Category Archives: Days in My Life

I don’t just sit around and watch TV.

The Toyota Comes Home

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We revive my comatose Toyota and bring it home from Prescott.

In October, 1986, twenty years ago last month, I bought my second ever brand new car: a 1987 Toyota MR-2. It cost a whopping $15K, which in those days was above average for a new car, but not really considered “expensive.”

And what did I get for my money? A really fun, 2-seater sports car. Red, of course — it was my first red vehicle. It was also my first five-speed, and since I didn’t know how to drive a manual transmission in those days, I couldn’t even drive it home from the dealer.

Less than a week later, I was driving it to work in downtown Manhattan. One of the perks of my job with the City of New York, Office of the Comptroller, Bureau of Financial Audit was a free parking space near the Municipal Building, where I worked. I worked an 8 to 4 shift in an attempt to avoid rush-hour traffic. (New York’s rush hour is later in the day than Phoenix’s and doesn’t seem to last as long. I think good mass transit has something to do with that.) My big challenge in those early days of driving with a clutch and gearshift was the ramp from the Harlem River Drive up to the Cross Bronx Expressway and George Washington Bridge on my way home. The ramp was a steep climb and it was always backed up in the afternoon. If there’s one thing that’ll teach you how to drive a stick shift, it’s being forced to drive uphill in traffic.

Six months later, I was working in Redbank, NJ, for another company. The 60-mile (each way!) commute was only one of the reasons I hated that job. I found another one after just four months — I started looking after only two — and settled down to the last “9 to 5” job I’d ever have, at ADP’s corporate headquarters in Roseland, NJ. That was a 30-mile commute. Just right for the MR-2.

Years passed. I left that job and went freelance. I had a few questionable years. Then things started looking up. I had money and flexible time. But I kept the Toyota. Why not? It was a fun car to drive.

In 1995 (I think) I drove it across the country to Yarnell, AZ, which isn’t far from my current home in Wickenburg. It was loaded down with all the things I’d need for a winter as a snowbird — possibly the youngest snowbird in Arizona. I spent three months living and writing in Yarnell. I got to know Prescott and Wickenburg. And that winter, my Toyota had its first accident.

It happened right downtown in Wickenburg, right in front of St. Anthony’s Church on North Tegner. I was driving through town with Mike, who had come to visit for a week. We were on our way to Tucson to meet with his cousin Ricky. The person in front of me was making a left turn into Yavapai street. I was going straight. Unfortunately, a senior idiot from Pennsylvania, driving in the opposite direction, decided to make a left turn right in front of me. The road was covered with a thin layer of sand and when I hit the brakes, the car slid right into the corner of the guy’s bumper. The impact wasn’t hard — neither of us were going very fast — but it was enough to put a dent in the middle of the Toyota’s front bumper that made it look as if I’d hit a pole.

To say I was angry is an understatement.

Although the car was already almost 10 years old, the insurance company sprung for the repairs. Three weeks later, it was good as new. Actually, a little better. The air conditioning had started working again.

Before I went back to New Jersey at the end of that winter, I drove the Toyota out to California for a weekend. I took a picture of it at the beach on the Pacific ocean. From sea to shining sea. I’ve since lost that photo. After all, it was taken in the days before digital photography.

In those days, we called the Toyota “the mule” because I’d found a roof rack for it and, when it was installed, we could pack all kinds of stuff on it. I drove back to New Jersey by way of Florida — I was a speaker at a writer’s conference there. Mike came with me. Along the way, we camped out at Big Bend National Park and were nearly washed off the road by flooding in New Orleans.

Two years later, the Toyota and I made the drive again. This time, we were moving to Arizona, to an apartment I’d found in Wickenburg. I’d had enough of New Jersey’s cold, snowy winters. I wanted a new life in a warm place. Mike would leave his job (kind of; long story) and follow me five months later, in May, when our house was sold.

In 1999, I bought the red Jeep Wrangler I still drive around quite a bit these days. The Toyota began a life of leisure in the garage, pulled out for trips to Prescott or Phoenix. It was starting to look its age, but the paint was still bright and it still ran like a charm.

In 2000, I bought a helicopter. It was a two-seater. About a year later, when I started getting helicopter maintenance done in Prescott, I decided that it might be nice for the Toyota to live up there. Then, when I flew up, I’d have something to drive when I got there. Since I flew up at least once a month or so — not just for helicopter maintenance; we prefer shopping in Prescott to shopping in the Phoenix area — the car was driven quite regularly.

