Sunday, September 15, 2013

Into the Deep

Timeframe: 1997/1998

Andy and I spent quite a bit of time together and at one point he mentioned that he used to scuba dive.  He was the third person in my life that told me they were a certified scuba diver, and for some reason, I decided that then was a good time for me to learn how to dive myself.  I researched a few dive shops in the Portland area, and signed up for classes at the White Orca dive shop, which is no longer in business.  I was comfortable in the water, since I was born in Miami, and my family went to the beach there from the time I was still in diapers... and growing up in NJ we went swimming in the lakes near our home and at the ocean.  I was really looking forward to learning another aspect to the waters that I loved so much.

I really don't remember the class schedule or anything, but I DO remember that we had a certain number of classes where we sat through lectures about the physics of being under water, the health risks, physical risks, and the equipment, and how, when properly used it can help us minimize these risks.  We also learned how to use the dive tables, so that when doing multiple dives, we made sure we would have enough time at the surface for off-gassing before going back in.  After the classroom portion was complete, we went to the pool with gear, and began learning how to assemble and use our equipment.  Once we got the equipment assembled, had it on, and were in the water, the first thing we did was breathe through the regulators without even putting our faces in the water.  This helped us to see that we CAN breathe through the regulators and we no longer have to hold our breath.  Of course the next exercise was to kneel on the floor of the pool, and put our faces in the water while breathing on the regulator.  That was very weird at first, but I got used to it and really enjoyed it.  We had a few classes in the pool, and we practiced breathing underwater, clearing our ears on descent, clearing our masks under water if they got flooded, checking our buoyancy, and when we were comfortable with all of these activities, we just practiced swimming under water in the pool.  We had a few sessions in the pool to reinforce all skills and get practice before moving onto the final phase of our training.

The last step to our Scuba Certification was the Open Water dives and these would be done over a weekend in Hood Canal near Seattle.  We were told that there is a resort on the canal called Mike's Beach Resort (http://www.mikesbeachresort.com/) and we needed to call to make a reservation to stay there for the weekend to do our "checkout" dives.  Andy was familiar with this place and made a reservation for both of us to go, so I wouldn't have to go alone, and so that he could get a couple dives in as well.  If you checkout the link I referenced above, it looks like a really nice place, and it probably is now.  Back in 1997 when I was there, it was very rustic.  It was nice, but just the bare minimum, not these nice boardwalk-looking walkways.  :-)  But it was nice, it was comfortable, and had everything we divers needed, included air fills on site and public showers to use when we got out of the water.

It was at least two hours away so we drove up Friday night to make sure we would be there and rested first thing in the morning.  We had to meet the other divers and our instructor about 7:00am to assemble gear and go over a briefing for our first dive and get in the water.  It was really nice sleeping there Friday night because the cabins were literally at the waters edge and the water lapped up against the concrete that had been built up as a foundation for the road and cabins.  It was very peaceful and comforting.  When morning came and we went outside, we noticed the water had gotten a bit rough.  There were white caps and actual waves rolling in.  They said this was very rare for the canal and it was usually calm.  I wasn't worried though, because I was used to the surf at the beaches in New Jersey.  We all geared up and got in the water, and then it happened.... I had my first and only panic attack.  I think my BCD (Buoyancy Compensator Device), the vest that divers where, that contains all our gear, was too tight and I couldn't breathe once I inflated it.  I did my best to keep calm, and I might have succeeded, except that with the rough water and waves hitting me and knocking me around, it was difficult.  In the NJ ocean, it's easy to jump into, under or over the waves, but I had an extra 40 to 50lbs on me between the tank, the weight belt (used to counteract the buoyancy of the wetsuit) and other gear, so I could not move quickly.  We were swimming out to a dock that was anchored quite a way from the shore and I was struggling.  I was very short of breath and was having more and more difficulty breathing.  When we got to the dock, I couldn't catch my breath and all I wanted to do was climb onto the dock and get my gear off so I could breathe.  Of course, with the extra weight on me, I couldn't pull myself up onto the dock.  I was screaming at the instructors to help me get up on the dock... this was in front of the rest of my class... the majority of whom were teenagers... I was so embarrassed, but I couldn't help it.  The instructor calmed me down and told me he was going to have one of the dive masters tow me back to shore.  All I had to do was lay back, relax, and let him pull me.  So, that's what I did, and I was so happy to be back on shore and not have all that gear on me!!

