Author Archives: Maria Langer

I Got It!

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I finally pick up my new helicopter and fly it home.

It started to come together on Wednesday. And that’s a good thing, because there wasn’t a day to spare. A huge storm was moving into the LA area from the west and forecasters were promising heavy rains and high winds from Friday through Tuesday. If I didn’t get Zero-Mike-Lima out of Torrance before Thursday night, it would be stuck there for another week. And I’d miss yet another potentially lucrative flying gig.

Justin called my cell phone late Wednesday night to tell me Robinson had sent the bill of sale via FedEx to MBNA, the finance company. MBNA would not fund the loan without the original copy of this piece of paper. Unfortunately, my cell phone was turned off and I didn’t get his call until Thursday morning. By that time, I thought we’d missed the window of opportunity. Although Mike and I had planned to hitch a ride to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport with a friend early Thursday morning, there seemed no reason to bother. When I got Justin’s message, I began to get a glimmer of hope.

I called MBNA and told my lending guy that the bill of sale was on its way. He told me he didn’t get his mail until about 1 PM. He didn’t seem interested in hunting down the package earlier. It was obvious that he didn’t care much about the weather situation. But he said he’d be able to fund within two hours of receiving the package.

Time ticked by. Mike had gone to work. I checked Southwest Airline’s schedules. Since tickets are refundable, I bought two tickets for the 11 AM flight to LAX.

No word from anyone on the situation. I knew we had to leave LA no later than 4 PM to get out of the area before nightfall. Before long, it was too late to catch the 11 AM flight. The next flight was 12:30. I decided to make sure I was on it.

I called Robinson and left a message for Milly to tell her I was coming and to ask for transportation from LAX to the factory.

Mike’s car was already down in the Phoenix area. It would have been stupid for me to drive mine down, too. So I tried to get a taxi. Fat chance here in Wickenburg. The demand is so low that neither taxi company has enough drivers to handle last minute requests for an airport shuttle. So I called John and Lorna. They were in Wickenburg, but on their way to help a friend take down Christmas decorations. But John agreed to drive me down. I told him to meet me at Wickenburg Airport, where I’d leave my car.

At the airport, I talked to Chris, who keeps one of his planes in the hangar across from mine. I was looking for someone to drive Mike’s car back from Sky Harbor. Chris had business in Deer Valley and agreed to do it for us. He’d stop in Deer Valley on his way back. It was all falling into place nicely.

Veronica from Robinson called. She told me they’d send a helicopter to pick us up at LAX when we arrived. All I had to do was call when we got in and meet the helicopter at the Heliport at Terminal 4. She gave me the code to go up to the roof there and I wrote it down.

John showed up with his friend Jerry, right on time. The four of us went down to Sky Harbor. John left Chris and I at the curb in the departures area. It took a while, but we finally met up with Mike. Chris took the car and went.

We only had one small piece of luggage — an overnight bag — so getting to the gate should be quick, right? Well, because we had bought one-way tickets, we had to go through an extra security screening process. They went through our coats and overnight bag and my purse. They wanded us very thoroughly. Heck, the woman who wanded me even patted me down a bit where the rivets in my jeans had set off her wand.

A side note here. I have a few problems with the way security was handled that day. First of all, if terrorists know that people with one-way tickets get extra screening, they’ll just buy round trip tickets. They don’t care. They can charge it. If they’re planning a suicide terrorist thing, they’ll be dead when the bill comes anyway. Second, someone with a little skill can easily make a sharp, dangerous “knife”or other weapon out of plastic or some other material that doesn’t set off a metal detector and conceal it in their clothing where it would never be found. Third, the screening couldn’t be too good because there was a small Swiss Army Knife in my toiletries bag and they didn’t take it away from me or even find it. Sure, it only has a two-inch blade, but they take knitting needles away from people and a knife is far more dangerous. (And no, I didn’t know it was in there until that night, when I opened the bag. I thought I’d taken it out.)So we literally ran from security to the gate, arriving at 12:20, just ten minutes before the plane was supposed to depart. Unfortunately, the plane hadn’t arrived yet. (Hurry, hurry, wait. It seemed the theme for this helicopter delivery.) We had lunch at Pizza Hut Express. At 1 PM, we boarded the plane and it took off. It was a nice flight that followed I-10 most of the way. I saw the Salt and Gila Rivers flowing and I’m pretty sure I saw where the Hassayampa (which is also flowing right now) meets the Gila. I saw the truck stop we flew Three-Niner-Lima to for breakfast once and Quartzsite, with its seasonal urban sprawl. I saw the Salton Sea and, looking straight down, saw the roads in Joshua Tree National Park. I saw the runways at Palm Springs, San Bernadino, and El Monte. The sky was partly cloudy, with most clouds high up. Good weather for flying.

