While I was waiting for D2 to finish her tumbling class last night I had no choice but to listen to two people discuss their weekend plans. They seemed to revolve around two things:
1. beer.
2. camping.
They were my kind of people. Or at least, I thought so at first. Turns out we have very different ideas about what "camping" means.
Theirs involved towing an RV to a state park. Inside their air conditioned camper they would watch satellite TV. Later that night they planned to sit around in lawn chairs and drink with all the other people close by.
OKAY. A party that involves drinking with a large group of strangers is not camping...it's a frat party. Been there, done that, had to pay the black mail to get the pictures back.
Camping, in my view, is a different endeavor. It starts with months of planning and negotiations. All interested parties must find a person willing to go with them and then everybody has to agree on a date. These talks are just a little less complicated than say, the talks between Kennedy and Khrushchev.
The final camping party must be an EVEN number. No this isn't camping voodoo, it's simple logistics. See, when I say camping, I mean camping in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. The BWCA is not for the weak. Probably not for the sane either, but clearly I'm eligible. The basic idea is that you start at the edge of a lake. You get in a canoe and paddle to the other side. Then you pick up the canoe, and all your other junk, and then hike to the next lake. Repeat this process until you find a lake you like, or you are just too tired to care anymore.
You might see moose, bear, beavers, and other wild life, but you most likely won't see another human any closer than across the lake. This is good for two reasons: you have no showers or mirrors and deodorant attracts mosquitoes. Less contact is better, see?
Several trips have involved us slogging through waist deep muck, picking our way down rapids, trying to stay warm during constant rain showers and even snow flurries and a myriad of other discomforts all wrapped up with sleeping on the rocky ground. So why in the name of all that is right in the world would anyone want to attempt such a trip?
Well, it's sort of like climbing Mt Everest. It's just there.
Plus you get to see things not many people have seen since Lewis and Clark tagged along with Sacajawea.
Imagine a night sky so filled with stars that finding any one constellation is almost impossible. Satellites buzz around the sky and shooting stars leave blazing trails of light. The northern lights undulate across the horizon in stunning pink, purple, red, green, and yellow. They can look like the whole sky is a lava lamp on speed. Imagine laying on a rocky cliff listening to the gentle sounds of the lake below and starring up into that sky and knowing that, other than your group, there aren't any people for miles. Once, while we were sitting around the crackling fire we heard wolves howling in the distance.
You might paddle around a corner and come within 20 feet of a Moose standing in the water with her baby.
Imagine a place where everything is so crystal clean that you can take a cup, dip it in the lake, and drink it.
No cell phones, no TV, no bills, no modern clutter.
Of course camping isn't just about getting away. It's also about getting close. Close to people in a way you'd never really do under other circumstances. You find out things. I have laughed so hard up there I honestly thought I might be having a heart attack. You learn a lot. Like to never take a pair of clean underwear for granted. That warm clothes on a cold night are worth carrying. That you really can't have too much Vodka along. That fishing lures should never, under NO circumstances be carried in a vest pocket.
That Trivial Pursuit games up there count double the regular value (Yes, they do!).
You learn that all juice has pulp. (Even cherry Kool Aid.)
You learn that when filtered through a couple cups of vodka lemonade or brandy that people say funny things. You may even be elected to exalted leadership positions of new political parties. GFers of America unite!
Think you know someone? Race a thunderstorm, make land and then sit in the middle of a deserted lake while lightning and thunder explode around you. Sit through THAT with someone and you'll know them better.
Why do you climb Mt Everest? For fame, fortune, and serious bragging rights. But still a BWCA trip involves all that too, on a smaller scale. You will be infamous in your group, (one way or another!) you will gain a priceless fortune in memories, and to the brilliant team that wins the Trivia game...well you get the idea. And you don't have to risk losing most of your toes to frost bite. Well not usually.
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Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Finding God at 10,000 feet
Our flight to MN was best described as "boring", but the return fight was a whole 'nother kettle of fish. First, we had no date set. I was to wait for a call from Captain Chad and he would tell me what day we were going. Three days after I thought we were going...still no word. I couldn't stand the pressure so I called him. He said we would go Wed, Thurs, or Friday, which ever day looked best.
This should have set off alarm bells in my head. Should have, but it didn't.
No word Tuesday night. Nothing most of Wed. Again this should have been causing some concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
Finally Wed. night he called and said he thought maybe we could go the next day. He told me to plan to be there at 7:30 am but the time might change. Again this should have been causing some concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
Then, when we were on our way to the airport his mom ever so casually mentioned that she hoped we made it, because he was a little concerned about the weather in IL. She then sort of chuckled. This should have been causing some MAJOR concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
No sooner were we air born then he flipped on the radar screen and I saw the problem. The problem was a line of clouds covering most of central IL.
