Flying High, and Low!

So apparently, I'm a natural.

For much of my early life, since around age 10 ish, well into my thirties, I would have a re-curring dream. I'm sure it varied over the years, but there are some consistencies I do remember. The dream always had to do with flying and motorcycling. Sometimes I would be pedalling some type of small aircraft, barely getting above ground level, as I got older, the dream took on different images.

I was on the Western Front, the year was 1914-1915. I'd vounteered, had come over from England, not necessarily to fight the Boche, but because I had a love of engines. The sound, the grime, the intricacy of all early engines. Once in uniform, my skills were put to use in tuning and repairing the ,then new aero engines installed in BE2's, Sopwith Pups, and later Camels, and SE5's etc. I wasn't interested in shooting down the Hun, I was interested in mechanical apparatus plain and simple. In my days on the Western Front of France, I rode around the countryside on a little thumper, a single cylinder motorbike of some sort. I may have known what it was at one time but you see, I stopped having these dreams in my early thirties.

The striking things I remember from them were how I felt free, valuable, and thorough... and I could make engines run that should have been scrapped, a vital requirement in those days. In my spare time, something there was precious little of back then, while grabbing a pint in the nearby village, I fell in love with a English woman whose father was also in the early air corp, and she herself had come over to administer to the wounded as a nurse. I don't remember her name, but she was soft spoken, with inviting, piercingly blue eyes, often with an underlying sadness from the horror of it all, and yet she was solid, reliable and devoted, and very beautiful in a simple fashion. The kind of natural beauty casting agents once looked for at Hollywood and Vine.

Over the years, she would appear in my dreams and I would court her whenever possible. We would ride off into the French countryside on my bike, wine, cheese, bread, whatever we could aquire. We would lay for hours in the sun, talking, sharing everything, from the War, to children, to our overbearing fathers or just laying and looking up, into the blue void.

Eventually over the months, we found ourselves telling all of our guarded secrets, dreams, desires and fears to one another. Yes, we were in love with one another.

And Yes, all this amid the follies of war.

All my life, I have wanted to fly.

Was it because of these dreams, was it something from a past life, or was it just the fantasies of a lonely boy growing up reading about pilots and airplanes and of course, motorcycles? I don't know which, perhaps a combination of many factors.

I have flown occasionally at the controls of Cessna's or other such planes, but what I wanted was to experience the joys and exhilaration of a motorcycle in the sky.

Many years ago, I was looking to purchase an ultralight from a seller in Indus east of Calgary, I remember he had an XS 650 twin that wasn't running so well. That idea got cut short when I'd had my heart attack. But I never give up on these dreams, never.




This week, while it's still winter in Calgary, I am at my second home in Glendale. It's been a cool and rainy visit, I got totally soaked today riding around doing my errands, and loving it! I am still getting out riding my bike and messing around following dreams, it seems.

I met Jim Blumer online searching the net for a school I saw, back a dozen years ago on my first trip thru here. I had the airport wrong but the location right and this past Friday, I had the excitement of speaking with Jim, sitting in the cockpit of a Challenger II and taxing the length of the runway. Once up in the air, 1500' above the desert floor, Jim handed over the controls and I flew the little bird for twenty minutes from as low as 500' up to our cruising altitude of 1500. I didn't get sick and it was a blast I must say. The plane is open, with a bare windshield in front of me, a three axis stick, simple controls and slow as a trail bike.

I loved it!

Would I put the expense into learning to fly and having my own little plane... don't know yet. But it's food for a hungry mind. The plane was built by the pilot in '91-92. It weighs about 450 lbs dry, or about the same as a liter sized sport bike. The engine is decidedly not like any sports bike though, it's an air cooled twin cylinder premixed Rotax 503. The same engine that powers many of Ski-Doos snowmobiles over the years. Nothing fancy, except for dual ignition, more a safety measure than a necessity and of course, no Vickers machine gun up front! The only trenches I saw on this flight, were the ones carrying water into Phoenix proper to water lawns and fill swimming pools.

Honestly, some of my friends do think I am somewhat shy of a buck, but as long as it varies between .97C and 1.06... I'm pretty much happy there.

Flying a Light Sport as they are now called, is really what it must have been like for Simon, my English aero mechanic from my other life/dreams. A simple craft held together by wires, fabric and tubing, with a simple air cooled engine to chug it along at what amounts to, not a whole lot more than the speeds my DR 200 is capable of. It really was/is like riding a bike in 3 dimensions.

Flying such a craft here, above the desert floor away from houses and the urban sprawl with only a stick and a throttle in hand, is akin to riding a bike in Baja. You are on your own, with only your wits, skills, courage (or fear) and your desires to guide you.

Like Jim said... it's still the Wild West even though we are only 60 minutes from D/T Phoenix.

