tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42346454271209275932024-02-07T22:04:16.795-05:00Timothy EttridgeOccasional tales of adventure and travelUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-18718783210188734692011-05-21T21:06:00.026-04:002011-05-24T07:02:08.681-04:00$200 Crab Cake<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPrQmLzGwG-uk_9JmYzj71sKkGNiHK5DzZEeTEe6sL4aNk5yfeRktBueY-4XSqUc8ugYJvcaFU0SM4a63gxrawZkSM3WL7Bpz1eLjYCDgxROpcTw30SNfnPfEV42TW3UebR0Irsqmvubl/s1600/Crabcake01.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPrQmLzGwG-uk_9JmYzj71sKkGNiHK5DzZEeTEe6sL4aNk5yfeRktBueY-4XSqUc8ugYJvcaFU0SM4a63gxrawZkSM3WL7Bpz1eLjYCDgxROpcTw30SNfnPfEV42TW3UebR0Irsqmvubl/s200/Crabcake01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609713544788676658" border="0" /></a>"The $100 Hamburger" is an old expression pilots use to convey the idea of flying somewhere for no real reason other than to joyfully exercise the ability to fly. While there, they'll stop in at the local airport grill (a fading concept, to say the least) and buy a hamburger, then fly back home. Considering the fuel costs and fixed costs amortized over every hour of flight of one's airplane (tie down fees, maintenance, insurance, and more), the assumption is that the pilot spent around $100 just to get that hamburger. And they'd do again over and over.<br /><br />It doesn't cost $100 anymore, however.<br /><br />New to airplane ownership, it wasn't until today that I finally took the opportunity to fly to another airport simply because I <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">could</span>.<br /><br />Venice Beach, on Florida's gulf coast, is place many friends I know fly to from where I live at Quest Hang Gliding Airpark (formerly an old cropduster airport, officially known as Sheets Airfield). They either do so assuredly, with powered aircraft, or with limited success in a hang glider.<br /><br />Two other popular flying destinations in this part of Florida are <a href="http://www.chaletsuzanne.com/">Chalet Suzanne</a> to the south or <a href="http://www.cedarkey.org/island.html">Cedar Key</a> to the north west. Both, however, have fields a little too tight for my comfort (and underpowered airplane). So I chose Venice Beach for my first adventure in $100 hamburgers and used my iPad to plan a route from Leesburg, where I keep my plane (as Quest Airpark is also a little too tight for my level of experience with this plane).<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvN3bhWwHbfmTTC1vkoOetvJ6Zk2bXfshT6-e5_1DmQcrt-vVkn-bzumPGsvdfBnW3Ln6FvpqsqzpttkFa5U8bUSw5tISgnq2SbHX0HSb1KfjH3WJqfWb3pbbk9N77qdI5Ik0NoQj6yw/s1600/route.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvN3bhWwHbfmTTC1vkoOetvJ6Zk2bXfshT6-e5_1DmQcrt-vVkn-bzumPGsvdfBnW3Ln6FvpqsqzpttkFa5U8bUSw5tISgnq2SbHX0HSb1KfjH3WJqfWb3pbbk9N77qdI5Ik0NoQj6yw/s400/route.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609662775075209298" border="0" /></a>I set in three airports as waypoints to give me a gentle curve to the east that avoided Tampa's airspace. First up was an airport across the street from Quest, one that would give me a nice view of Quest (the blue dot) out my left seat window on the way down. Secondly was the airport in Lakeland, home of each April's <a href="http://www.sun-n-fun.org/">Sun n' Fun</a> Airshow (perhaps the second largest air show in the country). This last April was the first time I visited it and I was curious what the field would look like now, empty, when last April it had been overrun with aircraft and cars.<br /><br />Thirdly, and almost reluctantly, I chose Hidden River as my last waypoint. It's a private airport community that I'd only heard of because it's mentioned now and then on the <a href="http://www.uncontrolledairspace.com/">The Uncontrolled Air Space Podcast</a> (UCAP), to which I regularly listen. It comes up so often because it's the home of Jeb, one of the podcast's hosts.<br /><br />Even though Hidden River would be a perfect waypoint for me, I chose it hesitantly because it seemed almost voyeuristic of me to be peering down on the home of a celebrity of sorts (to me, at least), someone I'd met and shook hands with at last April's Sun n' Fun.<br /><br />Because of plans formed and commitments made long before I decided to buy an airplane last summer, I've spent eight months overseas during this first year of owning an airplane. Furthermore, in just a week I'll leave for another summer in Europe.<br /><br />The plane has, then, been severely under-utilized, something I hope to make up for this fall once I'm back. Further adding to it's neglect has been my focus on getting a multi-engine rating in the ten weeks I've been home since returning from Australia. A few days ago I took my own plane up for two hours of just flying around, immersing myself in the newly acquired joy that I <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">could</span> fly whenever I wanted, and so I just floated around, gazing from above at this or that or anything else that interested me.<br /><br />To make some practical use of the time, I maintained a specific altitude and power setting during the entire flight so that I could start gathering data on my engine's fuel consumption under various conditions. This is something it's Pilot's Operating Handbook spells out in great detail but, with a 42 year old aircraft, is unlikely to have much bearing on reality now.<br /><br />This morning I drove the short drive to Leesburg, preflighted the plane and topped off the fuel, then departed south for Venice Beach and a hamburger. First waypoint up was Osborn, the airport across the street. Passing over it, I watched Quest Airpark drift by on my left, a sight I'd seen for hours on end while hang gliding. I was more interest in what was next; Lakeland.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyu7qNzKzugxhCz66SQMhPAzW40hPEW7Qe38QqOdwCfcC4GtPzzpy4VRIezW1zjmRNclAfZ7GAUKBVrt6y0Z4frEn67R1zhh2S5GUSe_aLPXZh9U-UCcp_XIgJW9Yh2dak2X8ghlAgzPg/s1600/Crabcake01a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyu7qNzKzugxhCz66SQMhPAzW40hPEW7Qe38QqOdwCfcC4GtPzzpy4VRIezW1zjmRNclAfZ7GAUKBVrt6y0Z4frEn67R1zhh2S5GUSe_aLPXZh9U-UCcp_XIgJW9Yh2dak2X8ghlAgzPg/s400/Crabcake01a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609678312235423202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Though my navigation waypoint was oriented to a point in the center of the airfield, I purposely drifted right so that I could view the airport in it's entirety from the window to my left. I was cruising 2000 feet above the airport's airspace ceiling so I didn't need to talk to the tower to overfly, but I still tuned it in to listen to what was happening in Lakeland's vicinity.<br /><br />Having spent the major part of four very happy days last April on a small section of its grounds where the airshow displays were focused (the corner centered in the bottom of the picture with many trees), I felt a great sense of nostalgia viewing it as I was from the air, even though the memories were only a month old. There Dolores and I strolled among the warbirds. There we sat on the grass and watched the airshow, there I met the UCAP gang...<br /><br />The home airport (and actual home) of Jeb, one of the UCAP gang, was up next. As I approached it, the CAVU day (Ceiling Absolute, Visibility Unlimited) was turning into the typical Florida summer afternoon; heavily developing clouds that often turn into thunderstorms.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii7s_a6njRSUSRrfXoXWuzlgJ7tNTroTyffKurHrLtLDJUgmbOI4L6t8SaCFTDXgl4GxyYFMGmtOsK2RYVZHrXoVw-7S8KsWmOTwGI04A4OliIFgLoeldz7_Hukot216JVsKGVGoDH9Y4/s1600/Crabcake02.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii7s_a6njRSUSRrfXoXWuzlgJ7tNTroTyffKurHrLtLDJUgmbOI4L6t8SaCFTDXgl4GxyYFMGmtOsK2RYVZHrXoVw-7S8KsWmOTwGI04A4OliIFgLoeldz7_Hukot216JVsKGVGoDH9Y4/s400/Crabcake02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609681417199718594" border="0" /></a><br />By the time I got to Hidden River, I felt somewhat self conscious about wondering just where it was that Jeb might live. Some features are mentioned often enough on the podcast (a small lake, a particular kind of building) that if I really looked, I could probably figure out which house was his. Because of this, I almost felt it appropriate to avert my gaze, so to speak, and use only my GPS and iPad (running <a href="http://www.foreflight.com/ipad">Foreflight</a> navigation software) to confirm I had, in fact, reached the waypoint.<br /><br />If anyone truly perused my own blog, they, too, could probably figure out just exactly which door to knock on if they really wanted to meet me or, perhaps, know which door to open to take my...my...uh...my books? My couch? Since my computer and iPad travel with me, probably the only thing worth taking in my home when I'm traveling is my espresso maker. If it turns out that someone really needs it, I suppose I could get another.<br /><br />One of the reasons I live here, however, despite a greater longing for a cooler climate (and mountains...and running streams...and snow in the winter...and...and...) is something that most likely would prevent such an occurrence of theft. It's not just an airport, it's a community of hang glider pilots and tow pilots and people who "get it," as I've heard many pilots say about other pilots. We love waking up in the morning the sound of a 582 or a 912 (if you don't get that, you won't get it). Anyone walking up to my door, therefore, will be noticed by anyone...and everyone knows everyone...and knows who should and shouldn't be walking up to my door when I'm not here. It's like a gated community without the gate. People who've flown all their lives fly around as if they were walking to the mail box and back. People who've never flown anything smaller than an airline all their lives fly in something not much more than four tubes and a big patch of sail cloth, and send squeals of delight cascading down the atmosphere to where I'm sitting with a cup of coffee under my awning on a summer morning.<br /><br />I politely averted my gaze as Jeb's airport neared. More to the point, the developing clouds had forced me to drop from my comfortable (and cool) altitude of 4500 down to 2500 just to get under them. Furthermore, I was only 12nm from Venice, an airport busy with student pilots and other aircraft that I could already hear repeatedly on the airport's frequency. I'd been monitoring it for the last ten minutes and was surprised at the volume of traffic. At Hidden River, low and that close to Venice, I was too busy looking forward, left and right for traffic to gaze at the ground.<br /><br />And then, there it was. Venice Beach; soon to be home of my first $100 hamburger.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZ-r9VX47JKSJsM-Fmm-8fivCz2uMACPMUISs5UL8VvlASLNCa-EBPT8GeKQDngTIHDvLOSQl4V8wp2fKpqUGjOXu7GAHa3QHNhLNeadssxQGlkg-XvevH5OeOSNs-rmh-FnkpTctGtA/s1600/Crabcake03.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZ-r9VX47JKSJsM-Fmm-8fivCz2uMACPMUISs5UL8VvlASLNCa-EBPT8GeKQDngTIHDvLOSQl4V8wp2fKpqUGjOXu7GAHa3QHNhLNeadssxQGlkg-XvevH5OeOSNs-rmh-FnkpTctGtA/s400/Crabcake03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609683810613585522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I landed and went into an airport cafe next to where I tied down my airplane. <a href="http://www.sharkysonthepier.com/">Sharky's on the Pier</a> (visible on the coast on the left in the full sized version of the above picture) had been my intended goal but, one, it was a two mile walk around the airport's perimeter and, two, the developing clouds were worrying me. A phone call to the flight weather briefer worried me even more. He mentioned the possibility of thunderstorms back up at Leesburg. I'm glad I came down, I thought, but now I want to go...not hurriedly, but certainly not with my intended sense of leisure that would include a walk down to Sharky's and back. So I sat down in the airport cafe and, not really enthused about a hamburger, ordered a crabcake instead. My bill was $11. I left a $2 tip and went to fuel up my airplane.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_Z7woBZ_qNraOBvnsivtaFpgaMfE1_7tQAN_dbB1aeDDOwGSFSo5F62vKEOFNTkpe6b-rKP7ZxeYaayHPfMjRW6XDHTfZ-zBR6efG-tRdi6qKTAyLgPAGLc_U4BstkEJfeNuCJkGQak/s1600/Crabcake04.