I’ve been away from the House of Rapp for a while. Probably you have too. Life has a funny way of and overtaking you like you’re an old lady leisurely cruising on Interstate 5 at midnight. If you can’t relate to what I’m talking about, then you should consider yourself lucky to have internet access in that hermetically sealed bubble.
One of the things I did do recently was an Illumine collaborative project entitled Postcards from the Edge. The project involved each Illumine member writing a postcard to himself at some pivotal point in life, some moment when we he was “on the edge”. The moment I chose was my birth. That’s pretty pivotal, though it’s not something I had any control over. What makes this project unique is that we were supposed to create an image for the front of the postcard. You’ll understand better when you see it.
Class
Exiting Interstate-5 and Jeffrey, I came to a stop at the light and my eye caught something large off to the left. It was a car, specifically a late ’60’s Pontiac Elektra. This thing was huge. So huge, in fact, that some serious pretzeling was necessary to get a glimpse of the back end. A rolling work of art and, like the Queen Mary or the occasional DC-3 you’ll see on it’s way to Catalina, a harbinger of days long gone. Decked out in a gleaming silver paint job, the simonized Pontiac was spit polished to a “T” and framed by flawless, twinkling chrome.
Inside, an older couple perched regally on the low-back bench seat. He sported a white button up shirt, tie, and a felt hat tipped just so. She, a light blouse. Windows down, the soft sound of some classic ditty (”real music”, he would have said, “perfect for a Sunday drive”) flowed from what was likely the original AM radio.
Green light, the thirsty big block engine purred, and they motored off into the sunset as the anemic performance of my efficient 95 horsepower Mitsubishi brought me back to 1999.
Easy Street
It was late in the afternoon, and the deli/liquor store was largely deserted. I leaned on one of the many low aisles filled with alcohol, condoms, and other necessities while waiting for my sandwich to be made. Slowly the door creaked open and a small oriental man peered inside. After a moment of examining the place, he came in–and was almost immediately followed by about a dozen other random personages. Among them was a baby boomer clad in a polyester maroon pants suit. She pointed at a handwritten sign taped to the cash register (”The phone line is out”) and demanded, “Does that mean you can’t do any tickets?”
“Yeah, the line has been out since this morning.”
“Well, when will it be up again?”, she scowled.
“I don’t know. Pac Bell is supposed to be coming by to look at it sometime today.”
She paused to consider her options, then turned to a very young boy standing next to her.
“C’mon”, she said in total earnest as she started for the door, “we have to go somewhere else and get a Lotto ticket or mommy won’t be able to pay for your college fund.”
Flyboy
As I slowed the plane and veered left at the end of the runway, the call came: “Decathlon 389, left at Golf, taxi and hold short one-nine left via Charlie and Kilo, this frequency.”
“Left at Golf, one-nine left via Charlie/Kilo, 389″, I replied while allowing the aerobatic taildragger to continue the slow roll toward taxiway Charlie. The crosswinds this day had been very demanding, and it seemed that both plane and controller were conspiring to prevent The Perfect Landing. Why am I doing this to myself, I asked? It’s just not my day.
But as I continued northbound, a tall man came into view just off to the right of the taxiway. I noticed he had something on his shoulders. Eventually it took the form of a small boy. A smiling boy. And he was smiling at me, missing teeth and all. I sat up a little straighter, returned the smile and gave him an impromptu salute which broadened the grin and set the two little hands to clapping in that uncoordinated fashion only young people can accurately muster.
Just then the strangest thing happened–the joy was back, and it turned out to be my day after all.
I’ve learned a lot from flying. And not just about flying, either. Today was one of those didactic experiences, and I think my first aerobatics passenger will also be my last. From now I’m doing a solo show.
My good friend Steve is turning 40, and I offered to take him up to do a bit of aerobatics. I probably don’t have to say another word to let you know where this one is going, right?
After an aileron roll, two loops, and a barrel roll it became clear we should head back. Steve didn’t quite make it. But lots of people get air sick–no big deal. I made sure the plane had an air sick bag in it; unfortunately in preparing for the flight I didn’t count on the fact that the bag would break after it had been used.
