loop is the best road trip vacation in Washington State!

Cascade Loop
Here’s what the Cascade Loop looks like on a Google Maps image. Wenatchee is in the southeast corner.

Of course, you don’t have to start in Seattle. You can start anywhere on the loop. And since the loop goes right through Wenatchee, it makes sense for people who live in that area to start there.

The Back Story

Who’s “we”? My friend Bob and I. I met Bob back in the summer of 2013, during Century Aviation’s annual hangar party at the airport. It was a memorable party, mostly because (1) I was on crutches and (2) the cliffs up behind my future home were on fire and we could clearly watch pine trees exploding into flames from the airport only 4 miles away. Bob works for the local PUD as a quality control inspector at building sites. He’s been riding motorcycles his whole life. He prefers cruisers, like a typical Harley Davison, but these days he’s riding a sweet Moto Guzzi. He keeps his bikes — he always has a few of them — in pristine condition.

We talked about doing the ride, but never did it. That’s because it never got on my calendar. The summer ended and fall came briefly before it got very cold. Highway 20 closed for the season.

In the meantime, we traveled together to visit Bob’s friends Liz and Brad for Thanksgiving weekend. They live in Friday Harbor, which is on San Juan Island out in the Sound near Seattle. It was a long drive on Route 2 to the ferry. Bob drove his truck, which is only two-wheel-drive but had brand new tires. That was a good thing because my snow driving skills suck after years of living in Arizona and it snowed in Stephens pass on the way home that Saturday. So when we started talking about the Cascades Loop again in spring 2015, Liz and Brad’s house became a potential destination.

I told Bob that if it wasn’t on my calendar, it wasn’t going to happen. So in May 2015, we put it on my calendar for the last weekend in August. From that point forward, I scheduled everything around it to ensure it would happen. We made plans with Liz and Brad so they’d expect us for the weekend. I even made ferry reservations.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature wasn’t going to let us do the trip as planned. She threw some lightning down near Twisp and Newhalem in mid August. That started a number of wildfires that soon got out of control. WADOT (Washington State Department of Transportation) closed down Route 20. We waited patiently for them to reopen it, but it didn’t look as if it would happen.

Keep in mind that the main goal of the trip was to ride the Cascade Loop — including Highway 20. I’d done part of it earlier in August with Kirk on a camping trip, but I really wanted to do it on my motorcycle with Bob. I’d already ridden the other half of the loop — Route 2 — multiple times. I was prepared to postpone the trip for another time. But Bob didn’t seem interested in postponing it. And since I looked forward to a motorcycle trip — my Yamaha had been gathering dust in the garage for almost a full year (!) — we did the trip.

The Ride Out

I brought my motorcycle to Bob’s place a week before the trip. He said he wanted to look it over for me and I had no problem with that. I think Bob really likes to tinker with motorcycles.

I’d been having a problem with a wobble in the front wheel since I had new tires put on in the spring of 2012. I’d bought good tires — Metzelers — but Bob seemed to think one of them was defective. He ordered a new tire for me. Unfortunately, it didn’t arrive in time to get it mounted, so I stuck with the tire I had. The wobble wasn’t really that bad anyway. (More on this in the Postscript below.)

Penny on a Motorcycle
Here’s Penny on the back of my motorcycle. This shot was taken right before we left on the ride home, but it shows the setup with my hard luggage and Penny’s crate atop the back seat.

On Friday morning, I arrived bright and early in my truck with Penny and my luggage. I’d packed a few changes of clothes and toiletries and a my journal in my big zipper tote bag, which would fit comfortably in one of my bike’s two Givi hard bags. I’d put the Givis on back in 1993, when the bike was new; it’s remarkable how much the bags have changed since then. I also had a smaller bag with snacks and food for Penny. Yes, Penny the Tiny Dog did come with us — she rides in a hard-sided dog kennel bungee-netted to the back of my bike. I also had the red waterproof shell I’d bought as an outer layer for cross-country skiing. (Mother Nature was being extremely uncooperative by throwing rain into the forecast for the weekend, too.)

