I’m too busy to blog, so don’t expect much here. I finished a book and immediately flew to Ventura, CA to record a video course. I’m in a soundproof booth all day long. Then I go to my hotel and sit at a desk in front of two laptops, preparing for the next day’s recording sessions.

I’m even too busy to tweet!

On Saturday, I fly home. Then, on Sunday, I start another 6-day helicopter excursion.

Since I apparently haven’t posted anything for at least a week, I thought I’d send this just to let everyone know I’m still alive.

Maybe I’ll have time to blog next week.

Just thought I’d take a moment to share this photo with blog readers. It was taken by Bryan using my Nikon D80 and 10.5mm fisheye lens. He was sitting in the back seat; I was sitting up front with Ryan at the controls. Bryan snapped this shot from between the two seats as we were flying over Lake Shasta in northern California.

Yes, I know we look a bit distorted. That’s the lens in action. But can you get an idea of the view? Huge front bubble window, big side windows. Even the back seats have a great view.

Yet people still take tours of places like the Grand Canyon in airplanes, where they’re lucky to get a limited view out one window.

Go figure.

This past Thursday and Friday, I flew by helicopter with two other helicopter pilots, Ryan and Bryan, from Wickenburg, AZ to Boeing Field in Seattle. Bryan and Ryan did just about all of the flying. I sat up front being a nervous passenger when we were near the ground and playing with the radio and GPS. Brian let me make most of his radio calls on the first day, but I didn’t get to do much of that the second day.

It was a mutually beneficial journey. I needed to get the helicopter from Arizona to Washington State. Ryan and Bryan were both CFIs who wanted to build time in an R44 helicopter. It was way cheaper for them to fly with me on this trip than to rent an R44 from a flight school. There was also the added experience of planning and executing a flight through unknown terrain, with fuel stops and an overnight stop along the way. And the money they paid to fly my aircraft helped me cover the cost of this very long and very expensive helicopter flight. Win-win.

A very cool but very helicopter-unfriendly fuel island at Corona Airport in California.

Our flight path took us west, with Bryan at the controls, along state route 60 to I-10, across the Colorado River, and then along I-10 through Bythe, Chiriaco Summit, Palm Springs, and Banning; then back on 60 past March to Riverside on the 91. We stopped at Corona for fuel at what’s likely the coolest but most helicopter-unfriendly fuel island in the world. (We didn’t notice the separate fuel island more suitable for helicopters until we’d stopped and shut down.)

Then Ryan took us west on 91 through the airspace for Fullerton and Long Beach, with a Torrance low pass. (Robinson has entirely too many helicopters waiting for owners on its ramp and in its delivery room.) He then got clearance for the Shoreline helicopter transition of LAX space, which requires the pilot to drop to 150 feet 1/4 mile offshore to pass under LAX departing traffic. We continued following the coast up past Santa Monica, Pacific Palisades, Malibu, Oxnard, Ventura, and Santa Barbara. By then, the marine layer was moving in, so we went inland for a bit. Eventually, we reached San Luis Obispo (and the chatty controller) and stopped for fuel and lunch.

Here’s Ryan on the ramp at San Luis Obispo before departure northbound. I shot this one with my Blackberry’s camera, so pardon the quality.

Bryan was back at the controls for our departure northbound. After a very close call with a large bird, we followed the path of Route 101 northbound. Most of the route was up a riverbed in a very pleasant valley. We got to Salinas and realized that any coastal route would be out of the question — the marine layer was creeping in even there. So we headed over the mountains, eventually ending up in the western part of California’s Central Valley. We stopped for fuel at Byron.

Ryan took over and we continued north over Rio Vista and Yolo, finally hooking up with I-5. We followed that through endless farmland — much of it flooded for a crop that apparently needs lots of water — over Willows Glen and Red Bluff, with more than a few crop-dusters flying nearby at altitudes far below ours. We stopped for the night at Redding, tied down the helicopter, and got a hotel shuttle into town.

We’d flown 8.8 hours.

Ryan at the controls as we near Mt. Shasta in northern California.

The next morning, we were back at the airport at 9 AM, preflighting and getting ready to go. Ryan would start the flight. We headed north along I-5, over Lake Shasta and past Mount Shasta, which was snow-covered and beautiful. We were now past Central Valley’s vast farmland and up in the mountains. We flew past Weed, Siskiyou Co., Rogue Valley/Medford, and Grant’s Pass. Much of this flying was in canyons, along the same route as I-5 and a train line.

Things turned a bit iffy as I-5 swung to the east. We were hoping to go north and catch it on the other side of some mountains, shortening our route a bit, but clouds sitting on the tops of those mountains made that a bit uncertain. So we dropped altitude, slowed down, and followed I-5. Ryan flew while Bryan and I kept a sharp lookout for the power lines we knew — from both chart and GPS — were ahead. We weren’t that low and there wasn’t any real danger, but we were certainly not coming out of that canyon anywhere except the I-5 corridor. We passed the powerlines with plenty of room. The road descended into a valley and we stayed up beneath the cloud bottoms. Eventually, the sky cleared. We continued along I-5 past Myrtle Creek and Roseburg and stopped at Cottage Grove State for fuel and lunch.

Then it was Bryan’s turn again. We continued up I-5 past Hobby, Albany Municipal, and McNary. Then we headed northwest over Sportsman’s, Hillsboro, and Scappoose. We crossed the Columbia River and headed north on I-5 again over Kelso Longview and Olympia, with nice views of Mount St. Helens and Mount Rainier in the distance. Then on to Bremmerton, where we stopped for fuel. We probably had enough to make the last 20 minutes, but why take chances?

Zero-Mike-Lima on the ramp at BFI. Another Blackberry photo. And yes, that’s Mt. Rainier in the background.

I flew the last leg with Bryan up front to handle the radio and give me directions. It was only a 15-minute flight, but the airspace was complicated, so I was grateful for the help. I set the helicopter down sloppily in the parking area. We’d flown a total of 14.4 hours.

It was a great flight. We saw so much that most of it is just a blur in my mind. With luck, these photos and videos will help me remember the trip for a long time to come.

Many thanks to Ryan and Bryan for accompanying me on this trip. I hope they learned a lot about cross-country flying.

I’m back in Ventura again, working hard on a new training video for Lynda.com. The schedule is very tough this time around and at the end of the day, I’m absolutely exhausted.

But tonight, I took a few minutes to walk along the path around the harbor. I did it around sunset, waiting for a crescent moon that never appeared. And then I did it again after dinner.

And I took some photos of the same damn boats I always take pictures of when I’m in Ventura.

This is a night shot taken not far from my room. The bright light in the sky is Venus. This was a long exposure, a full stop “overexposed” — at least as far as my camera’s meter was concerned.

I used my new Slik tripod for this shot. It’s designed for smaller cameras, but it held up my digital SLR with its fat lens pretty well. I like the pivoting head and really wish I’d gone the same route with the Manfrotto I got for more serious photo work.

I’ll look for that crescent moon again tomorrow.

