For me, our most moving flight to date that has caused me to question; Perhaps Socrates Was Wrong

As an engineer, by schooling, by trade and by personality and as a collector of quotes, one of my very favorite for many, many years has been “The unexamined (un-analyzed) life is not worth living.” – Socrates.  As we know, Socrates spent his life questioning, examining and analyzing EVERYTHING, taking nothing at face value.   It was this very sentiment that caused me to be an engineer; why do things work the way they do.

Everyone knows Mount Rushmore.  We’ve flown there a few times (it’s one of our go to places, when people come to visit us) and, no question, it is impressive.  This week, Jolene suggested we fly back to South Dakota area and visit the Crazy Horse Memorial that is still under construction.  I went along (which is what (smart) married guys do) but I expected it to be a cheesy copy of Rushmore. 

Flash back to 1937, the construction of Mount Rushmore, subsidized by the US government, is nearing completion.  A Native American chief, Henry Standing Bear, wrote a letter to Korczak Ziolkowski, a sculptor who had just won an award for one of his sculptures displayed at the 1939 New York World’s Fair.  Very simply, the letter said, “My fellow chiefs and I would like the white man to know that the red man has great heroes also.”  In the letter, he entreated Ziolkowski to design and build a monument to a great Native American chief in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  Henry Standing Bear’s request had to wait.  War intervened.  Ziolkowski’s military career took him to the landing at Normandy.  Upon his return in 1948, Ziolkowski began work on the sculpture.  When he started, he had $174 in his pocket and an OLD second hand air compressor that frequently failed.  As a result of his work, he sustained broken bones, back injuries, four spinal operations, contracted diabetes, became arthritic and suffered a heart attack necessitating quadruple bypass surgery. At age 74, a final heart attack claimed his life.

Certainly, the rational being, the engineer or even Socrates himself would have looked at this undertaking and its chance for success and would have declined and moved on to something more certain of realization.  Ziolkowski and Ziolkowski’s family have worked on this monument to the red man for the past 67 years and, though the monument is breathtaking, the end is nowhere in sight.  This man dedicated his entire life, as have his wife and children to this undertaking, knowing full well that he would never see it completed.  This is not unlike the stone carvers of the great cathedrals of Europe who toiled on these monuments that took 3 or 4 generations of stone carvers to complete.  What drives such people?  In Ziolkowski’s words, “When the legends die, the dreams end; when the dreams end, there is no more greatness. Don't forget your dreams.”  “By carving Crazy Horse, if I can give back to the Indian some of his pride and create a means to keep alive his culture and heritage, my life will have been worthwhile.”

Here, in this picture, you can see the plaster model and, in the background, the mountain carving.

So, how does this compare to Mount Rushmore:

Crazy Horse Memorial when completed – 563 feet high by 641 feet long

Mount Rushmore – 60 feet high

Sphinx – 70 feet high

The pyramid at Giza – 481 feet high

The Washington Monument – 555 feet high

When it is completed, the Crazy Horse Memorial will be the largest sculpture on earth.

So how was Crazy Horse selected as a subject:

During his life he was a great leader to his people. He did not have an equal as a warrior or chief.  He gave submissive allegiance to no man, White or Red, and claimed his inalienable rights as an Indian to wonder at will over the hunting grounds of his people. He wanted only peace and a way of living for his people without having to live in the Whiteman’s reservations.

Crazy Horse defended his people and their way of life in the only manner he knew, but only after he saw the treaty of 1868 broken.  This treaty, signed by the President of the United States said “As long as the rivers run and the grasses grow and trees bear leaves, Paha Sapa, the Black Hills, will forever and ever be the sacred land of the Indians.” He took to the warpath only after he saw his friend Conquering Bear killed; only after he saw the failure of the government agents to bring required treaty guarantees such as meat, clothing, tents and necessities for existence. He was killed when he was only 34 years of age, around midnight the morning of September 6, 1877.  He was stabbed in the back by an American Indian soldier at Fort Robinson, Nebraska, while he was under a flag of truce. 

The inspiration for the sculpture came from the words of Crazy Horse, himself.  After his capture, he was derisively asked by a cavalry soldier, “So where are your lands now?”