We loaded up and I wore my leather motorcycling jacket for the first time in at least eight years. It fits a bit loosely now after my big 2012 weight loss, but is very comfortable and quite warm — even without the cold weather lining, which I’d left home. All I needed under it was a t-shirt. Bob wore his Harley boy leathers — t-shirt, leather vest, and leather jacket. He made fun of my hiking shoes — he wore worn cowboy boots — but I explained that I needed traction when I stopped and my cowboy boots didn’t cut it. He told me he wanted me to lead and to keep on the right side of the lane. We’d ride in a standard staggered formation and he promised not to crowd me. That was all fine to me. I was rusty and I knew it would be a while before I was back up to speed — literally and figuratively.

We stopped for gas in north Wenatchee before getting on Route 2 and heading west. I had a stop to make in Leavenworth — I needed to pay for the closet doors I’d ordered from a supplier there — and I took the opportunity to don my waterproof jacket and tuck some plastic around the outside of Penny’s crate. It was a good thing I did because we hit rain between Leavenworth and Stevens Pass. By the time we got there, however, I was feeling quite comfortable on the bike again — comfortable enough to pass all the cars in front of me so they wouldn’t spray me with road water.

The ride was uneventful and admittedly not very pleasant. Although I was mostly warm and dry within my layered jackets, with my full-face helmet keeping my head dry, my jeans were a bit wet and my hands were cold in my summer-weight gloves. Not the best riding conditions. But as we headed down the west side of the mountains, the rain cleared out and and it warmed up. I’d be dry soon enough.

Bob took the lead when we stopped for a light in Skykomish and guided us off the main road. It was around 10 AM at this point and I was hungry. I guess he was, too, because he stopped in front of the Cascadia Inn, which was still serving breakfast. There was a fenced-in yard beside the restaurant and after asking permission, I let Penny loose in there. She (predictably) sat by the gate, waiting for us to come back out. I had a nice bacon and eggs breakfast, saving a bit of it for Penny, who doesn’t eat well when we travel. She chowed it down when we came out forty-five minutes later. We took a short walk to stretch our legs, then mounted back up and continued on our way.

Because we were taking Route 2 rather than Route 20, we faced a choice on getting to Anacortes, which is where the ferry would take us from to Friday Harbor. We could either ride north on the I-5 corridor to Anacortes or ride slightly south to Mukilteo to catch a ferry to Whidbey Island and ride up the island to Anacortes. Neither of us wanted to take I-5, so we did the Whidbey Island route instead. I let Bob lead the way.

One of the great things about being on a motorcycle on Washington State’s ferry system is that you get to go right to the front of the line. Bob bypassed the dozens of cars lined up for the ferry and went right to the fee booth. He paid for two ferry tickets and took off. I was fumbling a bit with my headphones so I was about 20 seconds behind him. When I got around the bend to where I thought he’d be waiting, he was gone! The ferry had begun loading and they directed him right on board. I wasn’t so lucky. They made me wait. I was the last one on the boat before it set off.

We met up once we were underway and Bob scolded me for not staying closer to him. But who’d have thought the boat was there and ready to load right up? No worries. We joined back up just past the town on the other side.

It was a nice ride though the hills of Whidbey Island. I’d been there only once before: with my wasband and his cousin at least 15 years before on a trip to Seattle. I didn’t remember much about the trip except stopping at some sort of farm and at Deception Pass.

Ironically, I think we stopped at the same farm that Friday. It looked familiar, although there weren’t nearly as many vegetables and flowers as I remembered from that trip long ago. We walked around a bit in search of ice cream and settled on pie with ice cream at an outdoor cafe. Penny, on her leash, sat with us and tried hard to reach a duck that wandered through the fenced-in area.