Photo Info:
Camera: Nikon D80
Focal Length: 19mm
Aperture: f/3.8
Exposure: 3 seconds

I was driving down the California coast, looking for a place to stop for breakfast — preferably with a view of the ocean — when I saw a sign for Paradise Cove. I followed the arrow down a narrow road that wound down to the ocean. There was a right turn into a trailer park, but if I went straight, I’d end up in a parking lot on the ocean. A sign warned that parking was $20, but only $3 if you got your parking ticket validated in the restaurant and stayed for less than 4 hours. Ahead of me was a funky little oceanfront restaurant with a handful of cars parked in front of it. I drove through the gate and parked.

And went inside the Paradise Cove Beach Cafe.

It was a typical seaside restaurant — the kind you can imagine filled with people in bathing suits, eating fried clams, with sand and flip-flops on their feet. (That’s my east coast seaside experience talking.) But that Saturday morning was partly cloudy and unseasonably cool for southern California. The main dining room was empty. I was escorted into a kind of sundeck room with big windows facing the ocean. Although all the window tables were full, the waiter kindly sat me at a huge table nearby, where I could enjoy the view as well as the activity going on around me.

I checked out the menu, eager for a big, hot breakfast. I didn’t plan to eat again until after my flight arrived in Phoenix later that evening. Some items on the menu interested me, but it was the eggs benedict I asked the waiter about.

“Are they good?” There’s nothing worse than bad eggs benedict when you’re expecting decent eggs benedict.

“Very good,” he assured me.

I settled down to wait for my breakfast. There was nothing much going on outside the window. Gulls flying around, a few people walking out on the obligatory but short pier. It was mostly dark and cloudy over the ocean, but the sun was breaking through here and there. I watched my fellow diners get their breakfasts delivered. Everything looked outrageously good.

When my breakfast arrived, it looked good. On the plate were two eggs benedict, a good sized portion of roasted potatoes, and some melon slices. I nibbled a potato. It was cooked to perfection. And then I tasted the eggs benedict.

I’ve had eggs benedict in a lot of places — including a lot of fancy and expensive hotel restaurants. But these eggs benedict were the best I’d ever had in my life. It may have been the fact that the eggs were cooked perfectly — whites cooked, yolks still runny. Or the fact that the english muffins beneath them were fresh and not over-toasted. But it was probably because the hollandaise sauce was light and airy and obviously freshly prepared from scratch — not some thick yellow crap from a mix.

You like eggs benedict? Go on out to the Paradise Cove Cafe in Malibu and get some.

I was just finishing up my breakfast when a man about my age came in with two elderly ladies. They got a table by the window near where I was sitting. I watched them, trying not to look obvious about it, recognizing something about them. It came to me slowly. He was the grandson taking his grandmother and her friend out to breakfast.

They reminded me so much of all the times I’d taken my grandmother out to breakfast. This may have been because the woman had the same New York accent my grandmother had. She also spoke rather loudly, had trouble hearing her grandson, and asked the waiter all kinds of questions. She was concerned about whether she’d have to pay for a refill of her “mocha” — a simple mix of coffee and hot chocolate prepared by the waiter. She praised the waiter extensively about how well he’d prepared that mocha for her. The other woman was quieter but seemed to have the same accent. The grandson was attentive but, on more than one occasion, obviously embarrassed.

I knew exactly how he felt.

Before I left, I got up to say hello to them. I discovered that the women were from the Bronx — the same area as my grandmother. The quiet woman was the grandmother’s sister. She complemented me on the way my blue earrings made my eyes look bluer. I could easily have chatted with them all day.

Afterwards, I went outside and took a walk on the pier. I took a photo looking up the coast (shown here) and another looking down the coast (shown below). Amazing that these two photos were taken only moments apart, isn’t it? But the weather was variable and moving quickly. A huge storm front was moving into southern California that would dump rain on the low elevations and snow on the higher ones.

Paradise Cove and places like it are part of the reason I like to travel alone. When you’re traveling with companions, every stop has to be debated and measured. No one ever wants to say, “Let’s stop here and check it out,” because no one wants to be responsible if the place turns out to be rat hole. As a result, opportunities to visit interesting places are missed. Instead, a trip is a long string of predetermined “must see” places, visited one after another with few spontaneous stops along the way.

There was magic at the Paradise Cove Cafe — at least for me that morning. If I’d been with someone else — someone anxious to eat breakfast before starting the drive or satisfied with a chain restaurant for a meal — I would have missed that magic.

I also would have missed out on photo opportunities. When I’m on the road by myself, I stop more often to look at what’s around me and, if I can, take pictures. On this particular Saturday, all I had with me was my little Nikon CoolPix point-and-shoot, but I put it to good use. The weather was a mixture of thick clouds and blue sky. It was the kind of place and day that calls out to photographers. The photos I’m able to include with this blog entry will help me remember this day. (I even took a stealth photo of the grandson/grandmother/aunt outing with my Treo, although I won’t publish it here.)

Anyway, I walked back to my rental car, fired it up, and paid my $3 parking fee on the way out. It had been well worth the money.

I was very disappointed with my photo of the Christmas Boats the other day. Let’s face it — I took the shot from the window of my hotel room. I set the camera on the window sill, which is very close to the ground, and I let the self-timer press the shutter so there wouldn’t be any shutter shake. The framing is awful and the exposure is only so-so. It really didn’t capture the mood here, where the boats really bring out the Christmas spirit — even in folks like me.

So tonight I took the camera with me for a walk around the north side of the harbor. There were benches along the way that I could set the camera down on. I took about 40 shots and threw away 20 of them. This was one of the best.

By the way, that bright point of light in the sky is Venus.

My CoolPix apparently has a night scenery setting. I gave it a try. It seems to play around with the light a bit; 100% magnification on the 10 megapixel images shows some weirdness around the parking lot lights in the distance. I’m wondering how my Nikon D80 would have handled it. Shot properly from a tripod with a cable release, of course.

Just a quick post to berate myself for not bringing my “good camera” and tripod with me to Ventura, CA this week and give folks a glimpse of the shot I could have gotten….

I’m in Ventura on business and my clients have kindly put me up in the Holiday Inn Express on Ventura Harbor. My room is huge with a 15-foot ceiling and prow windows looking out over the harbor. There’s also a kitchen and living room area that’s nothing to complain about. The only thing I miss is the Jacuzzi tub that was in my room on my last stay; this time, my bathroom is handicap accessible and has a shower stall big enough to drive a wheelchair into but no tub. (Just another excuse to come do more work out here.)

Anyway, out my window is the harbor and quite a few of the boats are decorated for the holidays. Lots of strings of lights up on sailboat masts. Plenty of other boats lighted, too. In fact, there are probably more lights on the boats here than on houses in Wickenburg.

Really helps spread the holiday season to all.

And makes me want to live on a boat.

I took this photo using the self-timer while setting my little Nikon CoolPix on the outside of my window. It was my workaround for not having a cable release or tripod.

I didn’t bring my Nikon D80 or tripod on this trip because I didn’t want distractions. I’ve got a tough work schedule and need to work every night and first thing every morning. The only rest I get is at meals — and they keep taking me out to eat. No walks, no sightseeing.

But next time, to hell with it. I’ll bring the camera. Scenes like this are too good to miss — or at least they would be if I had the right equipment to get a good shot. I learned my lesson. Again.