At the airport, I called Veronica and left her a voicemail message that we’d arrived. Then we made our way from Terminal One to Terminal Four. It was a long walk, but it was nice to stretch. At the Heliport, I called and left another voicemail message. We watched a Pasadena Police Helicopter land and depart. Then Veronica called back and told us it would be about twenty minutes.

A white R44 with pop-out floats approached from the south, crossed the two south runways, and made a nice approach to the Heliport. When its skids were firmly on the ground, Mike and I walked over and hopped in. We buckled up, put on headsets, and sat back for the ride to Torrance, which included a flight along the beach at about 150 feet above the waves and a 180 degree autorotation to the Robinson ramp.

Zero-Mike-Lima was parked on the other end of the ramp. It looked beautiful. But we couldn’t take a closer look. Paperwork.

We were led through the factory and into the lobby. Then it was a bit more waiting time. I checked my voicemail and got a message from Justin, telling me that MBNA had sent the money. Then my cellphone’s battery died.

It turned out that although MBNA had sent the money, a wire transfer isn’t a quick as a fax. The money goes into the ether for a while before it ends up in the recipient’s bank account. Robinson had just gotten the money. Normally, they need at least 24 hours from the time they get the money to the time the have all the paperwork ready. They were doing all the paperwork while we waited.

We waited at least 30 minutes. I read the Wall Street Journal and looked at Mike’s watch. Mike reminded me that every minute we were delayed was 2 miles of distance we couldn’t cover.

Finally, Veronica appeared. She led us out to the delivery room where she loaded up my R44 bag with all the accessories that came with it: blade tie-downs, cabin cover, short-pilot cushion (not something I’ll need), and all the warranties and manuals. And the wheels. I signed a bunch of papers. Then she let us loose on the ramp. By this time, it was almost 4 PM local time.

N630ML at TorranceThe helicopter was beautiful. Incredibly clean and perfect. Really nice. Mike laughed and said, “It’ll never be this clean again.”A guy came out of the factory to check us out on the route. I got some frequency information from him and assured him that I knew the route and had flown it before. Then I did as much of a preflight as I could without a ladder. I checked the oil; it was so clean, I couldn’t see it on the dipstick. Mike took this photo of me. Then we climbed on board, and I started it up. A few minutes later, I was hovering away from the factory and talking to Torrance ATC.

The first leg of the flight — from Torrance through Fullerton — was crazed. I talked to Torrance, Long Beach, and Fullerton towers — all within fifteen minutes. The R44 is fast (we were cruising at about 110 knots) so those places came up quickly, one after another, bam-bam-bam. Then a bit of a break until we got to Riverside and March Air Force Base. Then a longer break until we got to Palm Springs. By that time, it was getting dark. The sun had gone down and it was time to think of a place to stop for the night. I wanted to stop at Bermuda Dunes (east of Palm Springs) because it was relatively close to a motel I’d stayed at once before. So that’s where we landed for the night.

I was on final and a plane was on base when a third aircraft called in. The second aircraft knew the third one and chatted a bit over the Unicom frequency. It turns out, the second plane was brand new, too, and the pilot was taking his first flight in it.

We got a rental car and a cheesy tourist map and made our way to the Fantasy Casino off of I-10. This is one of those Indian Casinos that have been popping up all over California and pissing off the Californians. It was a nice place, with a brand new high-rise hotel that sure beat the Holiday Inn Express I’d stayed at the previous time I’d overnighted in the area. We got a room on the 4th floor and Mike took me to dinner, complete with champagne, in the casino restaurant. Afterward, we fed singles into a few slot machines, got locked out of our room, got a new key, and went up to bed.