Oh boy.
He hastened to explain that scattered, broken clouds showing as green on the screen wouldn't be any big deal. Also we could most likely go above, around, or under any small scattered clouds.
I looked at the screen again.
"Small scattered green clouds exactly NOT like the solid line of yellow with big splotches of red clouds showing on the screen." Said I,
"Well, yeah, that's what I'm worried about," he said. I looked down. The clear landscape below was starting to be dotted with puffy white clouds. Within a few minutes the puffy clouds had lined up in unbroken rows and a few minutes after that I was looking down at a puffy solid layer of white.
I noticed he was looking down as well. Also looking ahead a lot. Also checking the radar screen about every 3 seconds. I come from a long line of Irish Catholics and I have been carefully raised to be able to ignore almost any unpleasantness, but this was pushing the limits of my deny-ability.
"OK. I'm getting that we may have to alter our plans." I said casually.
"Well, yes. We may have to just call it a game and land somewhere until the storms pass." Then he looked at me as if to gauge my panic potential, and then added, "The thing is, Friday, Sat, and Sun look worse."
Then, since I hadn't spontaneously combusted at that news he added, "better tighten your belt and make sure the kids' belts are tight. It's going to get bumpy."
I looked ahead and saw a solid tower of gray clouds looking uncomfortably like I imagine the Pearly Gates might, directly in front of us. I swallowed.
He pulled his belt a bit and I swallowed harder. I was already belted in as tight as I could pull the tabs. I pulled 'em tighter.
"Hold on! We're going to punch it!"
Oh Dear sweet Jesus, what have I done????
It was just like being on a roller coaster at Six Flags. Well, if they were 2 miles above the earth, in total dark and designed by the devil, that is.
Pretty soon the rain in the clouds started hitting the plane. This sounded just like machine gun fire. We were under attack, in the dark, 2 miles above the earth. It was a very scary ride for the next 45 minutes. Let's just leave it at that.
Thankfully nobody could hear me screaming, sobbing, and begging for Divine Intervention over the engine noise and I'm pretty sure that a Last Will and Testament made under those conditions is not valid.
A mere 4 hours of terror later and we landed for gas. I will neither confirm nor deny that I had to change my outfit. If I had the slightest idea of exactly what state that cornfield airstrip was in, I would have begged, borrowed, or committed grand theft auto to avoid getting back into the plane. Heck even jail sounded better right then. Even my daredevil younger daughter was begging for more Benedryl. That says a LOT. But since we could have been in Tennessee, Missouri, Mississippi, or Kentucky we really had no choice but to get back on. I of course said a few quick Novenas first.
The second part was a tiny bit better. Oh there were sudden plunges and a lot of bumps but this time we were flying under the clouds and we could see the ground at all times. I don't know why this was comforting, I mean falling from 3,000 feet would probably be just as fatal as 10,000 but somehow just being able to see something was comforting. We managed to land safely back in Armpit, FL and we were all pretty darn glad to be home. I know I wasn't the only one singing a couple verses of the Hallelujah Chorus.
This should have set off alarm bells in my head. Should have, but it didn't.
No word Tuesday night. Nothing most of Wed. Again this should have been causing some concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
Finally Wed. night he called and said he thought maybe we could go the next day. He told me to plan to be there at 7:30 am but the time might change. Again this should have been causing some concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
Then, when we were on our way to the airport his mom ever so casually mentioned that she hoped we made it, because he was a little concerned about the weather in IL. She then sort of chuckled. This should have been causing some MAJOR concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
No sooner were we air born then he flipped on the radar screen and I saw the problem. The problem was a line of clouds covering most of central IL.
Oh boy.
He hastened to explain that scattered, broken clouds showing as green on the screen wouldn't be any big deal. Also we could most likely go above, around, or under any small scattered clouds.
I looked at the screen again.
"Small scattered green clouds exactly NOT like the solid line of yellow with big splotches of red clouds showing on the screen." Said I,
"Well, yeah, that's what I'm worried about," he said. I looked down. The clear landscape below was starting to be dotted with puffy white clouds. Within a few minutes the puffy clouds had lined up in unbroken rows and a few minutes after that I was looking down at a puffy solid layer of white.
I noticed he was looking down as well. Also looking ahead a lot. Also checking the radar screen about every 3 seconds. I come from a long line of Irish Catholics and I have been carefully raised to be able to ignore almost any unpleasantness, but this was pushing the limits of my deny-ability.
"OK. I'm getting that we may have to alter our plans." I said casually.
"Well, yes. We may have to just call it a game and land somewhere until the storms pass." Then he looked at me as if to gauge my panic potential, and then added, "The thing is, Friday, Sat, and Sun look worse."