Meanwhile, at home, I missed the Toyota. The Jeep might be fun on dirt roads, but it’s miserable on highways. The Toyota is fun on all kinds of paved roads.

In June 2003, I bought a Honda S2000. So now I had a Jeep for dirt roads and around town driving and a sports car for paved roads and road trips. I vowed to never let the Toyota know I’d bought the Honda. I didn’t want it to get jealous.

One time, we got to Prescott to do a little shopping and found the Toyota’s battery just about dead. Mike gave it a push down a hill while I rode inside, gathering speed. I dropped the clutch and the car came to life. We drove it to Sears and bought it a new battery — its third in about 15 years.

In 2004, I got a summer job with Papillon at the Grand Canyon. I lived in a trailer on our property at Howard Mesa. The Toyota became my spare car up there, spending time either at Grand Canyon Airport or Howard Mesa or taking me from one point to the other. It shared this duty with my Jeep. So yes, I had two cars and a helicopter with me that summer. What good is an asset if you don’t use it?

At the end of that season, the Toyota went back to Prescott, where it stayed until it needed an oil pan replacement, which I wrote about in another blog entry. I was flying up there less and less. I’d sold my little helicopter and bought a bigger one. It was brand new and didn’t need much maintenance, especially since Ed Taylor, Wickenburg’s excellent aircraft mechanic, had gone to the Robinson Factory Maintenance Course and was authorized to do maintenance and repairs. He did all my engine-related work — oil changes, fuel reorientation SB, etc. — while the Prescott folks handled the helicopter-specific stuff (rotor blades, gear box, etc) and 100-hour and annual inspections.

Earlier this year, I switched helicopter mechanics. I now take my helicopter down to Williams Gateway airport in Mesa for work. I flew into Prescott less and less. I realized that it was kind of silly to keep a car there.

A few weeks ago, on our return trip from a weekend in Sedona, we decided to stop by the airport and pick up the car. We found it looking sad and feeling comatose. Even a push start wouldn’t get it running. We towed it back to a parking space and went home.

Yesterday, we drove up to retrieve it, bringing along jumper cables and tools. It started right up with a jump from Mike’s Honda, but there wasn’t enough juice in the battery to keep the engine running when it was at idle or when switching gears at low speed. (It still has its original clutch, which is really starting to show its age, so it’s a bit tricky to drive.) After two attempts to get it out of the parking lot, we decided to park it, remove the battery, buy a new battery at Sears, and put it in ourselves. (We do have AAA, but we needed the car towed to Sears sometime within our lifetimes and AAA seems to have a problem with fast service when it comes to towing.)

At Sears, the guy who tested the battery said it was the second deadest he’d ever tested. (How he made that conclusion is beyond me, since his meter didn’t read a thing when connected to the terminals.) We discovered that the old battery was only 3 years old, so I got a new one at a discount. We bought some other stuff at Sears, had sashimi for lunch in a nearby Japanese restaurant, hit Office Max for a computer cable and Petco for dog vitamins, visited Old Navy for some winter shirts, and then spent an hour (and almost $300!) at Costco. At 4 PM, we returned to the Toyota, which was waiting patiently, looking more faded and forlorn than ever. Mike installed the battery and I hopped in behind the wheel. I stepped on the clutch pedal, turned the key, and the car roared to life. “Let’s go!” it was saying.

Sounded good to me. After manually cleaning the dusty windshield — the wipers have dry rot and need replacement — we headed home. You know, I had that little sucker up to 80 mph? Wasn’t meaning to, of course, and was pretty surprised to see that speedometer needle in the straight-up position.

Mike followed me, just in case the car decided to lose a wheel or collapse on the way home. No problems, though.

I stopped at Safeway to pick up some groceries on my way home. When I pulled into the parking lot, people looked at me as if I were driving some kind of junker. Little did they know.

The Toyota is home now, in one of Mike’s parking spaces on the driveway apron. For the first time in a long time, all six of our vehicles (including his 1986 Mustang Convertible, which, in my opinion, looks worse than the Toyota) are in the same place at the same time. My Honda is in the garage, of course. We toyed with the idea of bringing the Toyota to live in my hangar at the airport, but I think I’d rather keep it home, at least for a while. I’m going to drive it today. I’ll get it an oil change and a little check up at Dan’s place. (The Toyota loves Dan.) I’ll bring it by the airport to wash it. I’ll pull out the Zymol and see if it can make what’s left of the paint shine again.

