Category Archives: Adventure

Going to the Birds

Posted by dkrashb on

After spending the morning hang gliding, we change into dry clothes and head off to spend our afternoon with some of the best pilots ever born. They are a group of slightly crazy and/or disabled raptors. Raptors as in the family of birds that includes hawks, owls, eagles, and vultures–in other words, birds of prey.

I have been looking forward to this for weeks. We originally saw a poster for a Raptor Experience at the hang gliding office a month ago. The Raptor Experience is offered by a non-profit organization called SOAR (Save Our American Raptors). They care for non-releasable raptors and train them so they can be used for educational programs to teach people about birds of prey. They also have a Peregrine Falcon release project and are tracking a falcon who is currently vacationing in South America.

As a bird lover and one who is particularly fascinated by birds of prey, I am excited about this beyond belief. I’m hoping we will get to actually handle the birds, but in my excitement, I can’t remember if the person I talked to said we do or not. Even more exciting, I’ve been wanting to volunteer for a raptor rescue program for years, and now this looks like it might be an opportunity.

We arrive at the designated meeting spot a little early. My nerves kick in about meeting people a bit, but since we just talked with Dale, the wife of the husband and wife team who run the organization, I’m not too nervous. John, the other half of the team, arrives only a couple minutes after we do. He’s driving a jeep with a hang glider on the roof, so it’s not too hard to guess it’s him. Dale told me on the phone that she and John are both hang gliding pilots and I enjoyed watching a video of John taking a one-winged bald eagle hang gliding on their web site.

John offers to drive us up to their property where the birds live, explaining that the road is pretty rough. Pat, being a man, decides that he can drive the mini-van up it and save John the trip back down later. As we make our way down the dirt road with large holes, ridges, dips, and rocks, the car drags enough time to make me wish we’d just ridden with John. We make it without losing any parts of the van, although Pat comments that it’s a good thing that I’d already knocked off the front lip spoiler (whatever that is) dragging the front bumper over a parking block.

When we arrive, Dale comes out to greets us, although one of their rescued dogs beats her to the punch, and invites us into the house where she offers us freshly baked, homemade cookies and gives us a run down of what we’re going to experience and why these birds are here. We learn that, yes, we will get to handle the birds. (Yay!) We also learn that none of the birds here at SOAR are able to return to the wild either because of injuries or mental problems. Interestingly, “mental problems” are defined mostly as birds who were raised by humans and, because they imprinted on the humans, don’t know how to do what they were born to do.

After the orientation, we head outside and are equipped with leather gloves. We are going to start with Eastern Screech Owls. Small, docile, and probably sleepy, they sit quietly on our gloves and even enjoy being petted on the back of the head. John tells us that owls understand touch as affection, but other birds we will handle do not and warns us not to attempt to pet the hawks.

I am so amazed by these tiny little owls. They weigh nothing. John points out that we can see the ruffled edges of their feathers, the secret to the silent flight of owls. And, even more amazing, John shows us their ears. They actually have little human-like ears under those feathers! The ears are offset, apparently to help locate where sounds are coming from in the dark.

I could have been happy just sitting there with these little owls all day, but Dale puts them away so John can bring us a Barred Owl–since Barred Owls will eat Screech Owls, everyone is happier when they’re not together.

We used to live in a wooded ravine where Barred Owls also lived. They are enormous. Or, at least they look enormous. In contrast to their size, hollow bones and feathers make birds weigh far less than other types of animals of the same volume. I’ve read this before, but having never held a bird, the reality of the gap between how much this bird looks like it should weigh and how much it actually weighs surprises me when Dale puts this great big owl on my glove. This owl weighs less than 2 pounds.

Next, John returns with a Barn Owl. We don’t get to hold this owl who is about halfway between the size of the Screech and Barred Owls. At least not right way. He doesn’t like to sit on the glove–he wants to fly. And that is exactly what he gets to do.

John stands at one spot behind the house and we go to the other. Dale accompanies us with a pouch full of small mouse parts. I ask her who gets to chop mice–she makes a face when she admits it’s her. Clearly, it’s not her favorite part of the job.

I hold out my gloved arm and Dale places a small piece of mouse on my fist. John releases the owl and he flies to me, swooping low to the ground and then flaring upward so that he lands feet forward on the glove. Having just come from hang gliding, we are fascinated watching how the owl instinctively uses ground effect (the rising air close to the ground) to get lift in time to flare, which is what Pat is now learning to do, so he can land on his feet.

It’s an amazing experience to stand there waiting for a bird of prey land on your fist. As he glides towards me, the owl’s tiny body is dwarfed by his enormous wingspan. The sunlight shines through the feathers on his wings, making him look as angelic as a bird of prey can. I wonder if he minds performing in the early afternoon when he should be sleeping. He looks pretty darn happy when he picks up a mouse chunk and swallows it down.

Next, we get to fly Cody, a Red-tail Hawk who refuses to hunt. Cody glides even closer to the ground, skimming just inches above the surface, and then swoops up in a sharp arc just before reaching me. I notice he flares with his feathers as well as his wings. Every feather spreads, his tail dramatically opening like a fan. Just as with the owl, this flare brings him nearly to a halt so that when he lands on my arm, there is no impact. It’s like he parachuted down gently.

After flying Cody, we get to meet Franklin, an American Kestrel, and a Harris’s Hawk whose name escapes me. I’ve never seen a Harris’s Hawk before. He is beautiful–rich browns blend into black, which contrasts with the white in his tail.

Next, we get to meet Casey, the Black Vulture. Casey seems to think she is a dog. She circles around Dale, who tickles Casey on the back and Casey responds with what appears to be a happy Vulture sound, but comes out a lot like a hiss. Casey gallops along on the ground, preferring to walk even though she is perfectly capable of flying. Dale tells us that she sometimes walks Casey in the woods–she really does think she’s a dog!

We attempt to fly Casey, but Casey is in the mood to run instead. She flies up to our gloves to collect treats, but then hops back to the ground to run the distance between us instead of flying. Cameraless today, I switch my iPhone into video mode and try to capture her running on video–there is just something too funny about watching a vulture run.

I appreciate the work that vultures do, having once had a pond where hundreds of fish died all at once, it was an amazing thing to have a few dozen vultures show up and clean up the mess in about 3 days. However, I never thought the words “cute” and “vulture” went together. Today, I change my mind. Casey is adorable. Dale tells us that Casey is used to being the star of the show; I am not surprised.

We finish off our Raptor Experience with a Bald Eagle. I can’t recall this eagle’s name, but it is a Navajo word that means, “The Littlest Eagle.” It’s a good name. This poor guy lost a wing due to a shooting. I’m not sure if the missing wing contributes to how small he looks, but he definitely is small for an eagle. I am sad to learn this eagle has not been hang gliding yet because it means that there are two one-winged eagles living out their lives in captivity.

