Dusting Off the Ducati

Mike and I go for a motorcycle ride to Prescott.

Before I started flying, before I started horseback riding, before I even moved to Arizona, I was an avid motorcyclist.

Learning to ride a motorcycle was one of the four life goals I’d set for myself long ago. I was 29 (or thereabouts) when I learned. I decided it was time and bought a motorcycle. It was a 1980 Honda CB400 Hawk, black with a bit of chrome. A standard bike with an upright seating position.

The Hawk had belonged to a woman who had died of cancer within a year of buying it. She only put 941 miles on it before she stopped riding. Her husband, a motorcycle dealer, had stored the bike for 11 years, so it was in good shape when he finally decided to sell it and I came along. We replaced some parts that had succumbed to dry rot, gave it a good tune-up, and it was ready to ride.

Of course, I wasn’t. I didn’t know how to ride a motorcycle. So I enrolled in a Motorcycle Safety Foundation course. Mike enrolled with me. We took the course and got the proper introduction to safe motorcycling. And anyone who thinks an MSF course is a waste of time and money is, quite simply, wrong. I still use techniques I learned in that course every time I ride.

Mike thought that we’d ride together on my bike. That meant he’d ride and I’d be the passenger. I guess Mike didn’t know me very well yet. We’d only been together seven years at the time. But I made it clear that if he wanted to ride, he’d have to get his own bike.

So he bought a used BMW. It didn’t look good, but it ran well and he seemed to like it. Together we gained experience. We eventually joined a motorcycle club for long rides on the twisty roads in northern New Jersey and southern New York State. They were sport bike guys and liked to ride fast. I understood the appeal.

We went to Americade every year. That’s a big motorcycle rally at Lake George in the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York. Motorcycle manufacturers did test rides of their bikes there. That’s when I test rode a Yamaha Seca II, a “sport standard” bike. Like my Honda, it had a rather upright seating position. But it was sporty, chromeless, and faster. I wound up replacing the Honda with a Seca II.

Yamaha Seca IIWhen we went to pick up the Yamaha, Mike stopped in at the BMW dealer next door and fell in love with an end-of-year clearance BMW K65. He bought it. A week later we both showed up at a group camping trip along the Delaware with a pair of brand new bikes. A few jaws dropped that day.

That was in 1992.

We rode most weekends with the group and sometimes by ourselves. Our big trip came in the mid 90s when we took the bikes from our home in Northern New Jersey down Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway, then across to the coast and up the barrier islands. It was a 10-day trip that was mostly camping, with a few motel days thrown in to ensure a good night’s sleep. The roads were great, the autumn leaves were turning. We got caught in a thunderstorm in the Smokies, impressed folks at a campground with how much gear we could pack on two bikes, and rode three different ferries island hopping along the coast. Definitely one of my top 10 vacations.

Then one weekend we joined the group for a camping trip in the Finger Lakes area of New York. And that’s when I found the top end of my bike. There were about a dozen of us racing down beautiful farm roads, a ribbon of sport bikes zipping past cows and barns and green fields. We were going fast. Very fast. I was last in line and that was probably a good thing. Because when I twisted my throttle just a little more to keep up, I found that there was no more to twist. I’d twisted up to the stop and the bikes in front of me were easing away about 5 mph faster than I could go.

In a flash, I fell out of love with my bike.

Ducati SS CRI didn’t waste much time replacing it with the Ducati. I’d taken one for a test ride at the local Ducati dealer — the same place I’d bought my Hawk years ago — and had been impressed. The bike I test rode was a Ducati Monster — a 900cc bike with a standard riding position and not much fairing. When the front wheel came off the ground in what I thought was normal accelleration, I knew I had a powerful machine beneath me. I wound up with a Ducati 900 SS CR, a sort of half-fairing sport bike. Well, to be fair, “sport bike” is a bit of an understatement. It’s really a race bike. Red, of course — I think they only came in two colors.

This was in 1996.

I kept the Yamaha for touring. I’d invested in Givi hard luggage for that bike and longed for another motorcycle vacation. The Ducati was not the kind of bike you’d want to ride for 400 miles in a single day, as I later found out.