The rest of the class went under water and completed their skills for the first checkout dive, and came back successfully.  I was thinking that was it for me.  I missed the first part, so I wouldn't be able to continue and would go home a failure.  Thankfully the instructor talked to me privately to find out what happened.  He helped me make a few adjustments to my gear, and suggested that he take me out by myself to do the first set of skills and get that out of the way.  If I did well on those, then I would be caught up to the rest of the class and could do the second checkout dive with them.  I was very grateful for the second chance so I slowed myself down, really focused on everything I did, and did everything I could to stay calm.  By the time we were ready to go in for my first set of dives, the water had calmed down a little bit, so that also helped.  I was able to swim out to the dock with the instructor this time, and once out there, we took a few minutes to just relax at the surface, and then we descended, holding on the a guideline.  Once under the water, I was much better, and was able to complete the required skills.  One thing I found out was how cold it was at depth!!  I got cold very fast, and was very grateful for those public showers at the resort.  Once out of the water, I quickly got out of my gear, ran to the showers, and with the water on cold, I felt like it was boiling!!  As I thawed out, I made the water a little warmer in small increments until I felt like it was normal temperature, and more importantly, I was at normal temperature.

I barely got warmed up, and the rest of the class was gathering to do the second checkout dive.  So, I walked over to them, listened to the briefing, got geared up and went right back into the water to the second set of skills testing.  We were all able to get through our skills successfully, but I got cold quicker than the first time, and had to endure it longer, since we all stayed at depth while the instructor watched each individual student perform the required skills.  Once at the surface, I again immediately removed my gear and ran into the showers, making the water warmer and warmer until I felt like I was back to proper body temperature.

The next day, Sunday our dives would be at a dive site away from Mike's, so we packed up our gear in our cars and followed our instructor to a new spot.  This area also had public showers, but we had to walk across the street to get to them.  All of us again successfully completed our skills and ran from the water to the showers to get warm.  The difference this time, was that it took a little more time to get to the showers since we had to walk across the street, and in that time, we all had frost on our wetsuits.  Not only was the water cold, but the air temperature that morning was about 30 degrees.  Don't ask me why I didn't think about this and schedule my class for the summer months!!  Our last dive was pretty much on our own.  Our instructor told us to come up with our own dive plan as a group and execute it.  This was our real life practice for when we are diving on our own.  He would be behind us, watching us, but it was basically our first dive on our own.  It was really cool to get to just dive, rather than have the pressure of performing specific skills under pressure.  On this dive, I noticed thermoclines, which I had learned about in class.  It's a point in the water where the warmer surface water mixes with the colder water at depth and the water is blurry and wavy.  This is very similar to when we see heat waves on pavement, only it's under water.

Another thing that happened to me on that last dive was that somehow my mask kept flooding.  No matter what I tried, I couldn't clear it, but while attempting to do so, I ended up slowing down and looking quite clumsy, I'm sure.  At one point, I got most of the water out, but still had some.  I decided to just leave the remainder there and enjoy the rest of the dive.  Our instructor was behind me and after the dive, he came over and talked to me about it.  He said he was on the fence about whether to pass me, because I looked very clumsy on the dive.  When I explained to him that I actually was relaxed and enjoyed a good part of the dive, I had issues with my mask flooding, he understood, and when ahead and passed me.  He explained that I was probably breathing too much air out of my mouth instead of my nose and that's why it wouldn't clear.  The process for clearing a flooded mask underwater is to take a breath through the regulator and blow it out through your nose into the mask, while putting pressure on the top of the mask, so all of the air pushes out the bottom of the mask, taking the water with it.  If I hadn't been blowing enough pressure into the mask, I was most likely letting more water in, than out.

We had to wait a few days to get our certification cards, but once they were made and mailed to the dive shop they called us and we picked them up.  I was now a certified scuba diver!! I would have a whole new set of adventures to add to my life experiences.




Thursday, September 12, 2013

Memories up in Flames

Tonight I learned that the boardwalk in Seaside Park, New Jersey went up in flames and affected much of the Funtown Pier.  This is less than a year after it was hit by Hurricane Sandy, that destroyed the Casino Pier in Seaside Heights, just a little further north on the same boardwalk.  The cause of the fire, as of right now, is not known.  When I heard and saw some pictures and video feed, my heart sank and tears welled up in my eyes.  I have been trying to make sense of this destruction, and trying to understand why it affected me so much.  I realize that just seeing pictures of the boardwalk at all, brings up emotions and memories of a carefree time that I will never have again, but seeing it in flames, somehow made that loss of a carefree life even more permanent.  And yet... I also know that nothing is permanent and everything changes, but this logical part of my brain just can't override the emotions I feel at the loss of this piece of New Jersey.