It’s an appropriate finale to the day, though. After all, it’s hard to beat a Bald Eagle for majesty. We go inside to wash our hands and talk for a while before wrapping up and heading home. Dale talks us into one of her cookies before we go–a peanut butter blossom with a soft hershey’s kiss in the middle, yum! We get in the car and I feel like I should pinch myself–it’s hard for me to believe that I just spent the afternoon playing with raptors. Instead, as Pat creeps back over the bumpy dirt road, I look at the pictures Dale took for us on my iPhone and smile.

These Boots Were Made for Walking

Posted by dkrashb on

Today, we return to the hang gliding training hills.  I am part nervous and part excited.  I love the 7 seconds of flying when I launch properly, but I hate the race down the hill when I don’t.  I’ve been getting better at launching, but not consistently enough that I feel confident I will get airborne every time.

When we arrive at 7:30AM, it’s frosty out.  The water puddles shine with a thin layer of ice.  And there are plenty of puddles–there have been many rainy days of late.  We assemble the gliders as quickly as we can, pausing periodically to warm our hands when they get so cold they refuse to work.  I am wearing my hiking boots with warm socks, but my feet have solidified inside my boots before I’ve finished assembling my glider.  I jump up and down to get the blood flowing back into my toes before finishing up and loading the glider on the trailer.

As I stand on the trailer holding the nose of the glider, my feet slide across the wet metal platform I’m standing on.  I realize that it, too, is covered in a thin layer of ice.  I have to switch hands on the metal bar my glider is hitched to–my hand goes numb in a matter of seconds even with my gloves on.  It’s hard to believe we’re South of home–or that it will probably be over 60 degrees today.

The trailer bounces along the rough ground as we make our way to the small hill.  We break through the ice on many puddles along the way.  As we climb up the side of the hill, we leave a trail of mud in our wake.  I’m happy to see the mud only because it means a softer landing than ground that’s frozen solid.

As I get set for my first flight, I line up with a target that will take me to the right of two large puddles; the ice on their surfaces is just starting to crack in the rising sun.  I tell myself not to worry about those puddles and to just stay focused on my target.

I am relieved that I launch successfully.  I launch, I fly straight, and I land on the wheels.  It all goes quite smoothly.  I seem to have learned how to keep my eyes on the target and how to let go when I launch.  These are two key steps forward and I’m pleased that I’ve retained these skills since we last flew, which has now been three weeks.

I take my second turn.  As I launch, I get a bit of a cross-wind and I need to turn to get back towards my target.  However, I move my shoulders instead of my hips, which pushes my feet the wrong direction and prevents the glider from turning.  I actually have the wherewithal to realize I’m cross-controlling and to swing my hips over and turn the glider properly just before landing.  I am ecstatic that I managed to have sufficient brain function to accomplish this.  It’s the first time I’ve realized I was cross-controlling while still in flight.

My confidence increasing, I line up for my third flight.  The wind is blowing more from the right now.  I point the nose of the glider as much to the right as possible, aiming for trees that will take me to the right of the biggest puddle.  I get set, I launch successfully, all is well, and then, I have the realization that I am now headed straight for the giant, still melting puddle below.  I panic.  My eyes lock on the damn puddle below me.  I try to tell myself to look back at my target, but now I am trying to remember how to turn at the same time.  My brain does a complete scramble and by the time I attempt to turn the glider, I am completely cross-controlling.  Then, it’s too late.

Instead of turning, I land squarely on the near-side of the puddle and roll all the way through what must be a 20 foot wide puddle with at least 4 inches of water–perhaps a small pond would be a more accurate description.

My chest is about a foot and a half above the ground and my belly and legs are dragging on the ground when I land.  As a result, all the water plowed up by the wheels forms a wave that dumps directly up my nose, into my ears, and down the top of my waterproof jacket.  My lower body drags through the water directly, shooting up a rooster tail that would rival a professional slalom water skier.  I burst out laughing about half way through the roll, which results in muddy water dumping into my mouth as well.

When my glider comes to a stop in the mud on the far side of the pond, I am laughing so hard I’m actually cackling.  I see the entire landing in my mind as if I were one of the spectators up on the hill and I can’t stop laughing.  This is a good thing because otherwise I might have noticed how cold I was.  Cheryl, our friendly Kabota driver, pulls the trailer around and I set the glider on it, climbing on the trailer and grabbing the strap.  Cheryl looks at me and asks, “Back in?”  I give her a confused look.  She tries again, “You calling it a day?”  Surprised, I tell her I’m going back up for another run.  If there’s one thing I know about trying to learn something new, unless you’ve really broken something, don’t stop on a low note.  Stop when you’re starting to get tired, but you just had a really good run.

She looks surprised and says, “Bless your heart!” as she turns to face front and starts back up the hill.  The rest of the group at the top of the hill is serious.  They all want to make sure I’m OK and not too cold.  However, once they’ve established that I’m not hurt, not horribly cold, and still laughing, the jokes start.  My husband describes watching the water and how unbelievably much water there was shooting up as my body drug through the pond.  One of my fellow students who flies with a helmet cam apparently stood there watching and then quietly said, “Oh, damn.  My camera’s not on.”  I would love to have had a video or even a photo of that landing!  I, of course, decided not to bring my camera today (the photo above is from earlier this year).

Fortunately for me, I am wearing all hiking clothes.  Everything I have on retains most of its insulating properties when wet and dries fast.  The only exception is my waterproof boots.  Funny thing about waterproof boots–they’re not so waterproof if you turn them upside down and drag them through water like you’re trying to scoop all the water out of a pond.  And, because they’re waterproof, once you fill them with water, your feet are pretty much like goldfish in a too-small bowl.  Fortunately, the temperature is going up, so I start warming up again almost immediately.

However, I start having troubles launching on my next run.  The pond is now occupying so much of my mind that I can’t keep track of what I’m doing.  It’s like I went backwards 3 months again.  The more I try not to think about that damn pond, the more I find it in my head.

On my next turn, I’m determined to do better.  I manage to launch, but then find myself flying towards the damn pond again.  This time, I push my hips over hard, determined I will turn before I hit that water another time.  However, turns out you’re not supposed to push your hips over; you’re supposed to pull.  I think I knew this at one time, but I forgot.  In any case, pushing lifts the nose and lifting the nose while turning puts the glider into a flat spin.

Fortunately for me, I’m not far enough off the ground for it to be much of a problem.  I make a hard right turn more or less straight for the ground.  It’s not the kind of flight that makes me proud, but it sure beats another dunking.

I struggle the next flight and the next as I try to pull my attention back from the pond.  Each good flight is followed by a bad one.  Finally, I decide I need to get one last good flight in and then call it a day.  I manage to get my head back to this flight and this flight only.  I launch, I fly, I turn without putting myself into a spin, and I land.  It’s a good flight and it’s just in time–I am spent and my toes feel like reconstituted prunes inside my wet boots.  All I can think about is how I need to find some shoes made for flying as I ride back towards the parking lot.