I slept badly. I think it was because the sheets were so new they were still rough. We may have been the first people to sleep in that room.

By 4 AM local time, we were both awake. The Weather Channel showed us that the storm would be on our heels and the sooner we departed, the better off we’d be. But it was still very dark out and the sun wasn’t scheduled to rise until 6:51 AM. We couldn’t wait. We checked out of the hotel and were back at the airport at 5:50 AM. It was already starting to rain.

I did the best preflight I could in the dark — the oil was the main thing that concerned me — and we climbed on board. Mike wiped down the windows on the inside while I started up and warmed up the engine. There was some confusion with the Aux Fuel Pump warning light and circuit breaker that I think may have had to do with us using so much power right after startup. The problem went away and we took off.

It was still dark. And raining. I wasn’t happy about this, especially when I realized that once past the Bermuda Dunes area, I would not be able to see the horizon. Was I about to perform my final stupid pilot trick? I almost turned back. But the lights of I-10 below us were easy to follow and showed good visibility far into the distance. And as we flew into the dark and our eyes adjusted to it, the faint outline of the horizon appeared. No problem.

It got lighter and lighter as I flew. Unfortunately, the rain kept falling. In fact, it rained on us all the way to Blythe, which we reached about an hour after departing Bermuda Dunes. The sun was up and after blinding us for a while, retreated into the clouds above the horizon. There was some ground fog at Blythe, probably because of the river. Then the rain stopped and we had nice weather the rest of the way to Wickenburg.

We got into Wickenburg about 9 AM local time. John and Lorna were there to meet us. They’d fed the horses and the dog the night before and that morning. Mike got out and fetched two more headsets out of the hangar. I gave John and Lorna a nice ride as far as Yarnell and back. Then I gave Chris a quick ride around town. Finally, I shut down.

Some of the airport bums came around to check out the helicopter while we assembled my new tow bar. Unfortunately, the tow bar wasn’t as sturdy as I’d like it to be. Although I used to to take the helicopter from the ramp to the hangar door, I didn’t trust it to back the helicopter in over the lip of the hangar door’s runner. I had a feeling it would snap. So I put my old tow bar on it and we used that. I think I may have to have a dolly built.

With the helicopter all tucked away in its hangar, I locked things up and came home. The rain should start here later this afternoon.

The Waiting Continues

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Still no helicopter. But we’re getting closer.

You may have surmised that I did not get my new helicopter before Christmas, as I had hoped. I was so bummed out about it that I didn’t write a word about it here. I had to cancel a potentially lucrative gig in Stanton on New Year’s Eve. I’ve also turned down about a dozen helicopter flights for hire in the past three weeks. And without a helicopter, I’m deprived of the simple pleasure of flying over the desert after a soaking rainstorm to see where the flood water is coming from and going.

I tried hard to get them to let me pick up the helicopter on this coming Thursday. But the factory said no. Friday would be the day. Friday afternoon, in fact.

Not what I wanted to hear. I have a gig lined up for Saturday. The weather forecast for Torrance, Palm Springs, and Wickenburg (well, Phoenix, anyway) calls for showers on Friday. So either I won’t be able to fly due to low visibility/ceilings or I’ll have to fly in the rain and risk stripping paint off my brand new rotor blades. Or I’ll miss that gig.

I wrote an e-mail to the new helicopter sales person at Robinson and basically begged her to let me have it on Thursday, when the forecast is so much better. No response. She’s probably deleted the message.

I’ll know more tomorrow. Maybe.

New Year’s Weekend

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How We Celebrated the New Year.

After several painfully boring New Year’s Eves spent in Wickenburg and one relatively interesting one spent in Prescott, we decided we wanted a more memorable New Year’s Eve.

So we left town.

We stuffed the trunk of my Honda S2000 with overnight bags, dress clothes, and two bottles of champagne, wedged ourselves into the passenger seats, buckled up, put the top down, and sped off to the west on Friday morning.