Did I mention that Steve had chili for lunch? So I got to clean all that out of the cockpit. Which is fine, it’s like a rite of passage or something. I made my first passenger sick. But that’s not the end of it.
Tailwheel airplanes sometimes develop a shimmy or vibration in the tailwheel. If it’s out of balance or the tire is wearing unevenly, it can start to vibrate at certain speeds–I’ve seen this several times with other tailwheel aircraft. It’s not the best thing that could happen, but neither is it an emergency. It’s just another item requiring maintenance. Today after landing the tail started to vibrate, and I thought that’s what we had. The flight was over, we were going back to the tie down spot anyway, so I just taxied slowly and kept an eye on it.
So we return to Sunrise. By this time the smell is starting to get kind of bad, even with the window open. Then I get out, prepared to deal with the mess in back, and notice that the tailwheel is completely flat. I had no idea! You’d think a flat tire would cause some drag during taxiing, but the Decathlon rolled just as freely as ever.
But still, I look at the positive side: a flat tire could be dangerous, especially in a tailwheel plane, but my landing was on the money, and nobody got hurt.
I spent the next hour and a half running back and forth between the restroom and the plane, cleaning the mess out of the carpet, seat, stick, parachute, and belts. All the while Steve was (I kid you not) laying in the middle of the taxiway, flat on his back. A ground school class let out and the student pilots, coffee in hand, started to gather at a respectful distance as if someone had died.
It took close to two hours after we landed before I could even think of getting poor Steve to the car–he just couldn’t be moved (even as I write this, several hours later, he’s laying face down on the living room floor; I’m going to start calling him “Bernie”). He did, however, have enough of a sense of humor to ask what I thought of his “Kate Moss after a Thanksgiving dinner” impersonation.
What bothered me most today was when I asked the head honcho at Sunrise if there was anything else I should do to ground the plane besides notating the bad wheel in the “squawk sheet” (a book listing any problems with the aircraft). Between making Steve sick and grounding the Decathlon, I felt bad enough. Without going into the details, his tone made the impression on me that I was at fault for the flat tire, or at least for taxiing with it that way.
Perhaps I was. But I’m one of those crazy people who prefers to look at the fact that nobody got hurt (Steve’s pride not included), whereas he saw the flat as yet another maintenance issue that would suck money out of the budget. Half full vs. half empty. I don’t blame him for that. It’s what he’s responsible for, and any aircraft part, no matter how small, is by definition an expensive one. Virtually everything must be FAA approved. A cheap part is usually an illegal one.
And of course the pilots I’ve been flying alongside at Sunrise gave me some shit about the whole thing. I would have been disappointed if they hadn’t.
So what did I learn from today’s experience? Considering the several times people have become air sick in the Cherokee (in unaccelerated, smooth, level flight), I’ve learned that the average person cannot handle flying in a general aviation aircraft. The small cockpit, the noise, the vibration, the sensations. I’m sure a lot of it simply has to do with the fact that a) they’re nervous, and b) flying is not a typical experience for them. Personally, I love it. The lack of traffic, the great views, the high speeds, the skill required, and it’s just plain fun. From the first time I climbed into a cockpit and the wheels left the ground, I knew this was my gig.
You know, when I started flying aerobatics, I had visions of sharing this rail-less roller coaster experience with all my friends. Of dancing around the sky and having such a great time. The truth is, if I’m going to experience that kind of thing, it’s going to have to be with another pilot. The people who really love it and have built up the physical ability necessary to handle it are either pilots or would be pilots if they had the means.
This is not to say today was so bad that I want to stop sharing aviation with others. It wasn’t a bad day at all. Far from it–it was humorous and unique. But in my zeal to share, I think I’ve put the chili-laden reality of your average ground-based human on the back burner. And that’s not doing anybody any good.
P.S.: If you’re reading this, Steve: Wanna go again?!
Just kidding.
I haven’t been at the computer much lately, which has been a relief. I swear, I can practically feel the carpal tunnel syndrome backing away like reprimanded dog. Where I have been a lot is out at the airport, working on the Cherokee.
