Author Archives: Maria Langer

Low Rotor RPM Warning System, Illustrated

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A video to go with an earlier blog post.

I’ve written at least twice in this blog about the low rotor RPM warning system on Robinson helicopter:

I thought it might be good to illustrate what it looks and sounds like on video. You can find the video at the bottom of this post.

Before you watch the video, please read this explanation. The video is not narrated; I wanted the helicopter sound to be heard. If you don’t read this, you won’t know what’s going on or why.

  1. At first the helicopter is at cool-down RPM (around 65%). I’d just come in from a flight and was getting ready to shut down when I decided to use my Flip camera to make the video.
  2. I wind up the RPM by twisting the throttle. Watch the tachometer in the upper right corner. Needles are matched for engine (E) and rotor (R) RPM.
  3. When RPM gets to about 80%, the R44’s electronic governor takes over and brings it up to 100-102% engine RPM (the green arc).
  4. I simulate a low rotor RPM situation to test the system. (The system is required to function for flight so I test before every flight.) This requires me to raise the collective about an inch and then slowly roll off the throttle to reduce RPM. You can hear the engine pitch change and see the needles start to droop.
  5. At 97% RPM, the warning system engages with an audible horn and a light. A pilot who misses this would have to be blind and deaf (and thus, would not be good as a pilot).
  6. In the test, I push the collective down to shut the horn off and let the governor roll the throttle back up. If the horn came on in flight, you’d use the low rotor RPM recovery procedure, as discussed in “Reacting to Low Rotor RPM,” to regain RPM before it dropped to the point where it was not recoverable and became catastrophic.

Here’s the video:

The system looks and works slightly differently on different helicopter models. But the basic operation and test is the same.

A Serious Amateur’s Guide to Making Movies – Introduction

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Making decent videos is more than just pointing and shooting.

I’ll start with a true story.

Flip VideoA friend of mine who also writes computer books bought a Flip video camera a few years back when they were still pretty new. If you’re not familiar with Flip, it’s a very small, point-and-shoot video camera that captures an hour of medium resolution — good enough for Web, anyway — video. (Newer versions are “HD” and capture 2 hours.) She went out with this camera, shot a bunch of video clips, strung them together in a “movie” using the Flip software, and published them to the Web. She then tweeted proudly about her achievement and invited friends to view it.

I viewed it. It was terrible. The video was shaky. The clips were long, pointless, and boring. The ambient sound — which was the only sound — included wind noise and off-camera voices and sounds. In all honesty, I didn’t waste my time with the ten minutes it ran. There wasn’t any reason to watch it. It didn’t show or tell me anything that interested me in the least bit.

That was a valuable lesson for me. If you’re going to share video, don’t share crap video.

Documentary Videography

I’ve been wanting to get involved in the documentary filmmaking process for some time now. I didn’t really want to make the video myself. I was always more interested in getting a gig as a writer or researcher for a professional production, to apply my existing skills in a new way and learn about the process as I worked with an experienced team. Unfortunately, I have no connections in that industry and I’m not ready for a career change (yet). So I decided to give it a try myself.

My biggest challenges are time and software know-how. After a false (and expensive) start with a video production company that took lots of my money and delivered only headaches, I decided to stop screwing around. You know what they say: if you want something done right, do it yourself.

Just because I want to do it right doesn’t mean I could immediately do so. There are a number of steep learning curves to climb along the way. I’ve been climbing them over the past few months. A few weeks ago, I managed to release a pretty darn good rough cut of a 5-minute documentary about the cherry harvest process. Over the following few days, I finished it up by adding title screens, a music soundtrack, and end credits. If you haven’t seen it and are curious, you can find it in an earlier blog post, as well as on YouTube.

The Series

This morning, I thought I’d start a new series of articles that documents what I’ve learned so far about making “pretty darn good” videos. This will help me remember what I did and learned as well as provide a general guide for other amateurs who want to create watchable video. Throughout this series, I’ll use my cherry harvest video as an example, so you might want to watch it just to get a better idea of what I’m talking about when I refer to it.

One thing I won’t cover in this series: recommendations on cameras or details on how to use the software I used to create the movies.

I don’t know anything about any camera other than the one I worked with. In all honesty, you should be able to do a good job with something as simple as a Flip or any consumer video camera model. Even an older one! As long as you can get the video into your computer, you’re good to go.

The software really doesn’t matter, as long as it has decent editing tools. (I use a Mac and Final Cut Pro, but iMovie should be fine on a Mac and I’m sure there are good, affordable video editing packages for Windows, too.) What’s more important than software is your ability to capture good video and put it together in a “story.” You’ll see what I mean as I go through each part in this series.