We went to La Jolla, CA, which is just north of San Diego. We booked a room at the Sea Lodge at La Jolla Shores. Our room featured a huge sliding glass door and private balcony that faced the ocean. All day long, we could watch the waves and the people and birds on the beach. We could listen to the rhythm of the ocean waves. We could watch the weather move in and the kayakers move out and the surfers just float around, waiting for the perfect wave.

On New Year’s Eve, we had reservations for the early seating at Nine Ten, the restaurant in La Jolla’s Grand Colonial Hotel. We chose dinner with a wine pairing. (For those of you who don’t know what that means, each course is served with a different wine that has been selected by someone knowledgeable about wines and foods.) Four courses, four wines. The food was exquisite. I had chestnut soup, sea bass, venison, and a chocolate desert. Everything was both beautifully prepared and delicious. It was the kind of meal you’d couldn’t get within 40 miles of Wickenburg. And I enjoyed every bite of it.

After dinner, we changed into regular clothes and went for a walk on the beach. It was a nice night and there were very few people out and about. Then we had some champagne on our balcony and listened to the waves to welcome in the new year.

On Saturday, New Year’s Day, we drove into San Diego. We spent some time walking around the popular Gaslight Quarter, which reeked of beer from the previous night’s celebrations. Most shops and restaurants were closed; we got there too early. We walked a total of about 20 blocks and saw three Starbucks coffee shops. In all three instances, the Starbucks had been placed near an existing coffee shop. I realized that Starbucks is trying to put all the other coffee shops out of business. This was a revelation to me. We went into one of those little coffee shops for some latte. It was quaint and had lots of character — much nicer than the cookie-cutter design of a Starbucks. And the person who took my order actually made my coffee — imagine that! I wondered how long the place would survive with Starbucks right across the street. So I decided then and there that I would no longer buy coffee (or anything else) in a Starbucks. I’d like to see some little coffee shop put a Starbucks shop out of business and I’ll do my part to help make it happen.

We drove over the big bridge to Coronado Island. We walked around the east side of the island for a while, admiring the view of San Diego, then headed west to the Coronado Hotel. I got an excellent parking spot on the street near the hotel entrance, saving the $5 per hour parking fee I’d have to pay to park on the hotel’s parking lot. We walked around the hotel for a while and I bought a gift for Lorna who, with John, was housesitting for us. The Coronado Hotel is a wonderful historic landmark that is magnificently maintained. We had lunch outdoors in the sunshine: sea bass prepared two different ways. Then a long walk around the town in search of just the right desert. We found a coffee/pastry shop (with a Starbucks right next door — the nerve!) but didn’t find just the right bit of chocolate to satisfy my after-lunch craving. We left town heading south on the long causeway that ends just three miles north of the Mexican border, then headed back north.

Our last stop for the day was Cabrillo National Monument, where the original Point Loma lighthouse stands on a hill overlooking the San Diego Bay. Magnificent views all around. I took lots of pictures and used the movie feature of my camera to create a panoramic movie of the bay and city beyond.

By this time, it was late afternoon and the warm sunshine we’d been enjoying all day was fading behind thin clouds on the horizon. We headed back to La Jolla Shores for a rest before dinner. We had dinner in La Jolla, at a place called Roppongi. The restaurant featured “Asian fusion” food. We ordered five different tapas dishes, all excellent, and a sake sampler. More food you can’t get at home.

On Sunday, we checked out early and headed back down to San Diego’s Balboa Park. Many people know the park as the home of the San Diego Zoo, but the park also features many museums. We visited the Air and Space Museum there, which was surprisingly good. There were many airplanes and spacecraft on display, including the Apollo 9 Space Capsule and an actual GPS satellite. Exhibits were arranged historically, with early aviation exhibits near the entrance of the building and space exhibits near the exit. The building is round, so you walk in a circle to see all of the exhibits. A courtyard in the middle of the building has a glass ceiling and, since the building is in the flight path for San Diego Airport, jets fly right over the roof just a few thousand feet up. It reminded Mike of growing up in Flushing, NY, in the flight path for La Guardia.