Special Ed

Posted by dkrashb on

When Pat drops me off at the office, I head to the cafeteria to grab some breakfast.  I decide to stop by the gym to say hello to my former workout buddies.  The gym looks dark.  I swipe my badge anyway, but the door doesn’t unlock.  I stand there perplexed for a moment.  If I felt like a visitor yesterday, I feel doubly so today–I worked on this campus for 5 1/2 years and the only time my badge failed to open the fitness center door was when I broke it in half.  I’m a bit indignant about being locked out of the gym, but I remind myself that it’s lucky I decided not to show up un-showered and in my gym clothes only to discover I couldn’t get in.

After a full morning of back-to-back conference calls, I dash down a flight of stairs to meet up with a couple of my friends who are taking time out to have lunch with me.  I arrive still on the phone, but manage to get off the phone before we get into the car.  We decide on Chinese and head to a local favorite.

An interesting phenomena of having a blog in which you record much of your life is how conversations go with your friends when you see them again.  Many seem to feel obligated to read your blog and will apologize for not keeping up with it.  I am not offended by people not reading my blog.  While I like having an imaginary audience because it seems to keep me writing, which is my real goal, knowing that my real audience is busy and often doesn’t have time to read my blog takes away some of the anxiety about “what will people think?”

Vince, however, does not feel obligated or apologetic when it comes to reading my blog.  He simply says, “too many words.”  I am not offended by this either.  After all, I’ve made a personal choice to write my blog because I want to develop a habit of writing.  While I know I should be reading too, I’ve not made the choice to make time for reading.  I do not surf other people’s blogs except to take a quick look at people who leave an indication that they’ve read mine.  When someone who also has a blog clicks the “like” button on one of my blog entries, I take a quick look at what they are posting out of a curiosity to understand what they liked about mine.

Recently, a photographer and blogger “liked” several of my blog entries.  When I go to his blog, I see that he is an artist–someone with vision.  When I look at his work, I immediately see the difference in what I do and what he does; the stark contrast between “having fun with it” and creating actual art.  I ponder why he reads my blog at all and wonder what he likes about it.  I am too intimidated by his talent to give him a “like” in return.  I find myself hoping he reads this entry and than alternately worrying that he will.  My admiration makes me feel foolish.

The fact that my friends do not read every entry in my blog is actually helpful–otherwise, I really would have nothing new to say to them after not seeing them for 6 weeks.  I tell them about my realization that I suffer from a learning disability when it comes to hang gliding and the empathy that I have suddenly discovered for all the people whom I’ve known in my life whom I judged as stupid because they didn’t have a talent that I had.  If nothing else comes from hang gliding, I am at least reminded of the Zen lesson of allowing the ego to be diminished.

Humility is a difficult lesson in the end.  In my complete incompetence, I have realized that a lifetime of making humiliating experiences into funny stories is not the same thing as having humility.  It seems I have taken the approach of creating a good defense by taking the offense in the form of discovering and revealing my personal weaknesses before anyone else does.  As if me announcing I suck at something before anyone else does makes it all right.

What I learn now is that humility felt purely comes not from a fear of others finding you out before you do, but from compassion and empathy and the understanding that I am no better than anyone else.  I am reminded of a recording of Marianne Williamson a dear friend loaned me for 3 years until I finally listened to it out of guilt.  The quote I recall vividly from that multi-CD set is: “You are not special.”

This is what I do not explain to my friends:  What I get from hang gliding is the visceral realization that I am not special; I am as limited and inadequate as everyone else. I have intellectually feared and suspected this all along, but when I hang glide, I feel the truth of it physically.  The physical realization of this fact leads to the physical sense of humility.

Turns out that when I thought I was feeling humility before, I was really feeling shame.  The difference between the two is striking.  Humility sneaks over me gently, making me feel more connected to others, more part of the whole of life.  Shame strikes suddenly at my gut, causing me to shrink within myself, feeling alienated and alone.  When I am shameful, I am full of fear.  When I am humble, I feel remarkably safe.  I hold on to this fleeting feeling just long enough to understand that it’s a breakthrough moment.  But like all breakthroughs (at least for me), they appear suddenly and briefly, only to retreat to be learned all over again at a later date.

I shake away a sense of sudden vulnerability I feel and return to my social self.  I become effusive; I can’t stop talking.  It’s as if I shield the soft places with a torrent of words, distracting from what’s important but frightening.  Afterwards, I think about my friends and wonder why they even make time for me when all I do is babble at them.  I think about how lucky I am to have patient and caring people in my life.  Maybe my luck with friends makes me special?  No, no.  I am not special.

Crazy Kinks

Posted by dkrashb on

I wake up early, aching with pain.  It’s the pain that awakens me.  I lay in bed in protest.  If I ignore it, perhaps I will be able to go back to sleep.  But I ache worse that I’ve ached in a really long time.  Each hand has three completely numb fingers.  Pain shoots down my shoulders and into my arms when I turn my head just a fraction of an inch.  I try to re-position my head by pushing with my legs and sharp stabbing pains in my legs remind me of the muscles I pulled yesterday.  My neck is so stiff that I cannot turn my head to the left.  I lay there for a moment contemplating whether there is anything in reach that I could just smash over my head in the hope that it would make the rest of my body hurt less.

Instead, I accept that I really must heed the call of nature and push myself to upright using my hands.  As I move into a vertical position, the pain in my neck now shoots up into the back of my skull as well as down into my shoulder and lower back.  I wish I had a detachable head like a barbie–I could set it aside until my neck healed and then put it back on.

I shuffle my way to the bathroom, moving my shoulder slowly in circles as a I make slow progress across the room.  I am suddenly grateful that our apartment is so small that it’s not far to walk to get to the bathroom.  I am not, for the fist time in my life, grateful that I don’t have the equipment to stand when I get there because sitting is no fun and getting up again is even worse.

I make it back to the kitchen and start up the coffee.  While it’s brewing, I gather together my yoga props.  There is no question in my mind that restorative yoga is going to be the first order of business today.  I use my neck pillow under my neck in each of my poses, hoping to relax some of the spasming muscles that are making me so miserable.  I do a thread-the-needle pose in the hope of stretching my neck.  Child’s pose ends up being the pose that does the most to alleviate the pain.  With my arms extended as far as I can reach away from my body, my forehead resting on the floor (that took a while), and my shoulders shrugged up to my ears, I finally feel the sharp pain in my neck starting to ease just a little.

Having stretched my neck as well as all my other sore muscles as much as I can for now, I decided to relax on the couch.  My neck starts to spasm more painfully almost immediately.  I move to the desk chair instead.

I sit in the desk chair with my head propped on its neck rest and feel the stretch up the back of my neck.  This does a lot to help with the pain, but I’m still uncomfortable enough that I lean back in the chair and sit there without trying to do something.  Pat comes out and turns on the TV.  I sit and watch whatever he turns on.  This is going to be a good day to just rest.