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_Z7woBZ_qNraOBvnsivtaFpgaMfE1_7tQAN_dbB1aeDDOwGSFSo5F62vKEOFNTkpe6b-rKP7ZxeYaayHPfMjRW6XDHTfZ-zBR6efG-tRdi6qKTAyLgPAGLc_U4BstkEJfeNuCJkGQak/s400/Crabcake04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609686351637259426" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Fuel for the round trip was $101.14. Add $13 for the crab cake and iced tea and you get $114.14. The hourly fixed cost on my Cessna 150J is hard to pin down this early in the game but a fair estimate might be $35. So, with 2.5 hours of flight time, the full cost of that crab cake might be closer to $200 than not.<br /><br />Back home at Quest, I twittered: <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Had my first $100 hamburger today, but it was actually a crab cake and fuel alone was $101. Maybe, all told, $100 hamburgers are now $200.</span><br /><br />Jack H., one of the podcasters from UCAP, responded directly to me; <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">I'm afraid that "$100 hamburger" went the way of "shave and a haircut two bits."</span><br /><br />I answered; <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Still, even at $200, it was a small thrill, coming so late in my flying career (40 years).</span><br /><br />There's only about two days between now and my departure for Switzerland on June 1st when I'd have the chance to try this again, and earlier in the day so that I could make it to the beach and back before the thunderstorms threaten. If I can, I'll do it.<br /><br />It's a new kind of thrill for me, being able to experience days like this. On one hand, I regret that it took so long for me to get to this point. On the other, and more significantly, I'm just so thrilled that I <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">did</span> get to this point.<br /><br />Life is good.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-24610898122443652422011-04-09T23:56:00.009-04:002011-05-24T06:34:16.926-04:00Ich Lebe NochWhen I was stationed in Germany in the Air Force between 1977-80, I lived in a small apartment sharing a wall with my landlords, a delightful couple with a teenage son and daughter. Many times, when I'd have been gone for an extended period some military-related trip and would reappear back at home, the mother, upon first seeing me, would always warmly say, "Ach, Du lebst noch."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ah, you're still alive.</span><br /><br />This came to mind because <a href="http://leagull.ru/">Zhenya</a> wrote me a few days ago;<br /><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">The other day I've got a letter from one of my blog readers, and he wrote:</span><br /></span><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 153);">"When I got interested in Hang gliding I started following your blog, Johnny Durand’s blog, Jamie Sheldon’s blog and Timothy Ettridge’s blog. I enjoy them all; yours in particular, but Timothy Ettridge has not posted in his blog since August 1st 2010. I enjoy his blog because he writes just like Earnest Hemingway (my favorite author) and I enjoy his stories. Has anything happened to him or is he just taking time off?</span>"</span><br /></span></blockquote><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">You see, people get worried about you!</span></blockquote>I'm very honored. So...whomever you are; ja, ich lebe noch.<br /><br />Has it really been eight months? As much as I'd wanted to fill in this gap and others in the past with the tales of what I've experienced, I always first think of all the stories that I've yet to tell before I write about current ones. Contemplating the enormous size of the task of catching up, however, ends up keeping me from writing about anything at all.<br /><br />So, in lieu of those full stories, I'll hurdle that obstacle with a quick summary of that eight-month gap.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >August '10</span><br />Joined Dolores and others in Tolmin, Slovenia for the Kobala Hang Gliding Open...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzEUOLajOJH_5JlF-pCafcclqx-XW73P8A1c9LBehhVoZkuI6LR81FwMmGrICx51gG772GeZRsgC3C-C-wE5jmHpCoX1SwBWZAY-QfXeaknC8PDqvWyxAfyi-1wUIcR_bWIXXkec_5nwQ/s1600/01August.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzEUOLajOJH_5JlF-pCafcclqx-XW73P8A1c9LBehhVoZkuI6LR81FwMmGrICx51gG772GeZRsgC3C-C-wE5jmHpCoX1SwBWZAY-QfXeaknC8PDqvWyxAfyi-1wUIcR_bWIXXkec_5nwQ/s400/01August.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593721314409169586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...then spent time with Zhenya, Yulia, and others at one of Europe's biggest hang gliding centers; Greifenburg, Austria...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDbjJdfosUqejjEhALan4BY6sFWqVNw8ln-OpqshTqYHOthzLgCfQHCmiD8rHNgyHc6eRRU-Ax28pLrvGbILC3WDS6SJjoPkhyLBWLZCSnZJW2sJnMevc3WCTMk9GaC4dN-B33nxglAY/s1600/02August.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDbjJdfosUqejjEhALan4BY6sFWqVNw8ln-OpqshTqYHOthzLgCfQHCmiD8rHNgyHc6eRRU-Ax28pLrvGbILC3WDS6SJjoPkhyLBWLZCSnZJW2sJnMevc3WCTMk9GaC4dN-B33nxglAY/s400/02August.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593721319217434802" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >September '10</span><br />Hung out (and flew) with Matjaz, Nena, and sometimes even Lara in Nova Gorcia, Slovenia...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5J3-nvyLmjz_WU9RVWdtstY3SCt5nKzwRJIaLFSb-f2yOY4QJGdaQ4y3maeODzGPziFR8UOXxH8jc8Ghkw7Vb1RtM8bHjeTVvfFYCEPA0yazHOQV6xbrN3YBgq4a7Tzbomk-vf_5YcE/s1600/03September.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5J3-nvyLmjz_WU9RVWdtstY3SCt5nKzwRJIaLFSb-f2yOY4QJGdaQ4y3maeODzGPziFR8UOXxH8jc8Ghkw7Vb1RtM8bHjeTVvfFYCEPA0yazHOQV6xbrN3YBgq4a7Tzbomk-vf_5YcE/s400/03September.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593721319310499618" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...then went with Yulia to fly in the Dolomites in Italy.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiszgUMjO21xwmmZzjx1dQRBZ1QxN30PJNBaNNZyN9O9jub9kPQ3FQyVGJHvfEN2KRCuMBrOAyXVasSrzrhWKHUG3SK9rVQ0Ng06lfcDiqgl9C3IKqvUGA55GxogzESZE2qi5Janwvpw7c/s1600/04September.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiszgUMjO21xwmmZzjx1dQRBZ1QxN30PJNBaNNZyN9O9jub9kPQ3FQyVGJHvfEN2KRCuMBrOAyXVasSrzrhWKHUG3SK9rVQ0Ng06lfcDiqgl9C3IKqvUGA55GxogzESZE2qi5Janwvpw7c/s400/04September.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593721876448190642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >Octiber '10</span><br />Returned to the States to pick up the plane I'd bought in Oklahoma...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfUNIwhe3GDDJSvWFvsPV9vR0hu3OA56zGTa8kQQ7uGUEzITc_0ZOjGnYZBw6YkSM8k96lm7ZId9pAzAon75yUm1x5JlPxn5HATGJKiGPN0d-KR1UPmWIal864mhKXIZJcH7-hyWUbNw/s1600/05October.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfUNIwhe3GDDJSvWFvsPV9vR0hu3OA56zGTa8kQQ7uGUEzITc_0ZOjGnYZBw6YkSM8k96lm7ZId9pAzAon75yUm1x5JlPxn5HATGJKiGPN0d-KR1UPmWIal864mhKXIZJcH7-hyWUbNw/s400/05October.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593719375032602914" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...and fly it home.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hphou35GozRzxYjBO0-hZlDTwvmyvfPeaGpuXkhQV6k2wMFN20vDTG_cqa-eQx6Uk0fTrpZ3nwCfgvKejR9lCy_FFOraW9JMXt0t9XZFsQ8DOwZCsf_vh96XRdJcYNuCD7bXNXBsnB4/s1600/06October.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hphou35GozRzxYjBO0-hZlDTwvmyvfPeaGpuXkhQV6k2wMFN20vDTG_cqa-eQx6Uk0fTrpZ3nwCfgvKejR9lCy_FFOraW9JMXt0t9XZFsQ8DOwZCsf_vh96XRdJcYNuCD7bXNXBsnB4/s400/06October.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593719375145777106" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >November '10</span><br />Drove up to Arlington, Virginia to have Thanksgiving (cooked by my daughter, Raine)...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOIJaYoAmh54faDILjEfwqtoVEyq4AJjNJBRzrrYsqhsfnZAtoBgng40aQMTfVzclu3PG3gXycLHViYP9SjEIvWrW_xGRJI2m2ZdjEvljO0PXcXeXemyLK6pKY7o8R1e_-GoGDT0gGx8/s1600/07November.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOIJaYoAmh54faDILjEfwqtoVEyq4AJjNJBRzrrYsqhsfnZAtoBgng40aQMTfVzclu3PG3gXycLHViYP9SjEIvWrW_xGRJI2m2ZdjEvljO0PXcXeXemyLK6pKY7o8R1e_-GoGDT0gGx8/s400/07November.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593719381003101906" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...with (clockwise, l. to r.) Gus, Susan, Max, Mom, Raine, and <a href="http://international-bozo-of-leisure.blogspot.com/2007/07/brown-eyes.html">Nina</a>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJvOeg3jyxLWAuZDMCwa-E8QehHPCz5Gi4U4Zgn9S6VeQ5fDx_tu0zjQ2Zgv1XMZjtrQTdjj8RazhmH_bsKTRpetB-rV9KlAJQ9cLZXrZ-pJtizkKlX-3QzSSP_IEdR7eHoSUN98YjXA/s1600/08November.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJvOeg3jyxLWAuZDMCwa-E8QehHPCz5Gi4U4Zgn9S6VeQ5fDx_tu0zjQ2Zgv1XMZjtrQTdjj8RazhmH_bsKTRpetB-rV9KlAJQ9cLZXrZ-pJtizkKlX-3QzSSP_IEdR7eHoSUN98YjXA/s400/08November.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593719379961108498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >December '10</span><br />Returned to Australia to meet up with Dolores...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiucGP7akX3UXx2LvRxSbF6SRSlO_EaYueMpUTbe5WnD5yHLytfs0BZyalJ3nGFvhwLD5EovpW8-bAbGkRq_IsBNgNsSexMJ8ZyTPNj7r0gFEzWTu7UBl0cil1S0e5xvTPkcVPDkmu0a74/s1600/09December.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiucGP7akX3UXx2LvRxSbF6SRSlO_EaYueMpUTbe5WnD5yHLytfs0BZyalJ3nGFvhwLD5EovpW8-bAbGkRq_IsBNgNsSexMJ8ZyTPNj7r0gFEzWTu7UBl0cil1S0e5xvTPkcVPDkmu0a74/s400/09December.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718972268062322" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...and her daughter Ashanta, and later Ashanta's boyfriend Fredy for a month of flying and car camping.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbqwZ-ZLcc5azfvtRgr1pw0Nmt5jfOjez-DKmXCLYyz0HgPjIg8D4kdCKfZIVpB9-g2bBMuj5MLgyuGaamPqMQ17CjtzFfSer5EEb-YAPdyg9IpJJjL3XG6aXb9ftn90XuJrzVwx9ga8/s1600/10December.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbqwZ-ZLcc5azfvtRgr1pw0Nmt5jfOjez-DKmXCLYyz0HgPjIg8D4kdCKfZIVpB9-g2bBMuj5MLgyuGaamPqMQ17CjtzFfSer5EEb-YAPdyg9IpJJjL3XG6aXb9ftn90XuJrzVwx9ga8/s400/10December.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718975940847522" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >January '11</span><br />Was involved in the Forbes hang gliding meet...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDi7oNowXB0IjgoVyYo1eXVJPD0Y7KiECtyX1x-Hn59xTcdzyyzKrAGtzmtqI6hU7BfBLNlnG0z7xKRQGd2-11veKv7nqL5HYZqNJVoXNGwYaAqcdux7GfoQQK97Tc6YyvMp5g5U2RHc/s1600/11January.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDi7oNowXB0IjgoVyYo1eXVJPD0Y7KiECtyX1x-Hn59xTcdzyyzKrAGtzmtqI6hU7BfBLNlnG0z7xKRQGd2-11veKv7nqL5HYZqNJVoXNGwYaAqcdux7GfoQQK97Tc6YyvMp5g5U2RHc/s400/11January.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718980867817986" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...and car-camped some more with Dolores before she returned to Switzerland.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG69jPCH-X9Mnf0UMmTpLgWk5dzT_M_NOc8oIMLBiDPdFhY3Ldh76Kz7G8em7rX4A-A-jpnkrBItvWmm9B_b4VwfTkJgRmgO1Ndnh142ReW5ARLi6QtYHROUvTR0PMPVtOFVbAjTQ4TF8/s1600/12January.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG69jPCH-X9Mnf0UMmTpLgWk5dzT_M_NOc8oIMLBiDPdFhY3Ldh76Kz7G8em7rX4A-A-jpnkrBItvWmm9B_b4VwfTkJgRmgO1Ndnh142ReW5ARLi6QtYHROUvTR0PMPVtOFVbAjTQ4TF8/s400/12January.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718978705863474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >February '11</span><br />Hung out with Scott and Monica a week in Newcastle (with a bit of flying) and then went down to Stanwell Park (hang gliding heaven central to me), where I was visited by my daughter Raine...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAC4vvHvHmptDEKa1KCqv6cc8bo16i5GZ7ZoimyEH9z6iQFROJmvk15qTp8vGD7b6Pl8OzRHZQQGdDE-lxRgVlgUdZn-AyeYNIBxGypgfnfblfgJb7TYRO7yl2gXlcGLV61qXF0__PQg/s1600/13February.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAC4vvHvHmptDEKa1KCqv6cc8bo16i5GZ7ZoimyEH9z6iQFROJmvk15qTp8vGD7b6Pl8OzRHZQQGdDE-lxRgVlgUdZn-AyeYNIBxGypgfnfblfgJb7TYRO7yl2gXlcGLV61qXF0__PQg/s400/13February.