Lunch was at Ole Madrid, a restaurant in the Gaslight Quarter that was supposed to offer Sunday Brunch. They called it brunch, but it wasn’t the buffet style meal we expected. Instead, we ordered tapas from a menu. Everything was good.

We left the city soon after that and headed east on I-8. We made one stop: in the town of Alpine where there’s an Indian Casino and large outlet mall. The mall was beautifully designed and landscaped with lots of statues, fountains, and vegetation. It was a pleasure to walk through it. After picking up a few things we can’t get in Wickenburg, we hit the road again. The day was cloudy and we drove with the top up to keep warm. (We’d had the top down all weekend long.) After coming through the mountains on I-8, we turned off, following the road toward Mexicali. The drive along the border was mildly interesting — certainly more interesting than the drive along I-8. We joined up with I-8 just west of the sand dunes and followed that to Yuma. Then 95 to Quartzsite, I-10 to SR 60, and SR 60 to Wickenburg. We got in just after 8 PM.

It had been a nice trip away, made possible, in part, by our friends John and Lorna, who stayed at our house and watched the menagerie (Alex the Bird, Jack the Dog, Jake and Cherokee (horses), and the chickens).

Now it’s back to reality in Wickenburg.

The Silence is Broken

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Why I haven’t written a blog entry in over a week.

My last blog entry was dated 12/22. It’s now 1/4. Where have I been?

First of all, you need to understand that I do my blogging in the morning, while having breakfast with my bird. I’m normally awake sometime before 4:30 AM and, while Mike continues to sleep and then gets up to do his morning thing, I’m downstairs at the kitchen table with my PowerBook, typing away. Like this morning. Alex the Bird has his breakfast and is eating quietly, dropping scrambled eggs all over the floor by his cage. In a while, Jack the Dog will come by to clean it up. Meanwhile, I just type away.

Trouble is, I don’t always finish before Mike comes down for breakfast. That means I’m still typing away while he’s sitting across the table from me. And he doesn’t like that. He wants my full attention.

He deserves most of my attention. (I don’t think too many people deserve all of it; there’s really not enough to spend on any one person.) So I’ve stopped blogging in the morning. And since I don’t do it then, I don’t do it at all.

I’m not too happy about that. You see, I like writing these blog entries. It gives me a chance to write what’s on my mind and what’s going on in my life. It’s like a diary that just happens to be public. It’s not the public part that I like so much. It’s the discipline of writing on a schedule, of regularly documenting things that are part of me. The benefit: looking back over these pages, I have a record of what’s been going on in my life.

So this morning, I’m at it again. It’s 5:15 AM and Alex the Bird is asking me if I want to go upside-down. (He’s also calling me a goober and asking if I’m a duck.) Mike is upstairs doing his morning thing. Jack the Dog is somewhere, avoiding being turned out in the rain. Life goes on.

Dining Out Can Be Stressful

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We try to enjoy a dinner out but are foiled by bad service.

My friends John and Lorna, who spend their summers in Maine and winters in Arizona, were extremely helpful today. So helpful, in fact, that I wanted to buy them dinner.

We decided to go to a local restaurant called Sangini’s. I happen to be very fond of Sangini’s pizza. They make a thick crust pizza and the crust is good. Other pizza places in town make thin crust pizza. That’s fine, if you like thin crust. I don’t.

John and Lorna like Sangini’s Hawaiian pizza. For those of you unfamiliar with this culinary delight, it’s pizza with ham and pineapple on it. Yes, I did say pineapple. I haven’t tried it yet. I’m afraid to. Where I’m from, the words pineapple and pizza are never used in the same sentence, let alone put together on a menu or in your mouth. Hawaiian pizza is a west coast thing.

Anyway, we all met in Sangini’s at 6 pm. The main dining room had a few people in it and, as we waited to eat, it filled up. Business was pretty good for a Wednesday night.

I examined the menu. I usually eat pizza or perhaps a calzone. But I decided to try something different. I wanted to think of Sangini’s as something other than a pizza place. The only way I could do that was to order something other than pizza — and like it. I decided on the chicken scaloppine.

Trouble started when Mike, my significant other, asked for vinegar and oil on his salad. The waitress, who was probably about 19 years old, looked at him as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.

