Hello Again,
My secondary motivation in creating Commoner Publishing and its sole publication, “My Take” was to tell stories. Tales of my personal adventures, my ideas on a variety of subjects and, of course, have a little fun.
My main purpose for writing, however, has always been to reconnect or make a new connection with others who occupy this unique time-period in world history. After all, we share a common culture, similar values and experiences that are more alike even if a bit different. What better way to build on and strengthen our bonds with one another then to awaken memories you had long forgotten. To trigger recollections of events that brought you great joy or perhaps ones you prefer to remain buried. Regardless, they are yours to do with as you please. I am but a humble catalyst.
I have succeeded at times in stirring you to action. Sharing your thoughts and personal stories with me triggered by one of my blogs. One memorable contribution came from an old and dear friend, Dan Collie two months ago. Dan shared his father’s World War II experiences soliciting several heart-felt responses. Well, Dan has again chimed in with his own adventures after reading my “Stream of Consciousness” post last week. Perhaps we’ve started something new? Let’s call it “Tag Team Blogging” for now. I say something, pass it off to others and they then add to the story, inevitably making it better, richer. We’ll see. Here’s Dan’s email to me. I added the images without his knowledge or permission. Sorry Dan.
TJ
Hi TJ,
I enjoyed reading your “Stream of Consciousness” post. Your friend, Terry, myself, and you share early childhood similarities. We were educated in the Catholic School system. I attended Parochial school in my first and second grades. Then I went to Japan for three years where I attended military schools. When I returned to Southern California I completed my Catholic school education in the sixth through eighth grades. From there I transferred to a public Junior high school. I believe a Catholic school education provides students with a higher knowledge of the English language, grammar, and sentence structure which stays with them throughout their lifetimes. It also offers students an entirely different perspective about discipline and strict rules of behavior. If you have been whacked on occasion by a nun wielding a ruler, you know exactly what I am referring to. I loved that scene in “The Blues Brothers,” where two adult men, John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd, return to their old Catholic school and experience moments of fear and receive corporal punishment from their Mother Superior, Sister Mary Stigmata. The scene was hilarious and rang true from my own experience.
We three share another commonality. We were raised by fathers who took part in WWII, an event which dramatically affected us and changed our lives.
Yours and Terry’s connection to the Batavia Air Show, and your association with the Vandenburg Air Show caused you to remember the bitter winds at Point Conception and your Century 100-mile bike race with Gunnar, starting in Lompoc where the winds along that wild stretch of coast was so fierce that you had to peddle downhill. That experience during your race reminded me of a bike riding experience I had during my second year of college along that same coast, further north on the Big Sur section of the coastline.
My girlfriend, Bobbi, and I were sophomores at San Jose State. We belonged to a bike riding club. We had between 20 to 30 members on our rides. We were not a racing team. We were just a casual group of students who got together on the weekends for bike rides. One of our more ambitious rides was a 57-mile ride starting from the campus in San Jose and ending at Lick Observatory at the top of Mt. Hamilton. That’s a 114-mile round trip which is challenging for casual social club. The first 50 miles is basically on flat roads. But the last 7 are on a steep grade up Mt. Hamilton. The average grade for the first 5 miles is between 6% to 7%. For the last two miles the grade increases from 9% to 10%. That last two miles were brutal. The Type A hard ass competitors pulled ahead, and for what? No purpose that I was interested in. I stayed back with the normal people. But no matter which group you were in or how fast or how slowly you paced yourself, it was pure punishment. That every member of our group, both male and female, made it all the way to the top gives you an idea of how fit we were.
Time Out.
That Dan was fit, really fit, was never in question to me, not as a student, when I met him in 1977 or today as a senior citizen still pushing the envelope. Dan, after all, walked the Pacific Crest Trail with his dog Joey from near San Diego to Lake Tahoe. That was my recollection anyway. Being unsure I asked Dan for clarification. His response:
Hi TJ,
“I didn’t walk the Pacific Crest Trail. My dog Joey, and I, began our walk in Santa Monica. We walked up the California Coast to San Francisco. Then we walked across The San Joaquin Valley into the Sierras via Highway I-80 to Donner Pass. We stopped in the lower Sierras for a temporary job as a forest fire crewman. It was getting toward the end of the fire season so mostly we cleared fire breaks. Joey was allowed to stay with me in the bunk house and while we were clearing trails. When winter closed in about November 1, Highway I-80 was closed for the season. But Joey and I continued to Donner Summit. We had the entire mountain to ourselves. At Donner Summit we had to weather a storm with temps in the lower 20’s and hurricane force winds 70-80 mph. My tent was designed for mountaineering, so it was able to withstand these tremendous forces, but my sleeping bag was a lightweight 20 oz. summer bag. Surviving that night was damned miserable. After the storm, the mountains had several feet of snow, and the streams were frozen over. It was the experience of a lifetime. At one point I had to rescue Joey after he broke through thin ice while trying to cross one of the streams. After drying him out with a fire he was just fine. We continued to Lake Tahoe, arriving there toward mid-November. The highway was covered with snow, but I was able to stay on the road to Lake Tahoe because of the snow markers on the sides of the road. I got a job in Harvey’s Casino and worked the night shift from 11 pm to 7 am. I rented a cabin and made friends with a fellow employee at the Casino. She worked the day shift and we shared the cabin. She took care of Joey at night, and I had him during the day. It was an experience I will never forget. On one of my weekends off I decided to climb Heavenly Valley to the summit. Heavenly Valley is a very popular ski resort, but it had yet to open for the winter season. The lower part of the climb is steep and has an advanced run called the gun barrel. I had to bivouac the first night on the side of the mountain during a blizzard. The next day I continued but as I got closer to the summit I was forced to climb on my hands and knees through 4’ powder. Despite the difficult conditions I almost made it to the summit. What stopped me was not the snow, but the discovery of a set of fresh bear tracks. Joey and I didn’t stop to ponder the possibilities. We beat a hasty retreat down the mountain. This adventure began in June, 1969 and lasted until the end of the year.”
