Helo Day at Falcon Field

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A trip to Mesa to put Three-Niner-Lima on display.

A few months ago, I got a phone call from Jeff Fulinari (whose name I have probably just mangled). He’d gotten my name and number from someone — I can’t remember who — who said that I might be interested in putting my helicopter on display at a special “Helo Day” at Falcon Field’s Veteran’s Day Fly In. Of course I was interested. Any excuse to fly!

And then I proceeded to tell him about all my other helicopter friends who had ships that were far more interesting than mine. At the top of my list were Brian and Keith with their Bell 47s and Jim with his Hughes 500c. I promised to contact these people to see if they were also interested in putting their ships on display.

Time went by. Jim agreed to come and made arrangements with Jeff early on. Brian seemed to hop on board about a week before. Meanwhile, Jeff had been busy. He told us via e-mail that he’d lined up a total of 19 helicopters for the show. Very impressive.

Jim and his wife Judith agreed to fly down to Mesa with Mike and I. The trouble was, Jim’s 500c usually cruises at 105 knots. My never exceed speed is 102 knots. Alone, on a cool (less than 80° or so) day, I can push my ship to cruise at 95 knots. But with Mike on board, I’d be lucky to get 85 knots. Jim might slow down by 10 knots, but he certainly wouldn’t slow by 20. The solution was simple: let Mike fly down to Mesa with Jim. That would lighten me up so we could fly together. It seemed like a good enough idea to Mike — he’d been wanting a ride in Jim’s ship and this was his big chance. We settled on this as the plan.

Early this morning, Mike drove to Jim’s house, where he hangars his helicopter. I drove to the airport and loaded my ship with folding chairs, Big Wheels (a long story), and miscellaneous marketing material for Big Wheels and the airport. I took off and circled Jim’s place, which is about 3 miles north of the Wickenburg airport. Jim’s helicopter was sitting on the helipad. A few moments later, the strobe light started blinking and the blades started turning. I was on my second pass when he took off.

He slowed to let me pass him just south of town. Then we flew in a loose formation toward Phoenix. My GPS had the old “Camelback Route” set into it. The route goes from Wickenburg to a point just west of the north side of Camelback mountain, passing over Arrowhead Mall and Metro Park along the way. It then slips between Camelback and Squaw Peak, east past the 101. From there, it goes due south to Chandler, but I’d change the last waypoint when we were clear of Phoenix’s class B airspace. The benefit of this route, of course, is that it is the most direct way that avoids all Class B, Class C, and Class D airspace in the Phoenix area.

It was a beautiful day in Wickenburg — clear and cold (8�C on the ramp) — with excellent visibility. Not so in Phoenix. A beige smog cloud blanketed the valley, hiding the skyscrapers and mountains beyond from view. Even Camelback looked far away and, at first, I thought it was a different mountain much further to the southeast. I thought about people with breathing problems who may have come to Arizona for better air. So many people, so many cars, and a daily thermal inversion conspired to make the air worse to breath than where they’d come from.

As we flew, we tuned in, at first, to 122.75, which is the “official” air-to-air airplane frequency in the area. That frequency was full of students announcing positions in the Northwest and Northeast practice areas north of Phoenix. So we switched to 122.85. That frequency was used by students in the Southeast and Southwest practice areas, and there were far fewer of them. But the frequency was also being used by a bunch of airplane pilots.

“Six-five-bravo is 152 miles out.”

“Niner-three-juliet is 110 miles out.”

“Four-Alpha-Papa is 140 miles out.”

There were six or seven calls like this. Then some chatter about who was faster, how high airplanes close to each other were flying, and whether the plane off one guy’s left wing was one of the group. Then silence.

A while later, new position reports trickled in, followed by more chatter. I couldn’t contain my curiosity. “Where are you guys going?” I asked.

“Chiriaco Summit, for breakfast,” one of the pilots replied.

Chiriaco Summit is a truck stop along I-10 in California, about halfway between Blythe and Palm Springs. It had a decent runway, a Patton Museum, a gas station (for cars), and a restaurant that featured photos of the airport when it was actually used.

“Sounds like fun,” I said.