Deception Pass Bridge
The bridge at Deception Pass. I think I took the same photo — but from the other side of the bridge — the last time I was there; I really like the symmetry of the bridge at this angle.

We also stopped at Deception Pass. That’s where we took a short walk — probably a mile round trip — and I took some photos. Bob’s not much of a hiker and he did look a bit funny walking on the trail in his leather motorcycling clothes. I guess I did, too.

Dinner at Anthony's
The obligatory dinner photo.

Our ferry reservations were for 8:20 PM. It was about 4 PM when we finished at Deception Pass. There was another ferry at 4:45 and I was game to try to go standby on it. But Bob didn’t want to hurry. Instead, we rode into Anacortes, stopped at a supermarket to pick up a bottle of Jaegermeister (which Bob apparently likes), and zeroed in on Anthony’s. Although it’s a chain, it’s one of my favorite places to get a nice seafood dinner. (I always grab a meal or at least dessert at their SeaTac location when I pass through.) Because there was a wait for a table, we sat at the food prep bar. They had a really great deal on a four-course meal and we each ordered that. My salmon with shrimp was amazing and the “burnt cream” for dessert was perfect.

Another stop at Safeway and then on to the ferry terminal. We paid for our tickets and rolled up, as directed, to the beginning of the line. There was another motorcyclist there who wasn’t very friendly. He told us that the ferry was delayed 30 minutes. Soon afterward, it began to rain — a light drizzle that kept up for the entire hour we waited. It wasn’t heavy enough to seek shelter, but it wasn’t light enough to ignore. By the time we got on the ferry — first on! — we were wet and chilled.

Waiting for the Ferry
Our bikes parked at the front of the line, waiting for the ferry. Can you see Penny?

I fell asleep on the ferry. There’s ample seating there and Bob had led the way to a pair of facing benches. He stretched out and, after a while, I did the same. Penny stayed in her box on the back of the motorcycle; dogs aren’t allowed in the passenger area unless they’re crated and I wasn’t about to take her crate off the bike.

In the Ferry
180° panoramic view of the inside of the ferry. Bob was already asleep on the bench when I shot this.

I heard the pitch of the engine change and woke up with a start. Bob was already awake. It was about 10:15 PM. We went back down to the bikes. I made the mistake of not starting mine up right away. I forgot that it needs to warm up. The result was repeated stalling to the point where I was holding up traffic. Then some issues with the throttle control. Not fun when you’re half awake and the pavement is wet. But I finally got things sorted out and followed Bob the last three miles or so to Liz and Brad’s house. Bob opened the door to their barn and we rolled in as we’d been instructed. Liz came out to meet us. When we went inside, the various discomforts of the trip were quickly forgotten.

At Friday Harbor

The next day started rainy, cleared up, and then got rainy again.

Bob and Penny
Bob grabbed Penny and sheltered her from the wind while we sat atop Mount Young and took in the view.

We had a nice breakfast of bacon and eggs, then headed out while the weather was dry, for a hike up Mount Young. It’s about a mile each way, with a 600-foot climb on the way out. We took our time on the climb up, stopping at one viewpoint along the way. Penny was a champ, very well behaved off-leash and obviously having the time of her life as she ran circles around us. At the top, the wind was absolutely howling, with gusts that must have topped 50 mph. (Indeed, wind storms knocked out power to thousands and killed two people in the Seattle area that day.) I took some photos of the view, as well as this great photo of Bob holding Penny. I also had a close call when I slipped on some wet moss and fell, twisting my knee and ankle pretty badly. Fortunately, I was able to walk normally within a few minutes. (Must remember to be more careful.)

From Mount Young
The view from the top of Mount Young looking out toward Vancouver Island on that blustery summer day.

Afterwards, we ran some errands in town — including getting me a pair of rain pants for the trip home. We stopped at the farmer’s market, which was smaller than usual because of the weather, and the market, where we picked up some groceries. Then back to the house where we snacked for lunch.