Crazy Horse responded by pointing out over the Black Hills and said:

“My lands are where my dead lie buried.”  “One day I will be a part of this rock.”

Ziolkowski and his family have never accepted government money for their work.  The memorial is entirely financed by private donations and revenue from the museum and gift shop. 

God bless Korczak Ziolkowski and others like him.  

Socrates was wrong.

How to Have a Fabulous Fall Day

First, send your wife to New York for the weekend.  Ooops, okay I didn’t really mean that first part.  I might have thought it and then, you know, it appeared on the paper.  (That ever happen to you?)

Buuut, if she does want to visit friends or family on the weekend, don’t be begging her not to.  ;)

Second, load your bicycle into your airplane and take off, headed for Ephraim, Wisconsin just about as the sun’s coming up over Lake Michigan.  Fly along the lakeshore taking in the fall colors and the solitude (see Step 1).

Head for Ephraim which has a great little airport just East of Fish Creek on the Northern tip of Door County peninsula.

Here’s a zoomed in view.

Land at Ephraim and take the bike out. 

From here it’s a 3 mile ride to Peninsula State Park.  When you get there, take the Sunset trail.  It’s a 10 mile loop along the lakeshore and through the woods resplendent in fall colors.

After the bike ride, head over to Wild Tomato.  (I’ve thoughtfully labelled it on the map for you.)  It’s right across the street from the entrance to Peninsula State Park.  Here, you order yourself a Cowboy Burger (big burger, cheddar cheese, onion straws, bacon and BBQ sauce) with a side of baked macaroni.  Now, it’s VERY important that you do this.  The idea is that you want to keep your ying and yang in balance and given the 13 miles of bike riding exercise you just inadvertently got oohing and ahhing over fall colors, this puppy is JUST the ticket.  Having polished off your cowboy burger, hop back on the bike and pedal your somewhat fatter ass back to the airport.  Put the bike back in the plane (you know it came out so chances are it’ll fit back in – trust me on this – I’m an engineer). 

Now what you wanna do (provided the weather is CAVU (ceiling and visibility unlimited) like it was last Saturday, is file a VFR flight plan on the way back.  This way it’s just you and the scenery and the music.  No annoying ATC guy to kill the mood.  Fly low along the lake and take it all in, while singing along to Beatles songs in your headset (I just got over a cold so singing along to Leslie Gore wasn’t working for me).

Before you know it, home sweet home.

 So, there you go.  Recipe for a perfect fall day.

There’s a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow…

A little backstory.  For those of you old enough to remember the 1964 World’s Fair or those who have wandered into the Carousel of Progress in Disney World will remember this fragment from the ear worm song of the same name.  The Carousel of Progress was one of four pavilions in the aforementioned World’s Fair that were designed by Walt Disney.  For those too young or deprived to either remember the ’64 World’s Fair or those who have never stumbled onto the Carousel of Progress at Disney World but have yet somehow discovered this blog, the premise was following a typical US family from the 1920’s, the 1930’s, the 1940’s, the 1950’s and “the future” (which in 1964 was anything past 1970 or so).  Two of the innovations of the exhibit were the first use of audio animatronics figures AND the stages or vignettes were situated on a fixed circular stage while the outer donut (containing the audience seating) rotated around revealing one stage after another.  To this day, whenever we visit Disney World, I insist (with what little authority I have in my family) on visiting the Carousel of Progress and I sing the theme (see title) along with the “cast” each time the audience rotates into a new position.  I, once again, am transported back to 1964 (and my daughter, who has accompanied me, once again is MORTIFIED).

