SF Trip 2015 Day 2

First things first. Let's go see one of the two iconic San Francisco things. Luckily we got out early on this one because by the time we got back from walking the bridge, the parking lot was full. 

No, Elaine is not spitting off the bridge. Below the railing there is a u-shaped rail that is mostly full of pennies -- like. Wishing well. We all took a shot, and hit 50% (Joe and Dad). 

It's quite a bridge. Look it up and read about it. 

Did you know you can pano up?

My iPhone survived this selfie, mostly because I was careful to not hang the phone over the railing.   This will be our Christmas card photo. 

On the walk back to the car, Joe spotted dolphins in the water near the bridge footing. 

What would normally be an inspiring city view would be better with the afternoon sun lighting up the near side. But in the morning, what I consider a very white (buildings) city was a dull, backlit gray. 

So we headed to Sausalito. In fact, this (http://youtu.be/C60kcAzmbAU) was our theme song for the trip. Sausalito turns out to be a trendy little tourist trap. I didn't know they. But just the way the old wooden houses, some even Victorian era, are jumbled on the vertical hills above the narrow waterfront two lane. At times the houses hang over the road. We made the mistakes of turning up on side street and found it one-lane and mountain goat steep in a matter of 50 yards. Damn. How will we even turn around. I was remiss in not taking more photos, but a walking tour would have been more like a mountain climb, for which I was ill prepared. The above picture was from inside a store called "Sauxalito". Lame, I know. 

The view from the downtown Sausalito is great, but the pano detail gets lost in the blog app. Sorry. 

We lunched at a trendy $14 burger joint that filled us so much that for dinner we only had desert. Very good local Pilsner. 

The trendiness of Sausalito, not to mention highway 1 lockup caused us to run screaming back to the peace of Golden Gate Park. Actually, we tried to walk through the Muir Woods, on the north side of the bay, but were shocked to find all three parking lots full andoverflowing far down the street. It would have been a half mile walk to get back to the entrance so we bail d and headed back to town. But the drive the entrance road to park was amazing in itself. It's only five miles but the road winds around a series of tightly waving hills with a 45 degree angle of repose. 5 to 10 mph on two twisty little 10-foot lanes with coastal wind-swept trees hanging half over the roadway like a passing shred of fog. 

Back at Golden Gate alarm we entered the Botanical Garden as the afternoon faded to dusk. This is the succulent section. Sounds dirty. 

The redwood section (w stern forests) of the Botanical Garden. It was fun getting lost in a small redwood forest, not to mention the bamboo forest of the Asian section of the garden, in the middle of a huge city. 

The gardens abound with small nooks like this isolated gazebo. All fuel for Elaine's vivid Lanscape Architect imagination. 

The conservatory. Darkness fell upon us here so we headed back to the car through a bridge underpass, in which we found a small digeridoo (so?) band using the reflective acoustics of the underpass for fantastic effect. Here is a short recording I made of them warming up: http://youtu.be/Bge6i7YBuaw

After dusk we had some extra time and pulled the multi-phone lookup on a Cineplex that was playing th new Star Wars movie. We wanted to watch it before any of us ran into spoilers.

Spoiler alert -- it was a dumbed-down Disney version almost identical to the plot of the original 1976 movie that was merely a hand off vehicle for the next generation of bland merchandizing vehicles. 

SF Trip Xmas 2015 Day 1

We decided to take the kids on a trip before Joe graduates from college this spring and moves away. I'm sure there will be family trips in the future, but it will never be this easy again. We opted for San Francisco because we procrastinated too long for a Hawaii trip. Plus none of us had ever been. 

Great, we have tickets. Where are we gonna stay?  I wanted something more than a hotel so I checked out Air BNB and VRBO and found this place within three miles of Golden Gate Park. The map said it was in an area of row houses and it didn't look like one. Funny. I was reading the map wrong and the house turns out to be in Pacifica. It all turned out Ok because it was in a quiet neighborhood with beach views from every room and only a 20 minute drive in to San Francisco. Just lucky I guess. 

Here's the view from the living room. I'm testing out Nan's new selfie stick. Seems like a great way to lose an iPhone. More on that tomorrow. 

We went south on the first day to have lunch at a local crab shack (Sam's Chowder Bar in Half Moon Bay - actually it's closer to El Granada) with some great friends from days of old. We've known Andy since Nan was in high school and Amy soon after that. We had a lovely catch-up and some awesome chowder and gumbo. 