In November, Mike and I took the helicopter to the San Diego area for business. The flights to and from San Diego were over some of the most interesting — and boring — desert terrain out there.

Our route to San Diego from Wickenburg (E25) took us southwest, skirting around the restricted area north of Yuma, where we landed for fuel. (Fuel there was $1.20/gallon cheaper than at my home base.) Then almost due west along I-8, over the Glamis Dunes and Imperial Valley, which lies below sea level. Finally, a climb over some mountains and a descent down to Gillespie Field (SEE).

On the return flight, we took a different route. We flew east along I-8, then northeast to the northern tip of the Salton Sea to Chiriaco Summit and then along I-10 to Blythe, where we refueled. (The fat guy is gone.) From there, we overflew Quartzsite before making a bee-line for Wickenburg.

You can see the approximate routes below; click the map for a larger view with readable labels.

Mike’s got his 100 hours of flight time in helicopters, so he’s legal (per my insurance company) to fly passengers. So he did most of the flying. I had my door off for the Yuma to El Cajon part of the flight and took photos — mostly over the Glamis dunes. It was nice to be a passenger for a change — to be able to use my camera without left-handed contortions. I also had the POV.1 video going for part of the flight, although the sound crapped out part of the way.

Anyway, here are a few of the photos I took on the flight. You can find more of my aerial photos — as well as larger versions of these — in my photo gallery.

Glamis Sand Dunes

Formally known as the Algodones Dunes or the Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area, the Glamis Dunes is a huge series of sand dunes west of the Colorado River, northwest of Yuma, AZ in California. The dune field stretches 45 miles north to south and 6 miles east to West. This photo shows only a portion of the dunes, looking north from the I-8 area. The dunes are extremely popular for off-road vehicles; this photo was taken on a relatively quiet Friday morning.

Sand Dunes

Here’s a closeup shot of the Algodones Dunes from the air. This shot was taken from about 500 feet above the ground, over I-8, just west of the Arizona-California border.

Desert Freeway

The folks back east probably have no concept of the long distances of nothingness on a freeway that cuts through the desert. This shot of two tractor trailer trucks passing each other in the barren wasteland of the Imperial valley’s southern extremities might give them an idea.

Desert Mountains

The mountains just seem to go on forever in this aerial shot of mountains in southwest Arizona, not far from Quartzsite. Lake afternoon light casts long shadows.

CAP Canal

The Central Arizona Project (CAP) snakes its way through the Arizona desert, bringing water from the Colorado River and its lakes to Phoenix and its suburbs. This shot was taken just north of Hope, AZ on our return flight to Wickenburg.

Forepaugh Ranch

This ranch is nestled at the base of two hills in Forepaugh, AZ, out of sight from the main road (Route 60) only a mile or so away. It reminds me of an earlier day of ranching, when remote ranches were self-sufficient homes on the range.

As I type this, I’m sitting on a leather sofa in the second floor “pilot lounge” area of a friend’s hangar. The hangar is at a San Diego-area airport and the three large windows on this side of the room face out over one of the airport’s three runways. Outside it’s dark. From undefined glow of the lights across the runway that fade into the darkness, I can tell that it’s foggy. I can barely see the sweep of the white and green rotating beacon atop the control tower on the other side of the runway.

It’s 5 AM local time. I get up early no matter where I am.

If I look down out the closest window to the pavement outside the hangar, I can see my helicopter. I tied down the blades — needlessly, it appears; there doesn’t seem to be any wind here — and pushed it over to a level spot on the ramp area, clear of the taxiway. Seems weird to have it parked there, but it’s been there two nights now and no one has bugged me about it. After all, other folks park cars and other vehicles in the same place at the end of their hangars.

In looking at that fog, I’m sure I’ll be wiping the helicopter down with a towel later today. You get spoiled living in the desert.

You might wonder why I don’t put the helicopter in the hangar I’m camped out above. I could. But there’s already a Hughes 500c helicopter, a Diamondstar airplane, Jaguar sedan, and a GT40 sports car in there. There’s still a big empty space where the hangar’s third aircraft occupant usually parks his Twinstar and I probably could have fit in that space. But it didn’t seem worth the bother. A few days out on the sun won’t kill my helicopter. But with this salt-laden fog coming in, I’ll definitely be washing down the helicopter before I put it away at home later on today.

It’s wonderfully quiet here, with just some white noise — a distant hum that could be someone’s heat pump or even a generator. The heat inside the lounge, which just went on, is a lot noisier. The space I’m in takes up half the depth and the full width of the hangar below me. It’s completely enclosed and insulated, finished with nice plaster walls and carpeting. There are windows that open with screens on all four sides of the space; on one side, they open into the hangar’s main area.

There are three rooms up here, including a full bathroom, and one of the rooms has a little kitchen area, with certain conveniences conspicuously missing. There’s no stove or oven or dishwasher, but there’s a double sink and microwave and the small refrigerator has an ice maker in it. There isn’t much in the way of food in the cabinets other than coffee and the non-perishable condiments that go with it. But there’s a Starbucks off-airport, walking distance away, and I know the owner of this hangar frequently drives across the runway in his well-equiped golf cart to get his meals at the airport restaurant.

In all honestly, the second floor of this hangar is very museum-like. My friends collect Mexican, South American, and Native American art. Although their best and most valuable pieces are in their two other homes, there’s a lot of it here. There’s also a lot of weird items you’d expect to find in a museum: a copper diving mask, pull-down wall maps dating from the 1950s and 1960s, a fully restored glass-tanked fuel pump, an old Coke machine that takes dimes (with a small bowl of dimes on top and bottles of Corona beer inside), two free-standing and fully restored wood popcorn machines — the list goes on and on. Sometimes it’s neat just to look at these things. But when you pop a dime into the Coke machine and pull out a Corona, you remember that all of these things are still fully functional.

I’d take a picture and include it here, but I really think that would be a serious invasion of my friend’s privacy.

My friend is not here, although his helicopter is. He used to spend a lot of time here when the place was first built. He and his wife had lived in Wickenburg before then. His wife fell out of love with the town when the Good Old Boy bullshit that makes Wickenburg what it is started directly affecting her. From that point on, it was just weeks before she was desperate to get out of town and continue life elsewhere. She started spending more and more time in California with her daughter and less and less time at home with her husband. The hangar was a temporary solution, followed by an apartment on the coast and then a condo in Beverly Hills with a second apartment in Las Vegas. They spend most of their time in those places now, although my friend uses the hangar as a kind of getaway place when he has a few days off and wants to go flying. They still own their home in Wickenburg and have tried three Realtors in the past two years to sell it. But there isn’t much demand for a $1 million home in Wickenburg these days, even when it has a separate guest house, hangar and helipad, horse setup and plenty of acreage around it for privacy.

They want us to buy it, of course, but I’m not prepared to go into debt to buy a home and I’m certainly not going to sink myself any deeper into Wickenburg.