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718985463259458" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...who got in a great flight with Curt (video <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtZnSH4cN2c&feature=channel_video_title">here</a>).<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIpmYuT1eo6QHmt1pam8_RzpewnpIra7X6_fA_M-VS8LFjWKUaxtCmTssXyi11xi1X3A-jiDgUzO1QwXLTAwA6j_MjqatpFEDNWPOVTH47aa_0FqrohWotCpWyU3GqMf_WcDcvzZ2a0I/s1600/14February.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIpmYuT1eo6QHmt1pam8_RzpewnpIra7X6_fA_M-VS8LFjWKUaxtCmTssXyi11xi1X3A-jiDgUzO1QwXLTAwA6j_MjqatpFEDNWPOVTH47aa_0FqrohWotCpWyU3GqMf_WcDcvzZ2a0I/s400/14February.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718488371191618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >March '11</span><br />Flew to Queenstown, New Zealand with John and Lisa to relearn my long-neglected paragliding skills...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKzqG5gsJgvDUwbTy84adbBG075_d18tSBk9iuj5BTP_ughBNuvcual1MKNqXRoVBVcbL93m_ztgzDeaAcvMR7Wsv_dMi382SVCnIrO7JGUkM0WE2Neu-ulia_xYZ0XhslOEpP9Iq2Ys/s1600/15March.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKzqG5gsJgvDUwbTy84adbBG075_d18tSBk9iuj5BTP_ughBNuvcual1MKNqXRoVBVcbL93m_ztgzDeaAcvMR7Wsv_dMi382SVCnIrO7JGUkM0WE2Neu-ulia_xYZ0XhslOEpP9Iq2Ys/s400/15March.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718494985572354" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...and had an absolute blast doing so.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhww6ZENB7EbQ4m7RbPh1Pb8kdBB4_rpXLIeiudFpfq0vlEGM0sa_lrRGMolZwCpjpn22diacU6kkrfXTi2s9_neFvsYby2k_yBg5QZxffBeuFew8lhfxKxUe3ypOws10_Bh2E-xr7CVXxO/s1600/TrebleCone12.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhww6ZENB7EbQ4m7RbPh1Pb8kdBB4_rpXLIeiudFpfq0vlEGM0sa_lrRGMolZwCpjpn22diacU6kkrfXTi2s9_neFvsYby2k_yBg5QZxffBeuFew8lhfxKxUe3ypOws10_Bh2E-xr7CVXxO/s400/TrebleCone12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594501898277280978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >April '11</span><br />Came back to the States, where Dolores joined me and we visited the week-long Sun 'n Fun airshow...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEEfLM8lGvUxrnmkJWtvTZmWfzhXlBtj6EZh4CL7po4Wkd_b1ybwqYC4b4yIkbbM9dmL63icbQYhJxj1Q6HZox-J7v4r0arqJU4Ldt1ONdfI1bGxx3gzFt8xo3UNCJAuDbWzn9kG10s4/s1600/17April.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEEfLM8lGvUxrnmkJWtvTZmWfzhXlBtj6EZh4CL7po4Wkd_b1ybwqYC4b4yIkbbM9dmL63icbQYhJxj1Q6HZox-J7v4r0arqJU4Ldt1ONdfI1bGxx3gzFt8xo3UNCJAuDbWzn9kG10s4/s400/17April.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718498615091378" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...which included a spectacular night airshow one evening.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAgzJFFzlf0iT5wDYwxJ_qURPZ7yz67MxlABHNLQpPgkUupQkKJsb2jeSTMIA2RWWWWD9U0oCgwgeLDSIx6MmBpj-uK7ibd2TdmZexgRj-zxGIL6Bug_sg-1bjNm-He7-nZp37XNOzCw/s1600/18April.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAgzJFFzlf0iT5wDYwxJ_qURPZ7yz67MxlABHNLQpPgkUupQkKJsb2jeSTMIA2RWWWWD9U0oCgwgeLDSIx6MmBpj-uK7ibd2TdmZexgRj-zxGIL6Bug_sg-1bjNm-He7-nZp37XNOzCw/s400/18April.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593718503219997266" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And that's just the quick summary. So much more happened.<br /><br />(Glad to know people care.)<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-38999477733223703212010-08-09T11:10:00.013-04:002010-11-13T20:33:44.852-05:00Umbria<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvpAvXi_6Z6KPdZL5MN8mHoXaLo8QaV1qvCoHrty_IcR-x8eBcdC6LjlgmhoW3BelrrWqcLdEs9pS5cJHlz1CP3tDXgolfp3mDUei9bFHSU9zLXLVopxlpcP4tQ04TC2esnelZ9rdPsci/s1600/MonteCucco001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvpAvXi_6Z6KPdZL5MN8mHoXaLo8QaV1qvCoHrty_IcR-x8eBcdC6LjlgmhoW3BelrrWqcLdEs9pS5cJHlz1CP3tDXgolfp3mDUei9bFHSU9zLXLVopxlpcP4tQ04TC2esnelZ9rdPsci/s400/MonteCucco001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510481861386568002" border="0" /></a><br />I think it was about a year ago (just after getting back to the States last fall) that <a href="http://www.naughtylawyertravels.blogspot.com/">Jamie</a> excitedly told me that Monte Cucco had been selected as the site for the 2011 World Hang Gliding Championship. Monte Cucco is a hill above the small town of <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=sigillo,+italy&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=23.622808,65.478516&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Sigillo+Perugia,+Umbria,+Italy&ll=43.325178,12.744141&spn=10.803666,32.739258&t=h&z=5">Sigillo</a> in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umbria">Umbria</a> region of Italy, a place we both knew well and loved. As the competition would be in August of 2011, the "pre-Worlds" (the dress rehearsal of the competition to iron out problems) would be in August of 2010.<br /><br />Furthermore, Jamie eagerly added, the Italian meet director had asked her to come over and be a staff member for both the pre-Worlds in 2010 and the Worlds in 2011. "Soooo...." she concluded, "why don't you and I just make of full summer of hang gliding around Europe in 2010 and 2011?!"<br /><br />You'd think Jamie was my girlfriend, seeing how much influence she seemingly has over my plans each year. It's just that we travel well together and she comes up with some really great ideas <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">all the time</span> (like <a href="http://timothyettridge.blogspot.com/2008_11_01_archive.html#3851408130374783729">our adventure in Peru</a> in November of 2008). It's hard to say no.<br /><br />This, then, is how I ended up buying a used car in Europe last May to provide me with both cost-effective transportation and a home of sorts for this and next summer (half the time I'm sleeping in the back). I now own a high-mileage car on three continents.<br /><br />These trips are centered around this and next year's competitions in Italy but, hey, while I'm here, I'm going to enjoy the whole continent. Everything of these last three months, then, has basically been just a prelude to being here in Italy<br /><br />I think it was sometime last January in Australia that I was standing with <a href="http://jonnydurand.blogspot.com/">Jonny</a> (from Australia) and <a href="http://www.corinnaflies.blogspot.com/">Corinna</a> (from Germany) when it occurred to me I hadn't really given myself a job for the pre-worlds in Italy. Both of them would be there and so I offered to drive for them, something I often do for both.<br /><br />Jonny had found a B&B to house the entire Australian contingency (six) and there was room for me as well, so I chose to forgo roughing it in my car. It was well I did. This farmhouse was unbelievably beautiful and our husband-and-wife hosts became great friends. The farmhouse had just finished a ten year period of renovation (we seemed to be their first guests ever) after it had been damaged and condemned in an earthquake just over a decade ago. It was spectacular, full of ancient oak beams and stone walls (photo at the top and below).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFD1qPgmbg0V7p1YTRUORegD5OqeAQYPyCQECCurKqD7F5GZZqH4UrnOmkr2-woY4NQM20ZPfOAZ0NE6Q1yhieNxUnt3oBhI91oZC179jDuQqIz1tjiCWUQ_721hzVNc6M_DJ-7TDdNyVR/s1600/MonteCucco07.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFD1qPgmbg0V7p1YTRUORegD5OqeAQYPyCQECCurKqD7F5GZZqH4UrnOmkr2-woY4NQM20ZPfOAZ0NE6Q1yhieNxUnt3oBhI91oZC179jDuQqIz1tjiCWUQ_721hzVNc6M_DJ-7TDdNyVR/s400/MonteCucco07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510481882108414322" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On the two days when conditions weren't conducive to competition and no tasks had been called, Jonny switched our roles and drove me up the hill to fly while he drove my car back down to meet me at the landing field.<br /><br />The beauty of Monte Cucco is that it is one of easiest and safest hills from which to launch. It has huge, smooth, and gently sloping grass fields, so big that if you could run 200 meters before actually being required to take off (a rare luxury). You could even change your mind altogether after ten seconds of running and abort the launch and end up with nothing worse than grass stains on your pants. In some extreme cases (Mt. Buffalo, Australia or San Cassiano, Italy; two places I have seen but did not fly), the consequence of not committing to a launch the moment it's started can be death.<br /><br />On the Sunday after the competition ended and before I'd left for my next destination, the conditions were perfect for top-landing. I went up and had a blast! You could launch, fly around, then land exactly where you'd just taken off, and either move off the launch to the side to set the glider down for a rest or merely take a few steps forward and lift off again. Zhenya was there and, having already top landed, took a photograph of one of my numerous relaunches.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvbOjMxtFPUtcTwJwrlldEtDcMBlA8DXSqJijp3Jekh-bUfE42EO3_pXZK9AFPPhGr9C4Lqf-vZMFtwMPa9fnK07kF-mpzkQ7q_QU-VOy2h4q9q8nmfk2yXDm7Sce6vcEabZuJEbQQ8uI/s1600/Kobala.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvbOjMxtFPUtcTwJwrlldEtDcMBlA8DXSqJijp3Jekh-bUfE42EO3_pXZK9AFPPhGr9C4Lqf-vZMFtwMPa9fnK07kF-mpzkQ7q_QU-VOy2h4q9q8nmfk2yXDm7Sce6vcEabZuJEbQQ8uI/s400/Kobala.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510481841581287922" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Jonny is known for his dedication to producing daily videos during competitions (such as <a href="http://jonnydurand.blogspot.com/2010/08/pre-worlds-task-1-video.html">this one</a> from the first day of the pre-worlds Italy). On one of the non-competing days when Jonny took me up the hill to fly, he attached his camera to my glider and, later down at a cafe, trimmed the footage on his laptop down to a three minute video in the time it took me to sip a coffee as I sat next to him.<br /><br />What I love about this film (below) is that it shows two of my favorite aspects of hang gliding. First, when you launch, you just run a bit, then the glider lifts off your shoulders, then it plucks you off the earth as the ground falls away and, there you are. You're flying. The simple and natural aspect of this appeals to some side of me. Then, after drifting around in the sky for as long as you wish (or, if the lift is weak, for as long as you can), you simply come down and take your feet out of the harness and step back onto the ground.<br /><br />In truth, it can be more complicated than that. Of all serious accidents, I'd estimate that 70% occur on take off and 25% occur on landing while only 5% or even less occur in flight.<br /><br />Then again, most often it really can be that uncomplicated. We fly simply because we choose to and, most importantly, we <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">can.<br /><br /></span></span><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='400' height='333' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyB5NY7uDQt8pKr0oT1OM-B7zBJnDvsHoUI0mDhBBvbd10RoHMLIstRZ9tRuEgT7bm6ExW2FzCVsixaxkAsMQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-43699132353552383042010-07-25T12:14:00.002-04:002010-08-24T13:16:41.891-04:00Silver LiningsFollowing the Europeans in Àger, the plan had been to jump up to Basel Switzerland on my way to Sigillo, Italy (site of the next adventure) for a unique 25/50/75 birthday party for Ashanta, Dolores, and Dolores' mother. A puzzling oil leak developing with my car, however (purchased for this and next summer's extensive plans in Europe) dimmed my confidence in its ability to make the high speed all-night drive this would require to arrive on time.<br /><br />So instead, once it was fixed, I opted take the time to slowly limp to Laragne, France ("B" below), gauging the car's health at every gas stop.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzmnxoTbapE4O7aFIFh0fvKFKYGj1rEq7OY4TaC0el0khWDZOIwOUInXL0NXXv6SpJQ7cwhSYQyF8LB9PfGQ4OXU8FmegLDgRq8d_W27V52y5kjvfGqBZrL9xnAoZcJ0d9dO-jlS_zihX/s1600/Route.