“They’re filming a movie out there,” another guy said, “and we want to check out the actresses.”

I laughed to myself. Any excuse to fly. “Where are you flying from?” I asked.

“Deer Valley,” two of the pilots answered, stepping on each other.

The conversation was over — no need to clutter up the airwaves any more than they needed to be. I thought about flying out to Chiriaco Summit instead of Falcon Field, wondering if I’d have a better time there. But by the time I made it there — after two hours and a fuel stop — all the activity would probably be winding down. And I didn’t think Jim would want to fly that far.

I tried to get Jim to switch to the helicopter air-to-air frequency (123.025) as we got closer to Phoenix. He tried, then met me back on 122.85 to report that his radio couldn’t get that frequency. Mike later reported that he heard me laughing when I replied. Old radio equipment.

We flew north of Camelback to the canal, then headed straight southeast to Falcon. We agreed to switch to Falcon’s frequency and make separate radio calls. I called in first. The controller, a woman who sounded very cheerful, replied with instructions to report one mile north of the tower. A plane reported in before Jim, then Jim got a chance to call. “Helicopter Two-Zero-Three-Zero-Foxtrot, flying with the other helicopter that just called in wants to do the same thing.” (Jim’s a riot.) The controller was just as friendly to him.

A mile north, Jim called in before me. I think he was afraid that I’d forgotten. We were cleared across and told to switch to 122.8 for guidance. I crossed first and made the switch. I was told to follow the signals of the man in the orange jumpsuit. After figuring out which man in the orange jumpsuit, I touched down on the ramp. Jim parked nearby.

A few other helicopters were already assembled, including an APS Huey, a huge Sikorsky, and a Hiller that looked strangely familiar. It was 8:30 and the show was scheduled to start at 9 AM. Jim led us all to one of Falcon’s two restaurants for breakfast. Mike and I had the Atkins Special omelet, which appeared to be meat scrapings from the griddle, loaded into a thin, folded layer of egg. It couldn’t have been too bad, because we both ate the whole thing.

Back outside, we spent some time walking around, checking out the helicopters. A pair of JetRangers and an AStar had arrived. The JetRangers were doing rides for $25 a pop and were in constant movement by 11 AM. Paul Alukonis, my first flight instructor, was flying the AStar and he spent some time showing off it’s avionics and ENG (electronic news gathering) equipment. Extremely cool. I introduced Paul to a number of people as “the man who taught me to fly.” I think it made him feel good. Brian arrived in his Bell 47 at about 10 AM, embarrassed to be late. No one complained.

I met the Sikorsky owner and, later in the day, got to climb into the ship’s cockpit. He’d been letting kids climb all over the ship all day and I thought he was nuts. But when I sat in the cockpit, I realized why he wasn’t worried. The instrument panel looked like something in a museum. Only in museums, none of the stuff works. In his ship, it was all the same industrial strength stuff, dusty and dirty and looking ancient — but it worked. Very strange. But not as strange as sitting in a cockpit ten to fifteen feet off the ground.

I also met the Hiller owner. He’d been trained in Chandler, where he also got the ship maintained. He told me that if he was lucky, an annual would cost him only about $5,000. He figured his hourly cost to operate was around $300. Not bad for an antique. It’s a weird-looking ship, with a 1-3 seating arrangement. The pilot sits up front, in the middle, by himself. Three passengers can sit on a bench seat behind him. Unlike his Sikorsky buddy, he’d plastered his ship with “Do Not Touch” signs and left his daughter to sit on guard with it.

I was pleasantly surprised to see quite a few people checking out my ship. In my opinion, it was the least interesting of the bunch. But people appeared to be amazed at how small it was. I heard comments when Mike and I finally decided to use the chairs I’d brought along. Some people had assumed it could only seat one person. Many assumed it was a kit helicopter. I set quite a few people straight and spent some time explaining how the drive system worked. I also opened the door and let a few kids sit in it.