ANYWAY, what’s this got to do with a blog ostensibly about flying?  Well, glad you asked; bear with me.  About 8 or so years ago, an acquaintance (older than me) suggested beginning the process to agree on a retirement location NOW.  He said, “The first 40 or so states are pretty easy to cross off.  After that, it gets harder.”  Now, anyone who’s wondering, “Well, why not just stay put and retire in the Chicago area.” has OBVIOUSLY never watched the news, or the weather.  Let me help.  Chicago is the LAST place you’d want to retire to unless you just love miserable weather and donating your entire life savings to paying absurd taxes designed to keep the world’s epicenter of corrupt politicians (and their families…and their friends) living in the style to which, your earnings have made them accustomed.  So, we did a few years of extensive due diligence and decided on Fort Collins, Colorado.  For those of you reading this with an abstract mindset, Fort Collins is FABULOUS!  Great weather (300 days of sunshine a year), Taxes about one tenth that of Chicago, endless outdoor activities and great restaurants and downtown.  For those of you who plan to retire in a few years, it’s terrible, you’d hate it.  (No sense jacking up the cost of living and crapping up Colorado with a horde of Chicagoans.)

After 37 years working as an engineer at UL, life tends to blur into the same “go-to loop”; wake up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, watch a little TV, read a book, repeat…for 37 years.  Now, we’re looking forward to retirement with no small degree of trepidation since it will be very different from the “go-to loop” that we are used to.  Like Socrates allegory of the person emerging from the cave, it’s a little scary.  A few weeks ago, we flew, once again, to Fort Collins, Colorado and came back firmly believing that, “There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow…” waiting for us there.

We lifted off from Waukegan airport at 4:00 in the morning into a dark gray, low overcast.  After climbing through about 5,000 feet of clouds, we emerged into crystal clear skies on top with the orange glow of the sunrise behind us.  Three hours later, we landed at Omaha, Nebraska, our half way point.  After gassing up, “freshening up” (a euphemism for peeing) getting a weather brief and filing our flight plan, we were off again.  Again, we climbed on top of now broken clouds and three hours later saw the Rocky Mountains in our windscreen.  We landed at Fort Collins and while one lineman guided us into our tie down spot, another pulled our rental car up to meet us and insisted on unloading our luggage.  We immediately went into town and made a beeline for Coopersmiths for a: 

Devils Backbone Buffalo Burger

One-third pound, ranch-raised buffalo burger charbroiled and then topped with a garlic portabella mushroom sauce and mozzarella cheese served with pub chips.

AND a big, might I say, well deserved, mug of Horsetooth Stout. 

Now, a little backstory:  Colorado in general and Fort Collins in particular has a beer problem.  There are 161 breweries in Colorado and 17 in Fort Collins.  Obviously then, there is a glut, a veritable overabundance of beer in Fort Collins and I feel, as a future resident, I OWE it to them to try to help them out of this predicament.  Besides, the FAA “8 hour bottle to throttle” requirement is completely silent on the “throttle to bottle” side of the equation.

That afternoon, we reacquainted ourselves on what caused us to fall in love with Fort Collins originally; strolling the town and the shops, luxuriating in the crystal clear skies and bright sunshine. 

The next morning, we returned to the airport and launched for Rapid City, South Dakota intent on seeing Mount Rushmore.  My initial thoughts were that we would fly past Mount Rushmore itself before landing but, a re-read of the FAA (inveterate party poopers) regulations and facts about Mount Rushmore itself, quashed those thoughts. 

The FAA:

b. Pilots are requested to maintain a minimum altitude of 2,000 feet above the surface of the following: National Parks, Monuments, Seashores, Lakeshores, Recreation Areas and Scenic Riverways administered by the National Park Service, National Wildlife Refuges, Big Game Refuges, Game Ranges and Wildlife Ranges administered by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and Wilderness and Primitive areas administered by the U.S. Forest Service.

(In FAA parlance, the term “requested” means, “…or we’ll take away your pilot’s license and the only time you’ll ever fly again is if an errant eagle grabs you by the ass”.  In fact, if you read the entire (3 inch thick) Federal Aviation Regulations and Airman Information Manual (FAR AIM), you’ll find the only place you’re actually allowed to fly is over your own house... once).

Additionally, “North by Northwest” aside, the faces of Mount Rushmore are only 60 feet high.  From 2,000 feet, you’d be lucky to even find them.