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzmnxoTbapE4O7aFIFh0fvKFKYGj1rEq7OY4TaC0el0khWDZOIwOUInXL0NXXv6SpJQ7cwhSYQyF8LB9PfGQ4OXU8FmegLDgRq8d_W27V52y5kjvfGqBZrL9xnAoZcJ0d9dO-jlS_zihX/s400/Route.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509010885570471042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Laragne is a place I'd thought I'd said goodbye to last July, after the 2009 World Championships (part of last summers string of adventures so full that I've <a href="http://timothyettridge.blogspot.com/2009_10_01_archive.html#2887355407366680865">never gotten around</a> to writing about them). After what felt like so much time spent there over the last two summers, it seemed I'd never have a reason to return. The coincidence of it being very close to the geographical midpoint of long journey gave me a reason. At midnight, I drove into the hang gliding campground (a landing field is half of the facility) and fell asleep in the back of my station wagon. I felt very much like I'd come home.<br /><br />In the morning, the proprietor greeted me like an old friend.<br /><br />I was actually particularly exhausted. Driving for the Dutch team, in addition to being as much fun as I'd known it would be, had also been surprisingly hard work. Most days I'd spent six-eight hours in my car climbing up and down mountain roads full of switchbacks, extracting my half of the Dutch team out of very hard to reach places. Sometimes I wouldn't get back to headquarters until 10:30 p.m.<br /><br />For that first day, I was content to do nothing but sit and read, raising my head to stare at the mountains now and then.<br /><br />High winds were pummeling the region, keeping the local pilots down. The result was a show for us <a href="http://cloudappreciationsociety.org/">cloud connoisseurs</a> that would rival the double rainbow internet meme (if you don't get it, you <span style="font-style: italic;">won't</span> get it). Lenticulars were building in layers above us during the day and, most spectacularly, during the moonlight night. While I could capture the daylight show, I could not capture the night's.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJ8IsrV2mlUHdzqbm132GUIIC09qrm-fyxdzTtYmRRfYuCdkB_-lkFuJWSH2bsiqS7hM0rMkn2yj6PWO0lLldT8QcHHQVG2QlVQjNFbzCKG3NORMIviAySxRZieQZp_a8DAbKhJy85hSh/s1600/LaragneLenniesSm.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJ8IsrV2mlUHdzqbm132GUIIC09qrm-fyxdzTtYmRRfYuCdkB_-lkFuJWSH2bsiqS7hM0rMkn2yj6PWO0lLldT8QcHHQVG2QlVQjNFbzCKG3NORMIviAySxRZieQZp_a8DAbKhJy85hSh/s400/LaragneLenniesSm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509010888885544930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Lenticulars (if you don't know about them, read more about them <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lenticular_cloud">here</a>) are stationary, forming on their leading edge as fast as they dissipate on their trailing edge...and yet they are dynamic, too. They change shapes and forms subtly so that a glance back at a clould you saw ten minutes before will be, as they say in Thailand, "same same but different."<br /><br />Many times that first night (when the winds were the strongest and the moonlight the brightest), I would see people outside with their heads craned skyward, stopped in their tracks and mesmerized by the moonlight phenomena.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-40866865701082875192010-07-21T08:52:00.008-04:002010-08-24T12:50:37.656-04:00Àger, Spain<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtePesmK6w1I-TVSLDNXTVD43-JSGow3VO4LsuRUspXPn7XXr-QKfkyiDLiN3AGPlJ0ath18_MVzrhALXAC67c9gsJUepY7EVU-hOBMQaIJuUsYioxClY1wGAUjxGd8HSTwAQS9S_4DhnM/s1600/Ager01.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtePesmK6w1I-TVSLDNXTVD43-JSGow3VO4LsuRUspXPn7XXr-QKfkyiDLiN3AGPlJ0ath18_MVzrhALXAC67c9gsJUepY7EVU-hOBMQaIJuUsYioxClY1wGAUjxGd8HSTwAQS9S_4DhnM/s200/Ager01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508976145387437042" border="0" /></a>The European Hang Gliding Championships were in Spain this year and, after spending a week here last year, I planned to return. I really had no reason to be there beyond the desire to return to a place where I knew many of my friends would be and that I'd felt I really hadn't had enough of a chance to explore the last time around.<br /><br />Also, the two owners of the <a href="http://www.portdager.com/portAger.php?lang=en">Port d' Àger</a>, a newly renovated hotel I'd randomly found on the internet last year became such good friends that I wanted to come back <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AHCyvIEk_KtJPVtKlI2R3Xd51zUlBt_IRXTsEyH8NjrgGONKvsCFin6pAjBp5hd2NLytki9K1SluS-8xqLdj7iUo7gymB2MaruXtG9_k7I59UALasATI0gXHabqwWY7KZd9oyI0iDdYB/s1600/Port+d%27%C3%81ger.bmp"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AHCyvIEk_KtJPVtKlI2R3Xd51zUlBt_IRXTsEyH8NjrgGONKvsCFin6pAjBp5hd2NLytki9K1SluS-8xqLdj7iUo7gymB2MaruXtG9_k7I59UALasATI0gXHabqwWY7KZd9oyI0iDdYB/s200/Port+d%27%C3%81ger.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508988334496388082" border="0" /></a>simply to stay with them once more. Jordi and David, two brothers from Barcelona, had taken a huge chance on their belief in the beauty of their region and, ignoring the world economic downturn, had gone heavily into debt to buy and renovate an old farmhouse into a beautiful hotel and restaurant. Their bank tells them that they are among the small percentage of clients who makes their payments on time. I admire that kind of courage and success and, in addition to all the other reasons, I wanted to return to Àger if for no other reason than to make my small contribution to their solvency.<br /><br />Last May, just after arriving in Germany, it only then occurred to me I had no real job at the competition in Àger. I was sipping coffee with Dutch friend Daphne when this thought came to me, so I turned to her and asked if the Dutch team needed a driver.<br /><br />This was how I came to be one of the two drivers for the Dutch team.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhxAnfWbdcLLm5svGm_xeo18x9_uz9tHswbjXJuzAIuLi5PzSgX5OjLh6gkpnDL37kRf2IJNHLbGmU-c3R37PoXyWNiDznTfKU-s3tvnMVy2u7w5C7Lh2kVKnCxooiHZAOBATCfqQnp7w/s1600/Ager03a.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhxAnfWbdcLLm5svGm_xeo18x9_uz9tHswbjXJuzAIuLi5PzSgX5OjLh6gkpnDL37kRf2IJNHLbGmU-c3R37PoXyWNiDznTfKU-s3tvnMVy2u7w5C7Lh2kVKnCxooiHZAOBATCfqQnp7w/s400/Ager03a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508993388568324258" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Like any hang gliding meet, it's always a great time for me to be around great friends; Slovenes, Russians, Dutch, Germans, Austrians, Aussies and Colombians (even at the European championships), and more.<br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5508996209665736065%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="279" width="372"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-34254909777210262932010-07-08T20:18:00.001-04:002010-08-24T10:35:35.473-04:00Davos, Switzerland<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj6CioJlyXIGriBL1YlTS-VJqvTqFIumk6sVHZrs7a0X05WyYW-2gTY6aFppxFc2BQfjgbPZxLqvHqAWfGBn3D9idSMglSaa5KMwPsWBr7WMxC3vST5eWPIM1FVifHTbbqCv0H5rvt1iBa/s1600/Davos01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj6CioJlyXIGriBL1YlTS-VJqvTqFIumk6sVHZrs7a0X05WyYW-2gTY6aFppxFc2BQfjgbPZxLqvHqAWfGBn3D9idSMglSaa5KMwPsWBr7WMxC3vST5eWPIM1FVifHTbbqCv0H5rvt1iBa/s400/Davos01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508950365317751378" border="0" /></a><br />Working my way down south from Finland to Spain, I stopped in Basel to stay with the Swiss to help with a construction project. I worked just long enough to realize how unaccustomed my body and bones had become to<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> real</span> wor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7MBTg99AukPiqZ13MpJbu65NP7M0MZ2EEGRJPmlNtimJj0NmqWrpYfUoPeBfeJ7Bb8vWB0OuY92VkhpblpexHzU2MgVM84A2YNVXb0_iJF43mtMAeHAh0A_0keOtIl89gFhTINLaRB41/s1600/Davos03.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7MBTg99AukPiqZ13MpJbu65NP7M0MZ2EEGRJPmlNtimJj0NmqWrpYfUoPeBfeJ7Bb8vWB0OuY92VkhpblpexHzU2MgVM84A2YNVXb0_iJF43mtMAeHAh0A_0keOtIl89gFhTINLaRB41/s200/Davos03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508950760289341906" border="0" /></a>k (the sledgehammer-swinging, dust-snorting, bricks-falling-on-feet kind) when they called a break to go fly at Davos (photos above and below).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFh5nViZ03cKCJ5phUa_hXVXllFoAaMa57JgDyKSXqU2bLM6y1e_R1eVaqTVLAmS2ODr11_4k_xQt-oDmVkZS6zaL1vhrbx0ja1Py3ZQaZP5lsYaxJyt7Xsg_fprfgVpxs6YgJSQ3J1W1z/s1600/Davos02.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFh5nViZ03cKCJ5phUa_hXVXllFoAaMa57JgDyKSXqU2bLM6y1e_R1eVaqTVLAmS2ODr11_4k_xQt-oDmVkZS6zaL1vhrbx0ja1Py3ZQaZP5lsYaxJyt7Xsg_fprfgVpxs6YgJSQ3J1W1z/s200/Davos02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508950558336828098" border="0" /></a>One just has to marvel at not only the rarity of a mother-daughter hang gliding team but of the unending beauty of Switzerland.<br /><br />A few more days of dusty sledgehammer-swinging and I was off to to Spain.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-8928849960824816022010-06-30T06:19:00.031-04:002010-08-24T12:04:43.416-04:00Changes in Latitude, No Change in Attitude<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXIfFpLZe_toE3JjApYB4UNJH7E-Vpm_1qc8YcAMaBjIYMqHvIItW88V41s6clA9uiYWX5vNJgirABf3qvntCNzmquyZsicdsySRoVSRNNnn_S087VToOcv3PpoAyivDDGflWXts9FsA4/s1600/FinlandBlog15.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXIfFpLZe_toE3JjApYB4UNJH7E-Vpm_1qc8YcAMaBjIYMqHvIItW88V41s6clA9uiYWX5vNJgirABf3qvntCNzmquyZsicdsySRoVSRNNnn_S087VToOcv3PpoAyivDDGflWXts9FsA4/s400/FinlandBlog15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490136175175972114" border="0" /></a><br />I've always had a particular interest in northern cultures, especially in northern Europe. I've had extensive experiences in Iceland, Denmark, and Norway, a few experiences in northern Russia and, over the years, have had a few scattered days in Sweden. Until ten days ago, however, I had never set foot in Finland.<br /><br />In the manner that the seemingly random aspect of my life typically unfolds, I stumbled across Finnish friend Virpi a few weeks ago while passing through Switzerland. Neither Jamie nor I had any real plans or commitments between the World Championships in Germany that ended on the 23rd of May, and the European Championships in Spain that begin on the 11th of July, so we had pondered the idea of spending the last half of June together in Norway. I've always enjoyed Norway (the little bit of competency in the Danish language I still have can pass for Norwegian, too). Most importantly, Jamie has yet to visit there.<br /><br />When I mentioned our vague plans to Virpi, she suggested we instead join her and her boyfriend Kari at the Finnish National Hanggliding Championships in <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=JamiJarvi,+finland&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=23.622808,65.478516&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=J%C3%A4mij%C3%A4rvi,+Finland&ll=61.814664,22.763672&spn=14.117219,65.478516&t=h&z=4">Jämijärvi</a> (it's not near as complicated to pronounce as it looks).<br /><br />When I mentioned the idea of Finland instead of Norway to Jamie, she decided that, rather than any kind of northern experience at all, she needed heat and sun more than anything else. So she opted to jump on a cheap flight to <a href="http://naughtylawyertravels.blogspot.com/2010/06/filling-in-missing-colors-in-my-paint.html">Malta</a> while I e-mailed my commitment to the Finnish meet organizer to be part of his ground crew.<br /><br />As a result of the opportunities provided me by being stationed in Germany in the Air Force right out of college in 1977, by 1980 there were only two countries I hadn't visited in western Europe (i.e., west of the now happily defunct Iron Curtain); Finland and Portugal. The intervening years had yet to change that status.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYc2a-N5dTU4DVXBd08_YgIBnZvxXVvlu4bvnwBStsFHNnliTPBWYIBMafHyD-XSFN-KENpMZwXSxar0BEUsY9dhwiuisJPCC36zusMv5uEezrlFIj5zoR0sTsIQkZa8dxPRDDNP7BkQb-/s1600/FinlandBlog02.