Mike and I checked out the rest of the show, including the fixed wing area and museum. We used coupons provided by Jeff to “buy” hot dogs and water. We watched a never-ending stream of planes and helicopters fly by. The fly-in impressed me not only for how big it was, but how well-organized. That point was really driven home when it was time to go. Jim left first. His helicopter was surrounded by three or four ground guys who kept all pedestrians away until he was airborne. Then they surrounded me and did the same thing. It took a while for me to get clearance from the tower to leave — the friendly woman was gone and the man who’d taken her place was extremely busy. Finally, we were cleared to the west and told to fly three miles before turning to the north.

Mike flew with me on the way home. We sent the Big Wheels and chairs home with Jim and Judith. We took a northern route, over Scottsdale Airport. The controller was irate — I think that’s a job requirement there — but we were cleared into the airspace and over the airport. I showed Mike the big, white tire (see my previous entry), then headed home on a leisurely route. I was monitoring 122.75 just south of Carefree Highway when Jim’s voice came on. He was about 10 miles closer to Wickenburg, over Lake Pleasant. I told him where I was and that I’d be landing at his house to drop off Mike.

Back in Wickenburg, an Enstrom was in the area, giving rides to a bunch of young people there. I never got a chance to see the ship. I emptied my ship, hopped into the Jeep, and went home, tired from a good day out.

The House Surrounded by Wood

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About the simple photo shoot that took two tries (so far) to get right.

The client left a voicemail message, explaining that she wanted us to take an aerial photo of her house as a surprise Christmas present for her husband. She left a phone number, but I was afraid to call her back. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

She caught me in my office two days later. We met at the airport so I could take her deposit and learn more about the job.

She explained where the house was — less than a mile south of the airport — and described it as being surrounded by chopped wood. “You have to take the photo soon,” she urged. “Before all the wood is gone.”

She’d done her homework on the Flying M Air Web site, and knew all about the Pentax 67 camera with the big negatives. The one I’d just decided to sell because it was so difficult to use. She wanted us to use that camera because she wanted the photo blown up to a large print.

I took a $50 deposit and told her I’d call her when I had a contact sheet for her to look at, probably within a week. She told me to e-mail her, since her husband never looked at the computer.

Mike and I went up a few days later. We’d loaded the camera with 10 shots, but had decided to use half of them photographing Rancho de los Caballeros, in hopes of selling them a postcard. I flew for about 20 minutes. Mike took pictures. I had to climb to 5000+ feet for the photos of the ranch.

I dropped off the film at Safeway, requesting Kodak processing. The only kind of processing I could get for that kind of film. I noted that I wanted a contact sheet only. No sense in spending $20 on processing.

The contact sheet was a major disappointment. If the client wanted a great shot of her neighborhood, we could deliver. But a photo of just her house and all that wood? By the time we had it cropped enough, we would have been better off with the 35mm negatives.

I broke the news to Mike. He complained that the camera didn’t show the right thing through the viewfinder. I didn’t point out that the ranch photos came out okay. There didn’t seem to be a need to start an argument.

I e-mailed the client and explained the situation. I asked her to come to the airport and tell me which angle she liked best and to draw her property line on the best shot. She came in and looked at the contact sheet. “My house is one of those?” she asked. I assure her it was. Then I pointed it out. She picked an angle and I used a Sharpie to mark up the image. I told her we were switching to a 35mm camera, one my photographer was more accustomed to using. I told her he’d do a better job and she could still get her enlargement. I told her it was a “man thing.” She understood completely.

We went up today to try again. Mike loaded his Nikon with zoom lens with 24 exposures of 100 ASA Kodak print film. He shot about 10 of the house, 10 of the ranch, and 4 of the town. I dropped off the film at Osco, so I could pick up the prints tomorrow.

Let’s hope I don’t have to continue this tale in another blog entry.

The Big, White Tire

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How I conquered the big, white tire.

In my essay, “When I Became a Pilot” (which has since been lost in various Web site changes), I discuss the various flights I’ve made that have led up to me finally feeling as if I really am a pilot. One of these flights was my private pilot check ride. And in one of those paragraphs, I mention the big, white tire.

The tire is a truck tire, painted white, that sits out in the desert in a practice area my old Scottsdale-based flight school sometimes uses. The area is about four miles northeast of Deer Valley airport (DVT). I’d tried on several occasions to find it, but was never successful. Until today, that is.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here. First you need to know the back story.

