Preflight

Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.

-Theodore Roosevelt


This proverb has been an important and sentimental one to my family. My parents have had it in a frame on the wall all my life. I've always enjoyed it, but the inspiration it offered was lost on me until recently, when I realized I was a few years away from being a 40-year-old still living in that gray twilight. Something had to change, and soon.

Near the end of 2006, I decided that I'd had about enough of the administrative chores of the corporate travel business and started investigating my dream jobs.

Third baseman for the Padres? Good turnover rate, but outside of my skill set. Saturday Night Live writer? Nope... I have a sense of humor and I don't care for cocaine. Airline pilot? More achievable than I thought possible.

Commence flight school shopping. For a number of reasons I decided on ATP and began the enrollment process, but a medical snafu left me with a long hurry-up-and-wait spell. My folks suggested that I take that time to live with them for a few months so we can spend some gettin-to-know-ya-all-over-again time, which was too good to pass up. I left San Diego six months ago for Nevada City, California, where they have enjoyed a very happy retired life for some time. I took them up on their offer with the goal of shaking up my comfortable but unsatisfying lifestyle in Southern California while my FAA medical clearance was under review, and the experience exceeded all of my expectations.

I arrived in January and was greeted by nearly six weeks of snowfall. While my truck was hopelessly stuck, the folks and I got reacquainted in a hurry, and wonderfully so. Mom and I cooked every day and Dad and I replaced the rear axle on his 1932 Ford Model B. We caught up on old movies (and some new ones) and chatted endlessly about life and history and family. Family friend George Rebane (a local luminary) reserved me a seat at his monthly poker game with the Nevada City elite. It was a fine distraction that improved my game, and I am forever grateful.

By March I was still waiting on the FAA and needed to take a job so I could get out of the house and make a little scratch. A local agency sent me to the Placer County Assessor Office, who put me to work helping to organize the Proposition 8 value reductions standards. A good job with terrific people, to be sure. If you ever need your Placer County property assessed, see them first!

In May, the good news finally arrived. The FAA had awarded me a 1st-class medical certificate and I was free to begin training. ATP set me up with a start date of July 7th, 26 lbs of books and materials to study, and a choice of training locations. I originally had my heart set on a Florida location (Jacksonville or Panama City) but I opted for Dallas (Arlington, actually), mainly because one of my best buddies lives here with his wife and son, and I thought it would be great to be able to reconnect with him like I did with my parents, since he's been here for about 5 years and I only get to see him a few times a year.

On June 25th I said goodbye to work, and three days later I say goodbye to the parents. Since I never went to college, this seemed like a moment that came about 20 years late, but it felt just like I always imagined it would, and I won't describe it publicly.

Texas ho!


June 28th - Nevada City CA to Laughlin NV.
The CD player in my truck is on the blink, so I spent most of the trip listening to and critiquing the local radio stations as I roll through.

Hey, Highway 99 corridor... .38 Special was a pretty good band, but there's lots of other great music out there. Try some.

The scenery along Highway 58 near Tehachapi (between Bakersfield and Barstow) is gorgeous. I had no idea.

Laughlin's an odd place, but wonderfully so. I'd already been here enough to know that it's Mecca for toothless cocktail waitresses (I figure there must be a women's prison nearby... a theory as yet unconfirmed), but this was my first encounter with a tattooed female front-desk clerk. Proudly displayed, from armpit to armpit, clavicles to solar plexus, was a tattoo of a birthday cake with crossed spears through the center. I can't recall ever getting away with that long a look at a woman's chest. I was, for the first time ever, hypnotized. Mistaking my stunned silence for art admiration, she upgraded me to a fabulous river view room.

By the way, this is the view from my fabulous river view room (brought to you by The Home Depot). Sorry, but attempting a photo of the front-desk clerk would've certainly earned me a broken bottle to the windpipe.






June 29th - Laughlin NV to Albuquerque NM
Not much to report along this trip, but I was impressed that a radio station in Holbrook AZ was playing The Sugarcubes. I'm either underestimating the retro-hip sensibilities of this community, or they still think it's 1988.

I had to remind myself that I've never been to Albuquerque. Surprising, since I've been around the area several times on different roadtrips. Alamogordo, Roswell, Deming, Ruidoso, but not the biggie. Wish I could say that I saw any of it, but this was my view the entire time...



June 30th - Albuquerque NM to Roanoke TX (Dave's place)
More hum-drum, offset by Baptist hellfire. The radio scan netted a station featuring a minister who was failing in his attempts to fire-and-brimstone his way past his own glaring speech impediment, perhaps a cleft palate. He was also feverishly preaching a Deuteronomy verse that warns of being damned to hell if one is sick and does not seek medical attention for oneself. I've got a balcony seat in the seventh circle already reserved, and I was alone in the car, so I felt fine about laughing my ass off as I imagined that sermon being spat all over the thoroughly moistened front row.

Gas/eats in Moriarty, NM. Across the street from the gas station was a large modular building with "FIREWORKS FIREWORKS FIREWORKS" emblazoned over every square inch of available wallspace. Curious to the nature of this retail market, I went inside to find, not curios, jewelry, or native cultural crafts... but fireworks. Aisles and aisles of fireworks. "Baghdad Costco" was my first thought, which made myself giggle. And there were a handful of people inside, sniffing and thumping artillery shells like they were shopping for the ripest cantaloupe. A pretty, smiling 40-ish lady greets me.

"Do you need a cart?", she asks me, gesturing toward a rack of full-size chromed-steel grocery carts.

"No, I'll just have a look around if you don't mind."

"Yeah, everyone says that and they always change their mind. I'll be back to ask you again in a few minutes. Anyway, you'll find artillery along this wall... missiles and rockets in the center aisle... finale mortars along the back wall. All of it's organized from front to rear in order of report volume. Firecrackers, sparklers, and other kiddie stuff is by the register. Just give me a holler if you have any questions!"

"Thanks!"

I love America.


"That John Denver's full of shit." Greetings from outside Amarillo.


By the way, I've been following old Route 66 (now Interstate 40) ever since Barstow. Hard to imagine doing this trip at wartime speed in a 1939 Plymouth. Amarillo marks the spot to veer off I-40 for Texas Highway 287, following the Red River south of Oklahoma through the metropoli of Memphis, Chillcothe, Oklaunion, and Vernon. Now, I love seeing America by car, but this was one of the longest days of my life. The most entertaining scenery comprised of abandoned filling stations with the price still showing gas at 98 cents for regular and 63 cents for diesel. Echoes of a time long-since forgotten... 1994. Our kids just won't know and won't understand.

Arrived at my buddy Dave's house late enough for him to be in bed and wife Brittany and son Colin up to greet me. Again, after that trip, I was just glad to have a couch to call home. Now for a week of studying and gearing up to be a 37-year-old freshman.

Mighty things await.