Then we walked around Pillar Point to Maverick's beach. I wonder if the name has anything to do with the movie "Top Gun". The town of Miramar is just 3 miles away. Nope. Wrong Miramar. 

We found this comfortable seat in the rocks at Maverick's. The tide was out and the waves of middling size were breaking on the rocks beyond the tidal pools. 

Long-arm family selfie, suitable for our upcoming (late) Xmas letter. 

We still had a little daylight left so we headed into Golden Gate Park. Wow! What a park!  I've always been intrigued by New York's Central Park. Someday I will visit. It turns out that Golden Gate Park is similar in size and intention. It was shocking in its size and diversity. We thought we would have to park at the ocean-side parking and walk in, but then we realized that it's about 3 miles long by a half mile wide and there are lovely, wide drives throughout with bike trails, walking paths and ample free parking everywhere. It also has a polo ground, a large, authentic, Dutch-style windmill, an art museum, a botanical garden (tomorrow), and lots of ball fields and other amenities.

 We happened to wake up Elaine just in time to see the Bison paddock. Her eyes grew large at the shock. Bison were the last thing she expected to see. Shortly after that we found the most idyllic meadow (Hellman Hollow Meadow) and beyond that a small lake (Lloyd Lake). 

Here is Elaine posing at a small portico by the lake that is all that remains of the entrance to a great railroad magnate's home after the 1906 earthquake and fire. It was moved here around a century ago.  

Here is a panoram of the lake setting. The trees in the park all remind me of landscape paintings of America from the 17th and 18th centuries. The lake itself is fed by a waterfall that tumbles from a canal that is inches from the sidewalk that follows the road up the hill. The entire park is full of water features like this, many fed from a lake atop the highest hill in the park, which must have water pumped there. Though man-made, it is still wonderful to happen upon the sounds of falling water just about everywhere in the park. 

Here we are goofing around with the pano feature. Note Joes's Picasso-esque face on the left side of the image. 

Our last walk before dusk was to the top of Strawberry Hill, which is on an island in Stowe Lake, which you can paddle around in rented row boats. From there we saw the tops of the Golden Gate Bridge, downtown (the tops of the buildings), and a couple of the hilltops of the city. 

This iconic bridge is shown in all of the videos of the park from the 1950s. It is a bit larger than I expected. The stones are all larger than a person. You can barely see Joe peaking over the top. 

See. 

We stopped at Nick's in Pacifica on the way home for some very good seafood. We parked the car here and had to wipe salt water off the Windows from spray from the breaking waves. Thence "home". 

Side story:  it's kind of awesome traveling with four phone-internet enabled adults. We got really good at finding things fast and navigating in "just-in-time" mode. Yesterday we arrived at SFO at 5pm, picked up the rental car by 5:30, and before we drove out of the parking garage we had located a really great pizza place at the foot of the hill below our rental house, ordered a half Hawaiian half meat lovers pizza for pickup in 22 minutes, which is exactly how long it would take us to drive there, which we knew because we had another phone running the google maps navigation app which shows where all of the traffic is. We easily navigated the surprisingly hilly and narrow San Francisco in the darkness because the app gives you a heads up on what lane you need to be in to make the next exit. By 6:20 we were ensconced in the viewed, sunken living room of our rental house eating awesome pizza and binge watching Big Bang Theory. 

Grand Teton Relay

I didn't take a lot of photos on this trip, so I'll have a lot of stories with no supporting pictures. Bear with me if you want a yarn or just scan the pics and scram if you're in a hurry. 

The relay was in August, but 

like many good stories, this one started in Las Vegas 

(in March). 

Clay (a.k.a "Big Toe" -- a nickname I can only assume he earned because where ever the big toe goes the rest of the foot follows) caught me off guard. I was in Vegas with four OLD frat brothers. The "quiet" ones from my class were just taking a long weekend to talk over old times. I hadn't seen one of them in a decade and another since college. I got the invite and it was no question I was going. I'm kind of an anal prick and seldom get invited anywhere, so I accept invites whenever I get 'em. 

It didn't even have to be Vegas. All we wanted to do was sit in the hotel room and talk about each others' kids, which is what we mostly did. There are some awesome side stories, like Tobin giving Eis fashion advice until he got pissed off, Ernie losing a wad of money at craps and then gaining it all back plus $300 at poker, then blowing all that on a Lobster dinner for five at a side booth in an Italian restaurant in Ceasars Palace with great atmosphere and Sinatra playing on the overhead.