We moved to Arizona. The bikes crossed over on the moving truck. We went back to New Jersey with a trailer to pick up Mike’s bike and brought the Ducati along. We made one last trip to Americade. Then we brought all the bikes to Arizona, where they have remained.

We made a trip with Chrome Caballeros in the late 1990s. It was a motorcycle camping trip where the outfitters carried all the gear. I took the Ducati. Mike took his BMW. All the other bikers on the trip rode Harleys. It was a great trip, but there was one day when we rode from Zion National Park to Flagstaff. That’s a hell of a long ride on a Ducati. I was pretty sore the next day.

I tried to find the top end on the Ducati once. It was out on Route 71 between Aguila and Congress. I had it up to 130 before I decided that I didn’t really want to go that fast or any faster. The Ducati had more to give but I didn’t need it.

Time passed. I started horseback riding. Then I learned to fly. I bought a helicopter. I decided I liked flying better than motorcycling or horseback riding. I began building a helicopter tour and charter business.

Mike kept riding, mostly by himself. He had a mishap on Mingus Mountain. A fox ran out in front of him, just as he was approaching a curve. He swerved to miss it and the bike got onto some gravel at the side of the road. He literally jumped off the bike. The bike went over an embankment and got really broken, really quickly. Mike tore the back pocket of his jeans and had to thumb a ride back to Prescott. A few weeks later, he bought a similar bike from a friend.

That brings us almost up to today. My two bikes had been lounging in my hangar, gathering dust and drying out their batteries. They both needed serious work to get them running again. I put $1,000 into them for repairs. But the repairs would only “hold” if I kept riding them.

We rode to Prescott on Saturday. I took the Ducati.

One of the reasons we don’t ride as often in Arizona is that there aren’t any really good riding roads nearby. Back in New Jersey, we were about 20 miles away from Harriman State Park, with seemingly endless roads that twisted through the mountains and forest, around small lakes. Challenging riding, beautiful scenery, lots of fresh air. Even getting there was a nice ride, on the Palisades Interstate Parkway, which I believe was designed by Robert Moses. Here in Arizona, there are lots of straight boring roads through empty desert before the roads start to twist and turn a little. So you have to work a little to get to that reward. And with only four roads leading out of town, there isn’t much variety.

But the ride to Prescott is one of the nicer rides.

First, you leave Wickenburg on route 93 and bear right on route 89 toward Yarnell. The road cuts straight across the desert until just past Congress. There, a sweeping right turn gets you started at the bottom of what we call Yarnell Hill. In just a few miles, you climb 1500 feet up the side of a cliff on a road that hugs the cliff face. There are guardrails, but hitting one would only serve as a launch pad for a flight off the cliff into space, so care is required. As you climb, the curves get ever tighter. Finally, at the top, you’re in Yarnell.

From there, you cut across high desert terrain on gently curving roads. The scenery is magnificent on this two-lane piece of blacktop and there’s very little traffic. At Kirkland Junction, it’s time for a decision: twisty White Spar Road or not-so-twisty Iron Springs Road? We always take White Spar.

At Wilhoit, the real fun begins, with a 15-mile stretch of mountain road. Imagine a ribbon of asphalt twisting among the 6000-foot mountains, hugging cliff-faces all the way. The double-yellow line is there for a reason: you can seldom see more than 50 yards ahead of you. You pivot the bike left and then right and then left as you take the curves one after the other, spending more time in a steep lean than vertical. As you ride with the RPMs high enough to take advantage of engine braking in the tightest of turns, a rhythm builds up inside you. This is why you ride.

It all came back to me on Saturday, just before I caught up with the midsize sedan from Kansas. He was driving at about 10 MPH below the speed limit, using his brakes for every single curve. (Hey buddy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.) There were plenty of places for him to pull over and let us pass — most considerate drivers do when they see motorcycles or a sports car behind them on this road — but he was either oblivious to us behind him or, more likely, too inconsiderate to care. I finally blew past him on one of the brief straightaways. Mike blew past him on the next.

Understand that the Ducati simply does not like to go slow. It lugs at RPMs under 3000 if you’re in any gear other than first or second and it takes some serious clutch work to keep it running smoothly at speeds under 20 mph. This is not the bike you’d take to work and ride in traffic. Your left hand would seize up from all the clutching. It likes to cruise with the RPMs up around 5000 and has no problem approaching that 9000 RPM redline when you need a little extra power for passing. Sixth gear is pretty much a waste.