Dan
My bad. Dan did not walk the Pacific Crest Trail after all. What a disappointment.
BTW…As far as I know Dan eschewed most modern-day forms of exercise, opting for real life activities to keep him in shape. Surfing, biking, hiking, manual labor and a bit of mountain climbing with me of course. We must have climbed Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the continental United States, at least 6 times. Okay, we may have only succeeded once or twice. Who’s counting? Besides it was not our fault. The weather was a factor at least twice and torrential spring rains wiped out another attempt. The one time we did summit was pretty special. For two reasons: First, just as we reached the crown of Mt. Whitney an Air Force fighter jet appeared just ahead, flipped on its side and dove head first down the western slope of the Sierra Nevada. It was very fast and very loud. Not more than a few hundred feet overhead. Quite a sight. To this day, I believe it was a planned flyover acknowledging our feat. Secondly, and I hesitate to even mention it, because it’s not me being my “high self.” (More revenge than an honorable recollection of our triumph over nature.) Well, remember that boat race from Santa Barbara to Pt. Conception I mentioned in the Stream of Consciousness post a couple of weeks ago? The one where Dan and his buddies were having a good time, drinking beer and eating sandwiches while I was ravaged by sea sickness. As it turns out, Dan’s Achilles heel is high altitude. At 14,494 feet, Mt. Whitney qualified. Dan was pretty much on his hands and knees as we neared the summit, looking a bit green. Now, I’m not saying Dan was unsympathetic to my plight during our sail boat race. Nor am I saying I did not feel terrible while assessing his condition on the mountain that day. I’m just sayin.
Back to Dan’s original story…
“Recounting my ride with Bobbi to Lick Observatory is just the background to my real story, a bike ride with Bobbi during our Christmas break from college. Both of our parents’ homes were in the Los Angeles area, so I suggested to Bobbi that we ride our bikes home for the holiday. Our only preparation for this endeavor was the rides we had taken with our bike club. The idea sounded like a grand adventure, so she agreed. The route from San Jose to Santa Cruz, down the coast to Santa Monica, and across LA to my parents’ house in South Pasadena is about 450 miles with some challenging climbs along the Big Sur coast. The first two sections from San Jose to Santa Cruz, and then from Santa Cruz down the coast to Carmel were wonderful. It was sunny, warm, and full of cheer. Ah, but as we approached the Big Sur coast the weather took a dramatic turn to gale force winds with blistering rain. Giant 18’ waves were running along the Big Sur Coast. I was regaling how wonderful and beautiful it all was, and how fortunate we were here to experience first-hand such a dramatic event. But we had the same problem you experienced in Lompoc. The wind was driving so hard that we were forced to peddle downhill. Even though we were heading South toward Southern California, the prevailing winds during these winter storms, also known as sou’easters, blow northward up the Coast from Mexico all the way to San Francisco. As we reached the bottom of one hill, pedaling the entire distance which in normal circumstances should have been a fun downhill coast, Bobbi had heard enough talk from me about the sublime experience. She got off her bike and started crying. Whenever I got within her reach, she tried to kick me. We were in a difficult situation. The wind and rain were causing her distress, but the only way to get relief was to keep riding another 30 miles to Big Sur, where we could rent a cabin. Because of the storm there were very few cars on the road. It was near dark and perhaps we saw only one car passing by every 15 minutes. I saw a pickup truck coming and waved him down. I told the driver about our situation and could we put our bikes in the back of his truck. He gave us a ride to Big Sur State Park where we were able to stay in a cabin for the night. The weather cleared the next day and we continued our journey down the coast. With that one exception, it was a wonderful adventure.”
Dan
Wow. Quite the adventure indeed. Is it safe to say, this was your last bike trip with Bobbie?
I don’t want those reading this right now; to think, your interests are limited to sailing, biking, and climbing mountains. That you also look skyward for adventure should not go unnoticed. I feel compelled to share your “gyro-copter” story. After all, it partly includes me. I hope you don’t mind.