I think part of it is that Seaside Heights and Seaside Park has been there as a family amusement area for many generations.  My parents talked of going to Seaside as teenagers and going to the Chatterbox bar, and many of the other attractions on the boardwalk, and I know the boardwalk is something most New Jerseyans shared with their children, and then their children went to the beach during the day as teenagers and to the bars at night when they were old enough, and then shared it with their children.  It was a tradition, and like many places and events in New Jersey, you feel that family tradition when you go there.  You see families on the beaches, families running the businesses on the boardwalk, and you know that these families have been going to Seaside for generations and will continue to go for generations more.  Seaside Park was the place I went to as a "local".  I wasn't a true local as I didn't live in Seaside, but I lived in Ocean County and was 20 minutes away.  I was more of a "local" than the tourists that invaded these towns in the summer.  Seaside Park was the "secret" part of Seaside, where the locals went to get away from the tourists, yet still be close enough to the boardwalk to enjoy all it had to offer.  While the tourists went to Seaside Park, we locals felt like Sawmill Pizza and the Berkeley Sweet Shop were "ours".

Since I moved away from NJ in 1996, I have met many ex-New Jerseyans living in other parts of the country, and when we meet, there is an immediate connection.  We don't even know that the other is from New Jersey, but we exchange a couple bantering words, we make some jokes and that Jersey sarcasm, wit and confidence that we all possess, instantly binds us, even 3,000 miles from "home".  Then, when we talk more and learn that we are from NJ, we nod and smile, with that knowing look that says, "Now I understand why you get me and I get you."  Then, we start talking about all of the places that everyone in NJ goes to.  The boardwalk always comes up, everyone in NJ goes to one of the boardwalks as part of their family tradition.  Even if Seaside is not someone's family tradition, they have been there and know of it.  So for me, Seaside was always a place that binds us together.  It was a place where people would come together strangers and leave as friends, and even 3,000 miles away, it is a part of things that binds strangers together and makes them friends.

I know that Seaside Park and Seaside Heights will always be there in some way, shape or form, but it is forever changed.  It will never be exactly the same as we remember it, which is exactly the way our parents remembered it, because not much changed there over there years.  It was something you could count on.  I think that this fire... on top of the Sandy Hurricane... has hit me so hard because in the current world, with things happening and changing as quickly as they are, we all NEED something we can count on.  The Seaside Park and Seaside Heights Boardwalk was one of those things we could always count on... but now... we can't even count on that to be the same.  And for me, if feels like the floor of certainty and predictability has been pulled out from under my feet.  Yes, life will go on, but somehow for me, in this moment, it is confirmation that it will be forever changed...

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Mishaps On the Wings of My Nighthawk

Timeframe:  Various events from 1996 to 1998

I had a few memorable happenings and mishaps with the Nighthawk once I got her fixed up after my crash.  Rather than create an entry for each one, I thought I would condense them here.  One of my most memorable was my first ride by myself on the freeway.  I thought I might take a trip down into Portland... but that didn't last very long.  You see... in the past, I'd always ridden on the back of my brother's bike, so I always had him to buffer me from the wind.  The Nighthawk didn't have a windshield, so when I got onto SR14 from 164th St., heading west towards Portland, and I felt the wind on me, and had cars next to me, all while we were doing about 55/60MPH, I got scared... yes... I am admitting I was scared going fast on a motorcycle!!  LOL!!  I got off at the very next exit, turned around, and went home.

However, that's not where my mishap ends.  I hadn't quite gotten the hang of downshifting on the bike, and was always grateful when the light was red when I came to an intersection.  This allowed me to pull in the clutch and just get it into neutral or first while stopping.  Then, start from first again.  This time, though, the traffic light gods were not on my side.  The light turned green just as I was riding down the off-ramp and cars were behind me... so I HAD to slow down enough to make the turn without stopping.  I got to the turn but I was going too slow, and wasn't sure what gear I was in, so was afraid (yes, there's that word again) to let out the clutch and give it throttle.  I ended up taking the turn way too wide, and I was headed for the sidewalk under the overpass.  And, because it was the overpass, on the other side of the sidewalk was the concrete wall that supported the overpass.  I was not looking forward to hitting that wall, and to this day, I don't know how I didn't, but somehow, the bike just jumped up on the curb, and got turned so it I was riding on the sidewalk, perpendicular to the direction I had just been traveling.  When I realized that I hadn't crashed, I decided I better keep going, so I somehow got the courage to let the clutch out and give it some throttle so I had power to the rear wheel.  When I was moving successfully, I turned to look behind me, to make sure there were no cars coming, and I jumped back down off the curb as if I meant to do that whole little stunt.  Hopefully, anyone who saw me, just shook their head and thought "What a hooligan" instead of "Dear Lord, that poor girl is going to kill herself".  LOL!!  I ended up making it home without further mishap.