Top that off with a text from work on Friday while we were out at the cabana bar next to the Mirage pool that my company's stock just went up 35% and I could quit my job at any time. 

I was feeling pretty good. 

Then Clay called. 

I don't think Clay quite understood why I was pissed at him. But I was acting like a woman and not telling him, so I guess I get what I deserve. This part of the story starts in Sept 2012. About 13 Betas were going to run the Salmon Marathon, and I heard about it so I was going to join. I registered late, as usual, and prepared to ride the Buell (a motorcycle that has way more testosterone than I do) down, starting on Thursday. A motorcycle is always a poor choice for transportation to a marathon because it's no fun to mount the thing where you're sore after the run. But it gets about 55 mpg and a gas stop at Lolo only costs about $12, so pain it is. 

HUGE fire around Salmon that year scared all the Betas away. I was the only one that showed. Ash from a fire only 20 miles north rained down on Salmon as I rode into town, but luck was with me and the wind picked up out of the south on race day and clear skies and clean air prevailed. I ran the race and finished all by my lonesome. I sat by myself at a post race party on the banks of the beautiful, cool, clear Salmon river texting Clay how I wished he were there (love notes, you know). 

Come to find out the following year Clay and all the Betas ran it without even mentioning it to me. So next time Clay mentioned wanting to run with me I said "You want to run with me?! No you don't."

Like I said, I don't think he understood what I was pissed about because he made a special effort to invite me to this relay. 

What is a Relay?

Ok, a marathon is one thing, but a relay is a completely different animal. On a marathon, you kill yourself running for 4 hours -- by yourself or with others. Everything hurts for a week but you're done in four hours. And you can really get to know someone, running together for four hours. 

But a relay is 12 smelly guys in two claustrophobic vans for 36 hours and 180+ miles. One person on your team is running at any given time, day and night. 36 hours straight. If you get two hours sleep you're lucky. Each runner gets 3 legs of about 5 miles each, but the grade, distance and elevation (not to mention the weather) will vary from leg to leg. 

There are relays all over the U.S., and the granddaddy of them is the Hood to Coast relay. It draws 1000 teams and there is a waiting list. The elite teams average something like 5:30 per mile for 206 miles. Nice coastal finish in Seaside OR. Crazy. This one only has 125 teams, and none so fast. We were averaging 9 min/mile and took 20th place. But the elevation is no lower than 6500 ft and peaks at 8400. Lots of monster hills too.

Plus it's expensive. There are vans to rent, food and supplies to procure and travel to and from the race. Counting my flight down and back this one set me back over $650. 

So on a normal day I would tell Clay to stick it in his ass, but I was feeling sooo good and August was sooo far away, so I just said "yeah, ok."

Well, August came. And damn! Logistics! Getting in running shape! Shit!

How'm I Gonna Git There?

I'm in Moscow and it's a 6 hour drive to Boise and another 6 or 7 to Island Park, where we're camping in Degen's cabin which is close to the race start early Friday morning in Ashton ID. 

Or I could motorcycle down through Lolo and Hamilton MT and Salmon in maybe slightly less time, but I would still have to leave Wednesday at noon or shortly after work and get 5 or 6 hours in to make it on time. 

Or I Could Take My New Airplane. 

(See my previous Monocoupe entries on this blog). 

Only four hours of flight time -- three if I fly straight through the wilderness area from Grangeville to Salmon. That sounds a lot better than 13 hours, now doesn't it?

So I pull the usual trip procrastination routine and waited until past the time that I could drive and the only way I could get there on time was by flying -- the day I had to be there. So I'm gonna fly, so I look up where my flight watch buddy, Mike Hamby is. Mike is from Parma and I'll be flying through Boise so he's the first one I'll check with on all aspects of the flights. Turns out Mike is up in McCall for the weekend. He flew up there with his wife because he got a free weekend from the farm -- unusual for this time of year. So we make arrangements to meet there on Thursday morning. 