Mike and I have been camping out here in the hangar for a few days. Supposedly, it’s against federal regulations to live on the property of a Federally-funded airport — which is why this “pilot lounge” is missing a few necessities of life, like a bed. So we’re sleeping on an air mattress. We’re not living here, of course. Just sleeping over. We have business in the area during the say and just needed a cheap place to spend the night. My friend was kind enough to let us camp out here.

It’s a wonderful place to hang out. This airport, unlike a few I could name, has a lively population of tenants in the hangars. When I went out for coffee yesterday morning, I walked by a hangar where a man was busy preflighting a Cessna in preparation for an early morning flight. He greeted me as if he knew me and we shared pleasantries about the weather: “Great day to fly.” “Sure is.”

After lunch, we decided to drop by the hangar to put our leftovers in the fridge. We were very surprised to find our big hangar door wide open. Inside, tending to the Diamondstar, were three Brits. We introduced ourselves by name and were immediately offered coffee. It later came out that we were friends of the hangar’s owner. “Oh, well then you must come by at 5 for cocktails,” the woman said. “We have such fun.” When I mentioned I was in the area working on a video project, she hurriedly took me to meet a man named Steve who is also in film. He was stretched out on a leather sofa in his modest hangar, watching a game on a big television. The TV’s rabbit ears antenna was out of the pavement beside a gas BBQ grill. Inside the hangar was the neatest and cleanest Cessna 140 that I’d ever seen.

Later, when we returned — too late for cocktails, I’m sorry to say; I could have used one — we were treated to stories of other dinner parties in the hangar’s big lower area, with unknown pilots stopping by to join in the fun. There’s a real sense of community here. It’s more than just a place to store your aircraft. It’s a place to hang out and meet people with similar interests. It’s a place to watch the world — and the planes — go by.

It’s nearly 6 AM now and I can see a tiny bit of light in the sky. The fog is still thick on the runway; the rotating beacon is now invisible. If the tower controller have come on duty, there’s not much for them to do. It’s IFC — Instrument Meteorological Conditions — here and I’d be very, very surprised if we saw or heard a plane outside until the fog lifted. But I’ll get dressed and make a run for coffee. We have more work to do today. Then, at about noon, we’ll start the 2-1/2 hour flight back to Wickenburg.

I’m looking forward to camping out here again.

For my first Airport Codes meme entry, I thought I’d cover one that’s relatively fresh in my mind: San Luis Obispo (SBP).

SBP was a fuel and lunch stop on a flight from Wickenburg, AZ (E25) to Boeing Field (BFI) in Seattle, WA in May 2008. I was flying with Louis, a CFI who wanted to build time in an R44. Or maybe I should say Louis was flying with me, since he was acting as PIC.

Our arrangement was for Louis to fly and me to handle radio communications. We’d come in from the east, passing over Grapevine and climbing up trough the wide valley west of there. About 30 miles out, we broke away from the road and made a beeline to the airport.

I tuned in the radio, listened to the ATIS recording, and waited until we were closer to make my call. The female controller was issuing instructions to other aircraft. The airport wasn’t very busy for a late Saturday morning, but the radio was full of sound. The controller was chatty, which is extremely unusual for a controller of either gender. Either she liked to give instructions or she assumed the pilots were dumb enough to need as much information as she could provide. When I made the call about seven miles out, I made myself a target for her communications.

Oddly enough, I happen to have video for this flight. I had the POV.1 camera on the nose of the helicopter and although I didn’t realize it, it had been turned on since just past Grapevine. So you can see and hear the landing — including the chatty controller — for yourself.

In reviewing this video, I really think the controller had a bit too much to say. When a controller talks too much, he or she makes it difficult for pilots to make contact with the tower. Imagine, for a moment, that you were inbound to SBP and needed to establish communication with this Class Delta tower. There aren’t too many opportunities to talk during the 6 or so minutes from the time I first called in to the time we landed. This makes it tough, especially for new pilots who may already struggle with communications.

Anyway, we landed in the No Parking zone as instructed, cooled down, and shut down. Then we went up to the terminal area where there was a restaurant. After being completely ignored for about 10 minutes, we finally got an apologetic waiter. Lunch was good.

While we sat there, four airliners came or went. Let’s see if I can remember…American, US Air, United, and Delta? All of them were turboprops except United, which came in with a small jet.

After lunch, we went down to the ramp. Our choices for fuel were full serve, right where we were parked (A on the diagram below), or self-serve, on the other side of the airport (B on the diagram below). Self serve was 50¢/gallon cheaper. I made the wrong decision: I decided to air taxi to the other side of the airport and fill up at self serve.

In a perfect world, this would not have been a bad decision. In a perfect world, we would have started up, got immediate clearance to cross the runway, landed in front of the pump, shut down, fueled, started back up, and got immediate clearance to depart to the northwest.

But there was no perfect world at SBP that day. As we prepared to reposition, a flight of three or four Howards called in on approach. The controller, now a man, was having trouble keeping track of them, probably because they called in individually and they were all Howards. (Eventually, he just told half of them to stay clear of Class Delta.) With the other traffic part of the equation, the controller was overwhelmed. He wouldn’t clear us to cross the runway. So we sat there, spinning and sweating, waiting for the clearance. When we finally got it, I scooted us across. I was hot and cranky. I fueled up quickly and we climbed back aboard. I started up and we waited again. I called the tower three times and was ignored on the first two. On the third, the controller said, “Helicopter Zero-Mike-Lima, I hear you. Stand by.” Nasty.

By the time we left, I’d burned enough fuel to eat up any savings in fuel price. Lesson learned at SBP.

Read other posts in this series:

• Airport Codes: A Meme for Pilot Bloggers
• more to come…

We’d stopped in Portland so I could get some specialized cherry drying training in preparation for my summer job in Quincy, WA. I worked with Dave, who was kind enough to spend some time with us, on Sunday evening to cover some of the basics over dinner. We flew on Monday morning. I’ll go into detail about that flight — and even show off a bit of video — in another post.

When I was finished flying with Dave, Louis and I reloaded the helicopter and started north. We were on the last leg of our flight from Wickenburg to Seattle and had chosen a relatively direct route. Expected flight time was less than an hour and a half.

The day was overcast, with high clouds masking the sun. A dreary light illuminated the landscape. Although the temperatures were mild — in the 60s — it felt like winter. I didn’t take many photos. The light was just too darn ugly.

As we flew, we had clear views of Mount Hood, Mount Adams, Mount St. Helens, and Mount Rainier, four of the tall peaks of the Cascades. All were covered with thick caps of snow. The photo below shows the south side of Mount St. Helens with Mount Rainier in the background (on the left).

Our course took us quite close to Mount St. Helens. So close, in fact, that when Louis asked if I wanted to fly over Spirit Lake (see photo; Mt. Ranier is in the background), I said yes. Mount St. Helens, which was once just another beautiful snow-capped peak, had a massive eruption in 1980 that blew off its top and most of the north side of the mountain. Nearby Spirit Lake was the recipient of much of the ash and other debris that increased the water level and changed the look of the lake. The best views of the volcano are from the north, where you can see the lava flow and debris field. Since we were so close, it made sense to take a look. Here’s a shot looking back to the south from near Spirit Lake.