And then, when I’m finished playing with it and convincing it that I still love it, I’ll take it down to the Phoenix area and probably park it at Deer Valley airport, or perhaps Scottsdale, if I can find free long-term parking. These days, I seem to fly more in the Phoenix area than around Wickenburg anyway. It would be nice to take care of some errands while I was down there.

Oh, and for the record, the Toyota has a book value of about $250 these days. It costs about $400/year to insure. (No, I don’t have collision coverage on it.) It’s hard to sell a nearly worthless asset when it’s so cheap to keep.

How to Wash a Helicopter

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It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

I washed my helicopter today. It isn’t the first time I’ve done the job and it won’t be the last. I don’t like doing it — it rates right up there with washing Alex the Bird’s cage. But it has to be done periodically to keep it looking nice for the folks who spend big money to fly in it.

Take a moment to consider the task. The helicopter is about 32 feet long from the front of its cockpit to the end of its tail. (Or 38-1/2 feet, if you include the main rotor blades, lined up front and back.) It’s twelve feet tall, from the bottom of its skids to the main rotor hub. The surfaces are painted aluminum and Fiberglas and Plexiglas. Few of the surfaces are flat.

Over the past two years, I’ve developed a technique for washing the helicopter. I start by pulling it all the way out of my hangar so it’s parked in front, on its ground handling equipment. I get a bucket of warm (or hot) water from the airport terminal (I don’t have hot water in my hangar) and add some car wash liquid detergent. I like Rain Dance, but I had some other “spot-free” stuff that I used today. I make it all sudsy with the hose. Then, after making sure all the doors and vents are closed, I get down to business.

The first task is spraying down the tail section, from the end of the main part of the body to the tail rotor. I use a spray nozzle on a hose. Power washers are not allowed and some people think you shouldn’t use a hose spray nozzle either. My response: how are you supposed to rinse it off?

Once it’s wet, I start at the very end and work my way forward with a car wash sponge and the warm soapy water. It’s the kind of sponge that’s spongy on one side and a bit rougher on the other. I use the rough end on the leading edges of the horizontal and vertical stabilizers and the tail rotor blades to remove the dead bugs that have accumulated there. They usually come right off with a little elbow grease. I need to climb a ladder to get the top of the vertical stablizer. I use an 8-foot ladder that I keep in my hangar for preflighting the main rotor hub. While I’m doing this, I’m checking all the screws and rivets and the tail rotor’s pitch change links, looking for weird stuff that I might miss on a preflight.

Then I rinse where I washed and rewet the forward part of the tail cone. I do a lot of rinsing. Unfortunately, unless I wash the helicopter an hour or two before sunset, I have to wash it in the sun. The Arizona sun likes to dry things very quickly. That’s not a good thing, because the water has a lot of minerals in it and it tends to spot when it dries, no matter what kind of car wash detergent you’re using. So I keep it wet until I can get it out of the sun.

I continue washing and rinsing and checking screws and rivets, moving forward on either side of the tailcone until it’s all done. I make sure I wash off the strobe light and antennas back there, too. Then I move the helicopter back into the hangar a bit so the part I just washed and rinsed numerous times is now in the shade and the rest of the helicopter is still outside.

Now I’m up to what I call the R44 butt. It’s a panel that covers the rear end of the fan scroll at the back of the engine compartment. It gets coated with a white, kind of greasy film. Car wash soap cannot remove it. So I get out what I call R44 Butt Cleaner. It comes in an orange spray bottle. I spray it all over that panel, as well as at the bottom of the tailcone near it, which also gets that nasty film. I spray so everything’s coated. Then I get out a shop rag and wipe the film right off. This stuff works great and I’m thinking of repackaging it and selling it to R44 owners as a specialized R44 product at three times what I paid for it.

Although the panel is all shiny when I’m done, that’s not good enough. I want to wash off every trace of whatever that junk is. So I spray it down and continue with my wash, rinse, wash, rinse routine.

Next are the skid pants. That’s not what they’re really called, but it’s what I call them. The skids are the long black things that make contact with the ground when the helicopter isn’t flying. There are four legs that attach the rest of the helicopter to the two skids. Each leg has an aluminum fairing. That’s what I call skid pants. Their front, rounded sides get full of dried bugs, which I usually scrub off with warm soapy water and the rough side of the sponge. Today I used bug and tar remover with a brush.