A few years after our move to Colorado Dan informed me that he bought a *“gyrocopter.,” aka a gyroplane. Among other reasons for his purchase was to visit me and Deborah. Okay. Why not fly commercial? It’s way cheaper than a $165,000…eggbeater. We all know why. Dan is an adventurer. True, but he also had a new dog and at that time only the truly unsighted were allowed to travel with a guide dog. A passenger’s emotional needs were not a concern, yet, for the airlines. Your level of “comfort” was in your own hands and perhaps the guy sitting next to you. Under no circumstances would Dan allow “name” to ride in the underbelly of an airliner. Steerage would be preferable.
I informed Deborah of Dans’ plan. Long pause… ”you are not allowed to ride in his Gyro-Chopper thing, under any circumstances.” Promise me. She did not have to see a picture of it or study it’s capabilities to draw her conclusion. End of story. It’s a gyrocopter I whispered while slinking away.
It is now well established that Dan’s relationship with his dog is key to his very existence. Human interaction, given Dan’s warm, personable nature is not at issue as he has never wanted for companionship at any level. But seemingly, they are no substitute for unconditional love, loyalty, and the undying devotion of one’s dog.
I accept Dan’s rationale for creating his travel plans. Very logical, for him. Sadly, I may not be the adventurer I thought I was. Not in Dans’ league anyway. I started thinking: Well, first he must get his pilot’s license. That will slow him down. What’s the ceiling on this thing? Will it clear the Rockies? He’ll have to navigate a bunch of canyons between south western Colorado and Boulder? What about summer thunder storms? Wait a minute, I’m not riding with him? Am I? Does he want me to fly to Santa Barbara and join him for the flight over? Sounds risky? No way.
I have time, perhaps a year before this becomes a reality. Twelve months to evaluate the situation and determine my level of commitment. The greater challenge would be convincing Deborah, should I decide I didn’t want to “chicken out.”
Over the past decade I heard no more of Dan’s gyrocopter, his training, licensing, or his desire to fly out and visit us. It was not mentioned in correspondence nor during infrequent phone conversations. I certainly didn’t want to bring it up. I knew not what happened…until recently. This past September while visiting Dan and having lunch in his backyard I asked Dan, “what ever happened to your gyro-copter?” His response floored me.
Well TJ… I kept the gyroplane up in Santa Maria in a small hanger at the airport. I would take it out every now and then to practice. Get a little more experience and have some fun. One day while attempting to land I was hovering about 3 feet off the ground when a gust of wind flipped it and me upside down. Within a split second we crashed into the tarmac. There I was hanging, a bit stunned and unable to undo my seatbelt to get out and assess the damage. It was then that fuel began pouring down onto me and everything below. Oh, oh. All my tugging, pulling, and twisting on the seatbelt was unsuccessful. There I was hanging, disoriented, and soaked in gas and unable to do much about it. Needless to say, a spark would be most unwelcome. (ya think?) My bad luck suddenly changed when an airport rescue squad appeared and sprayed me and the inside of the cockpit with some type of fire-retardant foam. They cut me loose and helped me out. Not a scratch on me but that was pretty much the end of my gyroplane.
These are the facts. What you can’t see is the matter of fact way in which Dan told me the story. Nor hear him laughing at every juncture of his own mis-fortune. Not a nervous laugh masking fear or trauma. More like a standup comedian transporting himself into the audience and enjoying his own punchlines, in real time. I’ll have to ask him about that one day. I’ll let you know what he said.
In any event, I nor Deborah need worry about flying with Dan for the foreseeable future. Unless of course, he comes up with a new idea like a “time machine for old guys” or a “wormhole” shortcut to a tropical paradise or something cool.
Thanks again for listening,
TJ
*An autogyro , “self-turning”), gyroplane or gyrocopter, is a class of rotorcraft that uses an unpowered rotor in free autorotation to develop lift. It’s rotors are not engine-driven, except for initial starting, but are made to rotate by action of the air when the rotorcraft is moving. While similar to a helicopter rotor in appearance, the autogyro’s unpowered rotor disc must have air flowing upward across it to make it rotate. Forward thrust is provided independently, by an engine-driven propeller. THIS WORKS? THIS IS LEGAL?
NOTE: They cannot hover like helicopters but offer stability, short takeoff/landing, and a gentle descent if the engine fails, making them very safe.
I left my home in the small Western New York city of Batavia in March 1977 vowing never to shovel snow again. Never say never. Settling for 38 years in what was for me the "promised land" of Santa Barbara, California. I married, helped raise a family, started a business, traveled and live a wonderful life. We spent the last 10 years of our west coast journey in the small, quiet, picturesque town of Ojai. My oldest friends call me TJ.
My wife Deborah and I moved to Colorado in 2015 to be near our daughter, her husband and 2 growing grand-boys. Add 2 bulldogs (French & English) to the mix and our hands and hearts are full. We all reside in Niwot, a small quaint town 15 minutes north of Boulder. The mighty Rocky Mountains are at our doorstep.
I am a man, son, brother, cousin, friend, husband, father, uncle, grand father, in-law and mostly retired Coloradan. You can read more about me on the About Page. If you are curious about my professional life you can visit my Career at Venture Horizon.
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