By the way, if you’re ever in the area, visiting Mount St. Helens, I highly recommend taking a helicopter ride up the valley to the mountain. The views are up close and personal, much better than the photos here.

I punched Boeing Field (BFI) into the GPS and we got back on course. We passed far to the west of Mount Rainier, then headed inbound. Louis had done much of his training at Boeing Field, which is squeezed into a tight area north of Seattle-Tacoma International (SEA) and Renton (RNT), I so I turned all navigation and communication over to him.

In the meantime, I was getting seriously stressed about the amount of small airplane traffic around us, most of which was showing up as targets on the helicopter’s TIS system. We were flying up in “airplane land” — the same altitude small airplanes fly at when they’re trying to stay under the class Bravo airspace. This wouldn’t have been so bad if we were talking to a controller who could advise us of traffic, but we weren’t. I urged Louis to descend and he did. But it wasn’t until we were cruising at about 500 AGL that I felt comfortable again.

We landed at Boeing Field and set down near Pad 6. The mechanic who was going to be doing my helicopter’s annual inspection, Rich, came out to meet us. A while later, all of our gear was unloaded and they were wheeling Zero-Mike-Lima away. I wouldn’t be seeing or flying it for more than two weeks.

We’d completed the flight from Wickenburg to Seattle in about 13 hours of flight time. Louis was home, but I was only halfway through my travels.

Sorry about the delay in documenting the second day of our trip. I’ve been exhausted and busy and, frankly, when I’m not in front of a computer, I don’t want to be.

Our stay in Ukiah was quite pleasant. My room was comfortable and I slept well. Best of all, I walked across the parking lot the next morning in my t-shirt and lounge pants and was the first customer in Starbucks. In other words: I had a decent cup of coffee.

The helicopter was all fueled and ready to go. Louis did a very thorough preflight and, after saying goodbye to the FBO guy, we climbed in and started up.

Our route would have us following Route 101 north, through an area of low mountains and rivers to the coast at Eureka. From there, we’d follow the coast past Newport and head inland to Portland. That was the plan, anyway.

The morning was cool with a very gentle breeze as we headed north. We were at the northern end of Sonoma Valley, where it narrowed. We climbed into the hills.

As we climbed, the landscape changed. There were tall pine trees, rocky outcroppings, and rushing rivers below us. At one point, we crossed over a new bridge under construction. Louis circled it at my request so I could get a decent picture of it.

We continued up route 101 until it dumped us into a valley at Eureka. In the distance, beyond numerous farm fields, we could see the ocean with a marine layer moving it. It appeared that we’d have the same coastal clouds we’d had the day before, farther south. I wasn’t interested in flying over the tops of clouds along unfamiliar coastal terrain. I wanted to go inland. But with fuel at half tanks, I also wanted to top off fuel before we changed course. According to the chart, Murray Field at Eureka had fuel. So we headed in and landed at the field.

The FBO gal greeted us on the radio when Louis set down near the pumps, telling us she’d be right out. Murray didn’t have a fancy self-serve system. In fact, it had the sort of system we had at Wickenburg when I ran the FBO — completely manual. The FBO gal came out to keep us company while we fueled. She was soon joined by a man who, after exclaiming that a “flying tomato” had landed, struck up a lively conversation about Eureka, the Phoenix area (where he’d once lived), and alternate routes.

By this time, the wind was coming off the ocean, bringing clouds inland with it. You could see wisps of clouds speeding east, over the airport. We were advised to head north along the coast until we got to Crescent City, then follow route 199 (I think) inland to Grant Pass. That’s where we could pick up I-5 north to Portland. I was doubtful; I really didn’t want to fly over the clouds for the 50 to 60 miles to Crescent City. But I decided to take a look. We said some quick goodbyes and started up. I took off, climbing steeply at 1000 feet per minute through a scattered 200-foot ceiling of clouds. From that vantage point, it was easy to see where the clouds ended and the land began. Sometimes the clouds would be out over the ocean. Other times they stretched inland into the mountains. I handed over the controls to Louis and we continued north along the edge of the cloud bank at about 1,500 feet.

We didn’t even realize that we were passing over the Redwood forest until Louis asked me about it and I checked the chart. The tall trees didn’t really look special from above. But when you looked down into the forest, you could clearly see that one kind of tree towered above the others. From down on the ground, these trees are amazing. From 1500 feet above sea level, passing over them was a non-event.

The cloud bank had shifted out a bit to the ocean by the time we reached Crescent City. It was very tempting to continue north along the coast. But when I looked out beyond the nearest clouds, it seemed to me that the clouds were thickening, climbing higher into the sky. I didn’t want to have to climb with them. And I certainly didn’t want to lose sight of the ground. So I decided to head inland, following the advice of the guy at the FBO. We turned east, found route 199, and followed it.

This route wound along a number of valleys and canyons past tree-covered hills and mountains. The streams and rivers below us were gushing with white water from snow melt. The northwest had had plenty of snow during the winter months and the recent record high temperatures were melting that snow quickly. Later, I’d hear on television about the flooding expected in Portland, Seattle, and other communities near rivers and streams.

After a while, we broke through the mountains into the valley at Grants Pass. We picked up I-5 and headed north into more hilly terrain. I noticed on the chart that a local mountain pass had its own automated weather observation system (AWOS) and I tuned into the frequency to get weather information. A similar station on my route between Seattle and Wenatchee would be useful when it was time to move the helicopter to Quincy for June and July.

At Myrtle Creek, the mountains ended, dropping us into a broad valley. The highway straightened and we followed it. By this time, I was pretty hungry and fuel was dipping to quarter tanks. It seemed like a good time to look for lunch and fuel. As we approached Creswell, just south of Eugene, I heard other pilots talking in the pattern. I asked if there was a restaurant and was told that there was a sandwich place just a quarter mile away. We headed in for landing.

The fuel pumps were decidedly helicopter-unfriendly. Maybe you know the kind: they’re situated at the edge of the ramp and have a shade cover over them that extends out to the ramp area. The shade’s height is about even with a helicopter’s spinning blades. The trick is to hover close enough for the hose and static reel to reach but not close enough to hit the shade with your blades. Louis did a marvelous job, landing to one side so that airplanes could still roll up next to us. I was hoping to leave the helicopter parked while we went to get some lunch.

The hose just reached the helicopter — Louis had to stretch it out while I fueled. I topped off the tanks. Then we used the facilities and I went in search of someone who could tell me where the food was. I found two people in a small trailer that seemed to house a flight school. It turned out that the restaurant was more than a quarter mile away — on the other side of the airport, as a matter of fact — and that he wanted us to move the helicopter before we walked there. I wasn’t interested in either the long walk or moving the helicopter. So we decided to continue on, with the promise of a Chinese restaurant right at the end of the runway at Albany. I like Chinese food and rarely get an opportunity to eat some.

We continued north along I-5. I should mention somewhere here that we caught glimpses of some of the Cascade Peaks along the way: Mount Jefferson, Mount Hood, and later, Mount St. Helens — all huge snow-covered peaks towering above the terrain. We were getting rather close to Portland. It seemed stupid to land at Albany and waste an hour when we could press on to Portland, arrive by 3 PM, and get some food there. So we decided to skip lunch. We snacked on the sugar snap peas I’d brought along and kept in my little cooler.