I do the back end of the body next, along with the back windows. They’re “bubble” windows that kind of bulge out so passengers can stick their heads out a bit and look in all directions. I use the soft side of the sponge; they don’t usually get very dirty.

Washing a HelicopterNext is the mast, which has a cowling over it. The front, rounded side of the cowling is completely covered with baked on, squished on bugs. It’s bad, mostly because it’s so darn high off the ground that I need a ladder to clean it so I only clean it when I wash the whole helicopter. I used bug and tar remover with a brush on it today. Not a good solution, but it did work. I have to move the ladder and climb up either side of the helicopter to wash it all properly. Then it’s rinse, rinse, rinse and move the whole thing back a bit more into the hangar.

The front bubble comes next. It’s usually pretty clean — after all, it is the window I look through when I fly, so I wash it before just about every flight. The area under it — including the painted area around the landing lights — is another story. The bugs are really stuck there. On a whim, I decided to try the R44 Butt Cleaner. Would you believe it worked? No scrubbing required, either. Of course, I still had to wash that junk off, so I did double duty. But it is the cleanest it’s been in a while.

After a good rinse, I move the whole helicopter back into the hangar and begin the drying cycle. I use towels. I have a bunch of towels that are pink because I consistently wash them with red shop rags. They’re my helicopter and car wash towels. I use them to dry the whole helicopter, from the bubble back. The tailcone is usually just about dry by the time I get back there, but I dry it with a wet towel anyway, just to prevent the spots from setting in.

No, I don’t wash the main rotor blades. They’re drooping about 11-1/2 feet off the ground and are very difficult to reach to wash properly. I’d have to climb to the second to the last step on the ladder, which I’d have to reposition four times for each blade. It’s a ton of work and I get very wet, with soapy water running down my arms as I reach up. And I simply can’t deal with the ladder thing.

It’s kind of funny, because I had a perfect technique for washing the blades on my old R22. Those blades weren’t nearly as high up. I’d drive to the airport in Mike’s pickup truck and back it up, perpendicular to the helicopter, aligned with the mast. Then I’d turn the blades so one of them was lined up right over the bed of the pickup. I’d climb up in the bed of the pickup with my bucket and sponge and wash the blade, top and bottom, scraping all the dead bugs off the leading edge. Then I’d climb down, spray the blade to rinse it, and rotate the blades a half turn so the other blade was over the bed of the truck and repeat the process. Another wash and rinse cycle and I was done. One time, I even waxed them.

Unfortunately, the R44 blades are so high off the ground that I’d need a ladder inside the bed of the pickup to use the same method. And that’s not something I’m ready to do. So they go unwashed until their 100 hour or annual inspection. The guys who do the maintenance wash and detail the whole helicopter for me, including the blades.

The was job takes a good hour. It goes faster with help — one person can rinse while the other washes and it gets done very quickly. Then it’s usually still wet when we dry it off.

If I have time and it isn’t too hot, I use some spray wax to finish it off. It’s sold as RV cleaner/wax and it does a nice job, as long as you use it in the shade. It dries too quickly in the sun. I don’t usually do the whole helicopter. It takes too long. Instead, I start with the painted surfaces in the front and work my way back. I usually run out of steam before I get to the tailcone.

I didn’t wax it today. I ran out of time and had to get it out on the ramp for a flight. It sure looked good out in the sun, all clean and shiny.

Although I don’t like to wash the helicopter — primarily because it’s so much work and I always wind up getting dirty and wet — I’m glad I do it. It gives me an opportunity to look over the entire ship closely. I once found a loose screw on the mast cowling and have never forgotten it. Now I check every screw, every rivet. There hasn’t been a loose screw since, but if there is, I’ll find it.

A Whinny in the Night…

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…means there’s something wrong.

Horses are generally very quiet animals. They spend their lives eating, pooping, and sleeping. And they do it without vocalizations.

So when I woke last night at about 1:30 AM to the sound of a horse whinnying, I didn’t just roll over and go back to sleep.

Although Wickenburg has traditionally been a horse-property town, the new subdivisions going in all over town don’t allow horses. How could they, with lot sizes shrinking from over an acre per house (we have 2-1/2 acres) to 1/2 acre or less? Even the subdivisions with relatively large lots bordering open land — Saddle Ridge comes to mind — have prohibited horses. Many horse people are moving out of town and existing horse property is being bought by newcomers who don’t have horses. So while there used to be nine horses in our immediate area, there are now only five. And two of them are ours.