However, eventually, we get hungry.  Deciding that we really do need to get up and move if we hope to heal, we agree to walk across the river to eat lunch.  We walk over to the Walnut St bridge and down to Market St, looking for a place we thought we’d seen before and wanted to try without really remembering what it is.  We find ourselves outside the Hair of the Dog Pub, which has a Sunday brunch menu.

We walk inside and find one of the few pubs in the area that allows smoking in doors.  Fortunately, there is no one smoking this morning.  Unfortunately, many decades of smokers make it smell like someone is smoking anyway.  We decide we can tolerate it and take a table.  We both order the Hashish breakfast.  While the name is fun, we pick it because the description sounds tasty.

While we wait on our food, we each sip a beer (it is, after all, now afternoon).  I’ve decided to try Beck’s Oktoberfest while Pat goes with something I’ve never heard of.  Oktoberfest is still going on in this pub, with special German beers available through the end of November in celebration.  A couple comes in the front door, looks around, and then walks over to us and asks us if we want a coupon, sets a sheet of paper on the table and leaves.  It turns out it’s a two-for-one coupon on entrees.

The food arrives and it’s an enormous plate of hashbrowns covered in cheese and eggs and bratwurst.  I like it a lot.  Pat likes it except for the bratwurst.  I end up eating most of his brat and still nearly cleaning my plate.  Not sure, but I’m not thinking this is going to help the way my jeans have been fitting lately.

On the way home, we stop at the aquarium gift shop to look for baby gifts.  We’ve passed by several other baby stores, but I want something cute and cuddly for our friends’ new daughter and I remember seeing funny stuffed animals at the aquarium.  After selecting an adorable big-eyed, pink sea turtle for the baby and a super stretchy rubber octopus for her older brother, we head on home.  The head of the octopus is a soft, stretchy ball that expands into a clear yellow that allows you to see little white balls inside when you squeeze it.  I end up squeezing that octopus all the way home.

We collapse in our respective chairs when we get home.  Me with ice and a neck pillow and Pat with pillows and blankets.  We settle in to watch a show on Porsche collectors and I manage to nod off for an afternoon nap.

Letting Go: Not Just an Expression

Posted by dkrashb on

It’s Saturday again.  We decided to return to the training hills this Saturday in the hope of making more progress by going back at the earliest possible time that we can.  However, we also decided to only plan on one day of hang gliding this weekend and to only try to add on Sunday once we see how we feel after Saturday.  We don’t want to be as sore as we were the last few times we went hang gliding.

We get up early–I get up at 5:30AM, to be exact.  Pat sleeps for another hour.  I take some time to write this morning since I am not taking as much stuff today.  I have decided to leave my camera behind since, well, let’s face it, grab shots of hang gliding start really looking pretty much the same after a few times.  Also, since we’ve not scheduled an afternoon tandem flight, there is no need to take a bunch of stuff to do during the time between the training hills and the tandem.

Once I’ve done my writing, had my coffee, and gotten dressed, I begin repeating my new mantra:  “Eyes on Target.  Light Hands.”  I try to visualize this in my mind.  I stand in the kitchen with my hands lightly placed on my imaginary control frame, my eyes locked on the top of the cabinets.  “Eyes on Target.  Light Hands.”  I even practice correcting the glider by pushing myself in my imagination left and right.  I realize that as my body shifts with the image in my mind, I am cross-controlling even in my kitchen.  This surprises me and I try again, this time shifting like I’m swinging on a pendulum as much as possible while standing in the kitchen.  I notice my eyes are on the kitchen floor.  Raising them back to the top of the cabinets, I abandon steering practice and say, “Eyes on Target.  Light Hands.”  Then, Pat is ready to go and I give up on my visualization.

We get to the training hills plenty early.  Mike still beats us there.  He advises us on which hang gliders to assemble and I am back in the smaller Falcon that gave me so many fits the last time.  I talk to Mike about whether it’s a good idea for me to go with that one or not and he assures me that it will pick me up just like a too-big one would.  I flash back to my 10 trips down the hill without feeling any lift, but decide that there is some wind today and that I might as well give it a try since I’m not going to make it off the bunny hill until I can fly in the correct sized glider.

8 people have signed up for the bunny hill.  A crowd like that can make it tough to get a lot of flights in, especially if the wind starts kicking up early and we have to call it a day.  But, we get out to the hills as quickly as possible and start getting flights in.  I am relieved that I manage to launch on the first try, although I went into a dive immediately and realized I’d taken my eyes off target.  When my glider lands, my legs are smacked on the ground and my right quadricep hyper-extends slightly, just enough to give me a slight pull.  When I get to the top of the hill, I stretch before taking my next turn in the hope of preventing injury.  I launch successfully again and am happy with the launch, although I still go into a state of mental confusion and have difficulty correcting in the air.  When I launch the third time, Lauren tells me that my launch is 95% of the way there, but I need to focus on keeping my posture upright so that I leave the hill in an upright position.  As soon as I start thinking about my posture, my eyes drop and my hands tighten and I fail to launch and end up running down the damn hill again.

Now I am starting to limp.  At the top of the hill, I stretch thoroughly again before attempting to launch.  I suspect it will be my last time.  Lauren stands behind me this time and tells me when to let go completely.  She has me just release my hands on the control frame and do jazz-hands so that they’re there, but not grabbing at the frame.  I launch perfectly even though a cross-wind has me going crooked while I’m still running down the hill.  Lauren yells, “Run to your target!” at just the right time and I get my eyes back to where they should be, drag the glider back to straight, and launch into the air.  I even manage to correct in the air and do it correctly, although I don’t do it consciously, I just remember the feeling of swinging like a pendulum after I land.

We do a repeat the next time around, although now I am barely walking and I’m thinking this should be my last flight.  Now I’m having fun again and I’m willing to suffer through the pain of pulled muscles a couple more times.  I launch again even better this time by having Lauren yell at me and doing jazz-hands again.  Lauren tells me that she’s not really yelling at me, she’s yelling at my neurons.  She is right–I don’t have the right neuro-pathways yet.

I manage to get in one final flight, ending strong on 3 really great flights, but now my neck is going into spasms, I’ve pulled my quads, my inner thighs, and my groin.  I am walking like a cowboy once again.  But I hobble away happy, noting that letting go is ultimately what allows me to fly.  Who knew that when people say things like that they’re really referring to hang gliding?

Run Down

Posted by dkrashb on

It’s Saturday morning and we are up even earlier than Friday. After rushing and arriving at the training hills late on Friday, last night I set the alarm for 5:30AM to give myself an extra half hour to get ready today. I also packed what I needed to bring the night before so that what I have to do this morning is less.

Now that the alarm is chiming in my ear, I am wishing I hadn’t set it so darn early. But, I get up and get moving. I am ready early. Really early. Like a half an hour early–the exact amount of time earlier that I set my alarm. This is called an over-correction in hang gliding lingo.

But, since I am ready to go, i find additional things to do with the extra time while Pat, who slept an hour longer than I did, finishes getting ready. I get the GPS set to the correct address today, for example, to ensure no repeat of yesterday’s fiasco. When Pat is ready, we gather up our bags of stuff and head down the hall.