So, we flew from Fort Collins, to Rapid City.  People that haven’t travelled outside of Chicago would be shocked to discover how much of the US is completely devoid of any signs that humans had ever set foot.  Once we passed Cheyenne, Wyoming, we flew over endless miles and miles of nothing but rock outcropping and high plains.  Suddenly, we reached Rapid City, landed and drove into Keystone, South Dakota.  Keystone itself is a caricature of an old west town.  We had a great lunch at Ruby’s, authentically patterned after an old west saloon (though Ruby’s itself, was built in 2004).

Reinforced with lunch, it was on to the main attraction:

Even though only 60 feet high, being here, at this place, an image that we’ve grown up seeing in pictures and books was an indescribable experience; breathtaking.  This is a wonderful National Park and between the hiking trails, the museum, the sculptor’s studio and the visitor’s center, you can easily spend several hours, and we did.  Then, back to Keystone to buy the requisite tee shirts and made in China tourist crap.  Back to the airport; off the ground and two hours later, back in Fort Collins.

A WONDERFUL dinner at one of the many fine dining establishments in Old Town; again, throttle to bottle – undefined.

The next morning we had lunch with our great friends John and Stella who epitomize the veracity that there is life after retirement. Next time we see you, we’ll be similarly footloose and fancy free.  Later that afternoon, we drove up to Cheyenne for Frontier Days, the largest rodeo in the US.  We strolled the endless shops and booths and perused the make believe cowboys and their companions in Daisy Duke shorts and push up bras.  That night, we enjoyed a John Mellencamp concert and drove home.  (For the record, we did consider avoiding the traffic by flying to the Cheyenne airport, which is a short walk from the rodeo grounds but the airport closes before the concert was due to end and they would have charged a $50 call out fee as ransom to get our plane back.)

Sunday morning, 4 AM we were in the air this time flying into the sunrise.

A WONDERFUL trip.  The next time we see Fort Collins, it’ll be with a whole different mindset.  And we’ll see you soon!

1,713 nautical miles, 15 flying hours, 5 destinations in 7 days!

Well, this will likely be our last opportunity to see the some of the high points of sightseeing that are a convenient flying distance from Chicago.  So, we each made our list of “must sees” and what emerged was this eclectic list:

• The Jack Daniel’s Distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee

• Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee

• Biltmore Mansion in Asheville, North Carolina

• The Naval Air Museum in Pensacola, Florida and

• The Space Center in Huntsville Alabama

Okay, I hear the laughing.  If you don’t like our list, go buy a plane and make your own damn list!

For those who are still with us, Saturday morning at 5:00 AM, we launched from Waukegan, Illinois and flew South past the Chicago skyline just as the sun was rising in the East.  Here’s what we saw:

And here’s the view from inside:

This was an even more remarkable and rare sight than the glorious sunrise over Chicago; Jolene smiling at 5:00 in the morning!

By 9:30, we were on the ground at Tullahoma airport, being marshalled into our parking spot on the ramp and our rental car was driving up to meet us.  By 10:00 we were driving to Lynchburg, home of Jack Daniels.  For those of you who know me well, you’ll of course know that I’ve been doing my best to support the residents of Lynchburg for the past 35 years through the purchase of their product.  (It’s just not in my heart to see poor Tennesseans starve).   

So, we drove from Tullahoma to Lynchburg to see where this elixir is produced.  Jack Daniels started his distillery in 1875 at the age of 25 years old.  His product was, and continues to be very popular and, in 2013, they shipped over 11 million cases (apparently there are other good hearted folks who can't bear to see Tennesseans starve.)

Jack Daniels himself died at the age of 61.  His demise started about 5 years before.  He came to work one morning and tried to open the safe in his office (he had trouble remembering the combination).  After several tries, in frustration, he kicked the safe.  This resulted in a badly bruised toe which, in turn led to an infection.  Over the next several years, the infection spread leading to the loss of the toe, the shin, the leg and eventually his death in 1911.  Here’s our tour guide, (a bit too cheerfully) showing the safe:

Lynchburg itself, is somewhat underwhelming.  It consists of a very nice town square formed of buildings selling virtually anything you might care to imagine emblazoned with the Jack Daniel’s logo.  (We took home our fair share (remember, if not for us and our boundless charity, those poor starving Tennesseans.)