Jake and Cherokee at Howard MesaJake and Cherokee are a pair of Quarter Horses. Jake is a former ranch horse that was likely abused — or at least handled roughly — during his working life. He’s very hand shy — don’t try to pet his face! — and doesn’t like to be bothered on his free time. To him, that means any time there isn’t a halter on his face or a saddle on his back. But get him saddled up and he’ll do whatever you want. Jake’s about 25 years old now, which is getting up there in years for a horse. He’s sorrel (reddish brown) and has a swayback. He’s the alpha male in our little herd, bossing around his buddy and terrorizing any other horse we might put in with them.

Cherokee is a paint Quarter Horse. He’s a very pretty boy and he knows it. Previous owners spoiled him and neglected to train him properly, so when we got him, he was difficult to handle and rather “bratty.” Over time, I showed him who was boss. He still tries to get away with things — stopping for no reason on a trail, dancing around while being saddled, biting Jake’s back leg on a trail ride — so whoever rides him has to be on constant vigilance. We don’t put visitors on Cherokee’s back. Cherokee taught me how to fall off a horse — and it took me several lessons over that first year to get it right. I taught him that rabbits were nothing to be afraid of. He’s about 17 now and very fat because he manages to eat more than half the food when we feed the two horses together.

Anyone who thinks that horses are just big dumb animals have obviously not spent any time around horses. Each horse has its own personality and, once you get to know a horse, you can predict what he’ll do in any situation. Jake is all business. He’s calm and will never kick or bite anyone — including another horse — while under saddle. You could drive a freight train right by him while there’s a rider on his back and he’d probably stand his ground until the train was gone. He’s very standoffish when he’s not working. Cherokee is the complete opposite. He’s friendly and will often come up to the fence when another rider goes by, just to silently say hello. He’ll always come to the fence when our friend Pete comes by with his grandkids or when John and Lorna stop by. He knows they bring treats and he wants to get the carrot or apple they’ve got for him. He loves to be petted and brushed and talked to. But get a saddle on him and take him out on the trail and you never know what might spook him or how he’ll behave.

The two horses are buddies, although it wasn’t Jake’s idea. Jake seems to hate every horse while Cherokee seems to love every horse. So when we first put them together, Jake would chase Cherokee away from him and his food and Cherokee would keep coming back for more. He’d be bitten and kicked but he’d take it like a dope. In time, he wore Jake down and now Jake doesn’t chase him off so often. It’s like he’s given up because he knows how useless it is.

Of the two of them, Jake is more vocal. He whinnies around feeding time, when he sees one of us around the hay shed preparing the food. It’s like he’s nagging us. “Hurry up! I’m hungry.” It’s an impatient whinny. Although Cherokee’s life revolves around food, he’s quiet about it.

The only other time they’ll whinny is when they’re separated. Horses are herd animals. They like to be together. When one of them is taken out for a ride or to the vet without the other, the remaining horse whinnies. Sometimes they both whinny. But if the one taken out is with other horses, he’s okay and usually stays quiet.

Sometimes when you get a bunch of strange horses together — like when we go on a trail ride with the Wickenburg Horsemen’s Association — they’ll whinny at each other. But our boys don’t usually participate in that ritual. They’re generally very quiet.

So when I heard a whinny in the middle of the night, I knew something was up. And since only two houses in the neighborhood have horses, there was a good chance that the problem was in our corral.

Now a lot of people who don’t live in a warmer climate think that horses live in barns. In colder climates, they often do. But not in Arizona. Most of the horses that live in Arizona live outdoors year-round. Our boys have two corrals: a large acre+ enclosure down in the wash (a dry riverbed) that runs through our property and a smaller pen with a turnout halfway up the driveway to our house. They spend the day together down in the wash, unless heavy rain is possible (and the wash could run). They eat their morning meal of alfalfa and grass and stretch out on the sand in the late morning for a nap. They spend the afternoon nibbling on whatever grass is left or biting the seed pods off the mesquite trees around them or just standing around the water trough dozing. At around 6 PM, we move them to the upper corral, where each of them has his own enclosure. We separate them in this area so Jake has enough time to eat. He eats more slowly than Cherokee and if they were always together, Cherokee would always get at least 3/4 of the food. We feed them alfalfa and grass, as well as a concoction we call “bucket” that includes red beet pulp, grain, bran, and a bunch of other stuff to add nutrition and keep their digestive systems clear. Jake also gets a “senior” pelleted feed and pelletized alfalfa to help fatten him up. If we didn’t do this, his ribs would show all the time.