During my check ride, the examiner asked me to hover up to that big, white tire, face it, and hover all the way around it, facing it the entire time. This is an exercise in hover control and frankly, when I attempted it on my check ride, I did quite poorly. In fact, I thought I’d botched the check ride, mostly because of my failure to do this one maneuver anywhere near satisfactorily. I passed the check ride, but I vowed to return to the tire and try again.

Today, after a late lunch at Deer Valley’s airport restaurant, I decided to try to find the tire again. And this time, I found it.

It’s not very hard to find, if you know where to look. There are actually two big, white tires there. But more obvious from the air is the landing square, marked out with small, white tires and the orange windsock, which must have been recently replaced. Today, it hardly moved, with a two- or three-knot wind from the northwest.

I landed in the square, then hovered up to the big, white tire. I faced it with the tip of my cockpit only a foot from its closest edge and my skids only two feet off the ground. It seemed to mock me — after all, it was just a big, white tire in the desert, but it had been in my thoughts for years. It was as if I were making a pilgrimage to pay homage to its greatness.

And then I began my circle, to the left. It amazed me, at first, how easy it was to perform this simple task. Slight movement to the left with the cyclic, slight pressure on the right pedal, miniscule adjustment of the collective. Within half a minute, I’d circled it, returning to my starting point. Then, just for good measure, I circled to the right.

Ha! I could do it after all!

(Of course, I’ve logged over 600 hours since my first check ride. If I couldn’t do it by now, I should go back to flight school.)

I left the practice area, proud of myself. I flew low around the mountains of New River, over Anthem and the outlet mall, over Lake Pleasant and the golf course, into the Wickenburg Mountains. I flew low, a hundred feet above a car on Castle Hot Springs Road, past a man parked out in the desert with a camera, over some ATVers in the Santo Domingo Wash. I passed the shooting range and the rodeo grounds, then climbed to a respectable altitude to overfly Wickenburg. I came in to the airport on Runway 23, and set it down at the pumps, feeling more like a pilot than I have in a very long time.

My Computer Setup

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Some information about what I consider to be the “perfect setup” for writing books about computers.

I’ve been writing computer how-to books since 1990 (13-1/2 years at this point). I just finished #55 the other day. Do the math and you’ll see that I average about 4 books a year. (My biggest year was 10; my smallest was 1.)

I write all of my own books, with a few exceptions here and there. For example, I didn’t write the Unix or AppleScript chapters of my Mac OS X Visual QuickPro Guides — I lacked the expertise and didn’t have time to learn. I also co-authored two of my books. But other than that, I wrote them all and will continue to do so until I find someone who has skills that meet my standards.

As you might imagine, my writing setup is an important part of what makes me so productive. I like to tell people that I have it “down to a science,” and I think I do. I’m fortunate that I’ve been able to earn enough money over the years to build what I think is the ideal setup.

I have three computers that I work with with when I’m writing a book: my “production machine,” and two “test mules.”

Currently (November 2003), my production machine is a Macintosh G4/866 minitower. It’s about two years old at this point. It has 512K of RAM and a 40GB hard disk. It also has a built-in modem, SuperDrive (that’s a drive than can read and write CDs and DVDs), and Zip drive. It also has all the standard Mac OS ports (USB, FireWire, Ethernet, etc.), as well as a SCSI port, which I thought I’d need but never have used. The computer is connected to a 21-inch Sony monitor and an array of USB and FireWire devices, including a scanner, Epson photo printer, digital camera, graphics tablet, iSight, digital video camera, and iPod (original).

I have two test mules, one for my Mac OS books and one for my Windows books.

My Mac OS test mule is an eMac 800 with a SuperDrive, built-in modem, bunch of RAM and 80GB hard disk. I’m really fond of this machine — it’s a great machine for someone with limited space who doesn’t need a lot of expansion or bells and whistles. And frankly, it’s a lot more “normal” looking than those ridiculous ET-looking iMacs that Apple is selling like crazy. It has a 17-inch monitor and can be hooked up to all the devices I need to write about in my Mac OS X books. It’s about a year old now.

