Another Way to the USVI
Connie's Log 8/24/02 SATURDAY
We checked out of the Best Western about 9 a.m. We checked back in twelve hours later. In addition to needing reading glasses, Brian's depth perception when it comes to seeing work, is not 20/20. Show him a mess that to my highly trained eye is clearly a ten or twelve hour job, and he'll optimistically check out of the hotel and plan on lunch on the way out of town.By noon we had finished going through the last of the stuff in the shop, taking some to the storage, and packing the rest; but it still remained to improve the packing of the boxes we planned to ship, rather than take; then carefully loaded the airplane to stay within proper weight and balance requirements. It was near dinner time when we wearily climbed into the pick-up to take it to Dennis Nickson's for storage. As we pulled from the curb, we saw a friend who had just gotten back to town after months away. We accepted his invitation to share mu shu pork, and chow mein at the local Chinese restaurant.
Over an hour later, once again on our way to Dennis's, we examined our options: getting under way as planned, albeit much later, and a late arrival in West Covina, or to get some sleep and leave after a quick breakfast. We chose to sleep. The next morning, with Dennis taking photos and neighbors stopping for a last good-bye we taxi'd out of Cameron Park about ten a.m.
Connie's Log 8/25/02 SUNDAY
Somebody shoot me please! Sure, the day began smoothly enough, the flight to West Covina was uneventful, I read Steinbeck's Sea of Cortez aloud to Brian while Seth slept in back with Puck literally on his feet. We arrived, hot and cramped, and I marched straight to the shade of the patio cafe and ordered a tall iced tea while Brian rearranged the back seat to give Seth more room, and his parents took photos. We stayed for a four hour visit then returned to the airport, and my day began to degrade. I suddenly felt queasy, perhaps ill effects of a lingering cold combined with riding in the back seat of a hot car. Still, we planned one hop east before calling it a day.
Anything longer than a three hour hop is too bloody long for me, even on a stronger stomach. Our flight to El Paso lasted two hundred and thirty grueling, miserable minutes. On take-off, the cockpit of the Aztec felt like a hot-box in a WWII prison camp, and my queasiness grew. I turned the level of my electronic motion relief wrist band to the highest setting, which I think is the same power level used on the Washington Monument spotlight; I shoved my hand between my legs to stop my fingers twitching. There was a moment of comfort when we reached altitude and a cool breeze blew through the vent onto my feet. This, however, was not deemed to be a comfortable flight for me. As the sun slipped below the horizon, and the vent stuck in the open position a chilling blast blew on my feet, numbing me to the knees. By this time, the iced tea that soothed and quenched my thirst hours before began pressing mercilessly against my insides, demanding release. I draped an extra sweatshirt across my legs, and closing my eyes, leaned my head against the window longing, with all my being to be forever on the ground in California.
Tomorrow I've got to find another way to get to the USVI.
Connie's Log 8/26/02 MONDAY
Smooth, tolerable 3 hour and 15 minute flight to lunch in Austin until the hot bumpy, stomach turning, decent. Why oh why do I ever willingly climb into a general aviation aircraft. I've got to see if I can find a commercial flight to the USVI, or Miami at least.
Lunch with Brian's Aunt Sherry, Uncle Roger and cousin Statia revived me, and somehow Brian got me back in the Aztec. After aborting a landing at Beaumont, TX because a thunderstorm was making it's approach at the other end of the runway, we landed in Galveston. The first thing I noticed on this, my first visit to Galveston, was the sky. It's everywhere, above you, yes of course, but all around you, and it comes right down to your feet. There are no hills, much less mountains, or even tall buildings to break up the vastness of this incredible grey dome. It felt rather like an alien world to this woman who grew up in the Pacific Northwest, where hills go study to become mountains, and moved from there to the shadow of the Sierra Nevada.
The storm followed us from Beaumont, and arrived while we were eating in a diner. Seth talked us into dessert while we waited for it to pass. We walked to the hotel in the drizzel stepping over puddles, and watching lightening illuminate the distant sky. Even the weather is big in Texas. I saw more lightening in half an hour than I've seen collectively in perhaps a dozen years.
Connie's Log 8/27/02 TUESDAY
It seems if I keep my eyes closed, lean against the window, and keep my motion relief band turned up, I can get through a flight without contemplating how painful a death it would be to just open the cockpit door and throw myself out. I suppose it also helps that my cold is probably gone now, because I've certainly flown GA before without being as sick as I was the past two days. Our first hop today was one hundred seventy-nine minutes. Bathrooms are becoming beautiful things to me.
Shortly before noon, we landed at a tiny airport in a small southern town. One bathroom had an ill-tempered toilet, and the other a sink that leaked aggressively into a bucket. I loved them both. We fueled the airplane and then a skinny fellow in a dirty cap tossed us keys to an old police car that he said started out sluggish, but would go just fine by the time we reached Jim's Steak and Buffet house, he recommended the fried catfish. Five or six miles, and three U-turns later, we found the steakhouse. Having ordered the catfish, we turned our attention to the window and marveled at a small southern mansion just across the street. Trees dripped moss over a blue-green yard, and partially blocked the view from immense windows across the wide front porch. It's timeless beauty more appropriately found down a tree-lined driveway, fenced, and graced by thoroughbreds, yet here it was across the street from a steak-house. I love new places and sights. It's just traveling I hate.
Seth, Puck and I watched a 1930's John Wayne movie in the FBO while waiting out yet another thunderstorm. I didn't eat the complimentary popcorn; it would have made me thirsty. We arrived in Stuart, Florida about ten p.m. local time.
I'm not seeing much of the landscape, but thanks to a pillow, and my prescription (shouldn't have had the fried catfish), the flying hasn't been unpleasant. It's like I'm ten years old all over again, and Mom is telling me to close my eyes and go to sleep when I really want to watch the scenery.
Connie's Log 8/28/02 WEDNESDAY
I'm so happy! I can drink all the iced tea, diet pepsi, or water I like and not have to worry about when I will see the inside of a bathroom. We're staying in Stuart for a couple of days while we look at catamarans and kill time before a Friday meeting in the Turks and Caicos. Gotta go, I'm heading to the cafe for an iced tea.
Connie's Log 8/29/02 THURSDAY
Sigh, I have to get in the airplane tomorrow. Brian hasn't finished the flight planning yet, but he's guessing a three hour flight to the Turks and Caicos, No tea with my breakfast in the morning. Plus, we're being met at the airport by potential business associates. I have to disembark looking good and able to smile....yeah, that's going to happen. Meanwhile, the laundry facilities here at the Pirate's Cove Inn are adjacent to the swimming pool so this afternoon I took my book and lounged by the pool. There was a cool breeze and I had a ginger ale with lime. It's the most reading I've gotten done in a month.
Our bodies are staying stubbornly on Pacific Coast Time. I didn't fall asleep until about 1 a.m. and Brian had to nudge me awake at 8:45. Of course falling asleep wasn't easy with the air conditioner cycling from silent to jet engine, and Seth's snoring. Grandma's snoring had rythmn, once you got in sync with her you too could sleep, but Seth's is a zoo-like medley of wheezing, snorting and honking that sets me to giggling...when I'm not burying my head under a pillow. Then Puck, no doubt sensing I was about to fall asleep, decided to eat his dry food in the middle of the night. It didn't sound like a 40 pound dog eating dinner so much as a lotto tumbler filled with rocks.