I think, the next time I'm down, I will go up a couple more times before I make the decision to learn. Who knows... a hop once in awhile may be enough to sate my thirst.

Time will tell.

Palm trees, Cacti and sand...

Before I left for Europe last April, I made a flying (and I do mean Flying) detour to Phoenix Arizona, USofA. Since my first Baja Motorcycle adventure in the winter of '98, when then partner and I Deb, had used her Mom's home in Surprise as a jumping off point for our two identical XT 600's, I have been fascinated with the desert, the climate and the rugged wilds of the area.

In the '60's I read articles by one Mr. Frank Conners. Frank rode the paths less travelled and much of the time his choice of mounts were, well let's say, unconventional. From Norton's to Honda Trail 90's, Frank loved the southern deserts. I read about the Superstitions for the first time in his articles. He was a positive influence on a then very young motorcyclist with visions of riding my own bike someday along the Pacific coast or the Florida Keys or the stark yet beautiful southern deserts. Much as I do now, Frank didn't just give directions, nope... he told a story, not just about the road but the people he came across, the heat of the wind, or the icey numbing cold, the pain in the ass as the seat rails dug in, the throttle twisted. To say I wasn't influenced greatly would be like saying a Gold Wing is just another bike.

Anyway, I digress. I have been watching the US housing market for years. I thought if I could ever afford to buy a part time home in the Phx area, I would jump at the chance. The years went by, always disappointed but hopeful. As a financial advisor I watched with great interest as the interest rates climbed then dived for only the second time in decades. The "sub prime mortgage mess" finally created an opportunity and I began looking in earnest in January '09 for a condo that I could park a bike in and lock up when I left.

After procuring a local agent (a must) I narrowed it down to a short 5 day visit in early April, viewed over 40 properties and ended up buying a 2 bed, 2 level condo in a great little location in the city of Glendale, home of the Coyote's (well for a while longer anyway) Oddly enough, of all the places I looked at this was the ONLY one still owned by the original owner, not a foreclosure. Offer made, some negotiation to and fro, paid the then 20% dollar exchange and presto... I had my long sought after southern home.

Within days of closing, I was on my way back to Hungary to finish my European adventure.

The summer of '09 was a blitz, not in the Panzer/Ardennes sense but really a blur. Of scenery, of smells, of sights and of memories that I will carry with me forever. I wrapped up the 10,ooo kilometers to get me to my goal, rolled thru 22 countries, many more than once, bid goodbye, and winged it home to Canada just in time to leave for a camping adventure with Brenda and Anna. And an adventure it was...

It's been awhile (ok, maybe more than awhile since I've spent any amount of time with an 8 yr old, especially one with ADHD and the challenges that posed.) One of my best friends likens adhd to sitting in a room with 100 televisions all playing a different channel. Hard to stay focused at times. That plus my jet lagged, Euro adrenalin filled brain, and old fashioned way of 'parenting' made for some interesting times.

Thankfully, everyone survived... friends were made, old friends re-visited (hi Ronny) and no flats tires experienced. The HU family came and went and while here in NA... they got to have a pretty good look at our home here in this part of the world. We didn't sit gathering moss much...

Chalk it up to experience.

I returned to Glendale in the fall of 2009, drove the 2500km with Tommy G. to keep me awake. We had a hoot! Talking about computers, bikes, deserts and of course... women. Geez, if you've reached a half century and don't have at least some stories, you haven't lived my friend.

The condo was dusty and musty and after 3 days on the road in the Blazer, DR200 sitting on it's rack, my first impression on entering was "What in the hell was I thinking!" It looked small. Tiny in fact. Like a shoe box, for children's shoes!! Hell... Barbie shoes!!!

I blew up the air mattress while Tom retired in his rented Mazduzee to some posh Glendale hotel, determined to stay in my own place that first night even though he offered the spare bed at the Ritz.

The very next day, I got sick. All of the years moving and shaking, finally hit me like a ton of bricks, after the drive and a sleepless night (I actually went to the 24 hr Walmart down the street to start shopping) Popping pills as Tom drove us around to look at furntiture, a fridge and buffet's... I felt better after a couple of days.

At just over a thousand square feet, a little patio with an orange tree, two pools and very quiet grounds, I was feeling waaaay more positive. By the time it came for my driving pal to fly home (the man with horseshoes up his butt) Tom landed a West Jet flight for USD90 inc taxes, I was in much better spirits.

In 6 weeks I got the pad furnished, cupboards stocked with cups dishes and pots, and some minor repairs done. Way fun it was too. I bought so much stuff late nights at WM, the elderly ladies stopped asking for my receipts... "Oh we don't need to see them, you're that nice young man from Canada."

Ahhhh to be finally appreciated by the opposite sex!

I didn't get a chance to do much riding then, but I did use the little Doctor for errands, and the like.