And then, because the day was so rainy and gray, we all napped. I slept for a full three hours!

When I woke up, Bob and Liz were making peach cobbler. Football was on the schedule for the evening — a preseason game between Seattle and San Diego. Liz and Brad’s son and grandson came over. We had pizza and watched the game, fast forwarding through the commercials via DVR and Brad’s skill with the remote. The Seahawks won.

The peach cobbler was amazing.

The Trip Home

We were up early the next morning. We needed to leave for the ferry terminal by 7:15 for an 8 AM boat back to Anacortes.

Group Photo
Bob, Liz, Penny, and I, waiting for the ferry at Friday Harbor. The weather was just beginning to break there when we left.

Bob and I got to the head of the line right on time and shut down for the wait. I took Penny for a walk to grab a cup of coffee. When I got back, Brad and Liz were waiting with Bob. Liz would be taking the boat over with her son and his family; they’d all go to a birthday party somewhere on the mainland. Brad took this photo of the four of us (including Penny); I look like a wreck with my four layers of clothing and helmet hair!

We all sat together for the 90-minute ferry ride back to Annacortes. It was beautiful outside with the bright sky and low clouds.

Friday Harbor
I shot this photo of Friday Harbor as the ferry pulled away from the terminal. It was going to be a gorgeous day there.

I had some trouble getting my bike started (again) when we got off the ferry, but not bad. I was determined to drop it off for maintenance later in the week.

We’d decided to head east on Route 20, which was due to reopen at noon. But with rainy weather forecasted, neither of us wanted to take that longer route home. Instead, we’d head south on Route 9 from Sedro-Woolley to Route 2. Of course, that plan went astray with detours for a bridge repair near Big Lake. We got a chance to see all the damage caused by the previous day’s heavy wind as we used Google Maps on my iPhone to navigate around the area, skillfully avoiding I-5. It was a pleasant ride, despite the navigational challenges, and it stayed dry the whole way.

Stuff Yer Belly
This might explain why obesity is such a problem in America.

Back on Route 2, we stopped at a cafe in Gold Bar for lunch. It was just about noon and we had a short wait for a table. I had breakfast food — I do so love chicken fried steak and eggs — and, again, saved some for Penny. While we were inside, the sky opened up and it absolutely poured. But by the time we came out, it had cleared up again. We took Penny for a walk and donned our rain gear. Well, I did. Bob was all in leather again — he’s a real hard core biker guy. I know I looked ridiculous in the yellow rubber pants and my bright red jacket, but I also knew I’d be seen no matter how bad the weather got.

By the time we started the climb up to Stevens Pass, I was glad I’d suited up. It was raining pretty hard and got downright cold. (Hard to believe just a few weeks befofe it was pushing 100°F every day.) Just when I started cursing myself for not buying warmer gloves, we reached the pass and started down. At 3000 feet elevation, the rain stopped and it started getting warmer. The sun was peeking through the clouds by the time we reached Leavenworth. And it was actually warm by the time we crossed the bridge into East Wenatchee.

We rolled into Bob’s driveway as Bob’s girlfriend, Alison stepped out the door. It was a very pleasant surprise for him. I hope she hadn’t been waiting long. I think it was about 3 PM when we got there.

I unpacked my bike and loaded the truck. I didn’t stick around to mess up Bob’s homecoming. Penny and I made a quick stop at the supermarket and headed home. We were back by 5 PM.

It was a beautiful day.

View From Home
I relaxed on the deck, taking in this view for a while after getting home. Honestly, it’s so beautiful here that I don’t know why I leave.

Postscript

I headed out of town on Tuesday for yet another trip — this time to Portland with Kirk. On the way, I dropped off my motorcycle at the local Yamaha dealer to check into the wobble and throttle problems.