That morning I start up and head for Lewiston for gas, and I noticed that the plane has been starting more and more sluggishly of late. Well, it barely cranked over, but it did start, and I got to Lewsiton quickly for gas. I gassed up, hopped in, and what do you know -- the battery won't crank the engine over. Well, I was contemplating calling Clay to tell him they'd be down to 9 runners out of 12 (two runners had already cancelled), but instead I borrowed a battery charger from Stout Flying Service and worked my way down to the battery in a box behind the passenger seat. I got it charging at a measely 2 amps, but 45 minutes of that was enough. The plane started right up and then I remembered the previous owner telling my a story about a switch on the right side of the dash that turned the alternator field on and off. Now, why you would ever want to turn of the alternator field, I have no idea, but somehow that switch got turned off and I'd been starting without charging since May (it was now August). That's actually a pretty tough battery. Once I got it started, I played with that alternator field switch a bit and also discovered a charge indicator on the dash that I'd never looked at before. With the switch on it was charging at 50 amps. Off, 0 amps. On 50 amps, off 0 amps. 50, 0. 50, 0. Ok, let's leave that thing on and head to McCall. 

Out of Lewiston I climbed to 8500 ft in anticipation of flying through the Salmon River valley over Riggins to New Meadows. The highest pass in the valley is 5000 feet at the south end, but it's 50 miles between landing sites through there and the plane glides at a rate of 14 to 1, or 1 mile per thousand feet of elevation, so 8500 feet will get me 3 1/2 miles of glide. Not enough to make it the whole way through, but better than nothing. But I haven't even gotten to Grangeville and I see the picture above: so much smoke that it's practically lFR (instrument flight rules). Honestly, I'm watching the artificial horizon to make sure the wings are level and I'm not diving, and I'm looking straight down every now and again to make sure I can still see the ground. I couldn't even see the Seven Devils. 

I squeak through there, listening to 122.9 (the back country frequency) to make sure the three charter flights that followed me out of Lewiston are not about to run me over in the smoke. No problem, they're going down the Snake River valley. 

Well, I get to McCall about an hour late due to the battery problem and Mike and his wife Shelley are there waiting at the airport. When they fly to McCall they don't even get a car, but walk the mile to their waterfront condo. They escorted me to a great breakfast restaurant and we had such a nice chat that I wished I was staying there instead of going off to a run in the Tetons.

I had hoped to arrive in Idaho Falls by noon to avoid the bumpy heat across the lava fields of the great Idaho desert but the battery fiasco and the leisurely breakfast in McCall set me back to about a 3pm landing. The worst time of day to be flying there. 100+ degrees and lots of bumps. I was ready for a shower when I got in. 

Luckily, I chose Avmark from the four FBOs on field to gas up and park my plane. It turns out that they had recently completed an awesome new jet port. 

The cool thing about jet ports is they really roll out the red carpet for those high-rolling biz jets that suck fuel at the rate of hundreds of pounds per hour. In order to lure in the Jets and sell oodles of fuel, the set up posh passenger and pilot lounges. But they don't differentiate jets from props. I might buy $60 in gas but they still treat me like I bought thousands. 

They park me in their cavernous, spotless hangar. 

With jets and classic aircraft. 

Awesome pilot lounge (and shower) separate from the wall-to-wall glass passenger lounge. 

So I spent a couple hours here waiting for the crew to drive in from Boise in the rented vans. I could have flown to Boise and ridden over in the van, but that would be another 12 hours in the van that I will be stuck in for the next two days anyway, so I opted to fly as far toward the start as I could. 

Here's the view from the back seat of the van. It's the same view I will have for the next two days with an ever increasing smell quotient. 

Ok, there are some redeeming features to a relay. This relay happens to have some spectacular scenery. Those are the Grand Tetons, on the border of Idaho and Wyoming. The course would take us right up under those on the far side near Jackson eventually. 

The first morning and afternoon is very nice. Lots of teams close together. Lots of fresh, happy people ready to run. Beautiful scenery in the daylight hours. Here is Mesa Falls on the Fall River. 

And the weather was fantastic. Gorgeous sunset. Funny. What I don't have here is pictures of any actual runners. I guess I saw so much of it that I didn't even think to take any pictures of that. 

We ran up and down the road to farther ski resort all in the darkness of night, so there were no views. 