We make it to the hills plenty early. The only instructor there is Mike. We’re pretty sure he lives there and that it’s impossible to arrive before him. He tells us to each get our own Falcon. This is a good start–we have realized that we get more flights in when we each have our own glider than when we share. On the other hand, I’m a bit nervous still about assembling my own glider, worried that I’ll miss some vital step. But, I get my glider together and perform the pre-flight check without any problems. As it turns out, Pat is going to share his glider with another student in his weight range. The two of them and I are ready to go at about the same time. We load up a glider and take turns driving to get both gliders up the hill.

I am excited about flying today. I feel like I’m finally getting this down and that I’m going to make big steps forward towards learning to land on my feet. When I take my first flight, I do take big steps forward, but only literally. I run down the hill with that glider on my back taking bigger and bigger steps as I go over the ridge and down the slope, but the glider doesn’t lift. I drag that sucker all the way down until it is going faster than I am and it flops me over onto my belly on the ground and drags me across the grass. This is exactly how my first several runs went when we were in ground school back in August. I am thrown.

Fortunately, the instructor, Lauren, is extremely observant and can tell me exactly what went wrong. Her first question to me is, “How was that?” I tell her I feel like I just went back to ground school. She asks me where was my target and I have the ah-ha moment that I had forgotten to pick one. She informs me that I was looking at the ground the entire time. A phrase from motorcycle safety school pops into my head, “if you look down, you go down.”

Feeling confident that I now know the root of the problem and that my next flight will take me back to where I was yesterday, I line up and pick a nice, high target and try again. I end up running even faster down that hill, but with the same net result. When Lauren and I have our next recap, I am pretty sure that this is not my fault. I ask if the glider is too small for me, if I’m hanging too high in the frame, I blame the hiking boots I’m wearing on the hill for the first time. Lauren breaks the news to me: she assures me that I was doing the exact same things wrong yesterday but that I could get away with it yesterday because I was in an over-sized glider and there was wind. Today, I am in the appropriately sized glider and the air is depressingly still. Nothing is going to get me into the air except me performing correctly.

I am determined. I run down that hill again and again. Ten times in a row I drag that glider down the hill and it drags me across the field. I am getting so frustrated I want to quit hang gliding for good. This is when Lauren suggests I change gliders. She says that while maybe it’s cheating a little to go to a bigger glider, there is something to be said for not being so frustrated we you learn. I decide to give it a try.

My next flight, I launch successfully. My joy in hang gliding is restored. The feeling of the glider picking me up off the hill and raising my feet off the ground instead of me racing it down the hill and losing makes me giddy.

Through out the morning, I am reflecting on my own learning. I realize that my brain went all the way back to no function during my first run–I had no recollection of what happened during the run. Then, I gradually started to become more aware of what happened in each flight, I started realizing, for example, after the fact that I’d taken my eyes off the target. However, I couldn’t prevent myself from making the same mistake over and over again. I’m a little depressed by this realization. I thought that I would start where I’d left off in terms of being more conscious during the launch and flight. I am reminded of when I used to do triathlons and how I expected my times to get better each race without accounting for differences in the wind, the course, the temperature. I suppose i have learned skills specific to a given set of conditions and not the more general skills that allow me to adjust.

While I recognize that I am a slow learner when it comes to physical activities, I really didn’t think I was this slow. In the ad for our lesson package, they claim that you will learn how to land on your feet and earn your beginner rating in the number of lessons included. Here we are, already into the next package and I’m still trying to learn how to launch. This does not make me happy, I question the wisdom of upgrading our lesson package again and of contemplating launching from the mountain.

But, now that I have launched, I want to make sure I leave with the feeling of being airborne in my head, so I fly two more times. I lift off without too much difficulty and end feeling like maybe I will eventually catch on after all. The one thing I know for sure is that I do not want to run down that hill ever again! I am already feeling how sore I am going to be–there is nothing that can make a person feel as run down as running a hang glider down a hill over and over again.

Head of the Hootch

Posted by dkrashb on

After a morning of hang gliding, we return to Chattanooga in time to check out the Head of the Hootch scene. The first thing about the Head of the Hootch is the sheer number of boats on the water. In spite of the fact that the river is closed to both recreational and commercial traffic for the regatta, and the fact that these boats are as sleek and trim as it gets, the river looks like it could not possibly have room for one more boat on it. As we walk over the Market St bridge to the aquarium, we have to stop and stare several times and gawk while we count the number of boats in a small space.

As we make our way across Market St bridge, the next thing that stands out is the number of people standing on the bridge. There are so many people jammed on the sidewalks on either side of the bridge at the South end that they are jumping off the sidewalks and onto the roadway to go around each other. When a close race goes under the bridge, people dart across between traffic to see how it comes out on the other side. This seems so dangerous that I wonder why they didn’t close Market St all together.

The third thing that catches our attention (oh, all right, so we could see this from our apartment before we left) is the number of tents lining the riverfront by the aquarium. There are market-style tents set up practically on top of each other. They line the street and spread out onto the grass between the road and the river. The road is closed and rowers walk in large groups, the teenagers oblivious to other pedestrians and not bothering to move out of the way when they occupy the entire sidewalk.

We make our way through the crowd looking somewhat like we need press passes. I have my tripod bag over my shoulder and Pat carries my camera bag over his. We walk down the steps next to the aquarium bridge to get under the street and out to the pier next to the fountain. I figure we’ll be able to get some good shots from under the bridge. Pat helps pick a setting by suggesting I shoot boats as they appear from behind the bridge support. These turn out ot be some of my favorite shots.

I’ve put my big lens on my camera and mounted it on my tripod. I stand behind the camera and discover that I can barely zoom out far enough to get half of an eight person boat from here. I contemplate changing lenses, but decide to stick with the 100-400mm for a while yet. I shoot the boats on the other side of the river. I zoom in and see how tight I can get from this far away. I’m pretty impressed with my lens. I’m feeling like I could pass as a professional with my lovely tripod and my nice big lens.

That’s about the time that the real professional (or wealthy want-to-be) shows up. He’s carrying what must be at least a 300mm f/2.8 lens, if not a 400mm or more. For those of you not familiar with camera lenses, we’re talking a $7,000 – 13,000 lens here. It has an enormous circumference and looks like it could gather enough light to shoot the stars at a high shutter speed. Suddenly, my big lens looks pitiful.

That’s the trouble about comparing your lenses to other people’s–someone always has a bigger lens. But when I look through my lens again at 100mm and just fit half a boat in the frame, I suddenly wonder what the heck the other guy is shooting. From here, I wonder if he can get more than one eye in the frame. I imagine some of the more dramatic sports shots I’ve ever seen and decide he can probably get some really great facial expressions. While I may have the same reach with my lens (or not, I can’t actually tell), I don’t have the same aperture opening. That means I have to have slower shutter speeds to get the same exposure that he can get by opening up his aperture wider. This allows him to freeze those rapidly moving facial expressions sharply in time when they would likely be blurred for me. I would love to see his shots.

