Category Archives: Travels with Maria

Blogging from the road.

Too Much to Do, Too Little Time

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And a check ride report.

I realized this morning that I never did report on my check ride. When I mentioned that I was prepping for it, I promised a report the next day. That was a week ago.

In my defense, I’ve been unreasonably busy. Here’s a rundown of how I spent the past seven days.:

Friday I’ve Got Flying on My Mind

On Friday morning, I took my Part 135 check ride with an FAA examiner. It was a non-event. I didn’t fly as well as I wanted to — I guess having an FAA inspector sitting next to you while you’re flying and wondering what he was going to do to play with your head (think pulling circuit breakers, chopping the throttle, etc.) is enough to make me a nervous wreck. But I flew good enough. And once I realized the test part was over, I actually flew very well. I want to write more about this, but don’t have the time right now.

When it was over and I put the helicopter away, I had to start prepping for another round of house guests. I ran around like a nut, taking care of errands and prepping my office for use as a second guest room. I was still at it when my husband arrived with the house guests: his mother and her friend.

Saturday at Buckeye

Saturday was our big annual Buckeye gig. This was our fifth year at the Buckeye Air Fair and I hope I can do it for 15 years. I enjoy it so much. I do cheap helicopter rides priced low enough that folks can (and do) bring their kids. I think I flew just as many kids under 15 as I did adults. One flight was just three kids aged maybe 4 to 7. It was nonstop flying from 9:30 AM, when the first takers climbed on board to 3:15 PM, a full hour and a quarter after the end of the event. I had to shut down once for fuel and a bathroom break, but I didn’t even get much to eat.

I wanted to write about that, too — especially about the flight down from Wickenburg — but I just haven’t had time. Now the memories aren’t quite as fresh and I don’t think I could write something interesting about it.

Sunday’s Road Trip, with Helicopters and Big Band Music

On Sunday, I was on the road at 7:15 AM, heading west in my little Honda S2000. Road trip. I had to go to Ventura for a week for work, but I wanted to stop at Anaheim on the way to check out Heli Expo.

HeliExpoThe show was at least three times the size of the last one I’d gone to, which was back in 2004 in Las Vegas. It was like a candy store for rotor-heads like me, with millions of dollars in hardware sitting out on plush carpeting for us to caress and drool over. And climb on board to sit in cockpits. I didn’t take many pictures — it was just to damn crowded.

One of the highlights was meeting a Twitter friend, Keith Gill. Keith flies the big iron — including Air Cranes — all over the world. He’d just come in from a firefighting gig in Australia and was prepping for another gig somewhere else. Keith writes a blog called “Helicopter Pilot, Will Travel” with lots of great, real-life stories about his flying and travel experiences. I highly recommend it for anyone interested in what being a helicopter pilot is all about.

Another highlight was meeting Dennis Raubenheimer of HeliNews. I’d written an article for them at it appeared in the current issue. He had two copies for me and I eagerly opened one as soon as I had it in my hot little hands. I was thrilled to see that they’d used all of the photos I sent, many of which featured my helicopter. My only regret is that the magazine is based in Australia and few U.S. pilots (or helicopter operators interested in hiring pilots) would see it. Can’t wait to hand off a copy to Ed, my local mechanic, who is featured in a bunch of the photos.

After leaving the show at 5 PM, I took a roundabout route up to Burbank, successfully avoiding any Oscars traffic in the Hollywood area. I was meeting another Twitter friend, SaxDiva (Leanne), for the first time. She’s a college professor who teaches business by day and plays saxophone and other woodwind instruments in the evening. She was doing a big band gig at a Burbank restaurant called Victorio’s. I’d been wanting to meet her for a while and we finally connected. Another friend of mine, Deb Shadovitz, joined me for dinner. Leanne sat with us between sets and we got to meet a bunch of the other band members, including a singer who sounded an awful lot like Tony Bennett. There’s nothing quite like good food and good music at the end of the day. If you live in the Burbank, CA area, I highly recommend Victorio’s on a Sunday evening for a casual night out with live music and dancing.