I’ll post links to each part of this series in this introductory post as I write them. Stay tuned.

October 21, 2011 Update: The series of articles I wrote for about this topic has been converted into a book. You can learn more here.

The Facebook Decision

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Unhappily sitting on the fence; here’s why.

A while back, I wrote “Why I Suspended my Facebook Account.” I just reread it and it still rings true. But Facebook has again gotten in my face and I need to make a decision.

Facebook has proliferated to the point where it’s impossible for anyone in business — especially the business of writing computer-related content — to ignore. It’s everywhere. “Friend me on Facebook!” has become the robotic chant of businesses and individuals all over the country. I have tried to play the part of South Park’s Stan but Facebook continues to intrude on my life.

Recently, I discovered that Facebook had created a community page for me based on my Wikipedia entry. The opening paragraph states:

Our goal is to make this Community Page the best collection of shared knowledge on this topic. If you have a passion for Maria Langer, sign up and we’ll let you know when we’re ready for your help. You can also get us started by suggesting the Official Facebook Page.

So I have become a Facebook “topic.” I don’t know if I should be flattered or horrified.

(And, by the way, if you have “a passion” for me, I’d love to know. My husband might be interested, too.)

My Current Career Situation

Meanwhile, my dual careers as the creator of how to books, articles, and video training material about computers (which I’ve been doing for 20 years) and helicopter charter operator (which I’ve been doing for 5 years) are suffering along with the economy.

Print publishing — especially of computer how-to material — is dying a slow and painful death. The widespread availability of the same content — usually for free — on the Internet is destroying book sales. Just about anyone can use Google to find the answer to a computer or software question online. (That doesn’t mean the answer will be right, but that doesn’t seem to matter to anyone.) There are numerous blogs, including one of mine, that provide how-to information with the same step-by-step instructions I built my writing career on for free.

This is what publishers are competing with. They know it and they try to fight back by stressing the simple fact that their content is being created by experts. But no one seems to care. Why spend $20 on a book that might answer a question when you can spend 20 minutes with Google and the World Wide Web and get an answer for free?

As a result, most of my books are not being revised. The most recent casualty to this trend was my Excel for Windows Visual QuickStart Guide which I have been revising since I wrote the first edition for Excel 95. Look all you want for an Excel 2010 edition — you won’t find one.

The world of helicopter charters is even more shaky with the economy the way it is. My last season in Arizona was dismal, with very few good charters — certainly not enough to pay the bills. The agricultural work I do during the summer months is a lifesaver for the business. Without it, I’d likely have to sell the helicopter and close up shop.

And I’m not the only one in this situation. Helicopter operators and flight schools have gone out of business all over the country. Most people simply don’t have money to spend on things they don’t really need. Who needs to fly in a helicopter? Very few people.

Enter, Facebook

Facbook LogoAnd then there’s Facebook, sitting out there, presenting itself as a free way to make contact with potential readers, video learners, and helicopter passengers. A marketing tool, waiting to be used. Like a worm sitting on the grass, waiting for the a bird to snatch it. But is there a string attached that will drag me down into a hole?

I could reactivate my Facebook account. It’s easy. All I have to do is log in. Everything is there, just where I left it.

Of course, I did strip out all my personal information — or whatever information I could — to prevent it from getting into the hands of people I didn’t want to have it. I’d have to build that back up, selectively, to make a real profile page.

Then I’d have to build pages for each of my careers, keeping them up to date. I’d have to visit them regularly to keep in touch with my new “friends” and respond to their comments on my “wall.” I’d have to accept friend requests from strangers and then struggle to figure out which ones were real people and which were spammers trying to sell me their crap. I’d have to find new people to friend. I’d have to post on my wall and their walls. I’d probably have to fiddle around with the never-ending collection of applications, trying to figure out what they do, how they work, and why I should use them. I’d have to build a presence for myself on Facebook, in a community I have no desire to be part of.

I’d be going through the motions just to satisfy fans and mollify editors. I’d be playing the game because it was expected of me. I’d be spending hours of my life every week on a marketing tool that might get me a handful of new readers and video learners but would more likely expand the audience for the free content I already put on the Web.

Time is one of the most valuable things I have. My freelance lifestyle gives me more time than most people have. But I don’t want to waste it. I’d much rather spend it on things that are important to me, learning or doing something interesting, something worth remembering, worth writing about, worth sharing.

Is Facebook any of that?

There’s more to my life than writing on virtual walls and tending to imaginary farm fields.

I don’t want to sell out.

Geocaching Revisited

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Hunting for hidden treasures.