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYc2a-N5dTU4DVXBd08_YgIBnZvxXVvlu4bvnwBStsFHNnliTPBWYIBMafHyD-XSFN-KENpMZwXSxar0BEUsY9dhwiuisJPCC36zusMv5uEezrlFIj5zoR0sTsIQkZa8dxPRDDNP7BkQb-/s200/FinlandBlog02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490137877338655378" border="0" /></a>Arriving with Virpi and Kari by ferry into a Helsinki port a few days before the competition began, they headed one direction for some family commitments while I headed another to explore a bit on my own (armed with a list of suggestions from them). We met up in Jämijärvi a day later.<br /><br />During the next week I spent the first part of each day either studying Finnish history online or taking short trips to nearby sites of interest to me. In the afternoons I would retrieve pilots who'd hadn't made it back to the airport.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNfkcL3aKcZXgZmJG4rFzQFW71AYTyYgtUh_y6VTcUZVb8zxWzkpN4nmPgOnmN3A9ifVo-_pIdDYj2_SjVVat4wH-ktq77uY078gknagRdctDqIu6bYSGA1mpOk8DV4l0v2wRTCtGZoCh/s1600/FinlandBlog04.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNfkcL3aKcZXgZmJG4rFzQFW71AYTyYgtUh_y6VTcUZVb8zxWzkpN4nmPgOnmN3A9ifVo-_pIdDYj2_SjVVat4wH-ktq77uY078gknagRdctDqIu6bYSGA1mpOk8DV4l0v2wRTCtGZoCh/s400/FinlandBlog04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494037865440021810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvyxsIdqKjdXSi7vh0WP6NGbyX2tSkUuBlb0J7xIav5cbDLcA3su8lOL1oAnbgeCztpmaNIBMXQxhUp4nctKR1ZFeJij6dthWQaoFiivWQ8f4oqr7kYDUd_bNrz2LLvqx9i-giA-MEFetU/s1600/FinlandBlog06.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvyxsIdqKjdXSi7vh0WP6NGbyX2tSkUuBlb0J7xIav5cbDLcA3su8lOL1oAnbgeCztpmaNIBMXQxhUp4nctKR1ZFeJij6dthWQaoFiivWQ8f4oqr7kYDUd_bNrz2LLvqx9i-giA-MEFetU/s400/FinlandBlog06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494037870532844162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The evenings were spent first the sauna, and then often enough afterwards gathered around a fire in a circular hut with the center of it's roof open over the fire, roasting sausages long into the next day (though I rarely made it past midnight).<br /><br />These two photos were taken at 11:00 p.m. at the post competition sausage roast at an open fire that would accommodate the crowd (the circular huts were too small).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvD_MDgIzwxXhCnX39Jj-ml8KuV4QwMP-B8vyc6iLYf0NTodMinj8N7pPyXoQmJ0T9S-MsRH7tlvX_KdTGS81n9OgTDgJL_JJz576Erb7LNDxbRZNHmFiatPieCxNYH4QHjLCKqZmyUtVj/s1600/FinlandBlog08.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvD_MDgIzwxXhCnX39Jj-ml8KuV4QwMP-B8vyc6iLYf0NTodMinj8N7pPyXoQmJ0T9S-MsRH7tlvX_KdTGS81n9OgTDgJL_JJz576Erb7LNDxbRZNHmFiatPieCxNYH4QHjLCKqZmyUtVj/s400/FinlandBlog08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494026252846226034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9_w90SYgvJwfZbm-ZqTpJ_JdTspF7rFm8EGOdJ_tmNCfYyXyBAarqC1kCfFrsjLAz-NFql1Y496-5NWVNZxN-RAiU7GxKHCrp766jhZJvO-sF3iE6bei-ONFvVhHMAz3zCrotSC91W6P/s1600/FinlandBlog09.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9_w90SYgvJwfZbm-ZqTpJ_JdTspF7rFm8EGOdJ_tmNCfYyXyBAarqC1kCfFrsjLAz-NFql1Y496-5NWVNZxN-RAiU7GxKHCrp766jhZJvO-sF3iE6bei-ONFvVhHMAz3zCrotSC91W6P/s400/FinlandBlog09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494026260948077586" border="0" /></a><br />It never really got much darker than this every night I was in Finland.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WDazBDoonqkj81YbPOlTZYoRseSP3N3IyDu5huAPlH3lSx-qwJOsDMQ-Mo7yy9dqxs24kgG7v907WSFHe_IZVlLS19Z_4PTSaApJp1W3ipGe3tYwOA97i0vF58BpdYkSWM99fMi-m817/s1600/FinlandBlog13.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WDazBDoonqkj81YbPOlTZYoRseSP3N3IyDu5huAPlH3lSx-qwJOsDMQ-Mo7yy9dqxs24kgG7v907WSFHe_IZVlLS19Z_4PTSaApJp1W3ipGe3tYwOA97i0vF58BpdYkSWM99fMi-m817/s200/FinlandBlog13.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494035915481534322" border="0" /></a>Kari won the competition, becoming the Finnish Champion for the second time. The "SM"on the cake stands for <span id="result_box" class="short_text"><span style="" title=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Suomen Mestari</span>; Finnish Champion</span></span><br /><br />In Finland, towing by ultralights is not yet legal (and may never be) so Finns have made do with car towing. Though I had all my hang gliding equipment with me and I was given many opportunities to give it a try, a few emotional scars apparently just couldn't be overcome. The friend who taught me to car tow 15 years ago was killed only weeks later while attempting to teach someone else. Aero-towing merely makes me attentive. Foot launching makes me nervous, something I've been working to overcome this last year with more and more experience (as I've <a href="http://timothyettridge.blogspot.com/2010_06_01_archive.html#616102004267476327">written</a>). Car towing, however, has always just simply scared the heebie jeebies out of me.<br /><br />Apparently it still does. A time or two I thought I was emotionally ready but in the end I chose to pass on every opportunity I had to fly in Finland, hoping I'd feel more up to the next day. That day never came.<br /><br />No matter. The real reason I was there was to finally get the chance to explore Finland, and to do so in the company of good friends<span id="result_box" class="short_text"><span style="" title="">. </span></span><br /><br />Two years ago, six weeks in Russia resulted in my consumption of more vodka in that month and a half than I had sampled in the previous 34 years of being of drinking age. Similarly, this trip to Finland has resulted in my experiencing more saunas than I probably have had in all my life before.<br /><br />Sauna is, as most probably already know, a Finnish word to begin with. I did not experience one single Finnish dwelling that did not have an extensive and complete sauna facility (sauna, changing room, and rinsing room, and more).<br /><br />Though there were no frozen lakes to dip into through a hole in the ice as I had experienced in Russia five years ago (and no lake at all in Jämijärvi), I still was happy to drop into the merely chilly lake (17 degrees Celsius) at Virpi's family's summer cottage house. We spent a few days there before heading back to Europe on the 29th.<br /><br />Finland seemed so related to places I've been in recent years, but that shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. Looking on a map, it all makes sense.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZnk7rtAuZnUn4BdUOULvnHJ0GPoYVk0NoOj1HmC8FIgNFyZk3N2NmLe5h4I3fouvBZNvwmT25F2UXhV_ebx1RtjWFXPRx5AzNsEwfjbydRNdy9XMNHPhQnfdSvad0rfw4-clFkajC3Vq/s1600/FinlandBlog18.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 347px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZnk7rtAuZnUn4BdUOULvnHJ0GPoYVk0NoOj1HmC8FIgNFyZk3N2NmLe5h4I3fouvBZNvwmT25F2UXhV_ebx1RtjWFXPRx5AzNsEwfjbydRNdy9XMNHPhQnfdSvad0rfw4-clFkajC3Vq/s400/FinlandBlog18.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494036495609567250" border="0" /></a><br />While the earth changes dramatically traveling south to north (as I experienced by changing 1800 straight line kilometers of latitude from Borso del Grappa in Italy to Jämijärvi), the make of the land can be quite consistent east to west. Yulia's childhood home in Velikiy Dvor, of which Finland reminded me, was almost directly east from Jämijärvi, less than 800 kilometers way. Oslo, which seemed to carry much of the same feel as Helsinki, was almost directly west, again only 800 kilometers away.<br /><br />In all my travels around the world, I am again and again struck by how much both the Earth itself and we as a people are far more alike than different.<br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5494028257069768897%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="279" width="372"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-6161020042674763272010-06-14T11:58:00.006-04:002010-07-15T04:03:15.421-04:00On Foot in Italy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8DDgpjvSMpI37wT78JA7XvPuGpqNZqG1bEWwmPJbKej-4quxivSwA7poC42-RkCRNTUcBbImB_-Mz-1lNFj8SeQtyXHN8W316AR28dmPmev4obqCAW4Da-AhNrFy_IMbgZ7muhAyUZtrO/s1600/Borso+Del+Grappa+Launch03.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8DDgpjvSMpI37wT78JA7XvPuGpqNZqG1bEWwmPJbKej-4quxivSwA7poC42-RkCRNTUcBbImB_-Mz-1lNFj8SeQtyXHN8W316AR28dmPmev4obqCAW4Da-AhNrFy_IMbgZ7muhAyUZtrO/s400/Borso+Del+Grappa+Launch03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483262958045437762" border="0" /></a><br />I learned to fly sailplanes when I was 14, forty years ago. In all that time since, being towed into the air by another airplane has seemed the most natural way to fly. Though I first learned hang gliding by foot launching on the dunes of Kittyhawk 18 years ago, it wasn't long before all the hang gliding I did was aerotowing in either Marlyand or Florida.<br /><br />Foot launching, then, has always intimidated me. The opposite is usually true for most hang glider pilots. They are intimidated by the high energy of being towed that seems to always be searching to find a way to go out of control. So we laugh at each other's concepts (misconceptions?) and do it the way we feel best.<br /><br />So many of the most amazing hanggliding sites I've visited in Europe of the last eight years in the process of crewing for friends have been foot launch sites, something I last felt qualified to do 15 years ago. I've envied my friends as they flew above spectacular mountain ranges so I spent some time in last fall in Lookout Mountain, Georgia, re-learning foot launching so that I could fly where I wanted in both Australia last winter (summer there) and now here in Europe.<br /><br />The fruits of this effort have begun to show, both in Slovenia last week and now, here, in Borso del Grappa, Italy. After I left Slovenia, I met up with Jamie and Carl, who'd left England the week before to drop down to the continent for a bit of warm weather flying before Carl returned to work on his oil rig.<br /><br />If you'd care to see what kind of adventures flying couples get to have together, read <a href="http://naughtylawyertravels.blogspot.com/2010/06/epic-day.html">Jamie's article</a> on their epic flight there.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fucc96j_j2-jh4Kzy61uRr8Em_uzOUDcE-1RDUj84ZI5cBVyec6pIZW0XpMqjerAqxHXTtlrZqeSo5ycsG73-pId5rWhcH2BbwCeusWGr2dWGNmru55T0MeFQphvhIaTBzp-brrGzDQ6/s1600/Lookin'.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fucc96j_j2-jh4Kzy61uRr8Em_uzOUDcE-1RDUj84ZI5cBVyec6pIZW0XpMqjerAqxHXTtlrZqeSo5ycsG73-pId5rWhcH2BbwCeusWGr2dWGNmru55T0MeFQphvhIaTBzp-brrGzDQ6/s200/Lookin'.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483266288515786242" border="0" /></a>Monday Jamie and I joined up with Amy, a friend from the States passing through Italy, for a bit of hiking in the Dolomites around San Martino di Castrozza. When the clouds parted now and then, we had great views of stunning rocky crags. Amy and Jamie seemed more intent about the mountain's flowers, however.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-58110252588710888172010-06-09T17:14:00.009-04:002010-06-10T04:29:07.715-04:00Most na Soči<a display="" style="" border="" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvpa8VpwTpIOHLDStGU0-pADfJb6WBCNvvJ4pw74bElDqYEyhVwdkcZ3Wk7Dx4UnK9u47BLJ40Mv_GLO4KxXgNaiC60Pto_1L4QgKQnERBvc1gL-Yq-60naZJpt2hkAVSSN9FjE__71Rl/s1600/MostNaSoci01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvpa8VpwTpIOHLDStGU0-pADfJb6WBCNvvJ4pw74bElDqYEyhVwdkcZ3Wk7Dx4UnK9u47BLJ40Mv_GLO4KxXgNaiC60Pto_1L4QgKQnERBvc1gL-Yq-60naZJpt2hkAVSSN9FjE__71Rl/s400/MostNaSoci01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480885801771526946" border="0" /></a><br />Driving from Austria to Slovenia takes one through a corner of Italy before descending into a spectacular network of valleys. I came here to be with two friends, Matjaz and Nena.<br /><a display="" style="" border="" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiF0NNhCK9SX9MCl52YNEx5MiPv17_9zFFNBE-LZR1aNbsa96v8FkxnjvKJ9Of4Nfk6hpp4YoQgH0akUjNMHzXpmDppSibORhdz7KY4XJe8y60gp5f7pOcvKtT6cFkrIo1mP7X_RWzpEK-/s1600/MostNaSoci04.