Another time, I decided to take a ride out to the coast.  For anyone who has ever made the trip from the Vancouver/Portland area, you know it is a beautiful ride on wide sweeping roads through the (mostly) wilderness, and it takes about 2 to 3 hours.  I really enjoyed the ride, and it was great getting to spend some time at the rugged Oregon coast.  On the way back, I had another enjoyable ride until... I ran out of gas.  For those of you who don't know about motorcycles, these older bikes (and even some newer ones) don't have gas gauges.  You have to track the miles you've ridden since the last fill up by remembering to reset the odometer each time, know what kind of gas mileage you get, and fill up before you run out of gas.  The bikes DO have a bit of a safety called a reserve, which is usually a half gallon to a gallon of gas.  When you get to that level, the bike acts like it's running out of gas, so you reach down under the tank, and twist the knob to turn it from "on" to "reserve".  Well, I had to hit the reserve on the way back, but there aren't many gas stations along the way, so I didn't make it to one before even reserve gave out.  I pulled off to the side of the road and wasn't sure what to do.  This was before we had cell phones, so I couldn't just pull out my phone and call someone, like we can today.  I was hoping someone would notice me and pull over, but I was thinking maybe I should try to flag someone down.  Thankfully just when I was thinking that, a car pulled over with a lady driving.  She asked me if I needed help and I explained that I ran out of gas, so she said there was a gas station down the road and she could bring me back some gas.  I don't remember all of the details, but I DO remember it didn't take her too long to come back with a gas can full of gas, and I paid her more than what she said it cost, because she had to use her own gas to get there and back, plus take time out of her day to help me.  I was very grateful that she stopped and helped me.  I started the bike and off I went.  When I hit the gas station, I stopped and topped it off for the rest of the ride home.  I learned my lesson that day to pay attention to my gas levels and get gas as often as possible.

Another time, I rode into Portland's downtown 23rd area, known as the "hip" part of town.  I loved it down there, and would often go to a pizza place called "Pizza My Heart".  It was the closest thing I could get to good NJ pizza, so I went frequently.  This particular day, I was looking for parking and saw a Harley Davidson Sportster parked in a spot.  It was parallel parking and there was room for another bike, so I pulled over and backed my bike into the spot, next to the Harley.  As I took my helmet off, I heard a man's voice behind me say, "You don't see many female riders around."  I looked and it was a tall, good looking guy with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a well-groomed beard and mustache.  We made introductions and I found out his name was Andy.  It was his Sportster I parked next to and he was on his way out.  Later he told me he still had half a cup of coffee left, but when he saw me, he gulped it down and ran over to talk to me.  LOL!!  We talked for a few minutes and exchanged numbers.

The next weekend, Andy and I met up for a short ride along the Columbia River Gorge.  I'd already been out that way along the Scenic Route along the waterfalls, but Andy took us on the south side of route 84 to a little rest area.  We parked the bikes and I thought we were going to a lookout or something.  He started opening his saddlebags and pulling out plastic bags which contained lunch for us as well as a blanket to sit on!!  What a nice surprise!!  He brought smoked salmon, various cheeses, bottled waters, various crackers and other goodies I don't really remember.  I offered my help to carry a bag and we walked on a short path up a hill to a clearing.  We laid out the blanket, sat down, and enjoyed lunch over conversation.  Andy and I spent quite a bit of time together over the next few months.

On one ride with Andy, we were going through downtown Portland and I was following him.  Up ahead the traffic light turned from green to yellow.  Andy hit the throttle to get through the yellow light, and so did I.  Then, at the last minute I guess he realized I was behind him, so he hit his brakes.  I couldn't stop that quickly, but I tried.  I grabbed the front brake hard, and hit the rear brake with my foot.  I must have given it too much rear because the rear locked up and started sliding out to the side.  I could feel the rear coming around to the side and the bike starting to lay down.  I just let it go, and jumped off.  I must have looked quite comical, because I still had momentum and couldn't stop myself.  I just kept running and I ran up the sidewalk, and slammed into the building that was right there... but hey, at least I didn't land on the ground with the bike!!  Andy, came back to help me pick up the Nighthawk, we checked it out and it seemed to be damage-free, so I started it up and we kept going.

