Tag Archives: Wickenburg

A Beautiful Day for Flying…or a Horseback Ride

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We did the ride.

We were supposed to go flying. Mike had clearly stated the day before that he was going flying on Sunday. We debated about where to go. I’m always interested in the $100 hamburger (or egg sandwich) — you know, flying into an airport with a restaurant (or nearby restaurant) and getting a bite to eat before flying home.

“How about Sedona?” I suggested.

“On a Sunday?” he said. “That place is a zoo on Sundays.”

“How about Winslow? We can go to that historic hotel.” I couldn’t remember the name of the place, but he knew what I was talking about.

He wasn’t interested. I think it was farther away than he’d wanted to go.

“Prescott? We have a car there.” My ancient but loyal Toyota is back at Prescott Airport, waiting to serve me the next time I fly in.

“Yeah,” he said as he tried to think of an excuse not to go to Prescott.

I got the idea and stopped making suggestions. If I were flying, I’d have no trouble coming up with a destination. Heck, who needs a destination anyway? Just hop in the helicopter and follow the birds. Or the cows. Or whatever you feel like following. Be surprised where you end up. But I couldn’t fly. The helicopter, although still technically mine, had been sold and paid for. I’d be flying it on Monday to its new owner. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t really mine anymore and I shouldn’t fly it unless I had to.

That was yesterday. Today, the day we were supposed to go flying, we didn’t even talk about flying. I think he’d changed his mind about it. He claimed he felt lazy, like just taking it easy. (We all know how much hard work flying an airplane 30 minutes to another airport can be.) “Let’s go for a horseback ride,” he said not long after our 10:00 AM lunch.

An hour later, we were saddled up and riding out. We rode down the wash (Cemetery Wash, which runs past our house — when it runs) and turned right into the slot canyon near Ocotillo. We passed some women out on their horses with three red dogs and kept going.

It was a nice ride. The air was cool but the sun was strong. The combination made for comfortable riding conditions. I was fine in my light cotton pants and long-sleeved cotton henley. I didn’t bother with a hat.

My horse even behaved for most of the ride. He walked fast, which is quite unusual for him on the way out. He didn’t get spooked by anything and didn’t try to turn around more than four or five times. But when we reached the first gate and he realized we were going through it, he started getting cranky.

My horses can count gates. They know that every time we go through a gate on the way out, it means the ride will be at least 30 minutes longer. A one-gate ride can be about an hour. But add a gate and you add 30-60 minutes.

We only went through one gate on the way out. And we didn’t take the longest trail we could have. But we were still out over 2 hours.

We rode in the state or BLM land out behind my home, following the same trails the wranglers at Rancho de los Caballeros use. The trails wind through the Sonoran desert, past saguaro, cholla, barrel, and prickly pear cactus, around mesquite and palo verde trees and creosote bushes, and over all kinds of rocks. There are numerous intersections and several gates. The trails climb high over peaks and along ridges and sink low into washes and canyons.

We know the trails very well, and have our own names for them. For example, today we rode down the wash to the Slot Canyon Trail then took that through the gate at the end to Deer Valley Trail (named because we used to see deer there all the time). I made a wrong turn at a fork in Deer Valley and that brought us prematurely to the Ridge Ride Trail. (Shortened the ride by about 15 minutes.) We went a short distance on the Ridge Ride and stopped at a high point to admire the view. From up there, you can clearly see Los Cab and its golf course, as well as the entire town of Wickenburg spread out to the northeast. We gave our horses a scare when we started back the way we’d come, then took the Red Rock Trail back down to Cemetery Wash. We followed a trail through the wash through a gate near Los Cab to the Golf Course Trail, which goes past the golf course before heading back toward our house. We came through another gate near our neighbor’s house and rode the remaining 1/4 mile home.

Of course these are just OUR names for the trails. The Los Cab wranglers have different names for them, but since the trails aren’t mapped, they don’t really have names.

Why two gates on the way back and only one on the way out? There’s no gate in the slot canyon. The fence that was there was washed away long ago.

It was a nice ride, a nice time out. It was good to get my fat horse some exercise.

And since I won’t have anything to fly for the next month or so, I’ll probably be doing a lot of horseback riding again.

Can You Hear Me?

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I make a phone call for someone in need.

She was an older woman, standing on the sidewalk between Alco and Osco. She looked nervous. I made eye contact with her on my way into Alco. When I came out, she was still there. But this time, she was looking right at me, obviously ready to approach me.