My Windows test mule is a Dell Dimension 933Lr (or something like that). What can I say about it? It’s a Windows PC running Windows XP Home edition. It has a built-in modem and networking card and some kind of Pentium processor. Enough RAM, although I can’t remember how much. And enough hard disk space. It’s hooked up to a 17-inch Gateway monitor that I kept from my last Windows test mule, a Gateway PC. I think this Dell is about three years old now.

All of my computers, as well as my LaserJet 2100TN printer, are hooked up to an Ethernet network. They do file, Internet, and printer sharing using the built-in networking tools in Mac OS X and Windows XP.

My Internet connection comes from my old G3/300, which was my last production machine. It’ll soon be my Web/E-mail/DNS server, connected to the Internet with a cable modem. It feeds Internet to my three desktop computers, plus my PowerBook (when it’s added to the network) and Mike’s Sony Vaio (when he’s in town).

Here’s how it works. Suppose I’m writing a book about Mac OS X. I fire up the eMac test mule, reformat the hard disk, and install the Mac OS X software on it. I also install Snapz Pro, which is the best screen shot software out there for Mac OS X. Then I fire up my production G4 and open the file for the chapter I’m revising or the template for the chapter I’m writing from scratch. When I’m writing a Visual QuickStart Guide, I use InDesign 2.0; otherwise, I use Word X. As I work with the software on the eMac, I write about it on the G4. The two machines are sitting right next to each other and I can swivel in my chair to work on one or the other. I take screen shots on the eMac and copy them from the pictures folder, which I’ve opened on the G4, to my manuscript folder. If the screenshots need editing, I do it with Photoshop 7.0. If I’m doing layout, the screenshots get copied into the manuscript file. I add captions and callouts as necessary. Using this technique, I can turn out a completed manuscript page for a revision in as little as 10 minutes, if very little editing is required. For brand new titles, it takes 30 to 60 minutes for a page. On a good day, I can whiz through a chapter in a day or two.

The whole thing works pretty much the same when I’m writing a Windows book, except I use the Dell test mule and don’t reformat the hard disk before starting. I have to use two different screen shot software packages, because neither one does everything I need: Collage Capture and HiJaak Pro. And the shots always need to be touched up a little in Photoshop on the Mac. The process is generally slower, but not by much. Frankly, I don’t like writing Windows books, but my setup doesn’t have that much to do with it. I just don’t like working with Windows.

I believe that some authors write computer books with only one computer. They write, then switch to the program they’re writing about, fiddle around with it, take screen shots, then switch back to the program they’re writing in. (A very well-known author that I’ve often traded stories with confessed to me that he once wrote a book about Windows software by running the software under SoftPC on his Mac. Is he nuts?) With computer prices being well within the realm of affordability these days, there’s no reason an author should subject himself to such abuse. Two computers — one to work on and one to run the software on — are required, along with a network connection between them. I have three because I write about two different platforms.

By the way, if you were to peek into my office these days, you’d find quite a collection of computers. In addition to the G4, eMac, and Dell, you’d find the G3 that will soon be my Web/E-mail/DNS server and the old 8500/180 that’s currently my Web/E-mail/DNS server, still running on an ISDN connection. The 8500 was my production machine before the G3. (Before that was a 7100/66, which my sister now has. Before that was a Mac IIcx, which is long gone.) On my desk, you might also find my 12-inch PowerBook G4, which replaced my iBook SE, which replaced my PowerBook 3400c.

A production Mac lasts me about 2 years, although the G4 will probably last me another year — there’s no reason right now to replace it; it’s doing its job quite well. I replace each production machine with a current model Macintosh that isn’t top-of-the-line, but has enough RAM, speed, and hard disk space to last a few years. Test mules are good for 3 to 4 years. I replace them with low-end models that can run current operating system software and connect to the hardware I need to write about. I usually pump up their RAM enough to ensure that they operate smoothly. Laptops are good for about 3 years; I hope this PowerBook lasts longer because I really like it. My average annual expenditure on computer hardware is about $5,000, which really isn’t bad.