Then, since I hadn't spontaneously combusted at that news he added, "better tighten your belt and make sure the kids' belts are tight. It's going to get bumpy."
I looked ahead and saw a solid tower of gray clouds looking uncomfortably like I imagine the Pearly Gates might, directly in front of us. I swallowed.
He pulled his belt a bit and I swallowed harder. I was already belted in as tight as I could pull the tabs. I pulled 'em tighter.
"Hold on! We're going to punch it!"
Oh Dear sweet Jesus, what have I done????
It was just like being on a roller coaster at Six Flags. Well, if they were 2 miles above the earth, in total dark and designed by the devil, that is.
Pretty soon the rain in the clouds started hitting the plane. This sounded just like machine gun fire. We were under attack, in the dark, 2 miles above the earth. It was a very scary ride for the next 45 minutes. Let's just leave it at that.
Thankfully nobody could hear me screaming, sobbing, and begging for Divine Intervention over the engine noise and I'm pretty sure that a Last Will and Testament made under those conditions is not valid.
A mere 4 hours of terror later and we landed for gas. I will neither confirm nor deny that I had to change my outfit. If I had the slightest idea of exactly what state that cornfield airstrip was in, I would have begged, borrowed, or committed grand theft auto to avoid getting back into the plane. Heck even jail sounded better right then. Even my daredevil younger daughter was begging for more Benedryl. That says a LOT. But since we could have been in Tennessee, Missouri, Mississippi, or Kentucky we really had no choice but to get back on. I of course said a few quick Novenas first.
The second part was a tiny bit better. Oh there were sudden plunges and a lot of bumps but this time we were flying under the clouds and we could see the ground at all times. I don't know why this was comforting, I mean falling from 3,000 feet would probably be just as fatal as 10,000 but somehow just being able to see something was comforting. We managed to land safely back in Armpit, FL and we were all pretty darn glad to be home. I know I wasn't the only one singing a couple verses of the Hallelujah Chorus.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The Cabin
I just realized that the last post didn't really feature kids, pets, OR relatives. Talk about a trifecta. Sheesh. Guess I better keep the titles random enough to fit my -er-randomness.
While there were many high points to this trip (like dodging storm clouds at 10,000 feet in a single engine Cessna-stay tuned for the return flight!!!) there was one really low point. Among my many quirks I will confess to an absolute fetish for the stars. There are few things in life better than laying under a sparkling blanket of shimmery magnificence and just holding hands with someone you love. I don't know if this is because I grew up in MN where on a good night you can see satellites, so many constellations you go cross eyed, fiery northern lights, and even a planet or two.
I don't know why, I just know I have a thing for tiny lights. This may explain my sincere desire to be buried in a coffin draped with white twinkle lights. Call me a crazy redneck, but I think having Christmas lights up all year round is nothing short of genius. So you might imagine that the Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays. Patriotism, classic tunes, and light shows...what more do you need?
Well, actually it turns out that the stars are not the most important part. Neither are the fireworks, actually. It turns out I'd rather be holding hands in the dark with not even a single twinkle light than have the entire sky ablaze in glory. Turns out it isn't the stars I really miss at all. Funny how sometimes you can get it all wrong. I guess you could say that until Hubs comes home the stars are just not that bright.
While there were many high points to this trip (like dodging storm clouds at 10,000 feet in a single engine Cessna-stay tuned for the return flight!!!) there was one really low point. Among my many quirks I will confess to an absolute fetish for the stars. There are few things in life better than laying under a sparkling blanket of shimmery magnificence and just holding hands with someone you love. I don't know if this is because I grew up in MN where on a good night you can see satellites, so many constellations you go cross eyed, fiery northern lights, and even a planet or two.
I don't know why, I just know I have a thing for tiny lights. This may explain my sincere desire to be buried in a coffin draped with white twinkle lights. Call me a crazy redneck, but I think having Christmas lights up all year round is nothing short of genius. So you might imagine that the Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays. Patriotism, classic tunes, and light shows...what more do you need?
Well, actually it turns out that the stars are not the most important part. Neither are the fireworks, actually. It turns out I'd rather be holding hands in the dark with not even a single twinkle light than have the entire sky ablaze in glory. Turns out it isn't the stars I really miss at all. Funny how sometimes you can get it all wrong. I guess you could say that until Hubs comes home the stars are just not that bright.
Kids, Dogs, and Relatives...oh MY!