I contemplate briefly walking over to him and asking him about his lens, but decide there’s no point in finding out what it is since I already have 2 lenses on my wish list that are in a far more practical price range. Plus, I don’t feel like embarrassing myself today by asking stupid questions. I would love to see the shots he’s getting, though. My main confusion is that he isn’t using a tripod. I wonder how he can hold that big lens without one. As I contemplate whether to talk to the photographer or not, Pat points out a large Swallow condominium complex built on the underside of a bridge structure. Their little mud huts hang, now abandoned, in a line, somehow making me think of a row of abandoned beach houses.

I turn my attention back to the boat races for a few minutes. Watching two boats neck and neck as they come to the finish line gets me excited. I am thrown back in time to my brief lessons in a learn to row class and the feeling of flying across the river in a 4-person boat when we all got into a good rhythm. I think about about how delicious it felt to kick the rears of the competing boat that day (especially when the average age of their boat was about 10 years younger than ours).

However, I don’t know who is competing against whom in this race. It makes it tough to follow or to decide whom to celebrate with. Boats just keep coming in. Then, I see the OSU women and then some OSU men. I’m somewhat excited that I recognize them by their paddles–the rowing class I took was held out of the OSU boathouse on the Scioto River in Columbus.

After shooting some more, we head to Thai Smile for lunch. I have my leftovers packed up and even think to ask for plasticware and napkins. I’m all ready for any homeless we encounter on the way home. However, it looks like all the homeless were shuttled off somewhere. All that are left on the Walnut St Bridge are a group of rowdy partiers who are having the time of their lives. We continue back across the river and go home with our leftovers still in tact.

A Very Blustery Day

Posted by dkrashb on

We are running late.  I hate that.  I got up at 6:00AM in the hope of not running late, but it seems I needed to get up a half hour earlier.  We are running around frantically trying to gather up the last of our gear, knowing that we are now barely going to make it to the training hills on time.  We remember our bottles of water at the last possible second, grab them, and finally get out the door.

I set up the GPS in a hurry while Pat starts driving in the general direction.  We’ve been there enough times that the GPS should just be a back up.  However, Pat zones out and starts listening to it only to wonder why it’s taking us the way it’s taking us long after we’ve missed the correct exit.  As it turns out, I picked the flight park office, up on top of the mountain at the mountain launch, instead of the training hills.  This will cost us another 10 minutes at least.

We keep going because now it will be further to turn around.  Pat takes corners like he’s driving the BMW instead of the mini-van.  I bite my lip to stifle a scream.  We turn off before we get to the mountain office, saving ourselves a few minutes at least.  Then, Pat takes on the dirt road back to the hills with a gusto that should really only be attempted in an all-terrain vehicle–the road is full of pot holes big enough to swallow a VW beetle.  We do make it, but we are late.

Dan, one of the instructors, advises us to set up a condor and share it.  We are nearing the end of our weekend package, so there’s no reason for us to fly falcons, I guess.

We follow instructions and soon have the condor assembled, pre-flight checked, and loaded onto a trailer for a tow up to the hill.

We fly like never before.  I get airborne so easily, I’m sure that I’m almost ready to start learning to land on my feet.  It’s a great feeling to fly over the grassy field.  Unfortunately, the wind picks up quickly.  By my second flight, I get blown around in a cross-wind after I launch.  Although this is not particularly scary to me, the instructor calls it.  She doesn’t like beginners to fly in gusting winds.  She says it’s too hard to tell what we’re doing vs what the wind is doing to make it useful to us, not to mention the potential dangers.

I am left with the high of having flown.  Plus, I am prepared to take our first written test, required to graduate to the big hill.  This is a new milestone for me–I’ve not previously cared if I ever graduate to the big hill.  In fact, I’d grown convinced that I never would.  But today, I am full of myself.  I flew!  Not only am I excited about graduating, but now I have the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe I could launch off that mountain some day.

We go into town and grab lunch after putting away the glider.  Then we head up to the top of the mountain and sit outside in the van studying.  Pat hasn’t done the required reading yet, but I’ve now talked him into taking the written test, too.  I’m reading the book to him because he didn’t bring a pair of reading glasses.   We make it through the 4 chapters covered in the test and then head indoors.

I finish the test in about half the time Pat does.  I do not suffer from test anxiety and I try not to go back and second guess myself when I finish a test.  Pat, however, not only has major anxiety about tests, but he also is not particularly well prepared given that I read the chapters to him.  But, we both manage to pass.  This emboldens us further and causes us to decide to take the dramatic step of upgrading our package to an Eagle Package.  The Eagle Package includes 4 mountain launches.  I, however, have been assured that I do not have to go off the mountain if I change my mind.  We get the full tour of the facilities and the orientation that we didn’t get when we signed up for the introductory experience.  We even get to see the repair shop and the sewing shop next door.  It’s pretty cool.

But coolest of all, when we go outside, there are two pilots waiting for the wind to calm a bit so they can take off from the mountain.  Finally!  After so many trips up the mountain to watch this event that I’ve lost count, we will get to see a mountain launch!

Unfortunately, in my rush to get out the door today, I only brought my worst lens.  Although the 70-300mm focal range will be good and the lens is light enough that I can usually get away with hand holding it, it mis-behaves on me frequently.  I’m sure this has nothing to do with the fact that I dropped it on a ceramic tile floor in Montana over a year ago and have yet to get it repaired.

As the first pilot sets up, I snap a few shots and then move down below the launch to try to get a good angle of the launch process.  The moment when he starts the launch is the moment my lens decides it doesn’t want to focus anymore.  And, of course, I have my camera set to not shoot if it’s not in focus.  I completely miss the launch.  Not only do I miss shooting it, but I miss seeing it because I’m so panicked over my camera.

I take a deep breath and fiddle with the camera until I get the lens focusing again.  I manage to accomplish this prior to the second pilot, Meg, launching.

The launch is every bit as exciting as I expected it to be, but much shorter.  The longest part is setting Meg up at the launch line with 3 people holding the wires of her glider to prevent her from blowing away prematurely.  Then, Meg, in her sock feet, calls, “Clear,” and takes 2 steps before she is airborne and tucking her colorful feet into her pod.  I stand in awe.

We watch the two of them soar back and forth along the ridge, gaining altitude from the wind rushing up the face of the mountain.  They look so pretty against the blue sky.  However, watching hang gliders after they’ve launched is not really all that exciting for me yet.  I suppose I don’t have enough knowledge to know what they’re doing up there enough to appreciate it.  In any case, we decide it’s time to call it a day for hang gliding and to head on back to Chattanooga in time to catch the Head of the Hootch.