Another time Andy and I went riding on the Washington side of the Columbia River Gorge, where the road is twistier and goes higher.  Andy had claimed to be an ex-roadracer and he was a good rider.  This particular day, he brought his other bike, an older Yamaha Seca.  He road through the twisties pretty fast and I'm a competitive person by nature so I was doing what I could to keep up.  The entire ride, I had my front tire pretty much even with his rear tire.  It was a fun and exhilarating ride!!  I knew I couldn't have gone that fast on my own, but having Andy ahead of me showing me the right lines and trusting his riding, made it easy for me to go that fast.  Afterwards we talked about it and I was very excited as I told him how much fun it was for me and I couldn't believe that I kept up with him!!  Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.  I can't say for sure, but I think it may have bruised his ego a bit, because we never went riding together again.  He always claimed his bikes were down with some problem.

This would be the end of my riding adventures for a little while.  I would still take the bike out occasionally, for short trips around town, but I began to focus on scuba diving for a little while.  My next few posts will be about my beginnings in scuba diving as well as making a connection with someone very special... then I will get back to some fun motorcycle stories...

Monday, September 9, 2013

Mt. St. Helens Expedition above the clouds

Timeframe: Fall 1996

I learned that my coworkers at my new job in Vancouver, WA were planning an "expedition" to climb Mt. St. Helens in October, and they invited me to go along.  If memory serves me right, there were 4 others besides me, for a total of 5.  The person organizing it, told me it is very strenuous, and steep uphill, so between now and then I should be working out my thighs.  I already worked out fairly regularly, and I remember from my skiing days, I would always do a lot of squats and such to strengthen my legs before the first day of skiing, so I followed that same regimen.  However, I don't think anything could have truly prepared me for this day.

I don't remember exact times, but I'm pretty sure we gathered and left Vancouver at 3:00am.  We made the drive to the base of the mountain and I think we began our climb around 5:00am.  I had my ski attire on with layers underneath for warmth, because I was told that, even though it was October, it would be cold and there would be snow at altitude.  I also had thick socks and hiking boots, along with warm mittens and wool hat.  We all also had ski goggles on to act as sun as well as snow protection.  We all donned our backpacks full of bottled water, snacks and lunch, and headed up the trail.  It was chilly, but not cold, and there was no snow when we started out.  The lower parts of the trail were just like any other trail and only had a slight incline.  However, as we got higher, the inclines got steeper, it got cooler and we started seeing signs of snow.  Also, as we got higher, the air got thinner, it got more difficult to breathe and so I just focused on walking.  At one point, I picked my head up and looked away from the mountain and realized we had climbed above the cloud layer.  I had never done or seen anything like this before!  Even when skiing in NJ and NY, we were always below the clouds, but here we were, still in the tree line and above the clouds!!  It was really a beautiful site and the only sounds were those of our boots crackling in the snow and our voices if someone spoke.


Hiking above the clouds!

 As we climbed higher, and the air became even thinner, the trees disappeared and it was only rocks covered in snow.  I was keeping up with everyone and holding my own, but I was really feeling the pain in my legs at this point, as was everyone else.  Between the steep climb and the decreased oxygen in the thinner air, our bodies were struggling to keep up with the demands we were putting on them.  Some of the hikers had brought walking sticks to help  support themselves... basically ski poles.  I was offered one, and gladly took it.  Just the split second that I could use it for support and take some pressure off my legs was a big relief.

Me with the ski pole/walking stick
 Our leader, Terry, who routinely climbed Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Hood, made the suggestion to lock our knees each time we straighten our legs during a step.  I tried this and was pleased at how well it worked.  The logic is that locking our knees for that split second puts the weight of our body on our bones, and gives our muscles a split second break.  When you are in pain, that split second is like heaven... and it gave me enough relief to keep going, grateful for the very short relief with every step.  At one point we stopped for lunch and to take a break.  We only gave ourselves as long as it took to eat, maybe 20 minutes.  We didn't want to get too comfy or we might not want to continue!  LOL!!  Also, we wanted to keep the pace up so that our chances of making it to the top would be better.


Lunch break above the tree line!
Once we got going again, the difficulty breathing and the pain in my legs picked up right where it left off but with the new walking stick and the advice from Terry to keep locking my knees with every step, I had some relief and was able to keep plowing ahead.  I also did my best to just clear my mind and not think about the pain and discomfort.  I just focused on walking and locking my knees and that seemed to take my mind off of anything else.

The picture above, of the lunch break, shows how there were crevaces... supposedly where the glaciers slid down thousand of years ago, and cut into the mountain.  As we got closer to the top, these got deeper.  The sides were much higher and the middles were much lower... and the snow was now ice.  We started slipping a little bit as we walked but were managing pretty well.  Terry said he usually would come up with "cramp-ons", devices you put on your boots with teeth on the bottom, for better traction in the ice.  He didn't recommend them for us this trip because he didn't think there would be ice this early.  So, we worked our way up, slipping now and then.  At one point, I slipped, lost my balance, landed on my butt and went sliding down one of the crevaces.  I was going pretty fast and headed straight for a boulder so I used my hands and feet to turn myself around so my feet were facing the boulder.  When I hit it, I used my legs as shock absorbers, bounced off, and kept going down.  I finally stopped when I hit a bit of snow and could get some traction.