Maybe I should explain the two team vans. Each team has (supposedly) 12 runners -- 6 in each of two vans. There are 36 total legs to run so Van #1 takes the first six legs while van #2 does whatever it wants. Mostly cheering support the first day. Then van #2 takes over on legs 7 thru 12, and so on. Each van is on duty for as much as 6 hours straight. By the end of the first day; the off van is just looking for a place to get some sleep. I was in van #2 at the end of leg 24 at the top of Targhee drive and everyone in the van was dropping like flies. I found myself driving and navigating amongst a bunch of snoring monsters. So I pulled up the web site on the phone,  found that our next leg (31) started at Victor, ID, then pulled up a map on the phone and made a bee-line for Victor. We arrived there at 2am at the city park, where I found a patch of grass to sleep on. When I shut down the van, Clay woke up and said "Where are we."  I said "We're at Victor. Our next leg starts 100 yards over there at the exchange point, in about four hours, and we can sleep on the grass right here in front of the van."

Seriously. I think everybody hopped out in their sacks and collapsed into a deep sleep within seconds of hitting the ground barely 3 feet from the van. We only got two hours sleep before the sun came up, but it was an extremely refreshing 2 hours. 

Here's the view to the east from the top and of the pass between Idaho and Jackson. Tight little road with small shoulders and tons of traffic. Great views but let's do a different relay next year. 

Obligatory Dane towel picture. Clay is grilling Robbie so hard he's clutching a teddy bear. 

Robbie blistered his foot a week before the race and was limping mightily at the end of his first leg. He performed major surgery prio to his second leg and I think he even picked up an extra leg due to our being short two runners. 

Big dinner as a reward for taking 25th overall out of 129 teams. Ok, this was a pretty cool moment that could have been better only if someone would have produced a dozen cigars and the group had broken into a spontaneous, low version of "Pass the Loving Cup Around."

Everybody in one van for dinner. Not enough seats in there so we're all on the cooler and floors. 

Plus everybody is clean for the first time in two days, so we're fed and happy. 

Next we went to the bars, but 50-year-olds don't last long under these conditions. 

The following morning after a good night's sleep we headed back home. On the way to Boise, van #1 dropped me off at the IF airport, which had so much smoke from the central Idaho fires that is showed up as rain on the radar. Smoke across the Snake River Valley was so thick that I could barely see 6 miles ahead. After a quick lunch stop at Nampa I charted a zigzag path home to avoid temporary flight restriction areas near Riggins. I went straight north to Council and then left across Hell's Canyon to Joseph, OR. 

Every one of those red outlines on the map is where only fire fighting aircraft can fly. Not to mention that some of them are producing tons of smoke. 

There is some I nteresting and frightful terrain just on the Oregon side of Hell's Canyon. For one thing Hell's Canyon is VERY deep. But the terrain on the other side is horizontally layered lava flows with orange-ish dirt layers between. The trees won't grow in the basalt layers, and all of the land is deeply vertically eroded, leaving dark green trees alternating with orange dirt that seems to form contour lines as if on a map. But this map looked a little like "Where's Waldo". It was strange, and a bit nerve racking because there was nowhere to land in there for about 45 minutes. 

Eventually the air cleared a bit in that direction and I got these pictures at the airport there. 

Little did James Hiltoy know when he was buried here in 1903 that I would tie down my Monocoupe within 3 ft of his head. I hope to be thus buried. 

The 'Coupe at Joseph. After this there was only the uneventful flight home across the great chasm that is the Grand Rhonde River. Only an hour home from Joseph. 

Monocoupe Entry 9

Just when I thought this whole trip could not get any better -- just when I thought it was over, I had the best day ever. 

It started off gently. In our last episode, remember, I had just dropped of my dad at his home and today I had only 250 miles to fly home myself, a measly 2 hours and 20 minutes in this plane if I chose the most straight line. That would be back through White Pass, which we traversed yesterday at 10am, 7500ft and 32 degrees F. Today it would be at about 7am and screw that. I opted for the Gorge, which can be done at 4500 ft. I started with a half tank of gas, so I would have to stop at either Hood River or The Dalles. It was a gorgeous, glass-smooth morning, the sun not yet having enough time to work thermal burbles into the air, and as usual, we started off our cruise by climbing to 200 ft above cruising altitude, reducing throttle, and letting her settle nose-down on the step for 5 kts extra speed. Then we just puttered around the corner from the I-5 corridor, north of Portland International's airspace, and into the Gorge. 

Here is the Columbia just upriver from Kelso. 

Mt Adams and misty foothills from near the Bonneville Dam. 