“What do you need?” I said, walking right up to her.

“I am deaf,” she said in the voice of a person who is obviously deaf. “Can you make a phone call for me? I will gladly pay you.”

“Sure,” I said. “But you don’t have to pay me.”

She didn’t hear me, of course. She was deaf. But she understood that I’d help.

We walked over to the pay phone and she pulled out a small folder that she opened and showed to me. She pointed to one of the two names with phone numbers on it. “This is my daughter,” she said. “I need you to call her for me. Let me talk to her, then you take the phone and listen to what she says and write it down for me.” She took out a pad and pen. I picked up the phone. “Call collect,” she advised me. “It will be easier for you.”

I made the call as she requested. A moment later, I was talking to her daughter. “I’m making this call for your mother,” I said. “She wants to talk to you and then I’ll listen to what you say and write it down.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She’d obviously done this before.

I handed the phone over and the woman talked. She didn’t stop to listen. She talked about where she was and about checking the mail. She talked about leaving a check for her daughter’s trip. She said she was fine and hoped her daughter had a good time on the trip. There was more of the same. Then she told her daughter that she’d tried for a half hour to get someone to make this call for her and that I’d finally come along and said yes. “God bless her,” she said. She told her daughter that I’d take notes and handed the phone back to me.

The daughter kept it brief. She thanked me, then gave me a few messages regarding the mail. She ended up with, “Tell her I love her. And thanks again for helping her.”

Meanwhile, the woman was attempting to put money in my pocket. I tried to dodge away, but the phone cord was too short. I said goodbye and hung up, then handed the woman the notes I’d written. She read them aloud and nodded. Then she tried again to give me money. I wouldn’t take it.

“I tried to get so many other people to help me,” she said. “They wouldn’t come near me. They must have thought I was a leper because I was deaf. Please take the money. Just for a Coke.”

I had tears in my eyes, thinking about this woman wasting 30 minutes of her day trying to get someone to make a simple phone call for her. I gave her a hug. When she was insistent about the money, I took it, then slipped it into her purse, which she’d left open just a little bit. Then I said goodbye and left her.

What is it with today’s people? Can’t they take a moment to help someone in need? Someone with a simple request that would take only a moment of time and not cost a penny? It surprises me. You’d expect people to act like that in a big city. But not in Wickenburg.

But maybe it takes a big city person to be brave enough to face someone in need.

What I Do

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I discover that the majority of people in Wickenburg haven’t got a clue what I do.

On Monday, I put a piece of real estate I own on the market. I listed it with Jorja Beal. Jorja has lived in Wickenburg for many years and knows it better than I ever will.

Yesterday, Jorja had to stop by my office to get some keys. I met her in the parking lot. The first thing she said to me was, “I didn’t know you wrote books about Quicken!” She was surprised and impressed. “I didn’t realize we had someone in town who was famous.”

I’m not famous. Well, not exactly famous. There are a number of people who think I’m famous and I occasionally get asked for my autograph, but I don’t really think of myself as famous.

I told Jorja that that’s what I do for a living. Then I asked her what she thought I did. She told me she thought I was a Webmaster. I told her that although I do maintain a few Web sites, there’s no money in being a Webmaster in Wickenburg — unless, of course, you’re willing to grossly overcharge all your clients, which is something I’m not willing to do. I told her I write books for a living, then brought her up to my extremely disheveled office and showed her the “Langer Library”: three shelves of books, starting with titles first published in 1990, along with many of their translations. There are over a hundred books on those three shelves, but if you weed out the translations and the handful of books I contributed to but didn’t author on my own, the total title count is around 60.

I opened my closet full of author copies and pulled out a copy of the Quicken 2005 book and handed it to her. She said, “No, I already have one. Steve Cole gave me one.”

Steve Cole runs Cole Accounting here in town. Steve is a great guy, laid back, patient, and knowledgeable. He gave me a lot of help when I had to tackle the payroll taxes for my employees at the Airport. He also does my husband’s taxes and this year I’m going to ask him to do mine. (Consider this advance warning, Steve, if you’re reading this!) When I finished the Quicken 2005 book and was staring at a blank dedication page, I decided to dedicate the book to him, as a way of thanking him for his help. And when my 20 author copies arrived about a month later, I brought half of them to Steve so he could give them away to his clients who use Quicken. I guess Jorja is one of those clients.

I’m not sure if Steve knows that the books are where the money comes from. He’s never done my personal taxes so he might not.