We had lunch in a new restaurant in Prescott. Nawlins, or something like that. Supposed to be New Orleans style food. The food was good, but the restaurant’s territorial style and Santa Fe paint scheme didn’t match. (The place used to be Zuma’s.) Still, we’ll go back.

We hit the Mall, more to give us something to do and see than to buy anything. We had dessert. We stopped at the airport to put the current registration sticker on my Toyota, which lives up there. Then we fueled up and rode home, taking Iron Springs Road back to Kirkland Junction. From there, it was 89 through Yarnell and Congress and back to Wickenburg.

We’d ridden about 140 miles. I was sore. I’m really out of shape and not the person I was 10 years ago when I bought that bike. But the ride made me remember why I’d bought it and why I liked riding so much way back then.

Mike and I need to go to Napa, CA in June. We’re toying with the idea of taking the motorcycles up. It’ll be the Yamaha’s turn to get out for a while.

No Uncertain Terms

A slow but enjoyable read.

In No Uncertain TermsI’m currently wading through William Safire’s book, No Uncertain Terms: More Writing from the Popular On Language Column in The New York Times Magazine. The odd thing is, I’ve been reading it for over a month.

William Safire writes the “On Language” column in the New York Times Magazine. That’s the magazine that comes with Sunday’s New York Times. When we lived in New York and New Jersey, we were occasional subscribers and I’d read the column whenever I got my hands on the magazine.

“On Language” points out recent word or phrase usage in the press, usually quotes by politicians and other oft-quoted people. (I had to look up oft-quoted just to make sure it was a correct usage; it wouldn’t do to make a mistake in usage in this particular entry.) Mr. Safire basically tears the victim word or phrase apart, discussing its development throughout the years and pointing out first recorded usages for each meaning that applies. It’s like reading an entry of the Oxford English Dictionary, but it’s full of puns and things to make you smile — if you catch them. And, of course, it points out whether the word was correctly or incorrectly used and why.

I’ve been reading the book at bedtime and I must admit that I can’t read more than four or five pages before my eyelids grow heavy and I have to put the book down. This isn’t because it’s boring. I think it’s because it’s forcing me to read slowly and carefully and think about almost every word.

This isn’t an exercise I’m accustomed to. When I read novels, I breeze through them so quickly that I just don’t get my money’s worth when I buy the darn things. But this book, which was a “bargain book” on BN.com (and was part of my Christmas list so I didn’t actually pay for it anyway) is definitely worth the money. It’s helped keep me entertained and enlighted — and made it easier to fall asleep — for the past month! That certainly says something.

It’s also taught me a lot about words that I use and other words that I’ll probably never use. It’s made me realize that the English language is even richer than I thought. And although I’m a writer — a real one who actually writes for a living — my knowledge of vocabulary is not nearly what I think it should be.

Perhaps that’s why I often pause while writing these entries, trying to find the right word to say what I mean. (And in most cases failing.)

But then again, it’s hard to build a strong vocabulary when you spend most of your time writing sentences like: “The Save dialog appears. Enter a name for the file in the Name box and click Save.”

Sheesh. I think that sentence appears in every single book I’ve written.

Anyway, I think this book is helping me to build my vocabulary and understanding of word usage. If you’re a word lover, I think you might like it, too.

The Painters

I’m living in a Seinfeld episode.

About a year ago, after the roof at my condo-based office was repaired by the Association-designated repair people, my ceiling started to leak. The water from heavy rainfall had seeped into the roof, found its way between sheets of sheetrock in the ceiling, and soaked through the popcorn ceiling paint job. The water began hitting the floor about 10 inches behind my chair.

By the time the dripping stopped (about a week later), the ceiling was drooping and the paint was stained.

I was not a happy camper.

To make a very long and unhappy story short, the painters arrived today to paint the ceiling in two rooms of the condo: my husband’s office in the master bedroom and my office in the living room. And from the moment they arrived, I’ve been stuck in an episode of Seinfeld.

You know what I mean. Being in a situation so weird that you can’t believe its real. And it just doesn’t seem to end.