Here's a vid of passing a high promontory on the north side of the river (WARNING: turn you volume down first):

http://youtu.be/ARBtqXUpWpQ

I'd never landed at Hood River before, but have wanted to since I learned about the relatively new aviation museum there: the Western Antique Airplane and Automobile Museum, also known as WAAAM: http://www.waaamuseum.org/  Here I am gassing up the plane in one of the most impressive venues I've ever seen. I knew that Hood River lay in the folds of Mt Hood, but I did not know that it had such an impressive view of Mt Adams. Wow. 

Then this stop really got great. While I was parking the plane in the tie down area before heading over for a look at the museum, the museum founder and its head pilot rolled over in an electric golf cart and asked if I would park my plane over by the museum. At the moment I had no idea of the honor that was being offered. 

It turns out that after a week of starts and stops, fighting weather flying coast to coast, I had somehow luckily blundered into the WAAAM's "Second Saturday" party. I didn't even know it was Saturday. 

They parked me in a row next to all of the day's flying exhibits, including a Stnson Gull Wing, three WWII era Grasshoppers, and a Huey helicopter. Then Scott Gifford, the museum's chief pilot proceeded to give me a personal guided tour of the exhibits and restoration area. Later we took a short flight in the 'coupe because he'd never flown one. He was a master. I merely gave a brief description of the takeoff and landing procedure for this craft (due to its age and provenance it has unique characteristics, even among taildraggers) and he instantly mastered the plane better than I had in a week of coast to coast flying. 

The description went something like this:

"On takeoff you let the stick float in neutral which keeps the tail wheel on the ground as long as possible. When she's ready to fly, the tail will rise. Pull back gently and lift off at 60 mph. Climb out at 80."

And:

"She likes 80 mph in the pattern. Final at 70. Round out at 65. Flair at 60. Slip nose-high or the airspeed will rise. Make sure the tail wheel touches first and you will have no problems."

Lovely. 

Here are some pictures of the museum's grounds and exhibits. I strongly urge you to visit. 

Grasshoppers on the left, and my 'Coupe. 

The Stinson Gullwing and the 'Coupe surrounded by onlookers. 

This is the sole remaining Boeing model 40. It is here on loan from the collection of Addison Pemberton of Spokane -- he who hosts the Felts Field Biplane Fly In yearly in July. The story of the finding and re-creation of this machine is incredible. It would take at least 5 paragraphs, so I may come back and attempt it later, but probably not. 

The Boeing model 40. 

A Ryan PT-22, almost exactly like the one Harrison Ford recently crash landed on a golf course in Santa Monica. 

The museum doesn't only have airplanes. It also has a fine collection of vintage automobiles. Here is a fine example of a Studebaker Golden Hawk. My fathers favorite. 

A Curtis Junior, sometimes used as a platform for hunting coyotes for bounty in the 1930's. 

And Aeronca C-3, otherwise known as "the flying bathtub". This one is on floats. I can't imagine how it could lift them. 

And Aeronca LC. I'd never seen one before. 

A Buhl Pup. 

One of the most impressive planes of the collection: a Taperwing WACO., beautifully preserved. 

Rows of WACO and other makes of biplanes. 

And more rows. 

WACO. 

WACO. 

Gorgeous special order WACO. 

A Stinson Detroiter. Eddie Stinson is one of my favorite designers, and the story of his death is somehow fascinating among some pretty spectacular aviation deaths. 

A Fairchild 22. 

A monster Stearman Mail plane. 

And I was shocked to find at this museum a Velie Monocoupe. This is the earliest version of the plane I purchased just 6 days ago and flew across the country. Only about a decade separate the two craft, yet mine is simply an evolution of this one. 

A Rearwin Speedster -- so narrow and fishlike that the passenger's foot pedals are beneath the seat of the pilot in front of him. 

The Stinson Gullwing. 

I spent a lovely morning strolling through the grounds and exhibits (I had to call Nancy and tell her that I would be delayed a couple hours in my homecoming), but I finally had to leave. 

Here is a view out the back of the plane as I left Hood River. What an awesome day it had been. 

Nancy has a video of my arrival at Palouse and a triumphant picture of me with my intact Monocoupe. But I will have to post it later, as she has trotted off to a party of some sort. 

Thus comes an end to an adventure greater than I could have imagined when I half-heartedly boarded a commercial flight to Richmond just a week ago. I strongly urge you to try some adventure similarly near to your heart. You and everyone you meet will be the better for it. 

Blue Skies,

BZ