About 20 miles south of Portland, I dialed in Portland Approach and told them where we were and where we wanted to go. Although we were landing at Portland, it wasn’t Portland International. It was Troutdale (TTD), which sits on the Columbia River just east of Portland. Neither Louis nor I knew the area, so I used the magic word: “unfamiliar.” We got a squawk code for our transponder and vectors toward Troutdale. When we got closer, we were handed off to Troutdale Tower. I told the controller we wanted to land at “TV Land” — which is what I’d been told — and he guided us in to a ramp near the east end of the runway. The grassy field I’d been told to park in was clearly visible and I told the controller we’d land there. Louis set us down and we shut down.

Louis and I flew from Wickenburg, AZ to Ukiah, CA yesterday. It was a very long but also very enjoyable flight.

We got off the ground around 6:15 AM, which Louis says is a big accomplishment for him. He’s not an early riser like I am and waking up at 5 AM was a bit of hardship for him. But an early departure was vital. Temperatures in the Arizona and California deserts were expected to reach 100°F. We were flying west, so the sun would be mostly behind us during the 4+ hour flight. That was a good thing. But midday, the sun would be shining into the cockpit and no amount of forward speed would get cool air moving through the ventilation system. I wanted to be on the coast by noon. We met that goal.

Louis did most of the flying, I did all the navigation and radio work. I also took photos, although I didn’t take as many as I could/should have.

From Wickenburg, we headed almost due west to Parker, AZ. I’m very familiar with this stretch, having flown to Parker many times. It’s a pretty dull flight across the desert. We crossed the Harcuvar Mountains at Cunningham Pass, crossing one of the empty valleys where Patton once trained his tank corps. Patton’s training area stretches for well over 100 miles between the area north of Chiriaco Summit on I-10 in California to the area north of Bouse, Arizona. From the air, you can still see the faint double lines of tank tracks criss-crossing the empty desert.

I took this shot over the Cactus Plains east of Parker, deep in the old training area. No tank tracks here — the ground is a sea of old sand dunes finally stabilized by the growth of small desert bushes and other vegetation. You can clearly see the patterns of the shifting sands. I included part of the instrument panel in this shot to give an idea of scale; we were flying at about 1,000 feet up, where Louis seems to be most comfortable. This shot also shows how barren the area is.

A short while later, we reached Parker, AZ, along the Colorado River. This shot shows most of the town. The end of the airport’s new runway is on the right. The mountains in the distance are in California. The river is always beautiful and blue here because of the filtering action of the Parker dam less than 20 miles upriver that forms Lake Havasu.

This shot is a view looking south from just south of town. The area along the Colorado river is a heavily farmed on the Arizona side here; farther south near Blythe, CA, the farming activity is primarily on the west side of the river, in California.

From Parker, we continued west toward Twentynine Palms, CA. This was probably the most dreary part of the flight — mile after mile of empty desert. I didn’t take many photos. This shot of Iron Mountain gives you an idea. The cluster of buildings is a “substation” (according to my charts), but I don’t know what kind of substation it is. The open canal winds its way to the base of the mountain and enters it there, coming out of the mountain on the opposite side. Are they generating electricity there? Or is it a pumping station? Either way, Louis and I agreed that it was weird for the canal to take a detour through the mountain when it could have easily followed the road. I’d love to learn more about this if anyone has info; I came up blank on a quick Google search.

I stopped taking photos soon after that. We continued through Twentynine Palms, then headed northwest around the mountains of Big Bear to our first fuel stop at Hesperia. I’d never been there before; I usually refueled at Apple Valley. But with a 50¢ per gallon price difference, I’d rather buy at the cheaper stop, which was only about 10 miles away. Louis landed on the runway and I hover-taxiied us through the dusty ramp area to the self-serve pump. We worked together to fuel quickly. It was getting hot — near 90° at about 9 AM — so after a quick bathroom break, we took off again. By that time, a bunch of small airplanes were coming in, probably to fuel up. Hesperia is the cheapest fuel around at $4.56 per gallon.

We continued west. The area beneath us was now densely packed with homes. We passed south of Palmdale Airport, flying between the canal and the main road. A while later, we were climbing into the foothills of the mountains. We passed just south of the Gorman VOR at Grapevine and continued on up a valley. It was a pleasant flight between rolling hills covered with green and tan grass and billions of orange flowers. Beneath us were ranches and small lakes — and the same road Mike and I had driven on two years before on a trip to Napa, CA.

Soon we were headed down the opposite side of the mountain toward the Pacific Ocean. I dialed in the ATIS and Tower for San Luis Obispo and started a dialog with the tower controller. She directed us to park in an area marked “No Parking” (which I still think is funny). We shut down and went into the restaurant there for lunch. I was surprised to see four airliners stop there during the short time we were there: American, Delta, US Airways, and United. They were all small commuter planes, although one of them was a jet. I didn’t think San Luis Obispo was that popular.

After lunch, I made my first mistake of the trip: I decided to save 50¢/gallon (again) by repositioning the helicopter to the self-serve fuel area on the other side of the runway instead of buying it from the truck. It was a mistake because the tower made me sit for at least 10 minutes before repositioning and then at least 15 minutes before departing after refueling. I figured that I probably burned off my savings, just sitting there on the ramps.

Once away from San Luis Obispo, we headed northwest, intersecting the coast at Morro Bay. Anyone who has driven the Pacific Coast Highway (the PCH; Route 1) can tell you how incredibly beautiful it is from the road. But that’s nothing compared to the view from 1,000 feet up, just off the coast. I took quite a few pictures; this is one of the funkier ones I took with my fisheye lens.

A while later, we took a detour past Hearst Castle at San Simeon. My camera was having trouble focusing through the Plexiglas — I really should have taken the door off — but I managed to get a pretty good shot of this monstrosity, despite the glare. Mike and I had visited it years ago and it really is amazing inside.

We continued north, hugging the coast. Although we were wearing life jackets — which insisted on — I didn’t want to be beyond gliding distance of shore. Louis, who lives and trained in Seattle, is used to flying over water; I’m not. If we had a problem, I wanted to come down on dry land. Of course, for much of the distance, the only suitable landing zone on the coast was the thin ribbon of the PCH. An emergency landing would not be pretty.

I made my second mistake as we approached Monterey’s class C airspace. We needed to go through the airspace, with the permission of the tower, to stay on our coastline course. Unfortunately, we were flying at 1,000 feet with 2,000-foot mountains between us and the tower. Instead of climbing right away as I should have, I waited until we were only 7 miles out. We still had to climb to talk to the tower. The tower told us to call NorCal approach. I did and received a transponder (squawk) code. But they didn’t tell us we could enter. So we circled around just south of Monterey’s airspace, waiting. Finally, when they figured they’d punished us enough, they got on the radio and told us to talk to Monterey tower. I gave them my request and was approved. We went back down to the coast to transition at 1,000 feet. The entire process took a good 15 minutes, but I learned my lesson. I’d call NorCal approach in the future.

