I drank too much coffee and it is now 3:35 am, so I am just combing through photos to finish a couple of technical posts on Instrumentation and Human factors. I came across this photo from Super bowl Sunday 2009. It is one of my favorites:
Above ScoobE’s first plane flight. He, Grace and I are aloft just before sunset in Grace’s 1946 Taylorcraft. We had only had him a short while then, and had not learned how to keep up with how fast his hair grows. It looks like a paw, but that is actually an ear draped over Grace’s wrist. His front paws are on her elbow. Out the window you can see a swath of Northern Florida. This was the only flight ScoobE did without hearing protection. Since then he has his own set of Mutt-Muffs. I was concerned that he might panic in the flight, but as it turned out he fell asleep in about 5 minutes and only woke up on final.-ww.
Going back for a moment to books, I want to bring this one up also. It was highly influential in changing my perspective and definition of adventure. I read it when I was 17 years old in the fall of 1980.
Most books you cannot remember how you heard about them, certainly not 34 years later, but this one I can. On a weeknight, I was driving my 1965 Buick Skylark around my home town in northern NJ. It was late, and no one was out at any of the usual haunts. The car only had an AM radio, the kind that said B-U-I-C-K on the five push button selectors (If you are less than 50 years old I will explain that at a college) I was listening to WABC, a New York City AM Clear Channel. around midnight they went over to an interview show. Their guest was an English motorcyclist who had spent 4 years riding a 500 Triumph around the world solo. He was a captivating conversationalist. I drove up to Washington Rock and listened to the whole interview, which ran until 3am.
When you are 17, and you get a license, high school is coming to an end, and your horizons are expanding, you start looking for some path to follow to your next place in life. For most kids in my town, the single word ‘college’ sufficed as planning enough, and they contentedly went on their way. Although I later spent many years in college, at the time I encountered this book college looked more like a yoke and harness than an adventure.
Ted Simon’s interview and book opened my eyes to just how full of adventure the world could be. In his perspective, nothing was predefined, you were only limited by what you were willing to try. It particularly caught my attention that Simon had hardly ridden a bike before, and he openly expressed self doubt about every aspect of the trip. He explained that if you knew you could make it before you left, than it wasn’t an adventure at all.
His book taught all kinds of lessons about patience, about the difference between being a tourist and a traveler, about how few people who have been abroad can say they have dined in the home of a native.
It isn’t coincidental to me that this book, Zen and the art of Motorcycle maintenance, and Shop craft all have an element of motorcycles in them. Before I came to aviation, motorcycles were my machines of adventure. This is a common thread going back to Lindbergh and Curtiss. Jupiter’s travels was my introduction to external travel. The following year I read Zen, and it was a guide to traveling in your own thoughts and perspectives. Shop Craft is a very interesting book that bridges the two together, speaking of how the physical work affects the cognitive perspective of the world.
Before Christmas I spent an hour looking at a few photos of me as a 16-19 year old that I found in the bottom of a box of papers. The connection between myself and the person in the photos seemed long and distant. I looked closely, but I couldn’t really say what thoughts the person in the photo possessed. I like to ask him to remind me, to establish more of a connection that the fact that 10,000 days later I find myself inhabiting his body. I would like to remember what he cared bout, was planning, was doubtful of, and hoped for, but I can’t. Almost all of it is gone. Except for one small sliver of an evening, where he listened to a guy from England explain that the world was completely accessible to anyone who would just wander out there and live in it. Those hours I remember clear as a bell. -ww