Thai Smile

Posted by dkrashb on

Pat and I decide to try a new restaurant tonight–Thai Smile.  We passed it on the way back from the market last Sunday and made a note that we wanted to try it. After all, how can anyone resist going to a restaurant called “Thai Smile”?  In spite of the catchy name, it’s a miracle that we actually remembered it–we have a long history of spotting places we want to try and then forgetting all about them.

We head outside and debate whether we should take the Market St bridge or the Walnut St bridge because neither one of us can remember exactly which street it’s on.  We decide to take the Market St bridge because I’m convinced it’s East of Market and Pat is convinced it’s West of Market.  That way, we’ll be in the middle.

When we get across the river, Pat is sure we need to turn right and I am sure we need to turn left.  Fortunately, I have my iPhone.  Instead of wandering around lost, I google it.  How did anyone ever get anywhere before the advent of the smart phone?  As it turns out, we are both wrong.  The restaurant is dead ahead of us on Market St.  Go figure.

We head on down the road and find Thai Smile just one block away.  I’m not exactly sure what the name is supposed to convey–does going there mean you get to see what a Thai smile looks like?  Does a Thai smile look different then, say, a Chattanoogan smile?  As we walk in the door for the first time, I’m hoping it means the Thai food will make the patrons smile, because there isn’t a whole lot of smiling going on amongst the staff.

But, what they lack in friendliness, they make up for in efficiency.  We are seated, have received our drinks, and are placing our order so quickly that it makes me wonder if McDonald’s could learn a thing or two.  Fortunately, when the food comes out, it cannot be mistaken for McDonalds.  Not even McDonalds in Thailand.  I’ve ordered Pineapple Curry, a dish I’ve had only once and it was at a Thai restaurant in London.  I’ve ordered it with shrimp, which is always a little nerve wracking.  But the curry, well, it makes me smile.

I admit that the presentation on the Thai iced tea threw me when they first brought it out.  Oddly, they serve it with whipped cream on top.  I’m not quite ready for iced tea, even as sweet as Thai iced tea, to come with whipped cream on it.  Perhaps it’s important to come up with ways to increase the sugar content of what they serve to appeal to Southern taste buds?  I don’t know what made them think it was a good idea, but I decide the best approach is to separate the whipped cream from the tea and consume each separately.  This works for me and the tea is delicious.

Pat has the Shrimp Pad Thai and it makes him smile, too.  So, we are up two smiles and it’s probably the cheapest dinner we’ve had in Chattanooga (all right, partly because they don’t serve alcohol).  The only problem with the Pineapple Curry is that there’s so much of it, I can barely get through half the serving.  I ask for a box–the flavor is just too good to waste.  I carefully scrape the food into the box and spoon the curry sauce over it, trying to squeeze in every drop of goodness.

Full, warm, and not broke, we head on down the road.  We decide to walk back over the Walnut St bridge just because it’s a nice night and we could use the extra walk after having a big dinner.  As we enter the bridge, we see the bear man sitting off to one side.  The bear man can usually be spotted on the Walnut St bridge or its vicinity.  He is a large, black man who is most likely mentally ill.  He lives in many layers of clothing, including a fur hat with ear flaps and a big coat, that he wears at all times.  He was wearing the same stuff when it was 110 degrees out in August.  If the wind is right, we usually smell him before we see him.  He smells like a bear.  Or at least like bear scat.  His appearance is not far from a bear, either, between his size and his fur hat.

Perhaps because I have a Thai smile tonight, I feel like I should do something for this man who lives on the bridge.  He is one of the few homeless people that hangs out on the riverfront who never asks for money.  I turn to Pat and ask if I should give him my leftovers.  Pat thinks this might be an insult, to give someone leftovers who hasn’t asked for anything and may or may not feel like leftovers are something he wants to eat.  I feel uncertain, but given that the man appears quite well fed, decide it’s presumptuous to give him food and, to Pat’s point, leftovers could be insulting.  As we pass him, my box of leftovers suddenly feels large and heavy in my hands.

Moments later, we pass another homeless man, this one the polar opposite of the bear man–a skinny white guy in a plaid hunting jacket.  He asks Pat if he can help out with some cash for a meal.  Interestingly, when Pat and I are together, homeless men frequently ask Pat for money.  They never ask me.  Instinctively, I know they are more successful with men than women, but I can’t explain why that would be.  Pat tells him he doesn’t have any cash, but asks if the man would want my leftovers.  He says, “Sure!” enthusiastically.  I say, “It’s pineapple curry.” He responds with a Thai smile.  I hand over my leftovers regretting only that I don’t have a fork and napkins to go with it.

The weight of both the leftovers and my guilt now lifted, the scenery suddenly looks brighter.  I notice how brilliant the leaves look in the remaining light.  I look up and am amazed at how many stars are already visible in the evening light.  I smile at Pat and feel grateful for having such a kind man in my life.  For at least a few moments, all feels right with the world.  Now I know why it’s called Thai Smile.

Hiking Little Frog

Posted by dkrashb on

It’s Sunday morning and I am joining a group hike on the Benton MacKaye trail in Cherokee National Forest.  Pat is still out of town, so I will have to drive–this will be the 3rd time I’ve driven within the city limits of Chattanooga in the 2 1/2 months we’ve lived here.  I load minimal gear (camera with only one lens, daypack with water, money, snacks, and sunscreen) into the 1990 BMW that my husband loves so dearly and that I have eventually come to love as well.

When I get well out of Chattanooga and onto the two-lane highway that runs along the Cherokee National Forest boundary, I have a little fun going around the curves at speeds that aren’t exactly recommended.  But I am forced to slow down by a line of three slower-moving cars ahead of me.  At first, I am disappointed, but then I look right.  To my side is a river that flows into a lake.  It’s surrounded by mountains covered in brightly colored fall leaves.  Mist rises off the water, swirling around the trees and rising over the mountains.  In the distance, the sun rises over the mountain tops.  I have just missed the perfect place to pull over.  I contemplate the next pullout, but I’m nervous about being late and I am unlikely to get a good shot since I didn’t bring a tripod.   I decide to remember the scene instead of photographing it.  I look again and again as the road and traffic permits.  I feel the beauty of this scene so intensely that my eyes start to tear.  I cry like a man–a little moisture in the corner of one eye and then it’s over.

I make it to the Piggly Wiggly we’re meeting at early.  I’m not sure who thought it was hilarious to name a grocery store Piggly Wiggly enough to actually do it, but it makes me laugh every time I hear a reference to this huge chain in the South.

I am a little bummed that I’m so early–now I wish I would have stopped to shoot the mist even without the tripod.  However, it does give me time to go inside the Piggly Wiggly and use the restroom.  Unfortunately, instead of a public restroom, they just let customers use the employee restroom which is through the back room.  It’s not in particularly good shape and the lighting is so dim that I’m left to wonder if it’s clean or just dark enough I can’t tell it’s dirty.  I buy a bottle of Gatorade on the way out just because they let me use the restroom.