They’re a husband and wife team. An older couple. I can’t remember his name, but her name is Marie. All day long, I hear him calling to Marie, yelling at Marie, being nasty to Marie. Marie, Marie, Marie. When your name is Maria and half the people you just met call you Marie, it can be a very annoying distraction while you’re trying to work.

To her credit, Marie gives some of it back. But just some. I would have rammed my Keds down his throat by now. Both of them.

They can’t agree on anything. They accuse each other of doing various stupid things. They narrate what they’re doing. Maybe they think the place is bugged by the Association and if they don’t keep talking, they’ll be accused of going to sleep on the job.

The place reeks of paint, but Marie told me it’s “odorless.”

They’re done with Mike’s office and now they’re working on the “dining room” area. (They have to paint the whole ceiling in both rooms so the paint matches.) There’s plastic behind me, hanging from the ceiling. And they’re inside their little plastic tent, narrating the job, sniping at each other.

Tomorrow, they’ll do the rest of my office. I don’t know how I’m going to survive here. I certainly won’t be able to get any work done. Maybe I’ll lock myself up in Mike’s office with my PowerBook.

With the door closed.

A Trip to Macworld Expo in San Francisco

I go to Macworld Expo, see new stuff, party with the Peachpitters, and still manage to find my hotel.

TehatchapiI took an America West — or is that US Airways? — flight from Phoenix to San Francisco on Thursday morning. The flight departed at around 8:15 AM and took off into the east into clear skies. The plane banked to the right until it was heading west, following I-10. I saw familiar sights out my window for most of the flight: Wickenburg, Harquahala Mountain, Salome, Bouse, the Colorado River, the road that runs past Rice and eventually past the north end of Joshua Tree National Park, the airport at Twentynine Palms, Big Bear Lake, Apple Valley, Edwards Air Force Base, and Rosamond. The jet took a route just south of the one I usually take when flying the helicopter from Wickenburg to California’s Central Valley, but because we were cruising at about 30,000 feet, I could see so much more. The lake at Rosamond seemed huge, the windmills on the Tehatchapi’s southern slopes were clearly visible. The pass was socked in on both sides with clouds, but the town of Tehatchapi, on top of the mountain, was perfectly clear (see photo). The central valley was completely filled with low clouds — so low that I don’t think general aviation flight would be possible. It reminded me of my scud-running adventure from last spring’s Georgetown, CA to Wickenburg, AZ flight. The tops of the clouds had a odd pattern to them, like waves far out on the ocean.

I spent the flight catching up with podcasts. Listening, that is — I’ve fallen far behind recording them. I listened to NPR’s story of the day episodes stretching back into mid December. When I was finished with those, I started on Slate Magazine podcasts. I did the crossword puzzle in the airplane magazine and attempted to take some notes for a presentation I needed to do later in the day. Then we started our approach to San Francisco and the mountains along the coast poked up their slopes through the clouds below us. There was green grass on some of the southern slopes; in a month or two, all the hills would be a rich green color there. But I seldom get to the California coast in the spring, so I’m accustomed to seeing the grass when it’s all dried out, making the hills look golden in the California sun.

The plane got to the gate at 9 AM local time. I had just one bag — a small backpack that held my PowerBook, some books I planned to give away at the end of my presentation, and clothes for the overnight stay and next day — so I didn’t have to go through the baggage claim ordeal. The bag was heavy, though, and it only seemed to get heavier as I made my way from the gate to the BART station.

BART, in case you don’t know, stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit. I used to take a cab from the airport to Moscone Hall for the Macworld Show, but I’d heard that BART went from the airport into the city and figured I’d give it a try. It was a relatively pleasant trip in a train car that reminded me more of a Long Island Railroad electrified train car than a New York City Subway car. The seats had upholstery and I don’t think they were quite as clean as they should have been. That gave the car a not-so-nice smell. But it wasn’t bad and I got used to it. I listened to my iPod and looked at the window when the train was above ground. It took about 30 minutes to get to what I thought was my stop: Montgomery Street. In reality, I should have gotten out one stop earlier, at Powell.