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiF0NNhCK9SX9MCl52YNEx5MiPv17_9zFFNBE-LZR1aNbsa96v8FkxnjvKJ9Of4Nfk6hpp4YoQgH0akUjNMHzXpmDppSibORhdz7KY4XJe8y60gp5f7pOcvKtT6cFkrIo1mP7X_RWzpEK-/s400/MostNaSoci04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480885811372262098" border="0" /></a><br />Their home has a terrace overlooking the blue waters of the Soča river. Their town, Most na Soči, means "Bridge on the River Soča."<br /><br />I finally got the chance to fly for the first time here. Matjaz and I launched seconds apart late in the day and drifted over the spectacular valley in the diminishing light. The camera I'd set up on the back of my glider (visible in the photo below) took only a few pictures while I was still on the ground before it shut down, but Nena captured the moment for me. <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><br /><a display="" style="" border="" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgdYt3CaqoZDN8v8AgztNbCbwdk64IMuODOKzKOs4PyWEsAxtw3VdfoL7wuH8v6ZGWh_pzU-cSaSESZXRSKVPU7s2kWeKm1i6zcdEyNTC08C7rDF_OioBmDWcT-jIJh1ytu2jggX77dH4/s1600/MostNaSoci07.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 420px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgdYt3CaqoZDN8v8AgztNbCbwdk64IMuODOKzKOs4PyWEsAxtw3VdfoL7wuH8v6ZGWh_pzU-cSaSESZXRSKVPU7s2kWeKm1i6zcdEyNTC08C7rDF_OioBmDWcT-jIJh1ytu2jggX77dH4/s400/MostNaSoci07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480885822879819970" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5480883956741765201%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="300" width="400"></embed><br /><br />Last spring here, while snow still covered the tops of the 2000 meter peaks nearby, Matjaz captured a flight on video that he made from this hill we flew off. Edited it down to six minutes, it's set to the evocative music of the movie "Avatar." I don't know how many times I've watched it but it must be at least 50 times. To me it captures the stunning beauty of this sport of hang gliding. It is so simple, the way we fly, and yet so profound in its expression of the often forgotten unlimited nature of our existence. We can <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">fly</span>. We truly can. Matjaz takes off a small hill as casually as if descending a few stairs, and finds the right air currents to climb, climb, and climb until he is soaring across the pyramid-shaped face of the snow-covered Krn Mountain.<br /><br />We can do amazing things, we human beings.<br /><br /><object height="270" width="444"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dckv9s0Ejkw&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dckv9s0Ejkw&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="270" width="444"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-628475814276925432010-06-06T05:01:00.016-04:002010-06-08T01:49:44.084-04:00Run, Forrest! Run!<a display="" style="" border="" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPy5WjV_tpdFoZOMlIIxgqjntV1j1hgSAdlfvL26R7MVk01nUaTD7ePYa4OIgNOY8r9bkjSDbZ0vwNddSUjIIbBOVgit-pNDsUwuTLHC_ONqna51onMmgOBH4jt0YMHjA7VOHXar7wH9Fh/s1600/00.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPy5WjV_tpdFoZOMlIIxgqjntV1j1hgSAdlfvL26R7MVk01nUaTD7ePYa4OIgNOY8r9bkjSDbZ0vwNddSUjIIbBOVgit-pNDsUwuTLHC_ONqna51onMmgOBH4jt0YMHjA7VOHXar7wH9Fh/s400/00.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479619014475583090" border="0" /></a><br />This last week in, around, and above Zell am See, Austria has had me thinking over and over again of a line from the movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Forrest Gump</span>;<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">"And so I met the president...</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;">again</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">." </span><br /><br />When the hugely significant becomes commonplace, it's hard not to trivialize it.<br /><br />Looking around me each day, I find myself thinking, "Here I am amidst some of the most spectacular scenery on the planet...<span style="font-style: italic;">again</span>."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi035gHJmBaY81uy-KY0vegKcPOSlAtx1h-z7pqj3Wn69VOXYtajUYgo5Iv4Kzv1f2qIemymZAMMB1LqmjrT2YiRhHHLgqKKZIpVVeh1x6WlcyLkV_ZIZ_dZcrVawUAqGDVvad4pWqK4d0E/s1600/Schmitten+006.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi035gHJmBaY81uy-KY0vegKcPOSlAtx1h-z7pqj3Wn69VOXYtajUYgo5Iv4Kzv1f2qIemymZAMMB1LqmjrT2YiRhHHLgqKKZIpVVeh1x6WlcyLkV_ZIZ_dZcrVawUAqGDVvad4pWqK4d0E/s400/Schmitten+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479672143297051250" border="0" /></a><br /><br />There's a small hang gliding competition going on.<br /><a display="" style="" border="" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMv32PQ7Q8SIuYZUeKwSeH-jY-5pEwJs8pChyphenhyphenL-_TVFnRS1VWSLbzT5xUXUzldRc8e33ziUny_XqJAWbrHqFpIOisXgVQ9T6QIP9mSHCalOMl-FeKX-wO8D3UWTrcfS2IG6UfRoBt_so9/s1600/01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMv32PQ7Q8SIuYZUeKwSeH-jY-5pEwJs8pChyphenhyphenL-_TVFnRS1VWSLbzT5xUXUzldRc8e33ziUny_XqJAWbrHqFpIOisXgVQ9T6QIP9mSHCalOMl-FeKX-wO8D3UWTrcfS2IG6UfRoBt_so9/s400/01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479584373114125634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a display="" style="" border="" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOBGfdyjfTq7UNI0HlouSvgGHVDwuTBeI7WibU-mFqsQpbCeydCS1tNRLKKZRH1Poiq3Mtsp5Qs-RUlN5lZywBWyKhP8FmrS0Rfp2tZlze78vN9kTw1zZw8nV4aWwySt8YQOy_e6SL3s8/s1600/02.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOBGfdyjfTq7UNI0HlouSvgGHVDwuTBeI7WibU-mFqsQpbCeydCS1tNRLKKZRH1Poiq3Mtsp5Qs-RUlN5lZywBWyKhP8FmrS0Rfp2tZlze78vN9kTw1zZw8nV4aWwySt8YQOy_e6SL3s8/s400/02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479584379860590034" border="0" /></a><br />I'm here not to fly, nor even crew for someone, but merely to be with friends who are <a display="" style="" border="" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDQM4qHXNPLByzY55V3D8deHNrqCQvedcjVGXylg_qQiO-aUTz94itmc3cAISb66GJoj2Xz0ly7ug7F_r2LKcVhZOYdKRKCGD3Ie-pobyl_NOEN10WOY6HTaK9tHnO9w2sWNmdr6BQptU/s1600/03.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDQM4qHXNPLByzY55V3D8deHNrqCQvedcjVGXylg_qQiO-aUTz94itmc3cAISb66GJoj2Xz0ly7ug7F_r2LKcVhZOYdKRKCGD3Ie-pobyl_NOEN10WOY6HTaK9tHnO9w2sWNmdr6BQptU/s200/03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479584882424361234" border="0" /></a>(such Belgian Jochen and Russian Yulia pictured here).<br /><br />A bit of reflection revealed that all of the hang gliding competitions I was involved with last summer and will be or already have been this summer are centered around Austria in a manner of sorts. There's Áger, Spain (near Barcelona) to the west, as is Laragne, France (near Nice) and several places in Switzerland. To the south in Italy there is Bassano Del Grappa (near Milan) and Monte Cucco (closer to Rome). To the east, there is Tolmin, Slovenia (near Ljubljana). To the north in Germany, there is Tegelberg (near Munich).<br /><br />I've spent last summer, then, and will spend this summer crisscrossing Austria on my way to or from some hang gliding site. This means a lot of time of driving through breathtaking mountains and unbelievably quaint and inviting villages...<span style="font-style: italic;">again</span>.<br /><br />Something about this has inspired me, apparently. Finally I've actually been able to motivate myself to start running again in the mornings...down manicured trails through majestic and whispering forests, in view of a horizon of white-capped peaks. I'd imagine it's hard <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> to feel inspired here.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-56580135613124143502010-06-01T04:26:00.009-04:002010-06-01T06:21:24.642-04:00Swiss MixMy <a href="http://timothyettridge.blogspot.com/2009_12_01_archive.html#5905077922759954925">Swiss friends</a> invited me to join them in their country for a mixture of hang gliding competitions and just simple hospitality. Freddy and Ashanta live in Oberdorf, near Stans, the kind of place probably most of us imagine when we think of Switzerland (just above the top of the tree in the lower center of this photo taken from the summit of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B%C3%BCrgenstock">Bürgenstock</a>).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpJRC_0MJ0JKyGI6DZ01pcMlbV2XIh6blDhoqhiyEmwUvKKy9GHEXqG-O7YOUq_0aVGyyGTQoY_RPN-CtECxsWIwhCRi5-Elpcpq0Xpc_x_NvjGtYhCd7LlfoAvFMK_1Q9-TXMpxh0KGl/s1600/Swiss07.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpJRC_0MJ0JKyGI6DZ01pcMlbV2XIh6blDhoqhiyEmwUvKKy9GHEXqG-O7YOUq_0aVGyyGTQoY_RPN-CtECxsWIwhCRi5-Elpcpq0Xpc_x_NvjGtYhCd7LlfoAvFMK_1Q9-TXMpxh0KGl/s400/Swiss07.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477720042655657490" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Jürg and Dolores live in Basel; one of Switzerland's major cities and yet it remains as inviting as a village.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnvcNfCG8Gnlxv7hOCKcMUic0qa3wm45btW4xtw5RcXG2TyKEI95A_4xEeBTINp-CB74GsIHHo88qWvbqDkPHfdCsrHguTkMfIGRsXsodeFVCrfNhOUvEzhP7AFKA-5UUibpMh1vQxLtg/s1600/Swiss05.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnvcNfCG8Gnlxv7hOCKcMUic0qa3wm45btW4xtw5RcXG2TyKEI95A_4xEeBTINp-CB74GsIHHo88qWvbqDkPHfdCsrHguTkMfIGRsXsodeFVCrfNhOUvEzhP7AFKA-5UUibpMh1vQxLtg/s400/Swiss05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477720758513204450" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'll be back here several times over the summer. It often feels like a dream to be there strolling those streets and paths, though I can't say if it's natural beauty or the dear friends that make it such a magnificent place for me. Probably both.<br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5477743185398359377%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="333" width="444"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-87475263832079144102010-05-23T04:17:00.011-04:002010-06-01T05:32:17.861-04:00At least I, for one, had fun<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1bTGKmUdFEG9o8KA-nm71u-E0Rr0IqcinswS3GCOtBtUL9OM_pQLg4WUrxWzkpmnOu6ZulMf5QhR9thN9fqbiGvcnn0OKMv2JLoFmQr6l398j7_s80y4h9N1m5v8-0UfpOOyBdH6QpH7/s1600/Tegelberg33.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1bTGKmUdFEG9o8KA-nm71u-E0Rr0IqcinswS3GCOtBtUL9OM_pQLg4WUrxWzkpmnOu6ZulMf5QhR9thN9fqbiGvcnn0OKMv2JLoFmQr6l398j7_s80y4h9N1m5v8-0UfpOOyBdH6QpH7/s400/Tegelberg33.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477731066507672130" border="0" /></a><br />The 2010 World Championships never happened. Out of 14 days scheduled for competition, not a single one provided weather good enough for a flyable task. For 80 of the world's best pilots pilots who traveled from around the globe, it was a bitter disappointment.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZV2zRRatOwzFaP1S_fFzseFg0wWAeuJSC38TLyOcfVjCHRFbokomC5X6pC4odOiAUgXICb6i_kcvhUQrEMTjkubPVmQxKqU6uZ1dQo2uCNixdlF3R7Err68NIEE9_jghuc54k2_JIx9KK/s1600/Tegelberg23.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZV2zRRatOwzFaP1S_fFzseFg0wWAeuJSC38TLyOcfVjCHRFbokomC5X6pC4odOiAUgXICb6i_kcvhUQrEMTjkubPVmQxKqU6uZ1dQo2uCNixdlF3R7Err68NIEE9_jghuc54k2_JIx9KK/s320/Tegelberg23.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477731954920794034" border="0" /></a>Each day either the cloudbase was too low (often lower than the launch ramp on Tegelberg), or the wind was too strong, or it was raining, or it was snowing, or storms threatened from one side or another...always something. On only a few days was the weather good enough for the pilots to even merely launch for a short, local flight. Down below in the valley, it was green and spring time. Up on the launch ramp, however, it was more winter than anything else.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3gu21VtgIXssUqY7ObeJLvP-erVmCDFBIP8bhc5fglnMSdFkQtkOowC8hNfd2TfH4bM71C_c9i46whLhKOasGLPY_Z-1Aeu5OFalHGOIA1QqifiXI4eyABifvOrSu-aMT37DIqv8p4et6/s1600/Tegelberg44.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3gu21VtgIXssUqY7ObeJLvP-erVmCDFBIP8bhc5fglnMSdFkQtkOowC8hNfd2TfH4bM71C_c9i46whLhKOasGLPY_Z-1Aeu5OFalHGOIA1QqifiXI4eyABifvOrSu-aMT37DIqv8p4et6/s200/Tegelberg44.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477731493700491506" border="0" /></a>For me, however, it was still a great time. With so many of my best friends in the world all in one place, what's to complain about?