From there, it was a nightime drive to Ventura. I only made one wrong turn getting on the freeway. I was in my room, 400+ road miles from home, ready to pass out, by 10:15 PM.

Talk about a long day.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday: Work, Work, Work

I spent much of the first three days of the week in a soundproofed booth, recording a new video for Lynda.com. The rooms are like isolation chambers that completely shut out the sound from outside them. The work is pretty basic, but often frustrating as I trip over my own tongue to get the words out. I’m not really at liberty to say what the course is about yet — I’d rather keep it a surprise to the folks who don’t already know. (No spoilers in the comments, please!)

We did the live action footage yesterday. That’s when I get dolled up with makeup, etc. and talk to a camera. I was fumbling through the takes and was starting to think I’d never get it right when I absolutely nailed the last one. What a relief!

The Week’s Not Over

The week has two more days left in it and I’ll be working in Ventura both days. I think I’ll need both of them to get the material recorded. If I finish before noon on Friday, I’ll drive home. If I finish after 3 on Friday, I’ll spend the night here again. If I finish sometime between noon and 3, I’ll make a decision then.

At home, Mike is entertaining our house guests. They leave on Monday. I have nothing scheduled next week, but I know I’ll be doing at least one flight, probably to Sedona. I already have a flight booked for the week after that, too.

Too much to do. Too little time. It seems to be the story of my life.

I need a vacation!

Submarine

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A shot from over Lake Powell.

My husband and I flew up to Lake Powell the other day to take care of some business. Among our chores was a photo flight up the lake as far as The Rincon (about 79 miles uplake from the dam at Page).

SubmarineMike took this shot as we began our flight uplake. It features Padres Butte, which is known by local tour pilots as “submarine” because it looks like a submarine conning tower. There was very little wind on the lake the reflections were outrageous. The lake is as blue as ever, but if we’d taken this shot later in the afternoon, the buttes and surrounding cliffs would have looked much redder. This shot was taken around 1:30 PM.

Mike was shooting still photos while I shot video. He’s a pilot now, so we had the dual controls in. When he shot, I’d fly. When I shot, he’d fly. It worked out pretty well. We had both our doors off, so there’s no glare. We were, however, pretty darn cold — it was only 50°F up there and when you’re cruising at 80 knots with the doors off, you can’t help but get cold.

I have more photos from this trip and I’ll be uploading them to my photo gallery as I share them here.

PhotoJeeping: Mine Ruins on the Hassayampa River

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Some photos from a real off-road experience.

This past Sunday, Mike and I took the Jeep up the Hassayampa River. Way up the river.

As folks around Wickenburg know, the Hassayampa is mostly dry. The water does flow year-round, but in most places, it’s below the sandy surface. In rocky areas, it flows above the surface as a small stream.

Unless it’s rainy (or has been rainy). Then it’s a real river and should not be driven in.

Our Route InOn Sunday, it was running only slightly higher than usual. We entered the riverbed near the end of Rincon Road, where it climbs up to meet Scenic Loop. There was an old manganese mine there and the dirt road is black. Going straight (instead of making the left turn) takes you on a narrow track to the river. From there, it’s just a matter of following the tire tracks left by other vehicles.

Slot CanyonWe made a few brief stops. Box Canyon was one of them. But there were motorcycles there with loud engines and we didn’t stay long. Instead, we continued upstream, into the narrow slot canyon. The water flowed from wall to wall within the canyon and I had the windshield wipers going as I slipped around in the soft sand. We stopped for a moment to take a photo of the way we’d come.

We passed through the first gate just short of Boyd Ranch, above the floodplain on our left. We passed through the second gate just before Fools Canyon. Right about there, a group of five sand rails (dune buggies) and a yellow Jeep caught up with us. (We weren’t rushing.) We pulled over to let them pass.

