Engine trouble

It started as a bit of mist on the roadway. A few moments later the skies opened and the fat drops exploded against the windshield as we drove down to Princeton. Maike was amused by the changed roadway; what was once a shiny stretch of asphalt rapidly turned to a river with curbs, red brake lights and nervous drivers.

We had to bolt into the garage to get out of the car without getting soaked. In just a few steps we were both drenched, like the time we arrived at Newark airport from St. Louis and discovered that the BMW did not like to run its A/C when it was hot and humid. (I think I fixed that problem with a new relay. I hope.). It started to rain harder, now with great flashes of lightning to add to Nature's spectacle. I ran to the car and pointed North, along the road a bit less travelled, in the hopes of avoiding the tentative drivers.

Wipers on full, lights and foglights not piercing the wall of water. I could hear the puddles reaching for the underside of the BMW, and I was glad that I had thought to bring an umbrella for the inevitable wet arrival. Road was clear in front of me, and the speed limit was about 15 mph under my current velocity. This car knows no fear!

The vehicle in the headlights suddenly swerved left, too late though. The wall of water streamed right and left as he hydroplaned across the overflowing roadway. Too late, I hit the same little puddle, and felt the Green Rocket shudder sideways up to the drier shoulder of the road, and the tires had enough purchase once more to muscle through. I accelerated to get out of the low point, but she didn't have the power any more. The engine was mis-firing, and when I let up on the gas to have her recover, that idle rpm dropped to the stalling point. I floored it and popped the clutch, and the engine wheezed us out of the water.

The next ten miles were a series of miniature lakes and little panics at each stop-light. I would go as slow as I dared on approaching the intersection, to keep the engine in gear, braking and giving gas to keep the rpm over 1100, sometime simultaneously. The check engine light came on after 3 miles, and refused to stop it's amber glow despite my numerous sincere and profane entreaties.

She shuddered to a stop in the parking space and I went upstairs to dry off and cool off.

The next day, she started up just fine, despite the "Check Engine" warning still blinking, so off we went to that activity I call The Job. I was waiting to merge into the Hell-that-they-call-Route 18 when a cloud overtook me. A glance in the side mirror confirmed the worst: that cloud of steam was roaring from my tailpipe.

Rick at Kingston Garage is still trying to decipher the codes that the OBD2 is whispering to the analyzer. Something about a really dumb owner going where he never should have been. There may be some dollar signs involved in the discussion; how many is unclear at this point. I am in mourning.

Maike going up to the jungle

IM000419.jpg
Originally uploaded by ymaike

She wasn't real happy about her horse's name (Hitler). But Kareem assured her that he was a good-natured animal, and the horse seemed to be very friendly. So through the sugar cane fields we went, climbing ever higher into the steamy jungle. Maike rode very well, and wasn't scared even when the horse slipped a bit on the descent down to the village.

Got crabs?

I've decided to catch crabs. Some of tools are pictured above.

The blue claw variety.

I have a little net, three hand lines, and some wisdom from the MasterMachinist. Something about taking tongs unless I want a bloody, fractured finger. And that I have to throw back the females, and anything under 5 inches across. Yes, that was a chuckle to figure out if it's a he-crab or a she-crab: the female apparently has a large apron in the shape of an inverted "V". Or, as MasterMachisist delicately put it: "The women are the big V's." Gotcha.

I thnk the catching part I have figured out. You put some bait like a chickenneck into the clamp, drop it overboard (after tying it off to something) in less than 15 feet of water, and wait. Within a few minutes I should be able to ever-so-gently pull in the line, and then use my net with stealth. You gotta come from underneath them and not too fast, 'cause they do have some intelligence, and it they see it coming, they'll drop the yummy raw chicken and scurry off to find some other filth to eat. Why do I think crabs are so tasty, anyway? Yech!.

Anyway, the cleaning part is more complex bit. Everyone knows how to do it, but no one can explain it. Even the website with pictures weren't much help. My current plan is to steam them for 8 minutes in beer and Old Bay, take them out with tongs, and then start the dissection with an expert at the ready for on the spot coaching and biology insights.

Can't wait!

Jet flies across English Channel

Okay, this is just CRAZY!!
http://natgeochannel.co.uk/video/default.aspx

and he actually did it!
http://abcnews.go.com/International/story?id=5891831&page=1

Isn't this just what every kid dreams of doing some day? I bet it was a lot cheaper than getting a real pilot's license!

Ambushed

We decided to go for a short flight yesterday evening. The air was clear, the wind was moderate, and we both had some time available. George Bush almost wrecked our plans: since he was in New York addressing the UN, the FAA had put a Temporary Flight Restriction (TFR) around the entire Newark Class B space.
I called the briefer at the FAA to find out if the TFR was still in effect, and if so, whether or not our airport was in the zone (47N).
"Well, sir, where exactly is Central Jersey Airport?" said the lazy drawl on the other end of the 800 number.
"Uhm, it's in the middle part of New Jersey. Near the center", I offered hopefully
"Sir, I am not finding it" came the slow answer.
"15 miles southwest of Newark airport", was my testy riposte.
""Looks like it is outside the zone. Can't really make it out fer sure, but it seems like you'll be okay if you head west after take-off from 07." came the answer.

Now, as I am sure you realize, after 9/11 they have these helicopters and jet fighters that enforce these TFR's. This is not a mistake you want to make, ever. I even got a card from the Air Safety Foundation to keep in my flight bag called "Intercept Procedures". I was really hoping for a better answer from the FAA ( the agency who implements TFR's) that our airport was or was not outside the zone.