While we were in MN we had the great fortune to spend most of the time at the Cabin. It has changed a bit over the years but to us it will always be known as "Lund's" or "the Palace". This is to distinguish it from its closest neighbor, "the green cabin" or "the hovel." Both names are a bit quirky. Big surprise, right? See, first of all both cabins are actually now brown. True the smaller one was green for about a gazillion years, but it's brown now. Also while "hovel" is pretty accurate "palace" is fair only in comparison to "the hovel." True it now has running water that doesn't require human legs to actually "run" and when the toilet flushes, well, I'll spare you the gory details, but it now drains into an approved unit! The cabin is now an outhouse free zone! True, the kids occasionally miss the excitement of actually being encouraged by adults to pee outside, but most sane people adore the modern benefits of not getting mosquito bites on your...well, on your nether regions.
I know what you're thinking, and you're probably like me and really, really, love the place for it's rustic charm. I mean, really, how many places is making dinner interrupted only for the SNAP of a mouse trap? OK, that may not have been what you were actually thinking.
But it does have several unique features. Like the fact that one screen is peppered with holes where Pop has aimed at, and (occasionally) hit squirrels trying to cop an easy meal at his bird feeder. Speaking of birds, Nana and Pop are just a bit obsessed with our feathery friends. They have hummingbird feeders, oriole feeders, woodpecker ones, and ones for small birds, large birds, and the occasional lucky rodent. The have a dock lined with structures that resemble a birdy ghetto complete with bars on the windows and approaches limited by friendly fire. Pop has even built the world's most expensive aviary. His boat lifts used to protect his boats. Now they protect several colonies of barn swallows. The unwitting stranger may be asked to lend a hand scrubbing seagull/heron/Clydesdale poo from the end of the dock when Pop forgets to string fishing line in a pattern just slightly less dangerous than the security system in a high tech spy movie.
Aside from being the actual site where "The Birds" was filmed, the cabin also boasts boats. One is a fishing/ski boat that is Pop's pride and joy. It, of course, rarely gets used. In fact you will know your status as visitor by whether you get a ride in it or not. Mere mortals are ferried about in the other boat.
It is a pontoon, or as I like to call it, "the mini-van of the lake." It has plenty of room for people, and beer. It is comfortable, spacious, and perfect for "cruising the lake." Lest you be fooled, this involves several hours of sloooooooooowly puttering around the lake looking for one of three things: Joe Mauer, the legendary Lake Sturgeon, or "houses we wished we owned." (Listed in inverted order of importance of course.) The first is somewhat self explanatory. Now that the Twin's catcher is a reported neighbor, Mauer sightings are encouraged at all times. Interested parties may pay a nominal fee to get the full guided tour. Email me privately for details. (www.gettakenforabogusride.com)
The fish dates back to when a poor schmuck caught a trophy sturgeon but was stupid enough to catch it out of season in the witness of a DNR official. The fish went back into the lake and ever since any unusual interference on the "fish finder" sonar screen is immediately chalked up to being a "Sammy" sighting.
The last category is self evident and although the occasional brawl is started over hill vs flat, wood vs brick, and big vs digustingly huge (size does matter, go figure!) differences of opinion are mostly tolerated. However the thing about the pontoon is that it is the anti-fountain of youth. If a boat full of super-model bikini clad beauties were to board it they would instantly transform into old fogies. It just demands that people kick back, drink beer, and drive sloooooooowly. Pretty soon you are discussing the weather and asking about the best place to buy cheap laxatives. It just sucks the youth right out of you.
Of course the best part of being at the lake is indulging in slightly dangerous, reckless, adrenaline producing, screaming, deliriously good...water sports. What?! Get your mind out of the gutter! Water skiing, tubing, and now (thanks Phil!) a desire to skim the water. If you can't swim, or ski, or tube, you can always try and catch the elusive Walleye. You will probably be lucky enough to catch a huge drum and then be the butt of that day's jokes. If you can brave the bugs and critters, then you just might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of possibly the best place on Earth. Especially if it is a night when I beat a certain someone at Trivial Pursuit. Then you see Heaven for sure.
I know what you're thinking, and you're probably like me and really, really, love the place for it's rustic charm. I mean, really, how many places is making dinner interrupted only for the SNAP of a mouse trap? OK, that may not have been what you were actually thinking.
But it does have several unique features. Like the fact that one screen is peppered with holes where Pop has aimed at, and (occasionally) hit squirrels trying to cop an easy meal at his bird feeder. Speaking of birds, Nana and Pop are just a bit obsessed with our feathery friends. They have hummingbird feeders, oriole feeders, woodpecker ones, and ones for small birds, large birds, and the occasional lucky rodent. The have a dock lined with structures that resemble a birdy ghetto complete with bars on the windows and approaches limited by friendly fire. Pop has even built the world's most expensive aviary. His boat lifts used to protect his boats. Now they protect several colonies of barn swallows. The unwitting stranger may be asked to lend a hand scrubbing seagull/heron/Clydesdale poo from the end of the dock when Pop forgets to string fishing line in a pattern just slightly less dangerous than the security system in a high tech spy movie.