Although they’re in separate enclosures, the two enclosures are adjacent to each other. In fact, you have to walk through one of them to get to the gate of the other. So they’re together. They just can’t share their food.

The other day, Jake wasn’t feeling too well. He was lethargic in the morning and we thought he was sick. Possibly with colic, a digestive problem that kills horses. We got him to the vet and he was checked out. The doctor gave him a shot and he seemed okay.

So when I heard the second whinny in the middle of the night, I thought of Jake.

Mike was awake as I pulled on my sweatpants. I asked him to come with me. I told him I was afraid of what I might find. We got a flashlight and started down the driveway. I immediately saw Jake, standing in his part of the corral, looking up at as as we came down. He was fine.

But Cherokee was nowhere in sight and the gate to his part of the corral was wide open.

Remember what I said about separation? Cherokee had wandered off and Jake was missing him. Thus, the whinny.

Now there were only two places he would have gone by himself. The closest (but less likely) was the lower corral. We walked down there and peeked in. The gate was open and there was no food down there, so there was no reason he’d be hanging out. He wasn’t. But it made sense to check there first.

The more likely destination was our neighbor’s horses. Remember what I said about horses liking to be together? We crossed the wash to their corral while Jake whinnied again behind us. My flashlight picked up Cherokee’s brown and white coat immediately. But he was inside one of their spare corrals. And when we got there, we found the gate securely latched behind him. He gave us a typically dopey look as we put the lead rope around him and started walking home. Our neighbor’s dog barked like crazy. Jake whinnied. One of our neighbor’s horses whinnied. It was a heck of a racket at 2 AM.

We walked Cherokee up the driveway and put him back in his corral. We opened the gate between the two horses. We closed the outer gate and secured it with a chain. That chain had been bought years ago when Jake learned to open gates. It appeared that Cherokee had learned the same trick.

In the morning, our neighbor stopped by to tell us our horse was in his corral. It was still dark and he didn’t realize we’d already retrieved him. He said that he’d been wandering around their place at about 10:30 PM. They’d caught him and put him in the corral for safekeeping. I’d figured it had been something like that.

But what I still can’t figure out is why he left in the first place. It’s so unlike Cherokee to take a walk by himself. The last time he’d opened the gate, he’d just hung around near Jake until we found him.

Could it be that our fat little boy is growing up?

Return of the Jeep

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I bring my Jeep back from Howard Mesa.

On Saturday, Mike and I drove up to Howard Mesa to take care of “winterizing” our shed and property. That included things like spraying down the little building with Thompson’s Water Seal, covering the valves on our two water tanks with foam insulator cups, and securing loose items.

We were going to fly up, but for some reason, Mike wanted to drive. So we made several stops along the way in Prescott: the excellent True Value hardware store near the hospital, the Secondhand Man Furniture Shop, and an antique store near Courthouse Square. We almost bought a table and a drop-front desk (or secretary, as they’re sometimes called) but decided that the table was too big and the desk was too rickety. Then we got back on the road and, after stopping at Safeway in Chino Valley for fuel and KFC in Chino Valley for lunch on the go, we finally made it to Howard Mesa by about noon.

We did our chores. It took about two hours. I used Trade-a-Plane sheets to cover the windows of the shed and it’s a good thing I did — Mike has very little precision with the sprayer. He sprayed and I brushed the wet spots — mostly the building’s trim and “shutters.” Then we did our wooden bench and picnic table. Then we did the building again. We went through two gallons of Thompson’s. It was certainly worth the effort. The building will be protected for up to two years (although we’ll probably do this annually anyway) and, hopefully, it won’t turn black like the picnic table is.

Afterwards, we called our friends Elizabeth and Matt, who live full-time on the other side of the mesa. They were home so we decided to visit for a while on our way back home.

My JeepMy Jeep was at Howard Mesa — it had been there for about two months — and I wanted to bring it home. I’d been driving my little Honda S2000 for the whole time it was gone and the poor car was tired of eroded dirt roads and dust. And I was tired of washing it. Besides, as fun as the Honda is to drive, it’s not terribly practical for life in Wickenburg. I’d bought it for road trips and driving down to Phoenix — not for picking up feed for the horses and grocery shopping. And that’s what I’d been doing. (Do you know you can fit three 50-lb bags of horse and chicken feed in the trunk of a Honda S2000?)