I came up from underground, got my bearings, realized I’d erred about the train stop, and started walking. San Francisco reminds me a bit of New York in that it has that “old city” feel. Lots of old buildings, many of which are pretty tall, some narrow streets, noisy traffic, homeless people on the sidewalks. The weather was pleasant and I was soon warming up inside my jacket.

My friend Ray called on my cell phone with a lead on a helicopter job for a construction company working along the Mexican border. I stopped and took notes on a receipt, wondering if I could be fortunate enough to get the job.

Advertising ScootersIt was less than a mile to Moscone and when I got there, I found the place relatively quiet. It was just after 10 AM and most attendees had already gone into the exhibit hall. I used a free pass to go through the registration process and get a badge, then crossed the street and went into the hall. I saw some scooters pulling advertising trailers — an Apple advertising gig, I knew. (I later got a photo of the scooters parked alongside the street.) My first order of business was to dump my jacket and the heavy bag at the Peachpit Press booth. It took me a while to find it, which was quite embarrassing because I actually walked right by it twice. They said it was near the Apple booth and they weren’t kidding. It was right inside one of the doorways to the exhibit hall, adjacent to the Apple booth.

I ran into a few people I knew, including Connie Jeung-Mills, the production person who’d worked on many of my books. I chatted with her while I stuffed my belongings under a table skirt in the booth, reserving an old Adobe canvas bag and note pad to carry while I walked the floor. I couldn’t believe the number of books in the booth. Most of the titles were about graphics and Web publishing, but I also the books I’ve written for them: Tiger, QuickBooks, and the little Visual QuickProject Guides for Word and Excel.

iPod-compatible carsI walked the floor. There was a lot to see, but not nearly as much as in the “old days,” when the show took up both sides of Moscone’s hall. I’ve never seen so many iPod accessories in my life. I think one out of every ten booths was peddling something for an iPod. Talk about trying to cash in on a craze. There were even iPod-compatible cars on display (see photo).

By 2:30, I was ready for a rest. I also needed to create my presentation, which was scheduled for 4 PM. I’m a last-minute person — I always have been — so I left the hall and found a seat on one of the balconies overlooking the hall entrance. It was nice and bright and airy up there and only about half the seats were occupied. Some people chatting, some people using laptops, other people eating or reading. I was very surprised to find that my PowerBook immediately connected to a wireless network when I opened it up. I was able to surf the net and check my e-mail.

I jotted down some notes about topics I thought my audience would be interested in. Mostly “cool features” stuff taken from my soon-to-be-published Informit.com article titled “Five Funky Finder Features.” (They may change the title, so if you go looking for it online, keep that in mind.)

While I worked, a man sitting nearby began complaining about how few seats were available. Two of the four balconies were blocked off, cutting the amount of available seats in half. But that didn’t seem to matter, since there were still empty seats to be had. One woman sitting nearby made the fatal error of acknowledging him. This resulted in him continuing his complaints. Another woman finally said to him, “I’m trying to enjoy my lunch and you’re ruining it.” He kept up for another minute or so before the woman, who was eating some kind of salad out of a Tupperware container, said, “No, I really mean it. Your complaints are ruining my lunch.” He seemed to get it then and he shut up. A while later, he closed up his iBook and went away. The whole exchange had been pretty funny. I was glad the woman had spoken up, though. He’d been quite a whiner and it was good when he finally shut up.

I did my presentation and it went well. I covered it in another blog entry.

Afterward, I met with Nancy and Cliff, two of my editors, for drinks and a bite to eat before the Peachpit Party. We wound up at an ethnic restaurant about two blocks away. Don’t ask me what kind of ethnic restaurant — I really don’t know. We ordered three different tappas dishes and a round of drinks. We talked business for a while — stuff I don’t want to cover here. Cliff left to go to an Apple party. Nancy and I finished our drinks and headed over to the Peachpit party.

Peachpit PartyI saw a bunch of Peachpit authors and editors and drank exactly one vodka martini more than I should have. The problem was, I still hadn’t checked into my hotel and I wasn’t exactly sure where it was. Or what it was called. Although I didn’t feel drunk after the third martini, I knew it was time to stop so I switched to water. Good thing I did. They must have used delayed reaction vodka in those drinks because I didn’t start feeling drunk until I was halfway done with my water. Still, I never got too drunk to realize that there were lots of people worse off than I was. Kim was probably the worst. It was her last day of work for Peachpit and she was partying a bit heartier than she should have.