<br /><br />I'd fall asleep each night contentedly exhausted, and wake still too tired to go for the morning run I'd been claiming for weeks that I'd finally start doing again.<br /><br />On our last day there, Daphne attached a GoPro camera to her foot and held her regular camera in her hand to combine the footage for the video below of our ride down the summer time toboggan run. Such was how we occupied ourselves on the on the ground.<br /><object height="267" width="444"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uBL1wFqV6Cc&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=nl_NL&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uBL1wFqV6Cc&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=nl_NL&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="267" width="444"></embed></object><br /><br />Here's a glimpse of the other days:<br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5470819244829657761%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="333" width="444"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-38178947830165194122010-05-13T12:53:00.017-04:002010-06-01T04:42:18.527-04:00...with benefits<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaTomJANVRQu4GvvOy8-SUMVrPvOvFovwQB6li691r93_hAGgjDV0WfkGMeIqCEm_0oLU_VLV__O0APt6i8ojcY0QahVq-7GOUS-aXq7Za_25ywKGjlMywFnbOoWAi3DL1n4QkdRqO8q3/s1600/Tegelberg01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaTomJANVRQu4GvvOy8-SUMVrPvOvFovwQB6li691r93_hAGgjDV0WfkGMeIqCEm_0oLU_VLV__O0APt6i8ojcY0QahVq-7GOUS-aXq7Za_25ywKGjlMywFnbOoWAi3DL1n4QkdRqO8q3/s400/Tegelberg01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470801121000503314" border="0" /></a><br />One of the benefits of being involved in hang gliding competitions around the world is that, since most hang gliding involves leaping off a mountain, I get to experience some of the most spectacular scenery on the planet.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOQGsVQNrApCblCRJs_hRgaSCmINRWC_AaVhJG-NzNgk06TN1oPdJENKP93Aw3BMdOZehmLn7lseZuSkUqpFgZYW2-0YajIOAEHy-nBMLbNzOUQ3uYtLv2JOBgzAsu0pQvaIemiZFamWzJ/s1600/Tegelberg02.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOQGsVQNrApCblCRJs_hRgaSCmINRWC_AaVhJG-NzNgk06TN1oPdJENKP93Aw3BMdOZehmLn7lseZuSkUqpFgZYW2-0YajIOAEHy-nBMLbNzOUQ3uYtLv2JOBgzAsu0pQvaIemiZFamWzJ/s400/Tegelberg02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470802001032685970" border="0" /></a><br />Right now I'm in Schwangau, Germany, better known as the location of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neuschwanstein_Castle">Neuschwanstein Castle</a>, the inspiration for Disneyland's Sleeping Beauty Castle.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3t9wbGRgd9VlNphnkjZWrW4bCKMeEv-nyrQwGgLfGO1MjVS_fDxr6-J0fBKbRfclR6Q_h1Qt6MZrd2VbpNzWMU9emnW3EhkQT0LUuqkL-XpnzQ-mx3He7MxbLyTQ9440vf63elIgB5ecY/s1600/Tegelberg03.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3t9wbGRgd9VlNphnkjZWrW4bCKMeEv-nyrQwGgLfGO1MjVS_fDxr6-J0fBKbRfclR6Q_h1Qt6MZrd2VbpNzWMU9emnW3EhkQT0LUuqkL-XpnzQ-mx3He7MxbLyTQ9440vf63elIgB5ecY/s400/Tegelberg03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470806776146984770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpVkUyGkvamRm2WLmBpJeH66AftXPuRXPGxpWj51xf5rJyJmAqT4XXsppqteUtw0pXF5QYEjAiKdmezSM7PyhQefhM6rqyKc5OAa8maRWQkKnSebt050i75ZcxVaPIKwyZLgm1EuHvD5u/s1600/Tegelberg99.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpVkUyGkvamRm2WLmBpJeH66AftXPuRXPGxpWj51xf5rJyJmAqT4XXsppqteUtw0pXF5QYEjAiKdmezSM7PyhQefhM6rqyKc5OAa8maRWQkKnSebt050i75ZcxVaPIKwyZLgm1EuHvD5u/s200/Tegelberg99.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472499050644004370" border="0" /></a>I'm here to drive for (l. to r.) Daphne, from the Netherlands, Claudia, from Columbia, and fellow American Jamie. The three of them are competing in one of the three classes of World Hang Gliding Championship running concurrently off of Tegelberg, a mountain just out of view of the Neuschwanstein castle. They also have been my companions (both individually and as a group) of many adventures over these last years.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RFfmpoun9XsAgjq6S8Ru-zvZ-iUDhXBxfTMcfTKt1zgg5zYeu5hvNbCKwHn1QukaLSx59PhWx3VvjTSleQDFFOswDuvx7RW0Tnbv_oRSOleUatnzFztXwM94v7Om9bioN00C6voHJNIQ/s1600/Tegelberg04a.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RFfmpoun9XsAgjq6S8Ru-zvZ-iUDhXBxfTMcfTKt1zgg5zYeu5hvNbCKwHn1QukaLSx59PhWx3VvjTSleQDFFOswDuvx7RW0Tnbv_oRSOleUatnzFztXwM94v7Om9bioN00C6voHJNIQ/s200/Tegelberg04a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472500861015573602" border="0" /></a>Those are just three, however, of perhaps 30 people I know taking part in this competition, of which close to 15 could even be termed some of my closest friends. The other night while sitting at a table, literally squeezed left and right between the affectionate shoulders of Swiss mother and daughter Dolores and Ashanta (pictured here later in the evening with Zhenya as well), I could not help but gratefully contemplate my blessings of human compassion in my life.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUDu7hFskZJroTim22OJIwmsD9cdbdYsazMpvKnghsAddzGPFiZMv9S8EpgBEs9o6WWrfB3DVQYaUXYAzm-ANVoaWL-pMNgr0dv5FH0j_Kyz8EPe4twk6D75U9C-vbmf51eAlK5JXj4s1/s1600/Tegelberg05.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUDu7hFskZJroTim22OJIwmsD9cdbdYsazMpvKnghsAddzGPFiZMv9S8EpgBEs9o6WWrfB3DVQYaUXYAzm-ANVoaWL-pMNgr0dv5FH0j_Kyz8EPe4twk6D75U9C-vbmf51eAlK5JXj4s1/s200/Tegelberg05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470812981157243186" border="0" /></a>Last Sunday, May 9th, was the last practice day before the competition began. I attached a camera to Yulia's hang glider and set it to take a picture every two seconds for what she knew would be just a short flight. It began to rain just before she landed so that by the time she came down over the Neuschwanstein castle, rain drops had spotted the lens cover.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPsKOSRiMCtY48Z56iToFvc-xApgpMmvJN-y6rLlHhnvUO8X5HpFf26gIatAMcnPOmtGsZaFxdXoYpEpCJfudsJgzVTFNJndn9RXOxCXZsGV0et17yB0stSyqX1EvPAj7AtKxCJ7tMpm7/s1600/Tegelberg08.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPsKOSRiMCtY48Z56iToFvc-xApgpMmvJN-y6rLlHhnvUO8X5HpFf26gIatAMcnPOmtGsZaFxdXoYpEpCJfudsJgzVTFNJndn9RXOxCXZsGV0et17yB0stSyqX1EvPAj7AtKxCJ7tMpm7/s400/Tegelberg08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470815803838499538" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6rvGkv9iPlZU4UvsEYhly3pJffDMIlcVO528wnhT-K5WAySk5fVCH-RJEpTzdNEm5Tu3z6knCW8ohNMzUBrd9pauYRPRXk8AoFh6eN9sg0R1m1Mor5gUiOYpNOmp64neZO-v7rPQocx0/s1600/Tegelberg1196.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6rvGkv9iPlZU4UvsEYhly3pJffDMIlcVO528wnhT-K5WAySk5fVCH-RJEpTzdNEm5Tu3z6knCW8ohNMzUBrd9pauYRPRXk8AoFh6eN9sg0R1m1Mor5gUiOYpNOmp64neZO-v7rPQocx0/s400/Tegelberg1196.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470815814484933266" border="0" /></a><br />Rain has been a problem. Of the four days that have passed since the competition began on Monday, the 10th, none have been flyable. Yesterday, however, a German pilot found a small window of opportunity for a personal flight and strapped a camera onto his glider. Daphne took the trouble to edit his 27 minutes of footage down to a three minute glimpse of the beauty of flight, this region, and Neuschwanstein.<br /><br /><object height="267" width="444"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SbJeHkwv4zs&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=nl_NL&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SbJeHkwv4zs&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=nl_NL&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="267" width="444"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-52405409103640485112010-05-04T08:24:00.001-04:002010-05-11T08:26:42.754-04:00Through the Eyes of Yet Another<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkGPROT8k0F3FLnq9swjD7NO8sXBmTkNx0sz6UD7UjlbOCzk-Q-kMkh3gvVXdeDKr7lZkk2VynxxkBL6U_j0qTVEcw9jD8HWMADAQD4XF0ynLDHBqvGHWNLNaPJOZLuYF-q9HYgMyqHbR/s1600/Yulia42.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkGPROT8k0F3FLnq9swjD7NO8sXBmTkNx0sz6UD7UjlbOCzk-Q-kMkh3gvVXdeDKr7lZkk2VynxxkBL6U_j0qTVEcw9jD8HWMADAQD4XF0ynLDHBqvGHWNLNaPJOZLuYF-q9HYgMyqHbR/s400/Yulia42.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469987721764302098" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was only in the States for five weeks, three of them spent delightedly hosting Yulia for the period surrounding Florida’s two spring hang gliding competitions.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghcPdChyphenhyphenaRMNg8sNnRVu0pUNlz0u7rAWJigQdDSaB4KkM41D1Pskvh3dHLqgmanKB2c6TORsXuziJyusiO02HkOgwOyrj8ROKWx-VdhlSe4w8Z_2D2sV1aPa9aCNMXPcjab5EWvlChojed/s1600/Yulia01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghcPdChyphenhyphenaRMNg8sNnRVu0pUNlz0u7rAWJigQdDSaB4KkM41D1Pskvh3dHLqgmanKB2c6TORsXuziJyusiO02HkOgwOyrj8ROKWx-VdhlSe4w8Z_2D2sV1aPa9aCNMXPcjab5EWvlChojed/s400/Yulia01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469981763014401186" border="0" /></a><br />As recorded a year ago, I spent the previous spring doing <a href="http://timothyettridge.blogspot.com/2009_04_01_archive.html#7068401816444513703">much of the same</a> with Zhenya. Over the last two years I've had many adventures with both Yulia and Zhenya overseas (such as my trip to Velikiy Dvor in northern Russia with Yulia recorded <a href="http://timothyettridge.blogspot.com/2008_09_01_archive.html#704551684208553657">here</a>). It's always good to have the chance to return the hospitality I've been shown in so many different countries by so many different people.<br /><br />The trip to the States was short, however. We both departed May 5th for Germany; her to compete in the World Hang Gliding Championships, me to join her and other friends at that competition as a way to begin a full summer of plans overseas.<br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5469973550910461009%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="267" width="400"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-34222193877572120482010-03-22T21:39:00.003-04:002010-03-22T21:49:05.403-04:00Money is a renewable resource, time isn't<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWXyJ0t6Qk2EVjQvJZ4EOQUfINP0OSQDwQdYg_WBWKrTMPNNKB3-kU-5VBkJnva5h5TqyogHuhlX_czpzf9KngyMVwQToI1r0PiNg7JTg9myPTWv_zMmIVOQoU-E4phM_WVq3fVfbaAs-/s1600-h/Blog.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWXyJ0t6Qk2EVjQvJZ4EOQUfINP0OSQDwQdYg_WBWKrTMPNNKB3-kU-5VBkJnva5h5TqyogHuhlX_czpzf9KngyMVwQToI1r0PiNg7JTg9myPTWv_zMmIVOQoU-E4phM_WVq3fVfbaAs-/s400/Blog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451632731147475826" border="0" /></a><br />I'm home, arriving this morning in Orlando at 5:30 a.m., where Jamie picked me up. You've just got to love a friend who will rise at 4:30 a.m. to pick you up at a place an hour from their home and then drive you to a place yet another hour beyond.<br /><br />Jamie hung out as long as I could stay awake (until 2:00 p.m.) then made the two hour drive back to her home on the coast just below Cape Canaveral.<br /><br />This evening (awake again) I've just read her <a href="http://naughtylawyertravels.blogspot.com/2010/03/your-time-is-all-you-really-own-in-life_21.html">blog entry</a> posted yesterday in which she comments,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Science Daily reported recently that buying life experiences is much more likely to produce long-term happiness than buying material possessions.</span><br /><br />No wonder I always feel so overwhelmingly blessed.<br /><br />I live in a trailer (when I'm not living in a tent or a car or on somebody's couch). I've just spent five months in Australia and only brought back a couple of hand-made mugs from <a href="http://durand.com.au/workshop.html">Beechmountain Pottery</a> and a really cool 12 volt portable shower pump (thanks, Scott!).<br /><br />Ah...but the experiences. Priceless.<br /><br />Life is good.<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-22757663842546211342010-03-15T05:57:00.009-04:002010-03-17T17:54:36.947-04:00Strzelecki Lookout<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0-BltdnnVfzC0jMfiM28u0LE3wfUK8gve7CRXqjnMM0mZXJk3Btqv3smL_-UnYnbdJKKFzImuQNHn6Qi8Tr5__SMK1Uhxr_mEFW9LJ0qmPJlK8d8-5q9Xl-3Vl8KDOzLHXM9nNLkeAEOy/s1600-h/Strzelecki.