I called The Very Wise Man on Y!messenger. He thought it wasn't real clear either, and counseled that it would prudent to fly another day, which was eminently sensible, as usual.

I called He-Who-is-much-smarter-than-your-average-person. He had talked to the FBO and got an all-clear. I saw a couple of other planes take off, and veer to the northwest. Decision made: we are going!

He-Who-is-much-smarter-than-your-average-person had the controls for Leg 1 to Alexandria. We decided to climb at maximum angle, and then head west as soon as we were at 500 feet above the ground, since we only had 1.8 nm between the end of runway 07 and the start of the TFR. For good measure I kept my intercept procedures card handy, next to the charts.

Flight is just perfect. Sun is setting over the gently rolling hills of Hunterdon County, it's cooler by a few degrees up at our altitude, the country side is beautiful. All is well. Until He-Who-is-much-smarter-than-your-average-person spots what appears to be another aircraft on our flight path. It's not getting smaller either, which means we are drawing closer. Uh-oh. It's starting to look an awful lot like a Blackhawk helicopter coming towards us. Hmmm. We switch on the second radio to monitor the emergency frequency, and He-Who-is-much-smarter-than-your-average-person decides to execute a 360 south of the lake to see what happens. Now the shape is closer, and I can just make out the unmistakable lines of ......a hot air balloon. Doh!

Relieved and amused we fly on to N85, land (nicely) on 08, and switch seats. He-Who-is-much-smarter-than-your-average-person lets me use his birthday gift from his wife, a Very Nice Headset with a noise cancelling feature. I put it on, start taxiing, and immediately stop the plane. I had to turn off the ANR because I could no longer hear the engine! What if we lost a cylinder on climb-out? He-Who-is-much-smarter-than-your-average-person gave an indulgent smile as I explained my Luddite predicament and showed me the switch. Hey, I have to warm up to this new-fangled technology, you know?

I switched it on once we were at cruising altitude. It was very, very quiet and comfortable. Now I am jealous.

Off to sea

I am going sailing again! October 3rd is C Day, where "C" stands for Charter. This will be the first time sailing without a captain aboard! I have a little logbook from the American Sailing Association that says that I am qualified to bareboat charter, but you know how it goes with certifications and actually being able to do things...I remember when I first got my driver's license, my parents still wouldn't let me borrow the car because they said I didn't really know how to drive. No idea what they were talking about, I mean, I passed the driving test on the road with flying colors! My instructor sat in the back seat, and every time I would start to do something wrong, he would push his foot under my seat before I got myself failed. I figured that if the Commonwealth of Massachusetts deemed me skilled enough to let me drive, then so should my parents.
My parents may have been right; the first time I got the chance to drive in snow, I wondered what would would happen if I took a sharp right turn at 30 mph on a snow-covered road out in Dover. Luckily the snowdrift stopped my path into the trees and just left a minor dent in the driver-side B-pillar.
Five is the magic number for this boat, meaning she drafts a little under 5 feet. This is important becuase the Chesapeake Bay can be rather shallow in many area's, and we'll need to watch the depthsounder and plan our course carefully to avoid a repeat of the two other groundings on the Metedeconk River. Got paying customers on this trip, and I think that they want to sail rather than wait for the next high tide!

The scooter that got away

I sold my old scooter today. It was getting rather frail and elderly, spewing a faint trail of blue smoke down the road as I rode it. At first it was pretty cool, made me feel like I was piloting a fighter plane at an air show. I stared into the mirror as I rode, watching the haze mark my progress down the street and around the corner. I didn't slow down, for fear of creating a cloud that the local police (or EPA) might find offensive enough to investigate more closely. Slowly it dawned on me that the contrail was actually the oil burning on the cylinders, shortening the engine lifespan with every mile. The exhaust is rusted out, and needs replacing soon, and the tires! Oh the tires are a textbook example of that thing called "dry rot", I believe. Let's just say that I would not be the least bit surprised if the tires decided to crack like eggs at the most inconvenient moment, like rounding a curve at 69 km/hr (my top speed).

"sold" might be a premature concept. The lady gave me $60 as a deposit, and disappeared to consult with her husband on how best to retrieve the machine without getting arrested (I mentioned to her that the title was in Italian, there was no U.S. state title to be had, and technically it was not supposed to be on a public road). I wrote down my phone number on her proffered scrap of paper as a receipt. She promised to return with a larger vehicle and some muscle power, as well as the balance of the agreed purchase price of $275; at first she was thinking that we could just shove into the back of her mid-sized SUV, all 500 pounds of fine Japanese/Italian scooter. Yep, it was a little weird. No test drive, no questions about how to operate, just a perfunctory twist of the throttle and a brief glance at the speedometer. Some people seem to buy things based on the concept they represent, rather than the reality of what they are spending their pennies on, I guess.

Anyway, a small part of me is hoping that her buyer's remorse kicks in so I can keep the scooter (and maybe the deposit as well). I mean, the scooter cost me three and a half million lira back in 1993, and I drove it over 5000 km to my jobs in Germany, Italy and Holland, as well as countless laps up and down the driveway with Maike on the back at our former house in New Jersey. It's got an "aura". Or maybe it's just a pack rat thing.

Update 9/23/08

Still no word from Confused Scooter Buyer. Guess I am $60 richer, and I still have to figure out what to do with the elderly scooter!

Update 9/24/08

Argh! She called me while I was in the cockpit preparing to fly to Alexandria - apparently a truck has been located. Looks like Thursday the scooter and I wll part ways.

Update 9/26

She's gone. I am saving the money in an envelope to buy a Kruggerand. Maike can use it to buy a 150cc Vespa when she starts college.