I dug out the info for my hotel around 11:30, realized it was only about a block away from where Tom and Dori were staying, and walked with them. The walk took us down Market Street, which was surprisingly active with normal people (and a few weirdos) at that time of night. When we went our separate ways at Fourth Street, I felt safe enough to continue that last long block on my own. But it was good to get to my hotel and check in. I think the guys at the desk suspected that I wasn’t exactly sober, but they didn’t comment. I’m sure they’ve seen worse. And I wasn’t too drunk to realize that the guy had forgotten to give back my credit card with my room key.

I stayed at the Hotel Milano on Fifth Street. It’s an old hotel that has been fixed up. My seventh floor room had two windows that looked out across a narrow ventilation shaft to the two windows of a room in the next hallway. The room was big with a small television at one end and the king-sized bed at the other. I got undressed and into bed and watched a Seinfeld rerun for a while before turning off the television and going to sleep.

The only thing I’d forgotten to do was to check and adjust the thermostat. I was cold enough all night to sleep poorly but not cold enough to get up and do something about it. I hate that.

I woke at 5:30 AM local time. (I hate that, too.) I watched some Weather Channel and started work on this bLog entry before showering, getting dressed, and going out for breakfast. I wound up at the Marriott a few blocks away. I had a nice breakfast from the buffet, then walked back to my hotel and wasted more time on my computer. The show didn’t open until 10 AM and there was no reason to rush.

I packed and checked out at 9:30 AM. My bag was heavy, despite the fact that I’d given away the five books I’d brought with me from Arizona and I hadn’t bought anything else. I did have some product literature on board, but not enough to take the weight of five books.

At Moscone, I took a seat on one of the balconies to check my e-mail and my Web sites. The sites had been down the day before because of a computer glitch, but they were back online that morning. At 10 AM, I was back on the show floor, stashing my bag under a table at the Peachpit booth.

I bought a SightFlex stand for my iSight camera. Heavy.

I called America West and asked about an earlier flight. It was fully booked.

The Apple BoothI bothered an Apple booth guy for a demo of iWeb. It’s a cool little software package and I hope Peachpit lets me write a book about it. The guy who gave the demo was a software engineer and had written Pages, Apple’s word processing program. (I don’t know why they didn’t have him demo that.) I told him I used Word and had been using it for years. He told me that if I tried Pages, I’d switch. So I’ll try it again next week and see how I do with it. Word really is overkill sometimes. But, at the same time, I’m not too thrilled with the idea of software that works more like a page layout program than a word processor without giving you the control over page elements. If I recall, that was my main gripe about Pages.

The Apple BoothThe Apple Booth, by the way, was enormous. I think it gets bigger every year. There’s always a huge theater area (see photo) and this year there were 40-foot high “posters” of the new MacBook Pro (terrible name!) laptop and Intel processor iMac. I felt like a Lilliputian as I walked around the booth.

I wandered around the hall some more, killing time.

I ran into Sandee Cohen, Ted Landau, and Tonya Engst at the Peachpit booth and spent some time chatting with each of them. Then I grabbed my bag and made my exit. It was 11:30. I figured I’d stop by the Apple store before grabbing a bite to eat.

I dropped off my bag at a hotel along the way, checking it with a bellman. It felt good to get that damn thing off my back.

After looking around the Apple Store, I spent about an hour in Cody’s, a very nice bookstore near Market Street, not far from Virgin and the Apple Store. They were expecting President Carter as a speaker later in the day and the audience seats were already starting to fill with people who had nothing better to do with their time than spend the day sitting in a folding chair in the basement of a building, surrounded by books.

I walked up to Union Square, passing a handful of panhandlers and more than a handful of tourists. The cable car runs down Powell Street there and there are always a lot of tourists around. The area itself reminds me of lower Broadway in New York, with lots of discount luggage stores and shops that sell t-shirts and other tourist favorites. Kind of sleezy without being sleezy enough to scare people away.

Then I made my way to the Nikko, thinking about sushi for lunch. I was just about to go into the Japanese restaurant there when I noticed a Chinese dim sum restaurant across the street. I went there instead and had a very good lunch.

