Reindeer? Not likely.
Since everyone seems to be sharing their Christmas animal photos, I thought I’d share mine:
And yes, Cherokee is sticking his tongue out.
What Santa Really Uses to Pull His Sled
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First Memories of Las Vegas
Things change.
We first visited Las Vegas, NV back in the late 1980s. I was working for ADP at the time as an Internal Auditor. Each spring, they’d send me to Los Angeles to do a three-week audit of their Employer Services location in Buena Park. The deal was, they’d either fly me home for one of the two weekends or fly my significant other out. We always had them fly Mike out on the second weekend. He’d spend a week goofing off while I worked each day, then I’d take a week off and go on vacation with him before we both flew back to New Jersey. We saw quite a bit of the western part of the state that way, with my company picking up the airfare for our vacations.
In 1988 or thereabouts, we finished up my April visit to Los Angeles by renting a car and driving to Death Valley, Las Vegas, and Lake Mead. We did a lot of camping, but also stayed in hotels.
Las Vegas was an afterthought. We’re not gamblers and, back then, Las Vegas wasn’t quite what it is today. We figured that since we were in the area, we’d spend the night before heading out to Lake Mead, a mere 20-30 miles away.
We had no reservations, so we used the AAA travel guide — which was our bible during our early explorations — and found that the Frontier Hotel had rooms within our price range. We drove up, parked right in the driveway under the overhanging sign, and went in. We got a room somewhere in there — I don’t remember the details well, so it couldn’t have been too good or bad — moved the car to a regular parking spot, and settled in.
The most memorable part of the Las Vegas stay was walking from the Frontier all the way to the Tropicana along the Strip — a distance of about two miles. I wore moccasins in those days and had made the fatal error of going sock-less. The blisters on the backs of my heels were terrible. We had to take cab back.
We did see the show there — Folies Bergere, which is still running — and it was the first time I’d ever seen tasteful topless dancing. (And yes, I’ve been to New Orleans.)
Anyway, this past weekend, Mike and I went back, mostly to visit with some friends of ours who were in Las Vegas on business. We’ve been to Las Vegas dozens of times since that first stay and have watched it change from a quirky gambling town to the outrageous mega theme park it is today. But this last stay took us on a walk past the old Frontier. I wasn’t surprised — but I was kind of sad — to see it being torn down.
This photo shows the main entrance to the place as it looked on Friday, December 14. For all I know, it might be completely gone today, only 4 days later. That’s the overhang I remember driving under in our rental car while we went in to get a room.
Las Vegas is changing faster than anywhere else. I wonder how long before the hotels that were built since our first trip there will be torn down to make room for even newer ones?
Care Packages, Continued
The worst part is the paperwork.
As I type this quick blog entry, I’m waiting for my printer to spit out all five pages of the 5th customs form I’ve prepared today. I’m doing all this on the USPS Web site, which is workable but not very well designed. For some reason, it takes at least a minute for my printer to process each page of the form, which only takes up 1/2 a page. I’m cutting off 1/2 sheet for each of the 5 pages. That’s 30 half pages of junk paper for the 6 forms I’m creating.
How wasteful. But I’m sure I’ll wind up using it for scrap paper.
I’ve finally gotten around to preparing the next 6 care packages. I would have prepared all 8 that I needed to make my self-imposed number of 10, but AnySoldier.com will only let me have 2 addresses a day and I’m still short two. Why the limit? Apparently slime ball marketers were sending junk mail to our men and women in the armed forces. I know they want mail, but no one wants junk mail.
The packages are full of yummy goodies (beside my homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies) and personal hygiene items requested specifically by the units. Since I spent a bit more than I’d expected to on package contents, my husband kindly chipped in for the postage.
Oddly enough, taking care of the postage and customs forms is more time consuming than packing the boxes and inserting personalized notes of thanks.
It’s really a shame, since I think a lot more people would send items to the troops if they didn’t have such a time-consuming hassle with customs forms.
But I’m almost done. Just one more 5-page form to prepare and print.
Then two more packages this week and I’ve finished my commitment — at least for the holidays. I’m thinking of committing to a package a month until the war is over.
I don’t have relatives or even friends fighting overseas. But I still know they’re there. And I still care.
Do you?
Noise
When will they learn? If they live near an airport, they’re going to hear aircraft noise.
Yesterday, while wandering Las Vegas Boulevard with my husband, taking in the outrageous sights of the mega-casinos with my husband, I got a phone call from the guy I sold my FBO business to. He’s still there and apparently only calls me when he has something to annoy me about.
Yesterday was noise. “A guy called and said you flew over his house three times yesterday.”
I explained patiently that that was not possible. I’d left Wickenburg at 7 AM that day and hadn’t been back.
The conversation didn’t take long to turn ugly. Apparently the complainer didn’t think it was important to provide his name and phone number or even the location of his house. Perhaps he thinks I shouldn’t overfly any house anywhere in the world. I told the FBO guy that it obviously wasn’t me and that I wasn’t about to take the rap for every helicopter pilot in Arizona who happened to fly near some unidentified guy’s house in Wickenburg. I told him that it wasn’t his problem — he ran the fuel concession and had no other management responsibilities at the airport — and that he should have the complainer call me directly.
But that wasn’t enough for the FBO guy. He started recycling earlier parts of the same conversation. He said he might have to take it to the Town — clearly some kind of threat in his mind. I told him to go ahead. I told him that I was following FAA regulations regarding minimum flight altitudes. I added that as a business owner, it wasn’t in my best interest to annoy the public. This guy obviously had some kind of axe to grind and he was attempting to grind it with me.