We flew past Monterey and Pebble Beach, cutting across the peninsula to save time. On the other side, the tower instructed us to head due north, right across the bay. We were about three miles offshore, only 1,000 feet off the water, when I started getting nervous. I asked the tower if we could either come in closer to shore or climb. (I really do hate flying over open water.) The controller sounded annoyed, but let us come back to shore. Then he cut us loose, telling us to call NorCal Approach. I was glad to be rid of the Monterey area.

A while later, when we were still about 40 miles short of Half Moon Bay, we saw the marine layer starting to build along the coast. This was a bad thing for navigation. We’d planned on hugging the coast all the way to the Golden Gate so we wouldn’t have to talk to San Francisco tower for a transition of the area. But with very low clouds blanketing the coast, that would not be possible. Louis wanted to climb above the clouds and follow the coast anyway, but I was definitely not interested in that. My VFR on Top experience is limited and it never included large bodies of water. Besides, what was the sense of flying above the clouds when we could fly somewhere else with a better view?

So we climbed to 2,000 feet and I managed to get the Flight Service Station on the radio. I asked if the low cloud condition persisted all the way to the Golden Gate. She told me that her satellite image was not that detailed. So we decided to take a more inland route. When she told us she couldn’t give us flight following at our altitude, I volunteered to climb to 3,000 feet so she could see me on radar. I don’t think she was happy about it. She turned us over to NorCal Approach just as we passed Half Moon Bay. I was glad we hadn’t landed there for fuel, since the clouds had already covered half the runway.

NorCal approach gave us a squawk code and confirmed that it saw us on radar. Then it turned us over to San Francisco Tower. They asked us to climb to 3,500 feet. That’s like nosebleed territory for me, but we complied without complaint.

The view from up there was absolutely amazing, with the marine layer coming in from the west like a thick, white, wooly blanket. To the east, however, the airport and city remained perfectly clear. I got a few good shots as we flew through.

I also got a chance to show off my traffic information system (TIS), which only works in Class Bravo Airspace. It clearly identified a number of targets that we were able to see in the air. With the fog coming in through the Golden Gate, all the sightseers were out in their planes. The tower warned us about a small Cessna at our altitude as we approached the bridge area. He recommended that we climb, but since we were already a bit lower, I told him we’d descend. Louis dropped us down another two hundred feet and we passed behind him. I don’t even think he saw us. I really don’t like flying high because of the planes that are up there. There are seldom any planes down at 500 to 1,000 feet AGL.

San Francisco handed us off to Oakland Center as we continued up toward Sonoma Valley. We’d planned to refuel at Healdsburg, but the delays at San Luis Obispo and Monterey had eaten into our fuel reserves. We decided to stop at Petaluma, which was at 20-30 miles closer. When I told Oakland Center that we wanted to discontinue radar coverage because we needed to make a fuel stop at Petaluma, he asked if we needed any assistance. I guess he thought we were really low on fuel. I told him we were fine and squawked VFR.

Petaluma is a very pleasant airport. Louis set us down right in front of the self-serve pump and we shut down. Then we got right to work. We were both very tired and I know I just wanted to finish up for the day. It wasn’t far to our overnight stop at Ukiah. We took off a while later and the heat hit us soon afterward. Inland, California was suffering a heat wave. We’d avoided the bad heat for most of the day, but it had finally caught up with us at 4 PM in that valley. The OAT hit 101°F at one point. The sun was coming in through Louis’s side of the bubble. It was hot.

But we reached Ukiah quickly and without incident. The FBO guy topped off the fuel tanks and helped us get rooms and a cab. We wound up with a pair of “King Suites” at the local Comfort Inn for the astoundingly good price of only $89. Free Internet (WiFi or Ethernet), free breakfast, a pool, and a StarBucks right across the parking lot. Who knew traveler heaven could be found in Ukiah, CA?

We’ll be hitting the skies again by 9 AM to complete our flight to the Troutdale-Portland Airport. It’s only about 4-1/2 hours of flying with just one fuel stop. I hope to share more photos in the next entry.

As I type this, I’m sitting at Gate A6 at Burbank Airport. I just finished up a five-day business trip in Ventura, CA, where I worked with a new client. It was a very satisfactory week, primarily because the client picked up all of my expenses and they put me up in a very nice room on Ventura Harbor.

Yes, it was a Holiday Inn Express. But it was also one of the nicest hotel rooms I’ve stayed in for a long time. My first floor room may have lacked a patio, but it had vaulted ceilings and floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the harbor. This, in fact, was my view:

That shot’s only slightly zoomed in. The boats were so close that, if my window opened a bit wider, I could have lobbed bars of soap at them.

Let me just say a few more things about this most excellent room. It was quiet — no sound from next door, no sound from the hall, no sound from outside — even with the window open! It included a nice sized fridge, two burner stove, microwave, sink, and various pots, pans, plates, and utensils. In other words, I could have prepared my own meals. The bathroom was huge and included a glass-enclosed shower stall, deep jacuzzi tub, and vanity with stool. The main room had a comfortable king-sized bed, sofa, desk, and round table with two chairs right in the prow window. Not only was it bigger than my first apartment, but it was a heck of a lot better equipped. Although I didn’t spend much time there, it was nice to come “home” to such a nice place after a long day at work.

On Tuesday, after work, I walked to the ocean from my room. I figure it was about a mile each way, walking along the south side of the harbor. I took some photos.

Here’s a flower right outside my hotel. I don’t know what it is, but it was beautiful. And my CoolPix’s macro mode did a nice job of capturing it, even in questionable light.

Near the end of the harbor was an arcade with a tiny carousel inside. I took a few shots of the ride in motion, but I like this shot, which I took after the kids had climbed off, the best:

After dinner at Andria’s, I walked back the same way I’d come. I caught sight of what I think is a Great Blue Heron just moments after it plucked a fish out of the water. I got this slightly blurred shot of the bird with the fish in its mouth:

Last night, I could see a great sunset from my window. I went out in my slippers for a better angle and got this shot:

I had a surprisingly good time in Ventura. It’s a nice little town with lots of great dining opportunities. I ate as I always do when I’m away from Wickenburg: as if I haven’t eaten a good meal in years. Next week, it’s back to my diet.

Pity me. I’ll be on 9 different airliners over the next 40 days.

First Stop: Florida

There’s a joke that New Yorkers “get” and I’ll be so bold as to try it here:

Q: What’s a good Jewish wine?

A: [whining] I want to go to Florida.

While midwesterners and northwesterners retire to Arizona, New Yorkers (and others from the northeast) retire to Florida. Not only do they retire there, but they vacation there. And since New York has a huge Jewish population that vacations and retires in Florida — mostly in the Fort Lauderdale area — this joke is funny. Well, at least it’s funny to New Yorkers. (And having heard it from a Jewish person, I don’t think it’s offensive to Jews. You may correct me if I’m wrong.)

Both of my parents retired to Florida. While many people think that might make sense — that they retired together — it’s not as easy as that. They’re both remarried and they each moved to different parts of Florida with their spouses.

My mother, who I’m going to see next week, moved to the St. Augustine area. Technically, she lives in Crescent Beach, which is on the far southern reaches of St. Augustine. She lives with my stepdad on the barrier island there. Her home, which she had custom-built about 10 years ago, sits on a tiny canal.