Aside from being the actual site where "The Birds" was filmed, the cabin also boasts boats. One is a fishing/ski boat that is Pop's pride and joy. It, of course, rarely gets used. In fact you will know your status as visitor by whether you get a ride in it or not. Mere mortals are ferried about in the other boat.
It is a pontoon, or as I like to call it, "the mini-van of the lake." It has plenty of room for people, and beer. It is comfortable, spacious, and perfect for "cruising the lake." Lest you be fooled, this involves several hours of sloooooooooowly puttering around the lake looking for one of three things: Joe Mauer, the legendary Lake Sturgeon, or "houses we wished we owned." (Listed in inverted order of importance of course.) The first is somewhat self explanatory. Now that the Twin's catcher is a reported neighbor, Mauer sightings are encouraged at all times. Interested parties may pay a nominal fee to get the full guided tour. Email me privately for details. (www.gettakenforabogusride.com)
The fish dates back to when a poor schmuck caught a trophy sturgeon but was stupid enough to catch it out of season in the witness of a DNR official. The fish went back into the lake and ever since any unusual interference on the "fish finder" sonar screen is immediately chalked up to being a "Sammy" sighting.
The last category is self evident and although the occasional brawl is started over hill vs flat, wood vs brick, and big vs digustingly huge (size does matter, go figure!) differences of opinion are mostly tolerated. However the thing about the pontoon is that it is the anti-fountain of youth. If a boat full of super-model bikini clad beauties were to board it they would instantly transform into old fogies. It just demands that people kick back, drink beer, and drive sloooooooowly. Pretty soon you are discussing the weather and asking about the best place to buy cheap laxatives. It just sucks the youth right out of you.
Of course the best part of being at the lake is indulging in slightly dangerous, reckless, adrenaline producing, screaming, deliriously good...water sports. What?! Get your mind out of the gutter! Water skiing, tubing, and now (thanks Phil!) a desire to skim the water. If you can't swim, or ski, or tube, you can always try and catch the elusive Walleye. You will probably be lucky enough to catch a huge drum and then be the butt of that day's jokes. If you can brave the bugs and critters, then you just might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of possibly the best place on Earth. Especially if it is a night when I beat a certain someone at Trivial Pursuit. Then you see Heaven for sure.
MN Invasion
No matter how many places we live there are a few things I will always like best in MN. One of course is family. Seeing family makes every trip worthwhile. Not sure they would say the same about us, but hey, that's the way the cookie crumbles. You know how they say "there's one in every family?" I couldn't think who was it in my family. Which is of course when I realized I was it. Please don't judge the rest of my family by me. They aren't all hopeless nut-balls, I must be some strange spontaneous mutation. OR, maybe, it is just as I've always suspected! I am actually a field agent from the future, a brave Star Fleet Officer sent back to gather intel about this misguided time. Maybe not. Right, I'm clearly just strange. Maybe I chewed too much lead paint as a child, who knows? The point is that I loved seeing family again, even though we may make each other crazy, it's like somebody once said, "we put the fun in dysfunctional."
The other thing that MN does better than any other place is it's food stores. I have lived in several and visited most states and I can say with total conviction that no place has better grocery stores than MN. The "average" ones are better than most "upscale" ones other places. But the primo MN stores, like my beloved Byerly's are a whole 'nother level. The window dressings are nice: the bank, the coffee bar, the carpeting, chandeliers, and the spotless way that it is always cleaner than a surgical suite. But the actual offerings are truly hard to believe: the fresh sushi counter, the incredible deli with every strange cheese, lunch meat or other oddity. The pickle and olive bar, the bakery! Oh the bakery. Huge free samples of cookies. Pastries I haven't seen outside of a cruise ship or specialty French bakery. Giant bagels, gourmet chocolates, cakes and pies, tarts, and brownies. Every flavor, every tempting morsel fresh and perfect. Sugar Paradise. Perhaps sugar isn't your thing. Hungry? Maybe you want the restaurant sized food counter. Fresh turkey dinner and all the fixings freshly made. Salads of every description. Meats, poultry, veggies you can't even name. Pick your fancy and head over to sip your coffee creation at one of the tables inside or out near fresh flowers. Or maybe you would rather have a fresh salad and homemade soup and roll from the humongous salad bar? No? Ok, maybe pick your own perfect slice of meat from the meat counter. From organic to wild to the highest rated beef, it's all there. Not into meat? How about fish? A tempting array including King Crab flown in that day. All with ZERO fishy smell! I have no idea how they do it, but if you weren't looking at it, you'd never know there was fish in the store. Minnesotans might take this for granted but walk into a Publix down here and you smell an obnoxious fishy smell from the front door. Vegan? Stroll over to the the fresh produce section and just take in the endless displays of every possible fruit and veggie; perfect, huge, and juicy. I dare you to name something they don't have. Star fruit to pomegranates, kumquats to Brussel sprouts, every cabbage, lettuce in twenty different varieties, bananas, plantains, jicama, whatever. If you really want a treat get a jug of their fresh squeezed OJ. Actually better not, you'll never be able to drink regular stuff again. I haven't even touched on the gourmet sauces, fancy flavors, and interesting spices you can find. A giant fresh floral department adds a splash of color. It is crack for foodies. Just when you think it couldn't get better, you check out. You don't have to unload your stuff. The smiling checker does it for you. You don't bag. You just take your numbers and pull up and the guy loads it into your car. You don't even tip. The guy evens smiles and says hi! I know, it's very strange. It's as if Disney did groceries! Many things change over time but Byerly's is always as good as I remember.