People might find it hard to understand how a writer can make a good enough living to buy things like real estate and a helicopter. But when you average 4 to 6 books a year and you have one or two titles that become regular best-sellers, it is indeed possible.

Other people in town think I fly helicopters for a living. Wouldn’t that be nice! To be able to do the thing I love best and make enough money to support my lifestyle! The truth of the matter is, the demand for helicopter tours in Wickenburg is pitifully low, so Flying M Air will never become a big income-generator here. And that summer job I had at the Grand Canyon this past summer paid very poorly. It was an entry level position that worked all of its pilots hard, making us fly in very challenging conditions. I may have come away as a much better pilot, but my bank account sure didn’t show much for all that work.

A few people thought I ran the airport FBO for a living. They must have been pretty puzzled when I gave it up.

Other people may think that Mike makes a ton of money and supports both of our expensive habits. That isn’t true either. I support all of my own expensive habits and Mike supports his.

Indeed, I’m one of the people Art Pullis wrote about in one of his painfully elementary articles about the local economy in the Wickenburg Sun. The one where he discussed money coming into Wickenburg from outside the town. Less than 1% of my income comes from within Wickenburg, but far more than that is spent here. I’d spend even more here if I could find more of the goods and services I need here in town.

But I’m working on that. I’m sending Ed Taylor, one of Wickenburg’s two aircraft mechanics and owner of Wickenburg Aero Service, to the Robinson Helicopter Factory Maintenance School in November. When he gets back, he’ll be a helicopter mechanic. My helicopter mechanic. (No more trips to Prescott to get expensive maintenance items done. I’ll be keeping my maintenance dollars in town.) And I hope Ed picks up a few more helicopter customers as well. I’ll see what I can do to help that along.

One footnote here: there is someone in town who knows what I do. Yesterday, I went into the library to borrow a few books. I went to the counter with my battered library card and the librarian went to her computer to do whatever it is she does. (Probably check to see if I owe money for late fees, which I often do.) She was looking at the computer screen when she said aloud, “How are your books doing?”

I looked around. There was no one else she could be talking to. Stupidly, I said, “Who, me?”

She looked at me and smiled. “Yes.”

“Oh! Very well, thanks. I’m starting a new one tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she said.

“I don’t either,” I replied. Then I took the books she handed me and left.

Today I start work on “Microsoft Word 2004 for Macintosh: Visual QuickStart Guide.” Hey, it’s a living.

The Arrival of a Bumper Sticker

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Some thoughts on receiving a pair of political bumper stickers from an anonymous sender.

I got a long envelope in the mail yesterday from a company called FahrenheitStuff.com. When I opened it, I found two black, red, and white bumper stickers that said: “Fahrenheit 9/11, See the movie..then decide.”There was no indication of who had sent them.

Bumper StickerI went to the Web site and learned that FahrenheitStuff.com sells bumper stickers and tee shirts with all proceeds going to MoveOnPac.org. MoveOnPac.org, I learned, is dedicated to getting voters to vote George W. Bush out of office. To that end, they have a number of political advertisements that you can view via the Web. I watched all of them. One, “Stranded Republicans,” was very good. Another, “Everyone,” was very moving. The others were so-so. Since I don’t watch much TV, I don’t know if any of these ads have actually aired. FahrenheitStuff.com claims it is not affiliated with or endorsed by Michael Moore or MoveOnPac.org. The bumper stickers were of good quality and quite attractive. The colors went well with my red Honda. So, just to stir up some local emotions in this Arizona Republican stronghold town, I put one on my car. Yes, I put it on the glass back window; after all, I will eventually need to remove it. And if people start throwing eggs, I can always drive around town with the top down so no one sees it.

The shirts were nice, too. 100% cotton Hanes tee shirts with three different Fahrenheit 9/11 slogans on them. They were only $7.99. The bumper stickers were only $1 each. I’m thinking the shirts might make a good collector’s item in about 20 years. I might buy one and store it with my Mac OS 8 tee shirts. Someday, they’ll hit eBay.

Well, while I was surfing to find out about FahrenheitStuff.com and MoveOnPac.org, I visited Michael Moore’s Web site. I read a lot of interesting articles there. He didn’t write them. He just echoed them from other sources. It appears the Michigan Republicans are out to get him because he’s “bribing students to vote.” Frankly, I think it’s admirable that someone is making an effort to get young people involved in the political decision-making process. Of course, his efforts do have an ulterior motive. He obviously believes that the majority of these young people will vote against George W Bush. I think they will, too. And I hope they vote.