Are you sick of reading about Ron and his plane yet? What can I say. It’s what I like to do. There are some cool planes out at Corona, ranging from World War I era fighters to experimental homebuilt aircraft made from space-age composite materials.
And just today when I drove in the airport gate, I saw something amazing–a fully restored Ford Tri-Motor, an aircraft which was manufactured in the mid 1920’s by the Ford Motor Company. The Tri-Motor was the first aircraft to have a skin made entirely of metal, and I believe in 1992 there were only 3 or 4 of these left in airworthy condition, perhaps less. It’s even possible that today I stood in front of the last flying Tri-Motor in the world. This beautiful, huge antique was sitting out on the grass looking as if it had just come out the factory doors. Luckily, I had my camera handy and got these photos. The plane’s age is borne out by the radial engines and squarish, box-like airframe. There was not a soul around. Just me, a setting sun, a huge expanse of empty grass, and a bit of history.
Anyway, back to my plane. The Cherokee is currently out of service for it’s annual inspection, and since the FAA allows the owner to do some of the maintenance under the supervision of an A&P (Aircraft & Powerplant mechanic), I’ve been doing the more mundane (but time-consuming) tasks. This baby has come a long way. Last year the annual took four months. A bunch of ADs (Airworthiness Directives) were complied with, and the interior was completely redone. Remember, this aircraft was manufactured in 1963.
We were thinking of repainting her, since the paint is pretty oxidized from exposure to the sun. Until last year, she was tied down outside. But when Martin (one of the other owners) sold his Hatz bi-plane, the Cherokee was moved into this hanger. Rather than spend thousands on repainting the whole plane, we opted to polish up the grey base coat and just repaint the black and red stripes ourselves. That might leave some cash for installing new avionics.
I’m the most gung-ho about the whole thing, so naturally I’ve been doing most of the work. First, the inspection plates, cowling, wheel pants, and tail cone were removed. We found a fuel leak from the left tank and fixed it. Then the oil was drained, and I started cleaning the gunk of the bottom of the fuselage and wings. Then I polished the whole airframe, and started the prep work for painting by taping along the red and black stripes. It doesn’t sound like much, but remember the stripes go underneath the aircraft and around the flaps, ailerons, and so on. The hardest part has been taping around the registration numbers. The tape doesn’t curve, but the numbers do.
So far I’ve spent 25-30 hours on the plane, and it’s nowhere near done. The A&P is supposed to be doing the compression test on Friday. That measures how much each cylinder leaks past the rings and valves. We’re also going to jack the plane up and check the wheel bearings on the landing gear, lubricate and test the control cables, and a bunch of other stuff. I get tired just thinking about it.
This annual is taking so long, I’m starting to get a bit frustrated. I want to fly, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that I won’t fly this plane again at least until I get back from Europe in mid-July. Ah well–I guess the old saying is true: “time to spare, go by air”. 
I’m not a big television watcher. My father wasn’t one of those dads said things like “TV rots your brain!”, but we all know it does. When I do watch television, it’s often CNN, The Discovery Channel, or The History Channel. But there’s something coming up this weekend on TNT that I’m looking forward to. It’s a film called “Pirates of Silicon Valley”, basically the story of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. I’m sure a lot of liberties were taken in creating the film, but the subject matter is of great interest to me. In fact, it seems “Pirates of Silicon Valley” is Pick Up Ax with a different name.
Microsoft stole from Apple. Apple stole from Xerox. Xerox stole from someone too, even if it was only a dead guy named Vannevar Bush. It’s like flying. If you ask an American who performed the first heavier-than-air powered flight, he would say the Wright brothers. If ask a Frenchman in the know, he’d probably say Clément Ader (who was French) flew a steam-powered flying machine called “Eole” on October 9, 1890, more than a decade before the Wright brothers.
It doesn’t matter who was “first”. It matters who did something with it. The guys who do significant things with new inventions are the ones that change the world. For whatever reason, Americans have done more than anyone else to bring new technology into everyday life. Television, radio, film, electricity, automobiles, airplanes, submarines, computers, the microprocessor. The list is endless.