So I loaded the garbage into the Jeep and let Mike take Jack the Dog in his truck. (He also took a very tall ladder that I’ll be using at the airport during my preflight to get just a little closer to my rotor hub.) We drove to Elizabeth and Matt’s place. We took what we call the Tank Road — a two-track that winds through state land from a big metal water tank to the edge of Elizabeth’s and Matt’s property. It’s a mile shorter that way, but the road is pretty rough. Didn’t stop me from bouncing along in the Jeep. I figured that the Jeep had had enough rest and it was time to get back to work.

We had a nice visit, then hit the road again in our two separate vehicles. I led the way. And that’s when I started to remember why I’d bought the S2000 in the first place.

On paved roads, the Jeep rides like crap.

First of all, the Jeep’s 6-cylinder, 4-liter engine cannot compare to the 4-cylinder, 2 liter engine in my Honda. The Jeep has terrible acceleration and could barely reach the speed limit on Route 64 (65 mph), I-40 (75 mph), or 89 (65 mph). My driver’s license would be safe: Speeding wasn’t much of an option. The whole thing shakes and rattles, feeling very unstable at any speed over 55. The Honda, on the other hand, feels rock solid and stable at any speed — and I’ve tried a bunch of them.

And the Jeep’s brakes — well they suck. I’m going to get them checked. They really can’t be that bad by design. The first time I used them at a stop sign, I nearly coasted right through the intersection.

Noise was a big issue. Although I had my iPod plugged into the stereo system with one of those cassette do-dads, I couldn’t get the volume loud enough to hear the podcasts I was trying to listen to. I had to resort to my ear buds, which are designed more like ear plugs than the standard iPod buds. That actually sounded good and cut out all the road noise.

You might say, well if you hate the Jeep so much, why don’t you just get rid of it?

First of all, I never said I hated the Jeep. I actually kind of like it. You know, the way you might like a stray dog who knows how to catch Frisbees. It can do a cool thing — drive just about anywhere my Honda can’t — and it really isn’t either troublesome or costly to gas up and insure. I hardly ever wash it — Jeeps are supposed to be dirty — and it does start right up every time I turn the key. And it is the perfect vehicle for driving around town in Wickenburg. After all, I have to cover nearly a mile of dirt road just to get to the supermarket from my house.

But I really don’t like driving it long distances on paved roads.

Especially after driving the Honda nearly every day for the past six or so weeks.

We stopped at the Iron Springs Cafe in Prescott on our way home. I wish Wickenburg had a little restaurant like that. The March Hare comes close — but it’s only open for dinner one day a week and you need reservations by noon the previous day, which is not always convenient. Good, interesting food, great taste combinations. But the Iron Springs Cafe is filled with trendy baby-boomers and young people, rather than retirees.

From there, I followed Mike home. I had a hard time keeping up with him on Iron Springs Road. The sun had set while we were in the restaurant and the sky glowed with that post-sunset color — red, orange, violet. The air was clear. I had my window open — mostly because I had a half full, open bottle of fuel injector cleaner wedged in beside my seat (long story) and the smell of it was screwing up my sinuses. (I think if I had the windows closed, I probably would have been asphyxiated.) The air was cool enough to have the heat on in the Jeep. We passed by the Kirkland Steakhouse, which was really hopping and had a bunch of antique cars parked out front, then made our way through Kirkland Junction, Peeples Valley, and Yarnell. We got behind a slow pickup truck going down Yarnell hill and I smelled his brakes burning until I managed to pass him where it opens up to two lanes. (Some people just don’t understand how to use a lower gear.) A while later we were home. I had to leave the Jeep in the middle of the driveway because Mike had been encroaching on the Jeep’s parking spot with his Honda Accord and there simply wasn’t enough room to park.

I washed the Jeep at the airport on Sunday morning. I had to do it twice. It was really dirty — too dirty for even a Jeep. There’s still some mud on the asphalt just outside the hangar door.

I took the Jeep to work with me today. I would have taken Jack the Dog, but he made himself scarce when it was time to go so he missed out. It was nice to bounce along the dirt road as I left our house. No worries about erosion or rocks.

The Honda gets a rest now. It deserves it.

Hell Season is Over

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Who says Arizona doesn’t have seasons? We have five.

While I was away in Kingman last weekend, the heat broke and monsoon season — also known as hell season — ended. The humidity dried up to nothing, glasses of iced beverages stopped “sweating,” and the nights became cool enough to open the windows and leave the air conditioning turned off. The mornings are pleasantly cool right up until late morning — and sometimes throughout the day, if you stay in the shade.