Back in 2005, I discovered geocaching, an outdoor activity where people use a GPS to find hidden containers of trinkets. I wrote about my thoughts on the topic — and some big plans that never came to fruition — in some detail here. Because part of the game is to pull something out of a cache and replace it with something else, I started gathering items to share. Among these were some “travel bugs,” which are basically serial numbered tags you can affix to an item so it can be tracked. The tracking is mostly done on the Geocaching.com Web site. That’s also were you can find a list of geocaches just about anywhere in the U.S.

And that’s the interesting thing: these things are everywhere. Did you drive more than 10 miles to work today? I bet you passed at least a dozen of them within 3 miles of your car. There’s one a block from my house in Wickenburg and one 4/10 of a mile from my RV here in Quincy. As this map shows, they’re all over the place:

Geocaches Near Me
My RV is just about dead-center in this map. The little box and question mark icons indicate geocaches in the area. The smiley face icon is a geocache I found that I logged.

For some reason, I find the proliferation of these little boxes of hidden “treasure” fascinating. It emphasizes how big the world really is. It also reminds me a bit of a walk my husband, Mike, and I had along the rim of the Grand Canyon once. We got off the beaten path and walked right along the rim, far from where the tourists wander. We happened to stop for a rest on a rock outcropping. And there, tucked under an overhang with a beautiful view of the canyon, was an urn of cremated remains. How long had it been hidden there? We didn’t know. It was like an uncharted geocache. Seems like a good final resting place to me.

Geocaches are hidden. They’re tucked away in painted coffee cans, sealed lengths of black PVC pipe, and plastic Tylenol bottles. In the old days, ammo cans were popular, but I think the value of these has prevented their widespread use — too likely to be stolen if found. (I bought 3 nice-sized ammo cans from a seller in Beatty, NV some years back to create my own geocaches; I still have them.) Caches are hidden in bushes, under rocks, and among the remains of pioneer trash heaps. You’re not likely to stumble upon any of them by accident. You have to look for them. And even with GPS coordinates, they’re not always easy to find.

For some reason, I brought my bag of geocache goodies along with me on my trip to Washington this year. I guess I thought I’d try it again. I didn’t think much of it until the other day when a Twitter friend, @PlagiarismToday, started tweeting about his weekend geocaching activities. It got me thinking about it. I pulled out my bag and took a look inside it. I had a GPS with me, and an Internet connection to get information about local caches, so I had everything I needed to try again.

So I went out yesterday to search for three caches. I found three, but not the original three I’d set out to find.

  • Ryann’s Hide was the first cache I’d hunted for in over 5 years. Although I’m using a newer GPS (a Garmin GPSMap 60c) than I did in 2005, I soon realized that precision was something that needed patience. As I walked, the GPS would guide me, but I quickly overshot the location. Seems that the GPS could not keep up with my movement. I needed to slow down and let the signals catch up. Zooming in on the map gave me ever-increasing detail. Standing still, gave me ever-increasing precision. Once I caught on, I was able to zero in on the location. The cache was alongside a two-track road that led down a hill to a fishing spot. The road was closed to unauthorized vehicles. It started on the edge of an orchard and curved down into a very pleasant wooded area. (I think I need to explore further down that trail.) The container was a painted coffee can with a plastic lid. I pulled out a plastic car and replaced it with a tiny stuffed teddy bear. I entered my Geocaching.com user name in the log book, closed everything back up, and replaced it exactly where I’d found it. Success!
  • Quincy Valley Rest Area II was a bit easier to find — once I got on the correct side of the rest area fence. It was a nicely made cache container consisting of a short length of black PVC pipe with a screw-top on one end. Inside was a baggie with the logbook, some plastic dinosaurs, and a very nice shell. I took the shell and replaced it with an emery board with advertising for a nudist colony on it. (I really don’t remember where I got such a thing, but it is pretty funny — and clean.) I logged my visit and closed it all back up. Success!
  • West Bar Overlook is the one I really wanted to find. It’s located on Babcock Bench, high above one of the orchards I dried several times this summer. The entry on Geocaching.com provided lots of photos and information about the geologic significance of the spot. I’d brought along my camera, planning to get some shots from its perfect vantage point. Unfortunately, the two-track access road that appeared to link the cache area with pavement was inaccessible. Not only was there a locked gate across the road, but there were lots of tall weeds making the start of the trail a bit questionable for someone wearing shorts during snake and tick season. I’ll either try again next spring, before the weeds grow so tall or possibly try to visit via helicopter. I already scouted the power lines in the area. So this was a failure.
  • Rust Everywhere was my consolation prize. I’d already imported its GPS coordinates into my GPS, so I knew approximately where it was. But because I hadn’t planned to look for it, I didn’t have the details — like a basic description of what it looked like. Having a location but no description makes things a bit tougher. Patience and perseverance paid off, though. The cache was a label-less Tylenol bottle hidden well among rocks. I pulled out a kid’s hair clip and replaced it with a computer chip, logged my visit, and put it back. Success!