The other thing that MN does better than any other place is it's food stores. I have lived in several and visited most states and I can say with total conviction that no place has better grocery stores than MN. The "average" ones are better than most "upscale" ones other places. But the primo MN stores, like my beloved Byerly's are a whole 'nother level. The window dressings are nice: the bank, the coffee bar, the carpeting, chandeliers, and the spotless way that it is always cleaner than a surgical suite. But the actual offerings are truly hard to believe: the fresh sushi counter, the incredible deli with every strange cheese, lunch meat or other oddity. The pickle and olive bar, the bakery! Oh the bakery. Huge free samples of cookies. Pastries I haven't seen outside of a cruise ship or specialty French bakery. Giant bagels, gourmet chocolates, cakes and pies, tarts, and brownies. Every flavor, every tempting morsel fresh and perfect. Sugar Paradise. Perhaps sugar isn't your thing. Hungry? Maybe you want the restaurant sized food counter. Fresh turkey dinner and all the fixings freshly made. Salads of every description. Meats, poultry, veggies you can't even name. Pick your fancy and head over to sip your coffee creation at one of the tables inside or out near fresh flowers. Or maybe you would rather have a fresh salad and homemade soup and roll from the humongous salad bar? No? Ok, maybe pick your own perfect slice of meat from the meat counter. From organic to wild to the highest rated beef, it's all there. Not into meat? How about fish? A tempting array including King Crab flown in that day. All with ZERO fishy smell! I have no idea how they do it, but if you weren't looking at it, you'd never know there was fish in the store. Minnesotans might take this for granted but walk into a Publix down here and you smell an obnoxious fishy smell from the front door. Vegan? Stroll over to the the fresh produce section and just take in the endless displays of every possible fruit and veggie; perfect, huge, and juicy. I dare you to name something they don't have. Star fruit to pomegranates, kumquats to Brussel sprouts, every cabbage, lettuce in twenty different varieties, bananas, plantains, jicama, whatever. If you really want a treat get a jug of their fresh squeezed OJ. Actually better not, you'll never be able to drink regular stuff again. I haven't even touched on the gourmet sauces, fancy flavors, and interesting spices you can find. A giant fresh floral department adds a splash of color. It is crack for foodies. Just when you think it couldn't get better, you check out. You don't have to unload your stuff. The smiling checker does it for you. You don't bag. You just take your numbers and pull up and the guy loads it into your car. You don't even tip. The guy evens smiles and says hi! I know, it's very strange. It's as if Disney did groceries! Many things change over time but Byerly's is always as good as I remember.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Carrier Pigeon Express, part 2
Now that I have everybody, well both of you, waiting with baited breath, here is the exciting conclusion to what it's like to fly cross country via Cessna. Drum roll please.... snooze.
Oh what? Where was I? I must have drifted off. No wonder, because the only thing I can say about the flight was that it was incredibly, almost unbearably, BORING. It was smoother than a car ride, a constant 62 degrees, and the nice drone of the (single!) engine and possibly a prophylactic dose of Benedryl that I will neither confirm nor deny, and it adds up to perfect sleeping conditions. Plus at 10,000 feet in an unpressurized cabin you get just a little light headed. I have never fought so hard to stay awake in my life. Don't get me wrong, if I am going to plunge 2 miles straight down to a fiery death, I'd just as soon be asleep. However, I would also rather NOT plunge to my death because the PILOT fell asleep. So I felt the need to stay awake and keep him company. (and awake!)
So I tried valiantly NOT to sleep while the kids snored in the back seat. We landed, refueled, and repeated. 6 hours of nothing but fighting not to sleep. No bumps, no sudden free fall, leave your gut on the ceiling and lunch on the window, drops. No moments of praying to live just a bit longer. No last minute negotiations about being a better person. Nada. Zip. Ziltcho. And that was how we flew across country in a single engine Cessna.