I was a little bit annoyed thinking that now everyone would have to wait for me while I climbed back up again to catch up with them.  I heard Terry yell to me to stay there and they would come to me.  It seems they were all sliding a bit and decided to abort the "mission" because the ice was only going to get worse.  They didn't want anyone else to fall and get hurt.  So, I waited for them to get back down to me and we started on our way back down.  I was dreading the hike down, wondering what new muscles were going to be sore.  But I was pleasantly surprised that the trip down was WAY faster and WAY more fun than the hike up.  We walked back down through the ice, but once we got to some areas where the crevaces were covered in snow, and not so steep, we started gliscanding, a word I had never heard before.  Basically, we would take a little bit of a run, sit on our butts and slide in the snow until we stopped.  We got some really good runs in and made good time on the way down. 

One of our team gliscanding
I was kinda glad we were headed back down too, because it was getting late in the day.  By the time we got back down to the cars it was about 6pm and we were home around 8 or 9.  I think we stopped off to get something to eat on the way home.  I don't really remember, I was so tired from the day.  I was a disappointed that we didn't make it to the top of the mountain and get to look inside the volcano, which was our original plan.  At the same time though, I felt a different type of triumph.  That day I learned just how strong I could be when needed.  On the way up, a big part of me really didn't want to keep going.  I just wanted to go home and be nice and comfortable... but my spirit of adventure and wanting to get to the top wouldn't let me.  I kept going through the pain and the cold, and was even able to think clearly enough to save myself from possible injury when I slipped and was headed towards the boulder.  This "expedition" gave me a new sense of confidence in my abilities and I would take this into many new adventures.  So far, I have not climbed another mountain, but I'd like to try Mt. St. Helens again, and maybe one day I WILL make it to the top...

Friday, September 6, 2013

Lunch at Estiatorio Milos

Earlier this week, my Jewish Gentleman friend from The Bronx, who is no longer Jewish and now lives in Las Vegas, but is still a gentleman, said he wanted to take me to a great Greek Seafood restaurant called Estiatorio Milos at The Cosmopolitan (http://www.cosmopolitanlasvegas.com/taste/restaurant-collection/estiatorio-milos.aspx) for lunch.  We compared schedules, and we could make it work for today, Friday.  Mike and I met a few weeks ago at the Triumph Motorcycle dealership here called Freedom Cycles (www.freedomcycleslasvegas.com).  They hosted a midnight ride to the Hoover Dam and I met up with my friend John there, and Mike happened to be there on his 1999 Honda VFR800 Interceptor, same as my bike only 8 years older.  He came over to talk to me when I pulled in and when he said he also had a VFR, I was all ears... I don't run into many VFR Riders, but anytime I do, I always make sure I get to talk to them and compare notes.  We are a rare breed.

Anyway, even though I knew all week, that we planned this lunch, I just never got myself to the point of trying on clothes to see what I would wear, I figured I'd find something.  I've gotten into the habit of wearing jeans and t-shirts, even for most of my clients' offices, and it had been a while since I had to dress in anything but casual attire.  So, Friday morning, at 11:00am, I decided I should start figuring out what to wear.  I knew none of my clothes purchased in the last couple years would fit me, since I've put on about 10lbs in recent months.  I started going through my older dresses from when I worked in NYC.  After trying about 6 dresses, and finding them all to be a bit snugger than I would like, I was forced to wear a burgundy spaghetti strap dress with a subdued, whimsical flowery pattern.  I then combed my hair and put a light hairspray on it, and applied a little bit of makeup, and was on my way by noon.  We were to meet there by 12:30.  While I live 10 minutes from the strip, I always give myself a half hour to get there because I never know how the traffic will be on Flamingo (or Flaming-O) as I call it, and once I get there, I have to find parking, then walk to wherever I'm going to meet friends.