The shop manager called Friday to tell me what they’d done: balance the front wheel and give it a tune-up. He asked if it had old gas in the tank. I admitted that it had some but that I’d topped off the tank three times in the past week. He told me — at least three times — that I needed to ride the bike more. “What it needs,” he said, “is to be ridden.”

Message received. I’m planning my next trip now.

Heck, I’m due to attend a weekend-long mushroom seminar at the North Cascades Environmental Learning Center early next month. Maybe I could get that Route 20 ride out of my system then?

Dear Elizabeth

A letter to a former friend.

Dear Elizabeth,

Rooibos TeaAs amazing as this might seem, I’ve been thinking a lot about you this winter.

It started when I found an old box of rooibos chai tea in my pantry. You might not recall this, but you introduced me to red tea years and years ago at your Howard Mesa home. I bought a box and drank it often at home. Somehow, it got shifted to my RV and brought up to Washington. The box “expired” in 2009 — giving you an idea of just how old it was! — but the tea still tastes fine.

Each time I have a cup of that tea, I think of you. I think of your wonderful little home on the Mesa. The wood burning stove. The views. Your work-in-progress illustrated book about the local plants. The cats. I think of dinners there and the few times you came to our pitiful — but much loved, at least on my part — cabin a few miles away and let us cook for you and Matt.

I think of the old days, when things were still good between all of us.

I really liked you. I thought you were a good, well-grounded, happy person. I was happy that you’d become a part of your daughter’s life. You always made me feel welcome at your home. You made me feel like a friend.

So imagine my disappointment when I wrote to you in September 2012 to tell you about my ex-husband’s infidelity and warn you that some men, when left alone, will find companionship other than their wives. I never expected you to forward that email to Matt. I never expected it to be forwarded to my estranged husband with the complaint from Matt that I was trying to destroy his marriage.

I didn’t bother you again after that.

Or, actually, I did. As I was driving away from Howard Mesa that last time in April or May 2013, I tried to call you on the phone. It rang and rang. I wondered if you knew it was me and were purposely letting it ring. I don’t recall if I left a message. It doesn’t matter. You never called back.

At that point, I knew that any friendship we might have had was over. And I began to doubt whether you’d been my friend at all.

Fast forward to today.

A mutual friend — someone you might not even know personally — told me that you and Matt had split and that Matt had remarried very soon after the divorce.

All I can say is wow.

I’m left to wonder whether he already had a replacement for you when he complained to my future ex-husband about me trying to destroy your marriage. Or whether you finally wised up and dumped the man who’s likely responsible for some of the seriously bad advice my future ex-husband received during his costly and futile attempts to steal my business assets.

It doesn’t matter to me. Water under the bridge.

I called you today to chat. A little about this, and a little about what I want to finish up with:

I still think you’re a fine person. You have a good heart, you’re smart, you’re attractive, and you’re relatively young. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding a much better replacement for the man you left behind — if you even want one. Maybe you’ve already replaced him.

No matter what happens to you in this life, please know that I’ll always wish the best for you. Also know that if you ever need someone to talk to, my phone number is the same and I’ll do my best to answer or return calls from you. My door is always open for you, too.

If I never hear from you again, that’s fine, too. There’s just one tea bag left in the box. When it’s gone, I won’t be buying another box. The chapter of my life that included you and your rooibos tea will finally be closed for good.

Your friend,
Maria

February 8 Update: Well, as more facts about your breakup come to light, I now fully understand why you never got in touch with me again. Was it shame? I doubt it. Women like you don’t feel shame. No matter. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I misjudged your character. You’re just as low as the demented old whore who snagged my wasband with her sweet-talk, lies, and lingerie photos.

But I am glad that Matt was on the receiving end. He deserves whatever shit he gets.

Still, don’t marriage vows mean anything to anyone these days?

I’ll never understand why you forwarded my email message to him. But don’t worry; I haven’t lost any sleep over that and don’t think I ever will.