The most fascinating of these inventions, to me, is the personal computer. Xerox could have been the world’s biggest computer powerhouse. Instead, they gave away all their secrets to Steve Jobs in exchange for the right to buy a million dollars worth of Apple stock at $10 a share. They had the future in their hands, but they didn’t do anything with it. Apple did. And so I’m looking forward to seeing this film about the personalities who had the vision to foresee a computer on every desktop.
I enjoy going to the gym, but the crowds really get to me. From about 3:30 to 9:00 p.m., it’s wall-to-wall people. And it seems that the average age of a person there is trending downward. I’ve seen kids as young as eight or nine years old working out. What the hell does an eight year old need to be at the gym for? It’s disturbing.
It’s almost as if you have to pick your life’s path out of the womb and work relentlessly toward it as soon as you’re physically capable of walking if you want to achieve the pinnacle of success. It’s not just ice skaters and gymnasts that start at such an insanely young age.
I’ve always considered myself a well-rounded person able to converse intelligently on a wide variety of topics. Unfortuantely, that sort of thing just isn’t in vogue. The world doesn’t reward you for that. Jack of all trades, master of none, I guess.
It’s T-minus 3 days until departure for Europe, and there’s still a ton of stuff left to do. Some Europe related, and some work related. But it’ll all get done. It always does.
The flight to London is not something I’d normally look forward to because of how long it is and how little leg room you’re given. Commercial air travel can be miserable, can’t it? I mean, it takes a lot to make me unhappy in the air. But! I’m going over on a new Boeing 777, a plane I’ve never been on or even seen up close. I’m hoping I’ll somehow finagle my way into visiting the cockpit. That’s now prohibited on U.S. airlines because of terrorists, but we’re flying British Airways, and on long international flights they’ll sometimes allow it if you’re a pilot. I’m bringing my pilot license to show the flight attendant, hoping she’ll at least be amiable to asking the captain if he’d be let some bozo from economy class up for a visit. I’m banking on the fact that Atlantic crossings are as boring for the flight crew as they are for the passengers.
This isn’t one of those prepackaged guided tour vacations. I’m hoofing across England, France, and Italy with nothing but a backpack and a Eurorail pass. Oh, and I’m taking a hard-bound journal and an Advanced Photo System camera, so there’ll be lots to add to the House of Rapp when I get back.
That TNT flick (”Pirates of Silicon Valley”) was pretty good! Although I wouldn’t have tried so hard to clear my schedule if I had known they were going to re-play it again. Immediately afterward, no less. And again after that. What kind of station plays the exact same movie three times in a row? Not even the premium channels like HBO or Cinemax do that. Or perhaps I’ve just been living in a cave. Like I said yesterday, I don’t watch too much television.
Today was nuts. I kept getting calls from one client after the other wanting something done before I leave for Europe, which means I have all of 24 hours to get it finished. And I still haven’t packed. Just how do you pack for a three week backpacking vacation across Europe anyway? I did manage to get the first reservation made, and the Brit I spoke with put me in such a great mood–so damn cheery! I’m flying into London and then taking the train to Bath for two nights. It’s supposed to be one of the most relaxing places in the U.K.
The itinerary is planned out, yet still flexible enough to alter in midstream if so desired. The only thing that’s not terribly flexible is the date I move from England to France, because the Chunnel tickets had to be purchased in advance. Generally, the plan looks like this:
Jun 23 - Fly out of Los Angeles
Jun 24 - Arrive in England
Jun 25 - Bath
Jun 26 - London
Jun 27 - London
Jun 28 - Cambridge
Jun 29 - Take the Chunnel to Paris, p.m.