In many places, four wheel drive was required. So was high clearance. So unless you have a Jeep or similar vehicle or an ATV, this isn’t the kind of drive you’d want to make. You’re driving in the river, with water splashing up all around you, in many places. There’s quicksand there, so you want to keep moving anywhere the sand is soft. Gnarly tires are definitely a plus.

Desert Meets StreamWe passed many interesting spots where Sonoran desert meets year-round stream. The variations in the rock were amazing. I took quite a few photos. Some of them are in my Photo Gallery.

We were about two miles past Fools Canyon when the group that had passed us came back. One of the drivers stopped to report. “You can’t go much farther,” he said, “but it’s worth it. There are some old foundations up there.”

Mine SiteWe continued on. The river was flowing through a canyon, but the way was still passable. We soon saw the remains of a mine site on the right side of the hill. We turned the Jeep into a promising canyon where other vehicles had driven but soon reached a dead end where rocks blocked our way. We parked, got out, and hiked up the hill.

It was an interesting mine site, with some seriously heavy-duty foundations. I don’t know much about mining, but I do know that they used gravity to process the ore. That’s what most of the “foundations” were for.

TunnelFollowing a narrow path for a better view down into the river, I came across a tunnel carved into the solid granite at the side of the hill. We passed through and continued onto the other side.

Mine RuinsA bit farther down the pathway, we found the remains of a wooden mining structure, as well as some partially buried railroad steel. Evidently, the path and tunnel had been used by ore carts or some similar conveyance. Most of the steel had been removed; the one piece we saw had been buried under a rockslide.

Truck in the RiverAs we admired the view, we heard the sound of a vehicle. Down in the riverbed, a truck was driving downstream. It stopped only long enough for the driver to point out a mine shaft to his passenger, then continued on down the river. I don’t think they saw us or our Jeep.

We left a while later and spent a short time exploring the severely vandalized remains of a home across the river. Then we headed back, stopping long enough to take a few photos along the way.

We were gone about five hours and had covered about 40 miles roundtrip. We took Scenic Loop from just past Fools Canyon on the way back, minimizing our time in the riverbed.

I checked all the maps I have for the area and the mine does not appear on any of them, so I don’t know it’s name. I do know it well, however; I fly over it every time I take a tour up the Hassayampa River in my helicopter. It’s nice to know what it looks like close up.

Decorating with MY Art

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Because everyone — even me — has some artistic ability.

One of the things that’s challenging me lately is the collection of blank walls at our Phoenix apartment (code-named “Rear Window”). It’s a challenge because I’m determined to decorate them with artwork — which I’ve never been very good at doing.

Why We Don’t Hang Art

I should explain. Our first house, in New Jersey, was made of reinforced poured concrete. Built in 1926, it was one of several in town that was formed with reinforcement mesh, concrete forms, and poured concrete. The walls, floors, and ceilings were all poured concrete. To say our house was solid is an understatement. It will survive earthquakes, floods, and nuclear explosions.

One of the problems of having a house like that is hanging pictures. A masonry nail (at the very least) was required to hang anything on the wall — whether it was a spice rack, framed poster, or paper calendar. As a result, we always thought twice or three times or more before hanging anything. We didn’t want to put unnecessary holes in the walls — holes we might later regret putting there.

So we hung very few items on the walls.

We lived there eleven years. The hesitancy of hanging anything on the walls became part of our mentality. To this day, after twelve years in our current home, we’re still hesitant to hang anything on the walls.

But there’s no excuse not to hang art on these plain, pale colored walls in Phoenix. So we’re going to do it.

My Art

I’ve been an amateur photographer since my college days, although I stopped taking photos for a bunch of years and only got involved again about three years ago. Like so many people, I’ve discovered that digital photography makes photography more affordable, more convenient, and more fun. I make a conscious effort these days to go to interesting places and take interesting photos. And since it costs the same to shoot one photo as it does to shoot 20, I experiment a lot. And although I’ll never quit my “day job” (whatever that is) to become a professional photographer, I’ve collected enough good shots to feel proud of my efforts and want to show them off.