She and my stepdad used to have a boat, but fuel and maintenance costs made that impractical, considering the amount of time they actually used it. So now they have a bulkhead with a bench overlooking the canal. Their neighbors have boats that they seldom use, too, and they can look out on those.

The area is nicely treed and quiet. There are lots of sea birds.

My mom’s house was built in a U-shape. On one end of the U is the master bedroom and bath. On the other end is another bedroom with its own bathroom just up the hall. That was supposed to be my grandmother’s bedroom, but like so many people back east, she couldn’t leave the area she’d lived in for her whole life. (In fact, she died within 50 miles of where she was born, having lived in only three or maybe four places her entire life.) Grandma’s room is the best room in the house, with privacy, easy access to the pool and hot tub between the arms of the U, a nice bathroom, and its own thermostat. Although the house has four bedrooms, I try to manage my trips so I get Grandma’s room. I stayed in the “kid’s room” once with Mike and was incredibly uncomfortable sharing the tiny space beside the trundle bed with a treadmill’s bulk.

My mother and stepdad are going to Italy at the end of the month for two weeks. This is a huge deal. They don’t travel much and I can’t remember the last time they left the country. They’re going with a tour group (of course) and I don’t know the itinerary, but I’m sure I’ll be filled in when I get there on Tuesday evening.

I haven’t been to my mother’s house since Thanksgiving 2006. She hasn’t been out here since Thanksgiving (or perhaps Christmas?) 2004 (?). She really doesn’t like to travel by plane. One year, they decided to drive out. Yes: St. Augustine, FL to Wickenburg, AZ, a distance of more than 2,100 miles. You might be asking yourself: what were they thinking? The answer: they weren’t. It was a long drive and they were on freeways the entire way. It might not have been so bad if they didn’t hit a dust storm in the Tucson area, but they were tired when they encountered that and it really rattled them.

It takes two planes to fly to visit them — no one has a direct flight from Phoenix to Jacksonville or Daytona (she lives right between them). I could get a direct flight to Orlando, but then I’d spend more than an hour driving from there. I’d rather spend that hour on the ground, in Houston, looking for a nice lunch and shopping in the airport terminal.

I’ll be in Florida for five days: Tuesday through Saturday. Two jets each way equals four different jets.

California, Here I Come!

My next trip is for business. I’m flying into Burbank, CA to meet with a new client for a brand new job. I can’t go into details because I’m under nondisclosure (NDA), but I can say that I’m working on a new project that should be completed by the end of May. I’ll talk about it more then.

I’m flying Southwest into Burbank. I don’t like flying Southwest. The lack of seat assignments is a royal pain in the butt. I like to know before I get on a plane where I’ll sit on that plane. And since I’m likely to have carry-on luggage, I like to know for sure that I’ll be able to stow it. Southwest makes knowing these things impossible, so I tend to avoid it.

But my client paid for this trip’s airfare and booked it for me, so I can’t complain. It’s a more convenient flight than I’d get with another airline — Burbank is closer to my final destination than LAX, and a heck of a lot less crazed. I’ll probably save a whole hour of travel time by avoiding traffic. And maybe, just maybe, Southwest isn’t as bad as I remember it.

Because this trip is for business, I don’t expect to have much fun. I have to finish the entire project in 4-1/2 days. (I arrive on Sunday and depart on Friday at about noon.) The quicker I work, the more time I’ll have to goof off, so that’s a good motivator. And not finishing up on time is not an option.

It’s just one jet each way, but if you’re counting, that brings the total up to six jets between now and May 9.

The Washington Trip

In mid-May comes the trip I’ve been looking forward to: a helicopter flight from Wickenburg to Boeing Field in Seattle, Wa. There’s nothing I love more than long cross-country trips by helicopter. If I could figure out a way to earn a living doing it, I’d be doing it all the time.

The trip is to reposition the aircraft for my summer job. Yes, this year, after two years of false hopes, I’ve been signed up to do cherry drying for growers in central Washington state. But to do the work, I need to get the aircraft up there. That means a 10-12 hour ferry flight which I hope we can complete within two days. Once at BFI, I’ll leave the helicopter with a buddy’s mechanic for an annual inspection, which will be due by then.

Since I’ll be in central Washington for at least a month, I’ll need a place to stay. So right after I drop off the helicopter, I’ll hop on a plane for Wenatchee, WA, rent a car, and start scouting around. I plan to drive up with my new old truck pulling my travel trailer. Alex the Bird and I will camp out for the entire time. I’m interested in finding an affordable campground with full hookup and WiFi, but there’s a chance I might get a free (or almost free) partial hookup with (fingers crossed) WiFi at the same private airport where the helicopter will be based for the first part of the season. Since I have time, I figured I’d go check out my options. It’s a long drive from Wickenburg, AZ to Quincy, WA, and I want to make sure I know where I’m going to be parking my rig before I get there.

The plane from Seattle to Wenatchee may not be a jet, but it will be part of an airline. I fly from Seattle to Wenatchee and then back to Seattle before flying home to Phoenix. If you’re keeping count, that’s three more plane rides for a total of nine.

Other Work

Between all of that, I have other work to do.

I have two helicopter charters for Flying M Air — one of which is later today. After that, Flying M Air’s Phoenix-area operations are closed for the season. I have 21 hours left on the Hobbs meter before I need a 100-hour inspection (which is about the same as an annual, but must be done every 100 hours). If I fly 2-1/2 hours today and 3-1/2 hours on Monday, that leaves 15 hours for the ferry flight and helicopter training I need to do (in Portland, OR, which I hope to hit on the way to Seattle). While I’m allowed to go over the 100 hours if the flight is repositioning the aircraft to where the maintenance will be done, I’m not allowed to go over it for training flights. So I simply can’t take on any new charter flights until I get to Washington.

(And yes, I can continue to operate my tour and charter business in Washington State. My Part 135 certificate is “portable.” So when I’m not drying cherries, I hope to make a few extra bucks by transporting growers and other folks who need to get from place to place near my summer base(s).)

I also need to record a training video for macPro Video. I would have started this last week, or this week, but I’ve been having trouble getting satisfactory recording equipment together. (See my video blog entry about this.) I might try to do some of it in Florida. We’ll see. Otherwise, I’ll have to do it between the Florida and California trips.

I also need to go to Howard Mesa to pick up a few things I’ll need on my summer-long trip. Among them is Alex the Bird’s mid-size cage, which should fit nicely on a shelf in the camper, my low-wattage one-cup coffee maker, and some odds and ends that’ll come in handy for off-the-grid camping, if I need to do any of that. I’d also very much like to get away from here for a weekend because of a variety of other crazy things going on.

And I need to get ready to write a new book about QuickBooks Pro for Macintosh. I’ll work on that while I’m away this summer. I’ll be bringing two (possibly three) laptops with me so I can write. There’s another book I’ll be working on while away, but I’m under NDA about that and can’t say more.

In any case, I’m looking forward to a challenging summer away from Wickenburg.

I’m also looking forward to my three shorter trips over the next 40 days. I really do love to travel.