The next morning, we returned to the airport and flew to Knoxville where again we were marshalled into our spot and our rental car drove up to meet us.  After a brief respite (I’ve been all the way to the back of our plane and have yet to find the rest room), we drove to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, home of Dollywood, Tennessee’s answer to Disney World. 

Now, before the inevitable snickers start, let me just say, I admire Dolly Parton (and no, not for why you think)!  I have found that for any of us who live long enough, a legend begins to develop about us.  Like all legends, it is always based in some truth.  Like most legends, generally the legend takes on a life of its own and is much grander and much more interesting than the truth.  Many of us begin to embrace or just tolerate the legend without bothering to correct because, as Theodore Geisel once so eloquently put it, “Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”  To paraphrase, those who believe the legend don’t matter and those who know the truth don’t pay any mind to the legend. 

So it is with Dolly.  She has embraced the legend that has surrounded her, having once famously proclaimed, “It takes a lot of money to look this cheap.”  The truth, while not as grand or interesting is that she is a wholesome, down to earth person who never ever forgot her roots.  She is a person of character, integrity and morals and this comes through in her museum. 

One of the most touching and defining stories is told in her song “Coat of Many Colors”.  It tells the story of when Dolly was a little girl and getting ready to first go to school.  Her family was so poor that she had no coat to wear.  A friend gave them a pile of cloth scraps that her mother began to sew into a coat.  As she sewed, her mother told Dolly the story of Joseph and his coat of many colors, from the bible.  Dolly wore that coat to her first day of school and all of the other children began to laugh and make fun of her.  As she tells it:

And oh I couldn't understand it, for I felt I was rich

And I told them of the love my momma sewed in every stitch

And I told 'em all the story momma told me while she sewed

And how my coat of many colors was worth more than all their clothes

One is only poor, only if they choose to be

Now I know we had no money, but I was rich as I could be

In my coat of many colors my momma made for me

And THAT’S who Dolly Parton really is.  And here’s the coat:

Dollywood is a wonderful place.  Go, if you get the chance.

The next morning we drove to Asheville, North Carolina (wasn’t far enough to make sense flying).  Asheville is known for Biltmore mansion and gardens.  Biltmore was built by George Vanderbilt, grandson of Cornelius Vanderbilt.  Now being from the East Coast, we have toured many Vanderbilt estates; Newport, Rhode Island, Hyde Park New York, Centerport, New York.  The house in Asheville is the largest and grandest of them all.  Built between 1889 and 1895 it is the largest privately owned house in the United States, at 178,926 square feet of floor space and featuring 250 rooms.  It took us virtually the entire day to tour the house and gardens.  Here is the house:

The next morning we drove back to the airport and flew to Pensacola, Florida, home of the Blue Angels and the National Museum of Naval Aviation. 

Now, if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have noted that each place where we land, we are met by a line person holding two orange batons and guiding us into a spot to park our plane and then another line person drives our rental car up to the plane so we can unload our luggage. 

Upon landing at Pensacola International, I was pleased (pleased doesn’t begin to do it justice) to see that our “line person” was a perky blond young lady dressed in a pair of “Daisy Dukes” and a snug tee shirt PROUDLY proclaiming her association with Pensacola Aviation.  At the risk of TMI, what was going through my mind were two thoughts:

• Jolene, could you park this plane, this young lady would like me to follow her and

• What more effective way to say, “Welcome to Pensacola, Florida!”

(I’d post a picture of the line person but “my co-pilot” had some issue with taking the picture.)

The museum was amazing.  There is literally every plane the Navy has ever flown, many cockpits to sit in, and many full motion flight simulators (been there, done that, and been sick the rest of the day).  I think if I could afford to buy the fuel, this just might be my next vehicle:

Jolene picked out her own.  Perhaps we could have “his and hers” or would that be TOO decadent?

The next morning, we flew to Huntsville, Alabama.  (I thought of bringing my own line person but, alas, the co-pilot objected.)

As you’re driving from the airport along the expressway wondering where the US Space and Rocket center is, you see this:

To give you an idea of scale:

…Jolene’s about 5’4”.