In fact, I didn’t even run the air conditioner in my office yesterday. I kept the windows open on either side of the building and placed the floor fan in a position to help that cross-ventilation. I left the windows open overnight, so this morning, I should have cool, fresh air to breathe while I work.

I’m a fresh air kind of person. If given a choice between fresh air and air conditioning, I’ll take the fresh stuff most times. The only time I won’t take the fresh air is when it’s 100°F or higher with that touch of humidity that makes you sweat in the desert.

One clue that monsoon season is over is the complete lack of clouds. Take, for example, yesterday’s time-lapse movie of the view out my office window. The only way you can tell that it’s a movie is the movement of the shadows and ocotillo branches. (Click the Play button to see the movie. You must have QuickTime installed to view it.)

The high today is forecast for 85 in Wickenburg (according to the National Weather Service), with a low of 60. During monsoon season, the low seldom gets lower than 80.

So hell season is over and the autumn season is beginning.

To me, autumn in Wickenburg lasts from the last day of monsoon season (usually in mid-September) until Thanksgiving. October is always the best autumn month. Warm but not hot in the daytime, with low humidity and gentle breezes. Sometimes a bit of rain. Perfect for gardening, hiking, and other outdoor activities. At night, it cools down, but doesn’t get cold. You can throw on a sweater or jacket and do outdoor things without feeling a chill.

We always encourage our east coast family and friends to visit in October. Of course, October is also the best month in New York, where autumn colors peak and the temperature is perfect day and night. In Wickenburg, the only fall colors we have come from the cottonwood trees, and they don’t usually get to the peak of their autumn splendor (yellow) until November.

Winter lasts from Thanksgiving until early March. The worst of it is usually between Thanksgiving and Christmas. The days are still warm — this is Arizona, after all — but the nights are downright cold. In Wickenburg, nighttime temperatures in the 20s are not unusual. During the day, it might be 75°, but as soon as the sun slips beyond the horizon, it’s like someone turned off a heater. All the warm air escapes through the atmosphere. You can actually watch the mercury drop on a thermometer — perhaps 20° in an hour. The coldest time, of course, is right before dawn. Then the sun comes up and the desert warms for the day. This is also the second most rainy season, good for at least an inch or two during the three or so months.

Spring comes sometime in March. The days aren’t too much warmer, but the nights seem to be. Desert plants start to bloom or send out new branches or other growth. It gets very dry — April is normally the driest month here. By April, the days and nights are perfect — although some people who don’t know the rhythm of the desert seasons might think temperatures in the 90s are hot. Nah. Stay in the shade, enjoy the dry air. If you do need to go out in the sun, wear a hat and sunscreen.

April is also the best month for camping in Arizona. I’m hoping to verify that next spring.

Summer starts in the beginning of June. That’s when daytime temperatures exceed 100° pretty much every day. But it’s still comfortable in the shade, primarily because the air is so dry. Yes, it is a dry heat. And if you don’t understand what that means, stand in the shade on a June afternoon, at around 2 or 3 PM (the hottest time of the day), with an iced beverage. You won’t feel hot and there won’t be a drop of condensation on the glass. And at night, it’s still cool enough to keep those windows open.

Sometime in July, hell season begins. I distinctly remember its start the second or third summer we were in Arizona. It was July 4 and we were in town, waiting for the fireworks show to begin. I realized that I was sweating. The humidity had begun, bringing the most brutal of our five seasons with it.

Don’t get me wrong — monsoon season isn’t all bad. The storms that come, usually in the afternoon, are just incredible to watch. Clouds build, lightning flashes, thunder shakes your very soul. Rain comes down in buckets — if not where you’re standing, then certainly within view somewhere nearby. Dry, sandy washes turn into streams and rivers, sweeping away anything in their path. The desert gets the moisture it needs to survive and desert plants and animals soak it up until the next rain. A day or two after the first storm, the desert turns green with freshly sprouted grass. The dust that covered plants and rocks has been washed off and everything is clear and crisp and beautiful.

But it is hotter than hell (or at least pretty close to it, I bet). You’ve probably heard the joke about why Arizonans don’t go to hell when they die. It’s because they’ve already lived there.

Monsoon season goes on for at least half of July, all of August (the worst of it), and the beginning of September. And that brings us to autumn, which we’ve just stepped into here in Wickenburg. And I plan to enjoy every moment of it.