I realized, in reading Moore’s Web pages, that he and I have a lot in common. We have the same basic political opinion. Like me, he doesn’t think that Kerry is the best candidate for president. But he also doesn’t think we should give Bush another 4 years. Like me, he believes in exercising his First Amendment rights to speak his mind about the things he feels strongly about. But while he does it in movie theaters, in public speaking gigs (for which is often paid), in interviews, and on his Web site, I do it on my Web site and blogs and in letters to our sorry (and politically unbalanced) little local newspaper. While he’s tackling topics on the national and international level, with well-researched and presented commentary, I’m just presenting my opinion, based on my own intelligence and knowledge of the things going on around me. And like me, he has made a number of enemies due to his outspokenness, although he has millions of them and I only have a handful of people I wouldn’t want as friends anyway.

After surfing Moore’s site, I went to Amazon.com to look up information about his new book, “The Fahrenheit 9/11 Reader.” It sounds like a rehash of the movie, with a bunch of commentary in it. I don’t think it’s worth reading, at least not right now when I have so many other things I want to read. But I also learned that someone wrote a book called “Michael Moore is a Big Fat Stupid White Man.” Wow. I might have to agree with that sentiment, but remove the word “Stupid.” He certainly isn’t that. But I do think it’s funny that an author (and publisher) would cash in on the fact that so many people hate Michael Moore. Who’s stupid now? It appears that the buyers of this book (and perhaps Moore’s book, to be fair) are being used to generate profits for authors and publishers who are selling to emotions. Perhaps these books look good on coffee tables in homes of Republicans or Democrats. A kind of label to let people know where you stand politically.

While surfing Amazon.com, I found a book that I think I’m going to buy (or at least look for in my local library). It’s called “Seven Floors High” and it appears to be a novel based on fact. (The description is too vague to make it clear whether it’s fact or fiction.) What really struck me is the reviews: every single reviewer gave it 5 stars. Most of them said they “couldn’t put it down.” I need to read something like that. Of course, I found the book through a link to “The Fahrenheit 9/11 Reader,” and it’s quite clear that it doesn’t make George W Bush look very good. I’m looking forward to checking it out.

I also found an enormous number of political books for sale. Some are “patriotic” titles that are obviously written to praise the current president. Others are titles by (or with information from) people in the know, such as John Dean and Paul O’Neill. The summaries of these books make them sound like interesting (but scary) reading. They seem to confirm what I already suspect: that there’s more going on in the White House than what meets the public’s eye.

Anyway, speaking of patriotic, I do have one more comment to make regarding Michael Moore. Moore-haters claim he’s unpatriotic. (By the way, that’s the same claim made by our president and his supporters when we question the removal of our rights to privacy, free speech, and due process.) I don’t think he’s unpatriotic at all. I think he sees the big picture and has formed an opinion about it. The opinion is not favorable to our current president and his party. I think he loves America very much — and that’s why he’s willing to speak out. I think it’s his way of getting other people to see the big picture and make an informed opinion about it. Informed using all of the facts, not the claims made by the republican party and its candidates.

Again, this is a lot like me. People think I hate Wickenburg because I speak out when I see something I think is bad or wrong. But I don’t hate Wickenburg. I don’t want to hate it, either. I want everyone to see what’s going on out there. I want them to make their own opinions and do something about it.

The sad thing about America these days is that the average person would rather watch the latest reality TV show than spend time and effort researching the issues that affect their lives and voting based on their own opinions about those issues.

And there is a postscript to this story: I found out who sent me the bumper stickers when I got a message from the sender in this morning’s e-mail.

I Finally Got Smart

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I give up my contract at Wickenburg Airport and feel an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders.

It was driving me nuts.

I’d won the fuel manager contract in late 2002 and started with the lofty goal of turning the airport around, making it a place where pilots would want to hang out, drink coffee, and do some hangar flying. Like a clubhouse. And while they were there, they’d pull out their planes, go for a flight, and buy some fuel so the town and I could make some money.

If you compare the airport now with what it was under the previous fuel manager, you’d have to admit that I succeeded. But at what cost?

The original idea was to find a full-time guy (or gal) to manage the place for me. I’d handle the money, the manager would handle everything else. But reality set in quickly. First, I couldn’t find such a person. And then I realized that even if I did, I couldn’t afford to pay one.