“What did you want on your salad?” she asked.

“Vinegar and oil.”

“I don’t think we have that,” she said.

“I’m sure you do,” Mike replied.

She went away looking doubtful.

The whole thing reminded me about a breakfast we’d had in a small town restaurant one day. Mike says the restaurant was in Wickenburg, but I don’t remember it that way. Anyway, blueberry pancakes were on the menu. Mike asked the waitress, who was probably still in high school, how they were. “Very good,” she replied. “The blueberries are fresh. We just opened the can today.”

(To those of you who don’t get it, fresh blueberries don’t come in a can.)

Oddly enough, I had just told that story to John and Lorna earlier in the day. I repeated the punchline: “The blueberries are fresh. We just opened the can today.” Then our conversation turned to young people who grew up in Wickenburg and had no idea of anything other than what they saw in town. And how limited that was. And then about young people in general. We were sounding like a bunch of old folks, which is very discouraging when you’re still well under 55.

The waitress came back. “We have balsamic vinegar,” she reported.

“That’s fine,” Mike replied.

When she returned with the salads, mine came with bleu cheese dressing, as requested. Mike’s came with a little plastic container filled with what looked like balsamic vinegar. There was no oil. But before he could ask, the waitress disappeared. She then somehow imagined to avoid making eye contact for the next five minutes. Finally, Mike got up and went to the kitchen. He came back a moment later to tell us how crazy he was. He’d asked for olive oil to go with his vinegar and they’d told him they didn’t have any.

Now this pissed me off. I’d read the menu and I distinctly remember reading a description that included olive oil. Virgin olive oil, if I remember correctly. So either they were lying about not having any olive oil or the menu was misrepresenting one of the dishes.

Mike poked at his salad, but didn’t eat much of it.

Then came the very long wait. I’d say that we waited for at least 45 minutes from the time we placed our order until the time the food finally appeared. Meanwhile, the restaurant filled up and just about everyone else was fed. Some people who came in after us got their checks. We couldn’t decide whether we’d been blacklisted because Mike had asked for vinegar and oil or whether ordering something other than pizza was a mistake.

The food came. It was interesting. Although mine was good and it met the description of what I’d ordered, it wasn’t what I expected. Still, it was good. And although the plate was cold, the food was hot. So I was happy.

Mike’s on the other hand, was nothing like any of us expected. He’d ordered sole parmesan. What came was some fried fish filets with the same lemon sauce that was on my dish, along with some grated parmesan cheese. Parmesan — at least the parmesan I know from being half Italian and from New York — means the meat or fish is covered with a tomato-based sauce, melted mozzarella cheese, and a sprinkle of parmesan. Still, it must have tasted okay because he ate it all.

John and Lorna had Hawaiian pizza. They were happy.

We waited a long time to get the check. And then, once we had the check, the waitress neglected to come by to take my credit card. Finally, Mike, John, and Lorna got tired of waiting. They left and I went to the cash register to pay.

I looked for the owner in the bar on my way out. The place was surprisingly full of young people. In fact, I think everyone in town between the ages of 21 and 28 were in that bar. There may have been some imports, too. I didn’t even know we had that many young people in town. But the owner wasn’t among them.

It’s hard to get good help in Wickenburg. The labor force simply isn’t very good. Mature, was the way someone I know put it. The young people have no work ethic, no experience, and a poor attitude. The older people don’t really need the job so they’re not reliable. Employee problems are what drove me out of the airport fuel business back in April. Employee problems have hurt quite a few local businesses. They certainly didn’t help Sangini’s today.

The way I see it, dinner out is made up of four components: atmosphere, service, food quality, and value for your money. Once you’ve lowered your standards enough to deal with the limited choices in a small town, you don’t mind going out to eat in a place that’s only going to score high on three of these four components. But when a place scores poorly on two or three components, you simply can’t go there anymore.

I’ll still eat Sangini’s pizza. But until the service problem is resolved, I’ll take it to go.

And for the record, Mike and I eat at home more now than we ever did in our lives.

January 4, 2009 Update: This restaurant went out of business at least 6 months ago. A “For Sale” sign is on the building, but no seems interested in reopening it.