Cheap, convenient, close parking, no airport security buffoons, and no waiting. Just sit back and voila! Thank you for flying AirChad. Honey, when you read this, I REALLY think you need to get your pilot license. Just think, no more dodging traffic (They actually PAY people to make sure everybody stays out of your way!) and you can go 120 mph (well it might actually be knots, but still pretty darn fast!) and I won't be gripping the hand rest thinking happy thoughts with my teeth clenched and eyes scrunched shut. Well, I might still be in that position--- it's hard to break a 10 year old habit!
BTW if you want to write a defense you're gonna have to get your own blog. Here in Nancyland, all the readers (both of you!) will just have to trust me that your driving is, ahem, scary. Not that I don't appreciate it, 'cause even scary driving is better than driving myself, but that doesn't make it any less scary!
Where was I? Oh right, so we flew to MN, landed in Cambridge and thus began our two week Nana and Pop invasion.
Oh what? Where was I? I must have drifted off. No wonder, because the only thing I can say about the flight was that it was incredibly, almost unbearably, BORING. It was smoother than a car ride, a constant 62 degrees, and the nice drone of the (single!) engine and possibly a prophylactic dose of Benedryl that I will neither confirm nor deny, and it adds up to perfect sleeping conditions. Plus at 10,000 feet in an unpressurized cabin you get just a little light headed. I have never fought so hard to stay awake in my life. Don't get me wrong, if I am going to plunge 2 miles straight down to a fiery death, I'd just as soon be asleep. However, I would also rather NOT plunge to my death because the PILOT fell asleep. So I felt the need to stay awake and keep him company. (and awake!)
So I tried valiantly NOT to sleep while the kids snored in the back seat. We landed, refueled, and repeated. 6 hours of nothing but fighting not to sleep. No bumps, no sudden free fall, leave your gut on the ceiling and lunch on the window, drops. No moments of praying to live just a bit longer. No last minute negotiations about being a better person. Nada. Zip. Ziltcho. And that was how we flew across country in a single engine Cessna.
Cheap, convenient, close parking, no airport security buffoons, and no waiting. Just sit back and voila! Thank you for flying AirChad. Honey, when you read this, I REALLY think you need to get your pilot license. Just think, no more dodging traffic (They actually PAY people to make sure everybody stays out of your way!) and you can go 120 mph (well it might actually be knots, but still pretty darn fast!) and I won't be gripping the hand rest thinking happy thoughts with my teeth clenched and eyes scrunched shut. Well, I might still be in that position--- it's hard to break a 10 year old habit!
BTW if you want to write a defense you're gonna have to get your own blog. Here in Nancyland, all the readers (both of you!) will just have to trust me that your driving is, ahem, scary. Not that I don't appreciate it, 'cause even scary driving is better than driving myself, but that doesn't make it any less scary!
Where was I? Oh right, so we flew to MN, landed in Cambridge and thus began our two week Nana and Pop invasion.
Flying Cross Country by Carrier Pigeon
OK, now that we are home safely I can dish all the dirt on our MN trip. As usual the only thing I can say in defense is..."it seemed like a good idea at the time!"
Living a bit more than "spitting distance" of my folks in MN I was looking for a way to get home for a visit before we move. A CHEAP way. A cheap way that didn't involve me driving alone for 24 hours in a not completely reliable car. After scouring every website I could find I was very depressed. The cheapest airline tickets I could find were about $400 a person. $1200 for three of us was hardly in the "cheap" category. I had pretty much given up hope when a very unlikely solution came up from my neighbor. I know I have mentioned before but I have darn near perfect neighbors. One side is a super friendly family with kids for my bossy rug rats to play with, they swap cat watching with us, keep an eye on the house when we're gone, and even kill snakes. Can't get much better than that! On the other side is a quiet single guy who minds his own business. Again, darn near perfect. Both sides ignore the shouts, occasional flaming science project gone awry, and other weird things that come from the goofy people in the middle. (Why do I think they are planning a huge block party the day after we close???)
So imagine my surprise when quiet dude presented the solution to my "can't get there from here" dilemma. Of course there were a few minor things to work out. Like what? Oh nothing really. Just that the mode of transportation was a bit, um, unorthodox. See, he is a pilot and happens to own a plane, and also happens to be from like 3 miles from where my parents have a summer cabin. So he offered to let us tag along when he flew home for the week. In a single prop 4 seat Cessna. But beggars can't be choosers right? Charles Lindbergh went across the Atlantic for heaven's sake! Amelia Earhart went...OK maybe that's a bad example. The point was...it was an adventure and it was cheap! One tiny little problem. I also had to find somebody to watch not only my two cats but his cat as well. Luckily my OTHER neighbor came to the rescue yet again. She agreed to feed all three cats. I took this as a divine green light and we packed for the trip.