By that time, I’d had enough of San Francisco and was ready to head out to the airport. You know, I’ve been to San Francisco dozens of times and, unless you have a lot of time on your hands and comfortable walking shoes on your feet, it isn’t such a great place. I had neither and was more interested in finding a comfortable place to wait for my flight home than shopping or even walking around the city.

I retrieved my bag, gave the bellman a tip, and descended into the BART station. A while later, I was on a train bound for Daly City. I changed trains and got on another one for the airport. I listened to podcasts the entire time: Slate magazine and, when I was finished with those, Slate Explainer. The usual at the airport: get a boarding pass, go through security, find the gate, settle into a seat. I found a seat by an electric outlet and used it to charge up my PowerBook. For some reason, I expected to use it on the plane.

The plane was completely booked. Overbooked, in fact. They offered $400 worth of travel for volunteers, but I wasn’t interested. There was a woman in my seat when I boarded and, since it was my seat and not hers, she gave it up. When all the seats were filled, they closed the doors and we got underway.

I was asleep within ten minutes of departure.

The Chickies are Here!

A day late, but twice as many as I expected.

If you know anything about me, you know that I live in a rather rural area and have been keeping a small flock of chickens for the past six or seven years. My first flock was the best: eight hens who were tame and friendly because I’d raised them from chicks. Coyotes got three of them in a day (which is why I have a coyote tail hanging from the rearview mirror in my S2000), and, as a result, I had to keep them cooped up all day long, first in their relatively small chicken coop and later in a fenced in chicken yard my friend John built for me alongside the coop. The remaining five chickens produced, on average, four eggs a day. We’re not really big egg eaters, so we wound up giving away fresh eggs to just about anyone who showed up at our door — the farrier, the FedEx man, and the APS meter reader — as well as friends and neighbors.

Time passed. I got more chickens and coyotes and neighborhood dogs took some chickens away. We got a rooster from my friend Janet. I hatched one chick on my own, then bought two more to keep it company. One my my hens hatched her own brood of chicks, all of which were killed by the rest of the flock. Later on, I started replacing chickens with older birds that were less likely to be killed by the flock. Neighborhood dogs dug their way into the yard and killed all my chickens but one; we later electrified the outside of the yard fence to keep them out.

As I write this, I have two hens and a rooster that I got from my hairdresser, Sue. She was moving and looking for a home for her flock. When I got the hens from her, one of them was laying. But now neither of them do. We say they’re lazy chickens. And I’ve already decided that they’ll soon go to a new home in Wenden, where my Mexican friend Celia will turn them into enchiladas. She says fresh chicken is a lot better than store-bought. I don’t doubt her, but I’m not about to wring their necks, pluck them, and gut them to find out for sure.

When I decided to replace my little flock, I decided to start from scratch again — no pun intended — with a fresh batch of chicks. I ordered from Ideal Poultry in Texas. They’re one of the few hatcheries that will ship small orders (less than 25 chicks) and will vaccinate for Marek’s disease (which killed a few of my chickens a few years back). I ordered Ameraucanas (Araucanas), which are also known as the “Easter Egg Chicken.” Why? Because they lay colored eggs: brown, green, and sometimes even blue.

I’d had Ameraucanas before and I loved the green eggs. One of my hens laid a beautiful sage green colored egg that was almost the same color I’d painted my kitchen. The colored eggs are a novelty, but what’s nice is that this breed is a pretty good producer. All of my chickens laid regularly until their untimely deaths.I ordered 10 hens and 2 males from Ideal Poultry. I got an e-mail message a few days later, saying my chicks would be shipped out on December 7. Ideal ships via Priority Mail and I knew from experience that I could expect a call from the local post office on Friday morning, around 6 AM, telling me that my chicks had arrived. I prepared a large plastic storage container with pine shavings and paper towel sheets on the bottom. Bought new a new chick waterer and chick feeder, and bought the smallest bag of chick starter I could: 25 lbs. I also set up the heat lamp over my makeshift brooder. All I’d have to do when the call came was to plug in the heat lamp, fill the waterer and feeder, and bring the chicks home.