I don’t buy the latest and greatest gadgets unless I need to write about them. The iSight camera is a perfect example. I needed to write about iChat AV, so I bought a compatible camera. My AirPort wireless network, which lives at home when I’m not writing about it, is another good example. I bought it to write about it. Once or twice a year, I disconnect it and bring it to my office, where I reconnect it and write about it. Only one of my computers — the PowerBook — has AirPort networking built in. I don’t mind wires in my office, but its kind of nice to connect to the Internet at home from the kitchen, living room, den, bedroom, or back patio — without needing a really long cord.

The other thing I need to mention is that I don’t spend long hours “playing” with my computers or surfing the ‘Net. I have a life away from my computers that I enjoy. Computers are tools I use to make a living. Although I find them interesting, I think the other things I do with my life are far more interesting and fulfilling. My PowerBook is the only computer I spend non-working hours with. It’s my notebook, my tool for writing. And since I occasionally do that for pleasure, it makes sense to keep it handy, even when I’m not working.

Like right now.

Another Sleepless Night

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About my unfortunate sleeping problem.

I can’t sleep.

It’s Tuesday morning, at around 12:30 AM. I’m wide awake, typing on my PowerBook in front of the TV. The TV is off.

I have a weird sleeping problem. I wake up very early — usually around 5 AM — without any assistance from an alarm clock. I can’t even claim that the sun is waking me, because the sun doesn’t rise these days until nearly 7 AM. I go through my morning routine, which includes making coffee for me and scrambled egg for Alex, my parrot, at a leisurely pace. By 7 AM, I’m ready for work.

The day goes quickly. These days, I’ve been starting my day at the local airport, which I kind of manage. My morning guy went back to work as a pilot and I’m looking for a replacement. Until I find one, I’m the morning guy. I work until about noon, getting lots of paperwork done and spending lots of time talking to the people who come in. Then I usually go to my office, where I spend a few hours catching up on the things I neglected while working on my last big book project — in this case, my Mac OS X Panther book. (Next week, I start another book project — Excel 2003 for Windows.) Around 5 PM, I head home. Mike and I have dinner and usually watch something we’ve “tape” on Dish Network’s version of TIVO. Last night, it was an episode of “Choppers” from Discovery Wings and a “Nova” about string theory. (We don’t watch network TV.) By 8 PM, I can barely keep my eyes open. I go to bed.

I’m dead to the world for the first half of any night’s sleep. You could set off a bomb in my kitchen and I don’t think I’d wake up. After that, things are iffy.

On the worst nights — like tonight — I wake up about four to five hours after I’ve fallen asleep and I’m wide awake. Tonight is worse than usual because I still have a cough, so when I woke up, I spent some time coughing, waking up Mike, too. When I’m like this, I can spend at least two hours wasting time watching TV, reading, or writing. Then, if I’m lucky, I can get back to sleep.

Other nights, I’ll just wake up and snooze and wake up and snooze for the rest of the night. Or I’ll just sleep lightly and wake to the slightest outside sound: dogs barking, coyotes howling, wind, etc. Or be kept awake by the sound of Mike breathing. Since I can’t get him to stop doing that, I’m often in a semi awake stage for hours. These nights are particularly bad if I have a lot on my mind. Then these thoughts parading through my head make it impossible to sleep.

Of course, other nights, I’ll sleep right through.

The sleepless nights usually come in groups. They might be triggered by the moon or by some internal clock that my body keeps winding. So I’ll have a week or more of sleepless nights. Then, one night I’ll sleep right through and wake feeling very pleased and surprised. For a while, the sleepless nights went on for months. It got to the point where I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a good night’s sleep. Then, suddenly, I could sleep straight through again. I was extremely pleased. The thought of never sleeping well again wasn’t sitting well with me.

I don’t believe in taking medicine to help me sleep — unless, of course, I have a cold. I’m a firm believer that when you’re sick, sleep is extremely important. If you don’t get sleep, you won’t get better. So whenever I’m sick, I purposely take over-the-counter remedies that include sleeping aids. Of course, they seldom work because I’m sick and too busy coughing or fighting a runny nose to sleep.

Anyway, tonight is one of those nights. I just spent 20 minutes writing this, sitting on the sofa with my legs tucked up under me and my laptop on my lap. I’ll write something else during the next hour or so. By then, I should be ready to get back to sleep.

I hope.