Again, spent the day touring the museum.  Amazing stuff.  If you’re lucky, while you’re there, you’ll even run into a real live astronaut:

The next morning, as we pulled into the airport parking lot to leave for home, we passed a T38 on the ramp. 

I happened to run into the pilot in the men’s room and I commented, “Pretty cool plane you have”.  His response was priceless, “Actually, it’s not my plane but I sure do appreciate your paying your taxes and letting me fly it.”

We launched back for Chicago and ran into the first clouds we saw all week long.  Coming up from mid-Indiana on, we were in and out of some tall cumulus clouds.  Not a bad ride and very impressive views.

Just a fabulous vacation.  Again:

1,713 nautical miles, 15 flying hours, 5 destinations in 7 days!

A few more weeks and we’re off to Colorado, Cheyenne, Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse.  Stay tuned!

Sturgeon Bay – Door County – 2013

Well, it’s been awhile since the last blog.  It’s not that we stopped flying; far from it.  Every other week we fly somewhere.   

As of right now, as a pilot, I have just shy of 1,000 hours in the air.  That equates to about 132,000 miles.  Jolene and I have visited 124 different airports.  These range from many large international airports to REALLY little grass strips, one located on an island where we took our bikes.   

Perhaps it’s that we have more fun flying than writing.

We’re learning a lot.  We’ve visited MANY museums and communities.  Most of all, we’re having a great time.  Though we fly every 2 weeks, our “refrigerator list” isn’t shrinking; it’s growing.  It’s now 5 typewritten pages of places we want to visit and 4 typewritten pages of places we’ve been.

The trip we took this weekend wasn’t terribly far but it was fun and kinda typical.

First some geography and background.

We know (don’t we) that Illinois and Wisconsin form the Western border of Lake Michigan.   

When we first moved to Illinois, various people would entreat us with, “Oh, you have to visit Door County.”  The words they used over and again were, “It’s the New England of the Midwest”.  At the time, I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but I was intrigued.  Looking at the map above, Door County is the peninsula of land that you see just North and East of Green Bay, Wisconsin.  The peninsula separates Green Bay (the bay) from Lake Michigan. 

My first impression upon visiting Door County was that indeed, it’s JUST like New England provided that:

  

     A.  You’re from the Midwest and

     B.  You’ve never actually been to New England.

Which is to say, it’s nothing at all like New England.  What it is is a peninsula of endless shops and restaurants.  Being a peninsula, it is also often characterized by bumper to bumper traffic.  So, why go here and more to the point, why go here more than once?  Well, Door County does have its own charm and it’s a great place to just poke around, stopping in shops, visiting state parks, hiking trails, lighthouses and stocking up on Wisconsin food.

Hmm, so what’s Wisconsin food?

Well, for Wisconsonites, there are only three foods on the pyramid:

     A.  Bratwurst (of all flavors)

     B.  Cheese and

     C.  Beer

So, when Jolene mentioned that this was the Door County Cherry Festival, who could resist?  

So, Saturday morning at 7 AM we lifted off and flew into beautiful, cloudless, sunny skies and wended our way North along the shores of Lake Michigan.  I’m tellin’ ya; it was gorgeous!  As we flew over Milwaukee and watched commercial jets taking off below us the air was so clear we could see completely across Lake Michigan 85 or so miles to the other side.  We saw the sun shining bright on the lake and the occasional fishing boats.  It was beautiful.  You would swear you were flying along the Caribbean; provided of course that:

     A.  You’re from the Midwest and

     B.  You’ve never actually been to the Caribbean.

It took about an hour and we landed at Sturgeon Bay’s “Cherryland Airport”.

  

Not much else to report on this trip.  We spent the day walking around, visiting NUMEROUS shops, a lighthouse, the cherry festival, replete with home crafts and a folk singer and yes, we returned with all manner of Wisconsin staples in our cooler:

     Cheeses

     Fresh cherries

     Wisconsin Beer

     Several flavors of bratwurst including (how could you pass it up) 
     Cherry Bratwurst!

Even visiting every single shop in Door County as Jolene wanted to do was fun… provided that:

     A.  You’re from the Midwest and

     B.  You’ve never actually had fun.

Just kidding, Jolene