So I’ve decided to draw upon my portfolio of photos to decorate the walls at Rear Window. Why buy someone else’s photos when I can show off some of my own?

(My apologies to the professional photographers out there trying to sell your work. There is a market for it. That market just isn’t with me.)

ribba.jpgI found some very basic frames that included bevel cut mats at Ikea. (Although Aaron Brothers is having their big 1¢ sale right now, getting a large mat cut would cost me about $95 and I’m not interested in spending more on a mat than the frame and enlarged photo combined.) The frame comes several colors, although I’ve chosen black. It’s also available in a wide variety of sizes, some of which have mat cutouts for multiple photos. So I have a lot of flexibility here to hang all kinds of photos in a number of sizes.

To get things started, I ordered enlargements of two of my favorite photos made last year:

  • North to the FutureNorth to the Future was taken in Alaska in March 2008 at Girdwood Airport, a small dirt strip (snowcovered that day) about 40 miles south of Anchorage. I’d been flying the day before as a passenger on three incredible helicopter flights but did not have my camera aboard. (Don’t ask.) The next day, I had my camera handy and snapped this photo on my way into Alpine Air’s office at the airport. The clouds were caught up in the snow-covered mountains all around the airport, the sky was an amazing blue beyond it, and the bright red and yellow of the airplane really called out to me. The title of this photo comes from Alaska’s state motto. The photo was entered into a photo contest but did not win.
  • Lake Powell from Romana MesaLake Powell from Romana Mesa was shot in August 2008. I’d made the 2-hour drive from Page, AZ around the northwest end of the lake to the top of Romana Mesa in Mike’s pickup truck. Suffering with a bad back and concerned that I wouldn’t get back to Page before it got dark, I didn’t stay long or spend much time exploring. But the late afternoon light was great and there were just enough clouds in the sky to make it interesting. I took about 80 shots on that little excursion and this is one of my favorites.

I ordered 20 x 30 enlargements of each of these. They should be arriving by mail any day now. Later today, I’ll head down to Ikea to pick up the frames. This weekend, I’ll put them all together.

I’ll hang them at Rear Window the next time I’m in Phoenix. The airplane photo will be perfect centered over our new red sofa. The Lake Powell photo will go over the fireplace — until I can find the giant clock with Arabic numerals (not Roman numerals!) that I really want there. Then I’ll likely shift it to one of the walls in the dining room.

If I like the way they look, I’ll choose more photos and have them printed in other sizes. I’ll buy other frames. Little by little, I’ll cover the walls with souvenirs of our travels.

I’m really looking forward to this. It’ll be great to have these pictures reside somewhere other than on my hard drive.

Got photos you’re proud of? Don’t keep them cooped up on your computer’s hard disk. Make a place for them in your home. I guarantee you’ll be glad you did.

At Paradise Cove

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A story and a few photos.

I was driving down the California coast, looking for a place to stop for breakfast — preferably with a view of the ocean — when I saw a sign for Paradise Cove. I followed the arrow down a narrow road that wound down to the ocean. There was a right turn into a trailer park, but if I went straight, I’d end up in a parking lot on the ocean. A sign warned that parking was $20, but only $3 if you got your parking ticket validated in the restaurant and stayed for less than 4 hours. Ahead of me was a funky little oceanfront restaurant with a handful of cars parked in front of it. I drove through the gate and parked.

The Paradise Cove Beach CafeAnd went inside the Paradise Cove Beach Cafe.

It was a typical seaside restaurant — the kind you can imagine filled with people in bathing suits, eating fried clams, with sand and flip-flops on their feet. (That’s my east coast seaside experience talking.) But that Saturday morning was partly cloudy and unseasonably cool for southern California. The main dining room was empty. I was escorted into a kind of sundeck room with big windows facing the ocean. Although all the window tables were full, the waiter kindly sat me at a huge table nearby, where I could enjoy the view as well as the activity going on around me.