So I became that person. And the nightmare began.

The job was fraught with frustration:

Frustration at dealing with the town and its slow (almost backward) speed of getting things done. I’ve been told that all small towns are like this and that I should be patient. Believe it or not, I can be VERY patient. But no one who has an interest in seeing things done can be THAT patient.

Frustration at attending airport commission meetings, which discussed the same semi-relevant topics every month. My favorite was the hangars at Forepaugh issue, which was begun by a local ultralight pilot because he supposedly couldn’t get a hangar in Wickenburg without insurance. (Untralight pilots can’t easily get insurance.) As soon as he got a hangar in Wickenburg, he stopped coming to meetings. (Has anyone checked for insurance? I doubt it.) But the topic was discussed for at least two more months, with nothing being resolved. And let’s not even talk about Forepaugh. How so many people can waste so much breath over a dirt strip in the middle of the desert absolutely amazes me.

Frustration at dealing with customers who got their kicks by complaining to ME about things I have absolutely no control over. “When is that self-serve fuel system going to be fixed, anyway?” “Why are fuel prices so high?” “Why are hangars so expensive?” “Why can’t I build my own hangar?” “How could you let so-and-so cut me off in the traffic pattern?” “Why didn’t you tell me that the windsock on the east end of the field shows different wind that the one at the west end of the field?” It never ended.

Frustration at dealing with people who weren’t customers — people who were proud of the fact that they didn’t buy a thing from me — coming in and drinking my coffee and sitting on my sofa a few times a week. Getting donut crumbs on the floor and missing the urinal when they took a leak. And talking other customers out of buying things that kept me in business.

Frustration at seeing the annual “Fly In,” which is sponsored by an organization that knows less about aviation than the Girl Scouts, turn into a poorly publicized car show with no control over aircraft or people on the ramp. Last year, when I needed to fly out during the event, I had to enlist the help of FOUR people to prevent bystanders from walking too close to my helicopter while it was preparing to depart. There were no movement/non-movement areas defined!!! No safety personnel to prevent spectators from walking into spinning props!!! Parked cars blocking the doors to many of the hangars!!! And the C-130 they finally got to appear at the event taxied down a taxiway it didn’t fit on and climbed one of its wings up on a hangar. When it put its engines in reverse, it churned up enough grass, weeds, and pebbles to shower the spectators and cover the ramp for weeks. Jeez! As fuel manager for the place, I could be held liable for damages in the event of an accident! And I could only imagine the lawsuit the town would get slapped with.

Frustration at being told that I wasn’t supposed to voice my opinions if they weren’t favorable. What kind of bullshit is THAT? Hello? Aren’t we in America? Isn’t there a document called the Constitution that grants all of us the right to voice our opinions until we’re blue in the face? Or longer?

Frustration at being an employer. What was I thinking?

If I told you what the FBO netted last year, you’d laugh at me. If I told you how much of my personal money I put into the airport building to fix minor problems that the town consistently avoided fixing and making improvements to make the terminal more appealing, you’d tell me I was nuts.

I was nuts. I know that now. I suspected it at least six months ago when I snapped at a customer, after dealing with his complaints and sexual harassment for ten months. I called him something I reserve for people who really annoy the hell out of me. (Something so foul I won’t even repeat it here. But ask me in person and I’ll tell you.) I called him that loudly and repeatedly. He tried to get me removed by the town. If only he knew what a favor he would have been doing me! Six months less of insanity.

I made my decision to quit on Thursday morning. I kept it to myself that morning. The mayor-elect was coming by to visit me at the airport with three members of the airport commission. I decided that if I thought there was ANY chance of a change, I’d reverse my decision again. But when the mayor-elect came by, I wasn’t impressed. In fact, I guess you could say I was DEpressed.

Later, I stopped by town hall to drop off some paperwork. I got called into the Airport Manager’s office. He immediately started giving me grief about a list of airport fixes that were outstanding that I had submitted to him. I broke the news to him so he could save his breath. I dropped the official letter off the next day.

Fortunately, there’s a way that I can make my exit without hurting the airport or the town. The folks at Master Aircraft (the airport paint shop) are interested in taking over. So interested, in fact, that they’re willing to buy my airport assets (just about everything in the building) and take over as my agent until my 90 termination period is up. They’ll keep the place just as nice and friendly as I did. And after watching me for 6 months, they already know what they’re in for, so they’re more likely to stick it out.

Now back to my regularly scheduled life.