But that still wasn’t enough for this FBO guy. I had no idea what he wanted me to say because he never suggested anything. He just kept recycling points from earlier in the conversation. We’d still be talking if I hadn’t cut it short by saying goodbye and hanging up.
He called back moments later. I pushed the Ignore button on my phone. He left a text message saying it was last week, not this week. Yes, let’s get the facts after we make the complaint. And make sure the facts fit the story.
I texted back, telling him to have the complainer contact me directly. That’s the last I heard from him.
One Complainer I Do Know
There’s only one guy in town who has ever complained to me about noise — and I’ve been flying helicopters out of Wickenburg since 2000. It’s a guy who lives in the Country Club area, which is conveniently located just southeast of the approach for Runway 23 (see satellite image below). He showed up at the airport one day right after I landed, steaming and ready to make a fight. He complained that I’d flown over his house too low and that I should not fly over Country Club when I came into the airport.
I said, “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”
That took the steam out of him. He had nothing else to say, so he left.
I began following Sols Wash into the airport when I arrive from the east or southeast and winds are favoring Runway 23. That path has me descending from about 700 feet AGL over town to about 300 to 400 feet at Vulture Mine Road over an empty wash area that no one lives in. So I don’t fly directly over any homes from the point where I pick up Sols Wash in downtown Wickenburg. An easy enough solution.
But a few weeks ago, I talked to Dave, another local helicopter pilot. He said he’s spent over an hour on the phone with what was likely the same guy. The guy told him that helicopters should avoid the Country Club area by flying 3 miles north or south of it on their way in. Dave pointed out that that simply wasn’t practical. Country club was about 3/4 mile from the airport. Why would anyone fly 3 miles out of their way to land at the airport?
When Dave told me about this, I pointed out that a 3-mile diversion would have us flying over other houses that weren’t within the normal aircraft traffic area. As people who buy homes close to an airport know, they’re required to sign an easement with the town that shows they understand their proximity to an airport that’s likely to generate noise. Why should we make a practice of overflying the homes of people who were smart enough to buy outside the airport influence area?
Stupid Planning, Stupid Development, Stupid Home Buyers
It all boils down to sheer stupidity.
The town takes a generous land donation years ago to build a very nice little municipal airport. At the time, the nearby Phoenix metro area is small and the town is tiny. The airport gets use primarily from a few hobbyists. But as the town grows, the planners don’t realize that more people means more airplanes. And if you want nice resorts, you’re going to get corporate jets. Blind — or perhaps I should say deaf — to the noise issues of an airport, they allow development to get ever closer to the airport. Soon, there are homes on three sides of the runway.
Then the town and planners, in their infinite wisdom, take a very large grant from the Federal Government to stretch one end of the runway 1500 feet toward the Country Club that has sprung up on its approach end. So now planes are taking off and landing 1/4 mile closer to these homes. And heck, just for the fun of it, they approve Hermosa Ranch, which will put another 34 homes right at the end of that runway, less than 3500 feet from the runway’s centerline.
The following image from GoogleMaps shows the reality of the situation. I purposely left the scale indicator in the image to show how close everything is.
Meanwhile, greedy developers hop onto the real estate boom and build as many homes as they can get on that land. The town obliges by changing the zoning from one house per acre to two or three or four houses per acre, just so they can cram them in.
Then the Realtors come in and sell these homes to unsuspecting — or maybe unbelieving — home buyers. I spoke to one realtor when “Traffic Pattern Acres” (our name for Black Mountain Ranch) went up for sale on the west side of the airport, right under the airport’s traffic pattern. “There’s never any planes at that airport,” he told me angrily.
Hmm. Tell that to the flight schools from the Phoenix area who use it for landing practice every day: Pan Am Flight Academy, Westwind, Embry Riddle, Silver State Helicopters, Universal Helicopters, Lufthansa, and Sabena. And what about the L39s that come up from Deer Valley for practice landings and 120-knot flybys? I bet they really rattle the china.
So people are told, “Sure, there’s an airport over there. And you need to sign this piece of paper. But the airport’s used by just a few local pilots and isn’t very busy at all. Sign on the dotted line.”
And people sign it.
And when the jets come in and out, and the flight schools practice takeoffs and landings, and Embry Riddle does an all-day spot landing competition, and the helicopters practice autorotations they start to complain.
The Mystery Complainer
I don’t know who’s been complaining about me lately. I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy. He’s the only guy that ever does. (I really do fly neighborly whenever possible.) And, if it is, I know I’m not flying over his house. (But yes, I am flying within 3 miles of it and I will continue to do so until they move the airport. Hell, I fly within 3 miles of my own house!)
But I won’t know who it is unless he comes forward and tells me where he lives. What is he afraid of? Does he think I’ll land in his backyard? How does he expect me to identify his home as a “noise sensitive” area if he doesn’t tell me where it is?
And what does he honestly expect? If he lives near an airport, he’s going to hear aircraft noise.
Period.
No Nativity Scene at the Capitol this Christmas
Humor from a friend.
There will be no nativity scene in the United State Congress, this year!
The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a nativity scene in the United States capital this Christmas season.
This isn’t for any religious reason; they simply have not been able to find three wise men and a virgin in the nation’s capitol.
There was no problem, however, finding enough asses to fill the stable.