I tend to be one of those obsessive over packers. And really in MN you MIGHT need a snowsuit, even in July. This was when Capt. Carrier Pigeon announced we were limited to a SMALL duffel each. Get out! How am I supposed to fit anything in that? So after limiting ourselves to a swimsuit, toothbrush, and change of underwear we went to board AirChad.
Flying a private plane is a bit different from a commercial airline. No drop off zones, no baggage checking, no x-rays (no security at all!) no cavity searches and no water confiscations. No 3oz limits on anything. (I could have stuffed my duffel with water bottles but decided to skip it in favor of clean underwear. I know, I'm funny that way.) You just park the car, walk a few feet, and get on the plane. Sounds simple right? And it is...sort of. Of course it's like trying to fit 4 people in to a corvette. It can be done...but it ain't pretty. Also turns out that the "no electronic devices until a certain altitude" thing is mostly bunk. ON AirChad we had nonstop iPod, game-boy, and texting. I wanted to send some funny texts like "I'm falllllllling......" but decided not to chance it. Anyway you climb in, turn the key and you...just go. Off into the wild blue yonder. Let the adventure begin.
I had come prepared with lots of Ziploc bags, Benedryl, and the already mentioned electronic stuff and hoped for the best. I knew we would try and fly about 4 hours. Stop and refuel, and then fly about 2 more until we landed at the cabin. How bad could it be?
Can I pause here and admire my own stupid naivete? 6 hours is a verrrrrry long time. In a single prop Cessna, 6 hours can be just short of eternity, in fact.
...to be continued.
Living a bit more than "spitting distance" of my folks in MN I was looking for a way to get home for a visit before we move. A CHEAP way. A cheap way that didn't involve me driving alone for 24 hours in a not completely reliable car. After scouring every website I could find I was very depressed. The cheapest airline tickets I could find were about $400 a person. $1200 for three of us was hardly in the "cheap" category. I had pretty much given up hope when a very unlikely solution came up from my neighbor. I know I have mentioned before but I have darn near perfect neighbors. One side is a super friendly family with kids for my bossy rug rats to play with, they swap cat watching with us, keep an eye on the house when we're gone, and even kill snakes. Can't get much better than that! On the other side is a quiet single guy who minds his own business. Again, darn near perfect. Both sides ignore the shouts, occasional flaming science project gone awry, and other weird things that come from the goofy people in the middle. (Why do I think they are planning a huge block party the day after we close???)
So imagine my surprise when quiet dude presented the solution to my "can't get there from here" dilemma. Of course there were a few minor things to work out. Like what? Oh nothing really. Just that the mode of transportation was a bit, um, unorthodox. See, he is a pilot and happens to own a plane, and also happens to be from like 3 miles from where my parents have a summer cabin. So he offered to let us tag along when he flew home for the week. In a single prop 4 seat Cessna. But beggars can't be choosers right? Charles Lindbergh went across the Atlantic for heaven's sake! Amelia Earhart went...OK maybe that's a bad example. The point was...it was an adventure and it was cheap! One tiny little problem. I also had to find somebody to watch not only my two cats but his cat as well. Luckily my OTHER neighbor came to the rescue yet again. She agreed to feed all three cats. I took this as a divine green light and we packed for the trip.
I tend to be one of those obsessive over packers. And really in MN you MIGHT need a snowsuit, even in July. This was when Capt. Carrier Pigeon announced we were limited to a SMALL duffel each. Get out! How am I supposed to fit anything in that? So after limiting ourselves to a swimsuit, toothbrush, and change of underwear we went to board AirChad.
Flying a private plane is a bit different from a commercial airline. No drop off zones, no baggage checking, no x-rays (no security at all!) no cavity searches and no water confiscations. No 3oz limits on anything. (I could have stuffed my duffel with water bottles but decided to skip it in favor of clean underwear. I know, I'm funny that way.) You just park the car, walk a few feet, and get on the plane. Sounds simple right? And it is...sort of. Of course it's like trying to fit 4 people in to a corvette. It can be done...but it ain't pretty. Also turns out that the "no electronic devices until a certain altitude" thing is mostly bunk. ON AirChad we had nonstop iPod, game-boy, and texting. I wanted to send some funny texts like "I'm falllllllling......" but decided not to chance it. Anyway you climb in, turn the key and you...just go. Off into the wild blue yonder. Let the adventure begin.
I had come prepared with lots of Ziploc bags, Benedryl, and the already mentioned electronic stuff and hoped for the best. I knew we would try and fly about 4 hours. Stop and refuel, and then fly about 2 more until we landed at the cabin. How bad could it be?
Can I pause here and admire my own stupid naivete? 6 hours is a verrrrrry long time. In a single prop Cessna, 6 hours can be just short of eternity, in fact.
...to be continued.
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