As for that invitation to call or stop by — you can just forget about it. And I’ll toss that last tea bag. I’m eager to close the chapter on you as soon as possible.

Stop Whining and Just Do Your F*cking Job

A Google search phrase touches a nerve.

Every once in a while, when I check the stats for my blog, I also take a look at the search engine terms and phrases that visitors used to find posts on my blog. This list is never complete — Google has begun hiding search words/phrases for privacy reasons — but it certainly is enlightening. It gives me a good idea of what people come to my blog to learn. That, in turn, gives me ideas for future topics.

During the first six hours of today, the following search phrase stands out:

i m a girl and i want become a pilot so what can i do

This is a seriously sore subject with me. You see, I don’t believe a woman should do anything different from a man when pursuing any career. The career path to becoming a pilot is the same no matter what your gender is: get the required education and training, get job experience, and move forward.

How could this possibly be any different for women than it is for men?

Women need to stop thinking of themselves as women when out in the job market. They need to stop thinking about men vs. women and simply think of job candidates vs. job candidates.

The way this search phrase was written, I get the distinct impression that the searcher was a young person — perhaps even a teen or younger. After all, she referred to herself as a “girl” instead of as a “woman” or simply “female.” That means that for some reason, she’s been taught to think of herself first as female and second as a professional. Why are parents and teachers doing this to our young people?

These days, there have been far too many whining complaints from women who are complaining about different treatment because they’re women. I’m calling bullshit on all of this. The reason you’re being treated differently is because you’re acting differently. Maybe you’re making different demands from your employer — excessive time off to deal with your children. Maybe you’re dressing differently in the workplace — short skirts, tight pants, and low-cut blouses. Maybe you’re acting differently at the office — spending too much time on the phone or gossiping about coworkers.

If you want to be treated the same as your male counterparts in the workplace, you need to stop acting like a woman and start acting like a worker.

And before you share your sob stories with me or put me on your hate list, take a lead from me. I’ve been in and achieved success in three male dominated careers — by choice — in the past 32 years:

  • Corporate auditing/finance. Straight out of college at the age of 20, I got a job as an auditor for the New York City Comptroller’s Office. I’d estimate that only about 20% of the people holding the same job were women. By the age of 22, I was a supervisor with 12 people below me, most of whom were men. Three years later, I moved into an Internal Audit position at a Fortune 100 corporation. I’d say 30% of our small audit staff were female. From there, I moved into a financial analyst position at the same company; 25% were women. I got good pay raises every year and with every promotion. (And yes, I was promoted.)
  • Technical computing/computer book authoring. In 1990, I left my full-time job to pursue a freelance career as a computer trainer and book author. This is clearly a male-dominated industry with roughly 10-20% of the people doing what I did being women. Yet I was able to get and hold a number of computer training positions, land over 80 book contracts, and write hundreds of articles about computing. I’m still doing this work.
  • Aviation/piloting. In 2000, I learned to fly and began building a career as a pilot and charter operator. How many female pilots do you see around? And helicopter pilots? I can’t imagine more than 5% of all helicopter pilots being women. It’s a seriously male-dominated field. Yet I built my company over time to the point where it generates a good amount of business, especially through summer contract work. For the past two seasons, I have been the only female helicopter pilot doing cherry drying work in Washington state.

How did I achieve such success when surrounded by men doing the same job? By simply doing my job without whining.

Ladies, take note! You want the same opportunities as men in the workplace? Stop whining and crying about how different you are. Stop being different. Focus on the work and get the job done. Do it to the best of your abilities. Be a team player.

Nobody likes a whiner. I’m sick of being lumped into a group — women — who incessantly whine about how different they’re treated when all they can do is show how different they are.

And if you think you’re a woman first and an employee second, you have absolutely no place in the workplace. Employers and clients don’t want men or women. They want people who get the job done.

November 6, 2014 PM Postscript: Here’s another blog post from 2013 that also discusses this issue, but with quotes from female pilots.