One thing I love about the Cosmopolitan... and I know it's a very simple thing... is their parking garage.  They make sure from the minute you get there, your experience is amazing and you feel taken care of.  I wish every parking garage was like the Cosmopolitan.  First, there are electronic signs telling drivers how many available parking spaces are on each parking level, so you can make a better decision about which level you want to park on.  Next, each level has a light fixture above EVERY parking space.  If the light is red, it is taken, if it is green, it is open.  It makes it so easy to glance across the parking area to determine if there are any spots available in the area I need to be in, or if I want to go to the next level.  I was quickly able to determine that B2 and B3 would not work for me so I went to B4.  The signage in the garage is another wonderful feat that I wish more parking  garages would follow.  There are very clear signs telling drivers where the elevators are and if they are the East Elevators or West Elevators.  It just makes sense to know this, so that if you know what part of the casino/hotel you want to go to, you can park close to it and not have to walk so far.  Trust me, a gal in heels doesn't want to walk any farther than necessary.  So, I found a spot one row away from the East Elevators, took the elevator to the third floor, walked down a hall and was at Estiatorio Milos about 5 minutes after parking.

Cosmo Parking Garage with green and red indicator lights

I made it there by 12:25, and Mike texted me that he was almost there.  He decided to Valet Park and walk through the casino and up the elevator.  I waited til he got there, we greeted and walked in the restaurant together.  The hostess was very pleasant and asked if we wanted to sit on the terrace but we agreed it was still a bit too hot for us, so we sat inside, looking out at the terrace.  As we decided what to eat I noticed that one of their specialty drinks, the Cucumber Cooler, contains Chartreuse.  I did not order it, but some evening I will go back and try it.  I remember many years ago, my friends and I loved drinking Chartreuse, because of it's peppery flavor.  For anyone who doesn't know, Chartreuse is a liqueur distilled by the Carthusian Monks since 1737 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chartreuse_%28liqueur%29).  It is a bright green (though a yellow version is also made) and the color is actually named after the liqueur.  If you look up Chartreuse in the dictionary, the first definition talks about the liqueur, the second one talks about the color and says it was named after the liqueur.  This Cucumber Cooler also contains Cucmber Vodka.  It seems like a very odd combination to me, but I think I would like it, so I have a mental note to someday try this drink.

We ordered our meals and I asked Mike why he parked in valet when he advised me to park and take the east elevators to the third floor.  He said it was a last minute change on his part when he saw the Valet sign, but also explained that he often loses his vehicle in parking areas.  He told me the story of how he parked his big, red truck in the parking lot at Town Square and couldn't find it for hours.  Finally, he decided to search further and found it in a place he didn't think he parked, so wasn't looking there.  He said this happens to him frequently, so when he has the option to use valet parking, he does.  He said, "I let THEM find my car for me."  And we got a chuckle about that.  This is one of those things that I truly don't understand because I can't think of one time where I have not been able to find my car in a parking area.  However, when I run across these situations, I do my best not to judge a person.  I realize they have other talents that I do not possess and if everyone was like me, it would be a very boring world.  The rest of the time we talked about people who talk to much because he had an experience with a someone who talks too much on a ride and no longer sees that person because he just can't deal with it.  We also talked about his trip to Italy.  He will be going with a friend for two weeks, to rent and ride a motorcycle around Italy.  He may stay an additional 2 weeks if he can get in on a motorcycle tour available in Austria to ride through the Alps.  I'm very excited for him and also very jealous of him.  Someday I hope to get to Europe and ride motorcycles around for a bit.

We chatted more and laughed more over dessert and coffee and finally about 3:00pm we decided it was time to leave.  Having lunch at Estiatorio Milos was a wonderful experience, with good food, attentive staff and a good view through the glass windows out to the strip.  Of course the company made it fun too... always fun and laughs with Mike.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Reviving the Nighthawk and a Journey to the Stars

Timeframe: 1997

I really wanted to get the Nighthawk fixed after the crash, and I was determined to do it on my own and not take it to a shop.  Thankfully, when I was a little girl, my dad worked on our cars in the garage and let my brother, John and I help, and then when John got older, he also let me help him work on his car, so I was very used to working with tools.  Also, I remember going to the salvage yards now and then to find parts for various cars that we had.  These things gave me the comfort to be able to do these things on my own.  I was happy to find out that Vancouver, Washington had a couple of motorcycle salvage yards, which I visited and was able to find replacement blinkers, headlight and instrument cluster.  I could not find a seat in good condition, so I ordered one from the Honda dealer in Portland, OR.

Of course the seat was an easy replacement, the blinkers and headlight were fairly easy as well... just some screws and "quick clip" type wiring, so I didn't have to get into any soldering or splicing of wiring.  The problem I had was with the instrument cluster.  The instrument cluster had lights that showed what gear the motorcycle was in, indicators for blinkers and high beam, and speedometer and tachometer.  There were a lot of wires coming out of it, and alot of wires coming out of the bike to connect to it.  Unfortunately, the color of the wires on the new instrument cluster did not match the color of the wires on the old instrument cluster, so I had no real way to know which wires to match them up to on the bike.