In all, it was a nice way to spend the afternoon. I was at it for about two hours and it got me out and about. To onlookers, I must have looked pretty silly, walking around while studying a GPS. But I got to find a neat place — that wooded trail — and get some exercise and fresh air. I hope to do more tomorrow.

I also think that it would be a great family or small group activity. A way to combine socialization with exercise. Working together to complete a challenging task.

I do have a geocaching project lined up. I’m going to release one of my travel bugs into the wild with the mission of traveling down to New Orleans, LA. That’s where @PlagiarismToday lives and does his geocaching. He, in turn, is going to send one my way. We’ll see which one completes its mission first.

I’ll likely blog about the progress here.

Walking

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My new morning routine.

Canal
A shot looking west up the canal from the first bridge.

Second Bridge
The second bridge is exactly 1.3 miles from my RV.

Apple Orchard
I walk for about a half mile alongside this apple orchard. This morning, I saw three woodchucks in rocks like these along the canal edge.

Last week, I began walking regularly. It’s part — the only part, I should admit — of an exercise regime. I know it’s not much, but it’s more than I was doing the week before.

I usually get out between 6:30 and 7:00 AM, when it’s still nice and cool. I’m back within 45 minutes.

I should be clear here: I don’t go for a short stroll. I walk 2.6 miles at an average speed of 3.6 miles per hour. How do I know this so precisely? Simple: I monitor my progress using the trip computer on my handheld GPS.

(While other people are relying on a touch-screen GPS with computerized voice to find their way around town, I use my GPSes for things I can’t easily do on my own. But let’s not go there, huh? That’s fodder for a whole other blog post.)

I took the photos you see here on this morning’s walk. The pauses brought my average speed down to 3.3 miles per hour.

I start at my RV at Colockum Ridge Golf Course. I cut through the golf cart staging area and past the maintenance shed. That puts me on a two-track gravel road between a narrow drainage ditch full of clear-running water and the golf course. I walk about .3 miles south, then make a right onto another gravel road that runs along the north side of a canal. If I’m lazy, I cross the canal at the first bridge and come back along the other side for a 1.2 mile walk. But if I’m serious about exercise, I continue to the second bridge. The whole time, I’m walking alongside the golf course and then the 55+ trailer community beyond it. When I cross the second bridge, I walk back along the south side of the canal with an apple orchard and then an alfalfa field on my right. I cross back over the first bridge and retrace my route back to my RV.

Here’s what it looks like in satellite view on Google Maps:
My Walk

Alfalfa Bales
These aren’t the little wimpy alfalfa bales we bought for our horses. These probably weigh 500 pounds each and stand nearly as tall as me.

Canal and Golf Course
A view of the golf course from the opposite side of the canal.

I really enjoy the scenery. I love the changes in the farmland. Yesterday, the alfalfa was cut and piled. Today it was baled. The apples are ripening. Some farm equipment off in the distance was harvesting soybeans or something. The groundhogs are kind of cute.

3.6 miles per hour is a good walking pace. It’s probably the pace I used regularly when I walked the streets of New York. If you don’t walk fast in Manhattan, you get run over by other pedestrians or messengers on bikes or guys pushing racks of clothing. (I spent a bunch of time in the garment district one summer.) I’d like to get my walking speed up to 4 miles per hour, but it would likely kill me.

I listen to music when I walk. I have a little iPad shuffle and keep it stocked with an ever-changing mix of my favorite music. I discovered the other day that my walking pace is at the same tempo as Paul Simon’s “Late in the Evening.” I have long legs so I have long strides. I feel it in my knees and hips.

When I get back to the trailer, I’m sweating like a pig. (Do pigs really sweat?) I force myself to drink water or vitamin water before jumping in the shower. When I’m that hot and sweaty, the shower feels like heaven and makes the walk worthwhile. Afterwards, I have breakfast: high fiber cereal with fresh berries and low-fat milk. I have coffee before the walk — I am human, after all.

According to the Walking Calories Calculator on About.com, I burn at least 259 calories each time I do my walk. That’s not very much, but it is better than nothing. I’m hoping the regular brisk walk will also help me recover some of my muscle tone, which is quickly melting away.

I’m middle-aged now, and I’m not going down without a fight.