I return to the parking lot where the group is gathering.  As more people arrive, it appears I am the youngest.  We divide up between 2 cars and then head up a bumpy dirt road to get to the trail head.  It takes nearly 45 minutes to get there.  The trail is a 7 mile through-hike.  We will hike the full length of it and then take 2 other cars that were dropped off at the other end.  This seems like a lot of driving, but I’m not up for volunteering to walk back the 7 miles.

After we get to the trailhead and get organized, we start our walk along the ridge.  We are at a fairly high elevation, but only a small number of trees are really bright.  People keep commenting about the beautiful color in the leaves, yet they seem drab to me.  I am assured that the color change is just starting now and that it will get brighter.  I am also told trees need colder weather to get bright oranges, which have already happened at higher elevations.

It’s an incredible day.  The sky is every bit as blue as yesterday.  The sun is bright.  There’s not a cloud in the sky.  It’s a little cool, but a fleece is enough to stay warm.  As we walk along the ridge, we periodically get views of the mountains off in the distance.  Our hike leader, Dick, likes to hike up hills and then stop and catch his breath while we wait for the entire train of people to catch up.  There are only 12 people on the hike, so it doesn’t take long and we don’t have to worry about leaving anyone behind.

While we wait for the group, Dick explains that a National Forest is more about forest management as a resource (i.e., logging) unless an area is designated as a wilderness area.  Then, the area is supposed to be maintained as a pristine forest area that goes unharvested.  As we prepare to enter the Little Frog Wilderness, we learn that our group was limited to 12 because no more than that are allowed in a wilderness area.  We also learned that trails are not supposed to be blazed unless it’s absolutely necessary, and then only minimally.

As we start walking again, we periodically run into limbs that have fallen across the trail.  Dick pulls out a saw and he and another man on the hike clear fallen limbs from the trail in a mater of minutes.  The organization that Dick belongs to keeps the Benton-MacKaye trail in shape and different volunteers take ownership for different stretches of the trail.

The hike is lovely.  Just being out among the changing leaves was a treat, let alone the ridge views.  But, it comes to an end about an hour after lunchtime.  We all agree to go eat at a restaurant across the parking lot.  I decide to order pulled pork.  However, I’m not able to because the restaurant is out.  I order a Fried-Green Tomato BLT and am told they’re out of green tomatoes.  I getting pretty impatient by the time the waitress tells me they’re also out of cole slaw.  I go for a regular BLT and, finally, they have all the ingredients (although they fail to add mayo).

After filling our bellies, one of the hikers takes the two men who left cars at the trailhead back to get their cars.  I pay my check and walk the 1/4 mile back to the little BMW at the far side of the Piggly Wiggly parking lot.  I set down my camera on the daypack in the passenger seat and then turn the key in the ignition.  Nothing happens.  I try pushing a button that will prevent the car from starting.  Nothing happens still.  I am perplexed until a reach out and touch the headlight switch and realize that I left the headlights on all day.

I head back to the restaurant to wait with the wives of the guys who went to get their cars.  It will be an hour and 1/2 before they get back.  As it turns out, the time goes by quickly as we sit and chat.  When the men return, we all go to my car so they can give me a jumpstart.  However, I soon realize that I have never opened the hood of this car.  I cannot find a hood release.

The man who is an ER doctor for a living manages to find the release.  Dick, fortunately, is able to figure out how to open the hood (which is the reverse of any other hood I’ve ever opened).  Having spent several minutes trying to figure out how to open the hood, we stand there and gawk when we finally get it opened fully.  No battery.  We get out the manual to locate the battery.  As it turns out, the battery is tucked under a cover in the trunk.  I know how to open the trunk!

At last I am running again and I head on down the road.  However, there is construction and I have to stop in a long line of cars because the road is down to one lane.  About the time we’re going to start moving, I realize the car is no longer running.  I put the stick in neutral, jump out, and start pushing it with my shoulder against the door jam while steering with my right hand.  At this moment, I’m very happy that the guy behind me jumps out of his car and offers to help.  We get my car off the road and he pulls in behind me.  At least now I know exactly where the battery is and how to get to it!

He gives me my second jumpstart.  I hop out of the car to thank him and then get back in and discover I’ve stalled again.  I have to run to stop him before he gets back in his car, but he does jump the car one more time for me.  This time, I do not get out.  I keep my foot on the accelerator so it won’t stall again.  I thank him through the window and then drive off.

The need to keep the engine revving combined with the curving road causes me to drive harder than I might have otherwise.  The car has been lowered, converted to a 5-speed, given a sport suspension, performance computer chip, and performance wheels/tires.  It’s fun to drive.  Although, I confess that I refused to drive it until it also got a new paint job.  Now, humiliated by spending time on the road, it’s almost like I feel like I have to prove that this is not an old junker even though it is over 20 years old.

I apparently intimidated the man driving a Porsche Boxster in front of me.  He was driving like my grandmother and I was trying to back off, but it was a little tricky given the circumstances.  In any case, he finally decided to pull off the road and let me pass.  But then I get to a place where there is a traffic light and I have to stop.  I downshift one gear at a time, keeping the revs up and slowing the car.  But eventually, I have to use the brake.  I put the stick in neutral, brake just enough to get the car to a near stop, and then pull on the parking brake so I can put my foot back on the accelerator.  I manage to stop and keep the revs up.  Then I have to get started again.  I put the car in gear and rev higher than I would normally rev to start a car from a stop.  At the moment I’m about to engage the clutch, I release the parking brake and go.  Using this technique, I’m able to make it through the three stoplights between me and the freeway until at last I’m headed South on 75, back to Chattanooga.  I figure I’ll be good to go after nearly an hour drive on the freeway.

When at last I get off the highway, I stop at the end of the exit ramp and damn if the car doesn’t stall again!  Fortunately, there is enough charge in the battery to start it, but it doesn’t really fire up the way I expect, so I am now afraid the battery is not fully charged.  I have only one more stoplight to get through before I am home.  When I stop, I am not quite quick enough getting from the brake to the accelerator and it starts to die.  But, I manage to catch it just in time and get the engine revving enough to prevent a stall.  When the light changes, I make it through the intersection and into our parking lot with only one or two close calls.

Parked, I unload the car and pick up my gear.  I’ve lost my lens cap.  This is a major crisis.  A lens cap isn’t worth a whole lot, but what it protects is.  My camera has been sitting on my passenger seat for the past hour and a half; there is no visible damage.  I look under the seats and cannot find the cap.  I give up and carry everything inside.  I place a lens cleaning cloth over the lens and hold it in place with the sun shade for the lens.

What a day.  I wish I could reverse the morning and the afternoon–it started out so fantastically!  How is it that three annoyances can erase the glorious feeling of wonder that adventure inspires?  I met 11 new people today.  I witnessed the formation of clouds in the sunrise.  I hiked in a wilderness along the ridge of the mountain in the fall leaves.  I got to drive a little aggressively around some fun curves.  I smile to myself as I realize that the wonders will be what stay with me–the annoyances will be relegated to just another funny story.