But the call never came on Friday. I went to the post office to try to track down the chicks, but without a tracking number, it was impossible. I was told to wait for the 11 AM express mail truck. It arrived at 1 PM. No chicks aboard.

Meanwhile, I’d called the hatchery and left numerous messages and e-mail messages. Chicks can survive without problems for up to 48 hours after hatching without food or water. After that, nothing’s guaranteed. All I could think of was a box arriving at Wickenburg Post Office the next day with a dozen dead chicks in it.

But there was nothing I could do. I had to be in Tempe that evening for Mike’s company Christmas party. The plan was to spend the night at the Embassy Suites on South Rural. I was hoping to do some Christmas shopping while I was down there — I needed a Lowe’s gift certificate for my brother and his wife — but I was already out of time. So I hopped in my Honda and zipped down to Tempe.

The hatchery called my cell phone just after I checked in at the hotel. The guy who called was probably the owner and he had a thick Texan drawl. He told me that the shipment had probably been delayed on Wednesday because of an ice storm in Dallas. (I guess I missed that on the news.) A lot of flights were cancelled. But the chicks, which had been hatched after noon on Wednesday, definitely went out. They should arrive by Saturday morning. The hatchery would replace them if they died enroute.

Not much I could do in Tempe, so I tried not to think about them.

We went to bed around midnight, which is almost like staying up all night for me.

Mike had a bad night. Neither of us drank very much at the party, but something he ate didn’t agree with him and he was up half the night. I woke at 7:30 AM and left him to sleep for a while. We had a suite, so I surfed the channels on the television in the other room while drinking coffee I brewed in the tiny pot in our kitchenette. I wanted to go home and get the chicks settled in — if they were still alive — but I was worried about Mike.

We finally checked out at about 9:30 AM. We each had our own car, so we went our separate ways. I got in to Wickenburg at about 10:45 AM and went right to the post office. I heard my new little babies peeping as soon as I got in the door.

The post office folks had been kind enough to cut down a plastic cup, put some water in it, and give it to the chickies. So I think some of them got something to drink. At this point, they were nearly 72 hours old and very vocal. I thanked the post office folks, put the box of chicks in the car, and drove home.

Ideal Poultry ships chicks in a small cardboard box with plenty of air holes. The box is held closed by a plastic strap, making it easy to open up the sides and peek in. The box is small on purpose; it forces the chicks close together so they keep each other warm. And it probably prevents them from falling over all the time. Normally, Ideal puts a rolled up straw thing in one side of the box, since I always place small orders. This time, it decided to fill the empty space with extra chicks. So when I started pulling them out, I didn’t stop until I had more than 20 of them in their new home.

There were two dead chicks on the bottom of the box; they’d obviously died early in transit because they were very small and their brethren had stomped them into the hay. Normally, I’d feel pretty sad about this, but with so many live chicks to occupy my mind, it didn’t bother me as much as it should have.

Most of the chicks were very active. I went through my ritual: taking each one and dipping its beak into the water to teach it how to drink. It sounds silly, but they really don’t know how to drink until you show them. And that’s kind of what gets them started on their unaided lives. Kind of like slapping a newborn baby on its butt to get it to breathe.

I haven’t gotten an exact count yet, but I think I have 28 chicks. The hatchery may have thought it was doing me a favor by shipping so many extras for free, but I have a definite space problem. The plastic bin I bought to house them for their first 3 to 4 weeks won’t last more than a week now. I’m already scrambling for a large box to move them into. Maybe they thought I had a nice, warm Arizona yard to keep them in. In reality, they’ll live in my garage for at least two months. That’s when they’ll have enough feathers and down to handle the cold winter nights.

They are cute. No doubt about it. Most of them already have feathers growing on the ends of their tiny wings. They’re babies, so they’ll walk around and eat and drink and jump over each other and then suddenly get tired and fall asleep. They’re fun to watch. And when they’re all awake, they make a ton of noise.

As for my current adult flock: their days are numbered. I’ll see Celia again right before Christmas. Although I already gave her her Christmas present, she might be taking three bonus birds home with her that day. Enchiladas? Tamales? Or just roast chicken? If those girls don’t start laying eggs soon, they’ll be the main course on Celia’s table one day soon.