I took my best guess, and nothing worked properly.  The headlight and neutral indicator didn't come on when I turned on the ignition.  If I tried the blinkers, they were all wrong.  Turning on the right blinker would make the front left blinker go on blinking and the right rear blinker go on solid, or some other combination like that, depending on how I tried connecting wires.  I thought I would be smart and use the wiring diagram in the back of the Service Manual, but that really didn't help much.  I called my friend Mark to help, since he had been a rider for years, rode a Honda ST1100, and worked on his own bikes.  He came over and tried for about an hour and couldn't figure it out.  At one point, when we were deep into these electrical wires, Mark stood up to say something, put his hand on the handlebar, and sparks flew from his hand.  I got scared, screamed and started to try pushing him away from the bike, and he started laughing.  Mark was a practical joker and had a "spark making" toy in his hand.  I was mad but I still laughed... he got me good!!

A week or two later, I was frustrated at not having a bike to ride, so I decided to spend some time working on the wiring until I got it figured out.  I went down to the garage with a pad and pen, and I picked something I wanted to work, such as the right blinker.  It was easy to know what wires controlled which functions on the instrument cluster, because of where they came out, but there wasn't an easy way to determine the correct wires coming from the bike... it was just one big bundle.  So, I connected two random wires from the bike to the right blinker wires.  I wrote down what colors I connected, and then wrote down the result.  Then I tried another two wires, wrote down those colors and wrote down the result, and kept going on this process, until I got the front and rear right blinkers working properly.  I followed this same, very tedious process for the left blinkers, headlight, gear indicators and speedometer and odometer.  It took me well over an hour, but I was finally done... and I was VERY proud of myself for doing it myself!!

Shortly after that, I was able to get my friend Mark back for his practical joke that he played on me.  We had plans to meet for dinner and when we were on the phone, I told him I got my nose pierced.  I had actually gotten one of those magnetic studs that you can put in or take out of anywhere that you can place the magnetic disc and stud.  His first response was, "No way, I don't believe you.  You got one of those magnetic ones!"  I wasn't going to give up that easily, so I played it off as if I didn't know what he was talking about... that I didn't even know they made magnetic fake piercing studs.  I got him to believe me, at least on the phone.  When we met, he wasn't really happy that I did it, but he accepted it and we had a nice dinner and great conversation and laughs.  Every now and then, he would stop, look at me and say, "I still can't believe you pierced your nose!"

At one point, he left the table to use the men's room, so I took the fake piercing out of my nose.  He came back to the table and we continued our conversation as if nothing had changed.  I finally couldn't handle it anymore, so I said, "Mark, didn't you notice that I don't have the stud in my nose anymore?!"  I thought he would see and then be mad at me for fooling him all night.  Instead, he said, "Yes, I've been amazed at how there's not a visible hole, it looks like it healed well so you can take the stud out without leaving a mark."  That's when I knew I REALLY had him!!  I couldn't help myself and I busted out laughing and showed him the stud and magnet in my hand.  He was so mad at me but laughed almost as hard as I was laughing!!

A couple weeks after our dinner, Mark invited me to go on a night motorcycle ride.  I didn't know, but Mark must have known, that it was a good night for meteor showers.  He came over to my apartment, and then we took off on our motorcycles on the Washington side of the Columbia River Gorge.  On the Washington side, the road winds and twists as it goes higher and higher.  We had a fun ride, and at one point, Mark indicated we were pulling off to the side of the road.  I followed him, we stopped the bikes and got off, and we walked to the side past the shoulder.  There was a short guard rail at the very edge and then a cliff overlooking the Columbia River on the other side of the guard rail.  Mark and I sat down on the ground, hanging our legs over the cliff, folding our arms on top of the guard rail, and we watched the sky.  We were far enough from any city and it was dark enough that the sky was just filled with very bright stars.  Mark pointed out all of the satellites buzzing around, as well as the shooting stars.  I was staring at the sky in awe when all of a sudden I saw the most beautiful sight I had ever seen before or since.  It was a meteorite falling through the sky, and was better than any fireworks man could create, and there were no big booms or noises.  As it fell down through the atmosphere, it lit up the sky in the colors of the rainbow... Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green, Orange, Red... then disappeared just when it looked like it was going to hit the earth.  It just disintegrated as it flew through the atmosphere.  Neither Mark or I said anything as it happened, and when it was done, we just turned to each other with our mouths open.  I think he spoke first and asked, "Did that really just happen?"  That image is burned into my memory forever, and I'm so grateful to have experienced it.