Jun 30 - Paris
Jul 01 - Paris
Jul 02 - Versailles, Bayeux
Jul 03 - Normandy
Jul 04 - Open
Jul 05 - Genoa
Jul 06 - Cinque Terra, Vernazza
Jul 07 - Milan
Jul 08 - Venice
Jul 09 - Florence
Jul 10 - Sienna
Jul 11 - Rome
Jul 12 - Rome
Jul 13 - Pompeii, Rome
Jul 14 - Fly home
I’m becoming addicted to the Kodak Photo CD concept. I don’t know why. It’s just a CD with some images on it, right? I just sent a several sets of negatives to a place called Working Knowledge here in Irvine that’ll scan them onto Photo CD. It can be kind of expensive, so I selected FlashPix as the format. FlashPix is great for the web, but not quite as good for printing. The highest quality Pro Photo CD or CMYK scans can cost up to $25 per frame! FlashPix is about $1.00 per frame, and the final product has a variety of image sizes.
I’ve learned a lot about digital imagery from the Kodak site and also from photo.net, which is run by a vaguely unconventional MIT professor. He gave his students back their tuition money, co-authored a book on web publishing with his dog, and lots of other wacky stuff.
In 48 hours I’ll be somewhere over the Atlantic on my way to London. Three weeks without web or e-mail access is going to be strange. I haven’t been without e-mail that long since…. well, since I got my first internet e-mail address in 1989 (ronrapp@f940.n103.z1.fidonet.org). Man, that brings back some memories!
My first online experience was when I started college in ‘89. I had a cheap Intel 8086-based machine made by Tandy (aka Radio Shack). It had a 40 meg hard drive, a 13″ color CGA monitor, ran at 4 MHz, and probably cost about $2,500. And yet it was worlds above my old Apple II. Anyway, one of the first things I did was add a modem to the computer. My roommate Paul has purchased a 1200 baud modem for his Amiga 500, and I really topped him with a 2400 baud screamer.
We both used to dial into BBS’s–independent computer systems. They literally had one line. If you dialed in and someone was already on the board, tough luck. You’d get a busy signal. Anyway, one night Paul and I were on his Amiga, and he dialed into a board called Axios. It turned out to be a board run by a Catholic priest. Just for kicks we posted a screwy message on the system, and all of a sudden the sysop (system operator–the priest) broke in to chat with us. We had no idea he could see what we were doing! We could have just hung up, but for some reason we stayed online for hours with this guy, debating Catholic vs. Protestant theology. We pulled out Bibles, religion books, and all sorts of stuff to quote to him. He was probably doing the same thing on the other end.
Soon after, Paul suggested I start a BBS of my own. He probably didn’t think I’d actually do it. But I did. It was called the Christ College Irvine BBS, and damn if some people on campus didn’t get all bent out of shape because of the name. They thought everyone would think the board was officially sanctioned by the college. I put up a clear disclaimer, but that didn’t satisfy them. I ended up changing the name to “Moving & Shaking BBS” but was pissy for a long time over all the hubbub. I spend my own time and money to put up a board for the college, and the only thing they can do is bitch about what I called it. Whatever the name, they’ll never be able to change the fact that the first electronic communication service offered at that university was founded and run by yours truly. It’s not exactly on par with founding Apple or Microsoft, but it had a bit of excitement to it nonetheless.
I connected the board to FidoNet, a world-wide amateur network of computers founded in 1984. I was assigned node number 1:103/940, and as part of Fido I could make use of a “gateway” between Fidonet and the Internet that allowed users of my board to, in effect, have a free internet email address. At the time, Fidonet actually had more users than the internet. That quickly changed once the World Wide Web was developed. But there it is.
I finished college in 1994, and the board didn’t last much longer. For one, most people were file leeches. They wanted to download all your files, but weren’t interested in contributing to the message bases. And my interests had turned to the Web as well–by this time I already had accounts on Compuserve and Deltanet, and had established my first web site. So “Moving & Shaking” closed down in late ‘94.
Believe it or not, BBS systems are still around. My friends Dave Bogard, Warren Bonner, and Joe Jared who started their boards at the same time I did, are still operating their BBS’s. The user activity is but a shadow of the late 80’s and early 90’s heyday, but it’s still a kick to dial into their systems on occasion and reminisce about the good old days.
I wish I would have saved some screen shots of Moving & Shaking, just for posterity. The screens were made with ANSI graphics–very crude, but extremely compact in terms of file size. Despite the primative graphics and limited capabilities of these BBS systems, I often look back with fondness on those simpler times.