I checked out the menu, eager for a big, hot breakfast. I didn’t plan to eat again until after my flight arrived in Phoenix later that evening. Some items on the menu interested me, but it was the eggs benedict I asked the waiter about.

“Are they good?” There’s nothing worse than bad eggs benedict when you’re expecting decent eggs benedict.

“Very good,” he assured me.

I settled down to wait for my breakfast. There was nothing much going on outside the window. Gulls flying around, a few people walking out on the obligatory but short pier. It was mostly dark and cloudy over the ocean, but the sun was breaking through here and there. I watched my fellow diners get their breakfasts delivered. Everything looked outrageously good.

When my breakfast arrived, it looked good. On the plate were two eggs benedict, a good sized portion of roasted potatoes, and some melon slices. I nibbled a potato. It was cooked to perfection. And then I tasted the eggs benedict.

I’ve had eggs benedict in a lot of places — including a lot of fancy and expensive hotel restaurants. But these eggs benedict were the best I’d ever had in my life. It may have been the fact that the eggs were cooked perfectly — whites cooked, yolks still runny. Or the fact that the english muffins beneath them were fresh and not over-toasted. But it was probably because the hollandaise sauce was light and airy and obviously freshly prepared from scratch — not some thick yellow crap from a mix.

You like eggs benedict? Go on out to the Paradise Cove Cafe in Malibu and get some.

I was just finishing up my breakfast when a man about my age came in with two elderly ladies. They got a table by the window near where I was sitting. I watched them, trying not to look obvious about it, recognizing something about them. It came to me slowly. He was the grandson taking his grandmother and her friend out to breakfast.

They reminded me so much of all the times I’d taken my grandmother out to breakfast. This may have been because the woman had the same New York accent my grandmother had. She also spoke rather loudly, had trouble hearing her grandson, and asked the waiter all kinds of questions. She was concerned about whether she’d have to pay for a refill of her “mocha” — a simple mix of coffee and hot chocolate prepared by the waiter. She praised the waiter extensively about how well he’d prepared that mocha for her. The other woman was quieter but seemed to have the same accent. The grandson was attentive but, on more than one occasion, obviously embarrassed.

I knew exactly how he felt.

Before I left, I got up to say hello to them. I discovered that the women were from the Bronx — the same area as my grandmother. The quiet woman was the grandmother’s sister. She complemented me on the way my blue earrings made my eyes look bluer. I could easily have chatted with them all day.

Up the CoastAfterwards, I went outside and took a walk on the pier. I took a photo looking up the coast (shown here) and another looking down the coast (shown below). Amazing that these two photos were taken only moments apart, isn’t it? But the weather was variable and moving quickly. A huge storm front was moving into southern California that would dump rain on the low elevations and snow on the higher ones.

Paradise Cove and places like it are part of the reason I like to travel alone. When you’re traveling with companions, every stop has to be debated and measured. No one ever wants to say, “Let’s stop here and check it out,” because no one wants to be responsible if the place turns out to be rat hole. As a result, opportunities to visit interesting places are missed. Instead, a trip is a long string of predetermined “must see” places, visited one after another with few spontaneous stops along the way.

Down the CoastThere was magic at the Paradise Cove Cafe — at least for me that morning. If I’d been with someone else — someone anxious to eat breakfast before starting the drive or satisfied with a chain restaurant for a meal — I would have missed that magic.

I also would have missed out on photo opportunities. When I’m on the road by myself, I stop more often to look at what’s around me and, if I can, take pictures. On this particular Saturday, all I had with me was my little Nikon CoolPix point-and-shoot, but I put it to good use. The weather was a mixture of thick clouds and blue sky. It was the kind of place and day that calls out to photographers. The photos I’m able to include with this blog entry will help me remember this day. (I even took a stealth photo of the grandson/grandmother/aunt outing with my Treo, although I won’t publish it here.)

Anyway, I walked back to my rental car, fired it up, and paid my $3 parking fee on the way out. It had been well worth the money.