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0-BltdnnVfzC0jMfiM28u0LE3wfUK8gve7CRXqjnMM0mZXJk3Btqv3smL_-UnYnbdJKKFzImuQNHn6Qi8Tr5__SMK1Uhxr_mEFW9LJ0qmPJlK8d8-5q9Xl-3Vl8KDOzLHXM9nNLkeAEOy/s400/Strzelecki.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448799807197174994" border="0" /></a><br />Okay...so maybe I'm not finished with my Australian adventures just yet. Scott and I scoured the local sites this afternoon and found that only at Strzelecki Lookout were the winds were right. <br /><br />I launched first and Scott soon followed. In the air I found that Scott, one of world's top pilots, was doing everything but flying backwards to get some in-flight pictures for me.<br /><br />A few more days of errands, goodbyes and such, and I'm off to the USA...for only about five weeks.<br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" width="400" height="267" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5449720014178504689%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-48967536630159362752010-03-14T21:55:00.001-04:002010-03-15T05:57:03.882-04:00Yengo National Park<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuVKfjvOpB6fK33XphYzmeffA_KFxrMvmxuT2Krp1_u7-4y7EoONsZ4jL94MVTfDP-giVV6IdwJL9mvxDsn1ImI6bRC0qaTCqeiqKgWZMxx-X9_wDgLc8zzpfwX0CJfvOI23vQc4tB_9X/s1600-h/Yengo02.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuVKfjvOpB6fK33XphYzmeffA_KFxrMvmxuT2Krp1_u7-4y7EoONsZ4jL94MVTfDP-giVV6IdwJL9mvxDsn1ImI6bRC0qaTCqeiqKgWZMxx-X9_wDgLc8zzpfwX0CJfvOI23vQc4tB_9X/s400/Yengo02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448673611518693778" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Biamie, the Aboriginal's creation god</span></span><br /><br />For my last adventure in Australia before returning home, Scott took me for a weekend of camping and mountain biking just west of Newcastle. Here I had the chance to view a side of aboriginal culture that few non-Aussies get to witness; the stone carvings and cave paintings of Yengo National Park.<br /><br />These aren't historical sites you'd find in a guide book. In fact, Scott pointed out that there usually weren't any signs indicating where a road lead until you'd driven a small distance down it. You had to know what you wanted to see and where it was beforehand.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcFMFsqNstF-6F-z6eml1i9fjfxU-zdWpohCtV5ILx2dK6X1vtSmdKo1l8fb6uIAssrhC6X3xHOVGzyaxmtu8j6wVMu3B0JejkVaxf6Fz27V0IhMu4D9RIxFhejWKhhoOWhTjt_7fdL2A/s1600-h/Yengo03.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcFMFsqNstF-6F-z6eml1i9fjfxU-zdWpohCtV5ILx2dK6X1vtSmdKo1l8fb6uIAssrhC6X3xHOVGzyaxmtu8j6wVMu3B0JejkVaxf6Fz27V0IhMu4D9RIxFhejWKhhoOWhTjt_7fdL2A/s400/Yengo03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448674957794113250" border="0" /></a><br />To view the cave depicted in this photo, Scott parked at a campground and, after we set up our tents, suggested we go for a walk before it got dark. We moved to one end of the parking lot and, after Scott indicated to me that a path started where we stood (I never would have seen it), he said, "You go first." After I'd walked a very short distance, he said, "You missed it." I turned around to see him indicating a cave only a few meters off the path I'd just walked.<br /><br />If you don't know someone who knows, you'd never find any of these fascinating sites. Scott believes this is intentional, designed to protect these culturally significant sites from the fools such as the ones who'd carved their initials next to aboriginal art thousands of years old.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymO8L2jk4tDa3BsL4kIYfV3oAQ7w37-A4S2ztDVfs3jMlVxMxDVLfkD9CR9vnG6Y5ckRzgHjLrzTh43Sx6YJIvkPkoE9iP5m_tMpOuZbhicR4CMxywDqL0Cj_cazrbpTStbvfbijYP_oc/s1600-h/Yengo01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymO8L2jk4tDa3BsL4kIYfV3oAQ7w37-A4S2ztDVfs3jMlVxMxDVLfkD9CR9vnG6Y5ckRzgHjLrzTh43Sx6YJIvkPkoE9iP5m_tMpOuZbhicR4CMxywDqL0Cj_cazrbpTStbvfbijYP_oc/s400/Yengo01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448679250537998114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Yengo Mountain, Biamie's<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> stepping stone to heaven.</span></span><br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5448669661151688177%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="267" width="400"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-64618446025147581792010-03-08T19:01:00.011-05:002010-03-10T20:47:17.015-05:00Bathurst<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YO9YYaKiry4A-2DXtJmixrsQaJC9iAenAt0pEHxFXochPnVNKMpE8-VGrj0ZDnpMggLSG5tVmc2-cnnnsnAMn6OqPdLov2IqXqzHd1JPlhMMiMgmJTlXdmFiuJP5v7-kcapHuY5yN3_o/s1600-h/ChrisHomecoming.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YO9YYaKiry4A-2DXtJmixrsQaJC9iAenAt0pEHxFXochPnVNKMpE8-VGrj0ZDnpMggLSG5tVmc2-cnnnsnAMn6OqPdLov2IqXqzHd1JPlhMMiMgmJTlXdmFiuJP5v7-kcapHuY5yN3_o/s400/ChrisHomecoming.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446802519651742674" border="0" /></a><br />I picked up Chris at the Sydney airport at the crack of dawn Saturday, returning from her assignment with the U.N. in Chad, Africa. After three months of austerity on a level most of us cannot conceive, her first thought was fresh seafood fresh seafood fresh seafood.<br /><br />We went straight from the airport to the fish market in Sydney and filled a eski ('cooler' in the States) full of seafood to consume over the next few days. The first order of business upon reaching her home here in Bathurst was a feast of prawns, oysters, crabs, and something I'd never seen before called <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=balmain+bug&hl=en&sourceid=gd&rlz=1Q1GGLD_enUS329ES336">Balmain bugs</a> (next to the crab in the photo). They were kind of like small legless, armless, clawless lobsters with less taste.<br /><br />These last few days have been unusually rainy, leaving Chris content to rest, recover, and slowly reabsorb the joy of her own home. I'm content to read, study, and write and enjoy her company for a bit before my last few adventures in Australia finish up and I head home.<br /><br />I'm a bit sad to have missed all the snow in the northern hemisphere this winter that I've been reading about (be it in the States or Europe). Even so, these days of endless gentle rain here in the comfort (both spiritual and physical) of Chris' home have left me in much the same peaceful mood so exquisitely depicted in this beautiful movie of snow in Moscow.<br /><br /><object height="270" width="450"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QQladpORAZw&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QQladpORAZw&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="270" width="450"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-63521660832922346332010-03-05T23:27:00.005-05:002010-03-11T18:50:29.106-05:00Brighton-Le-SandsFriday night, after flying back from the Gold Coast, I resumed my living-in-a-car existence and drove to Brighton-Le-Sands, a small town on the other side of Botany Bay from Sydney's airport. There I could spend the night on the street in my car and be well placed to pick up Chris the next morning upon her return from Africa.<br /><br />Strolling the beach along Botany Bay in the evening's light rain before I turned in for the night, I found <a href="http://www.lesands.com.au/Brighton-Kiosk/Brighton-Kiosk.php">a place</a> that seemed most fitting to enjoy a glass or two of wine.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2QAnkb0adEw64aW8LT0yn8WPG57XuDQKpgXkXwwrWC2qELJ23fYw4yF3EBpwMswoNSZ5n8wbTNpn5LZ9Q5wBN6LPqbQFCAxGZec5hGpoJz0KYju3PqZY0ccsNaT2PvrvNNnl7h-LquZf/s1600-h/Brighton-le-sands01a.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2QAnkb0adEw64aW8LT0yn8WPG57XuDQKpgXkXwwrWC2qELJ23fYw4yF3EBpwMswoNSZ5n8wbTNpn5LZ9Q5wBN6LPqbQFCAxGZec5hGpoJz0KYju3PqZY0ccsNaT2PvrvNNnl7h-LquZf/s400/Brighton-le-sands01a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447144662938814770" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I most often prefer to spend as much of my time as possible in a setting like Jonny's home town of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxr8PELw2Cz3KHW0GKXYGYIyou3iPRzGuthrW5OmXoZi1toCE66QDPR7EfSZ0YjVdqEVhQ4UJLt_RAdiKNrbOIK8hUubV7vh049he9nfMaqf7N0AgrMPdexWqrbvQig9FO_o5rM87a8pGO/s1600-h/Goldcoast01.jpg">Beechmont</a>: in simple buildings surrounded by forests and hills with perhaps a significant city no closer than an hour away. There are times, however, when being amidst a conflagration of civilization actually does appeal to me. There are some places/settings/feelings than cannot exist without a massed population to justify them. So often, lately, I've thought about how much I miss something like a good dinner with a good friend on a sidewalk cafe on a summer night on Washington, D.C.'s Connecticut Avenue, just north of Rock Creek. Ah...city life.<br /><br />Sitting alone tonight in Australia's late summer amongst the subdued ambiance of an exquisite restaurant, I got a hint of that feeling. Additionally, I felt a great sense of my good fortune in life to experience such moments in such diverse places around the world. Opposite me out an open window the sand was only a few meters away with a tranquil bay of seawater at its edge. The quiet and almost non-existent lapping of the bay's water on the narrow beach running along to my left was equally as evocative a kind of music as was the murmur of peaceful conversation all around me to my right.<br /><br />I was alone but I didn't mind. Perhaps it would have been impossible to coordinate my emotions of the moment with another. Solitude, while not particularly sought, does occasionally have it's advantages.<br /><br />I don't know Sydney well but I do now know a place I'd return to on some summer night just to be there...just to sit...just to absorb a kind of energy that makes me feel blessed and content.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-57201040081027359652010-03-05T22:34:00.005-05:002010-03-10T21:07:27.216-05:00Australia's Gold Coast<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxr8PELw2Cz3KHW0GKXYGYIyou3iPRzGuthrW5OmXoZi1toCE66QDPR7EfSZ0YjVdqEVhQ4UJLt_RAdiKNrbOIK8hUubV7vh049he9nfMaqf7N0AgrMPdexWqrbvQig9FO_o5rM87a8pGO/s1600-h/Goldcoast01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxr8PELw2Cz3KHW0GKXYGYIyou3iPRzGuthrW5OmXoZi1toCE66QDPR7EfSZ0YjVdqEVhQ4UJLt_RAdiKNrbOIK8hUubV7vh049he9nfMaqf7N0AgrMPdexWqrbvQig9FO_o5rM87a8pGO/s400/Goldcoast01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447115926070815570" border="0" /></a><br />Until 2006, I'd never been to Australia. Until last November, my complete Australian experience was three visits to Fremantle.<br /><br />As much as I enjoy Freo ("Fremantle" in local speak), so many other friends who've traveled in Australia or actually live here kept telling me that I haven't really seen Australia until I'd been to the east side.<br /><br />One of the reasons for this extended stay here these last few months was to explore all the places I've been hearing about. Prime among these was Jonny's region; the Gold Coast.<br /><br />The view above is from Jonny's back porch, looking down from Beechmont to the coastal city of Surfers Paradise. Below his parents, Jon Sr. and Judy stroll on Palm Beach, with Surfers Paradise in the background.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3j4l92Z1_laNEFcsETBAuNvxtwe5707tcADIO379M3uFtp3Yz_OYwhMSBuG7HVl3g3JcUs8xQfxD3Wvn6HAA4V1bOoBOZQ9KFD6evoBQ5C-uY1GgUxXwd7_NO65LBLHFN9PVvpF_v8IH/s1600-h/Goldcoast03.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3j4l92Z1_laNEFcsETBAuNvxtwe5707tcADIO379M3uFtp3Yz_OYwhMSBuG7HVl3g3JcUs8xQfxD3Wvn6HAA4V1bOoBOZQ9KFD6evoBQ5C-uY1GgUxXwd7_NO65LBLHFN9PVvpF_v8IH/s400/Goldcoast03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447129832406395602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC555F6TaqBdD-g3WZjV_ds55ZdWEre0Hg50595SX4JMACsIMdS93TjBh7TJ8VClkN_hMN6YpyjfkQyyo-kIAUjspbivOF6sn9JpHwJGEPaEF98aUoTDzekQrcsbjl5Nmu4DWwSxFpEpUL/s1600-h/Goldcoast04.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC555F6TaqBdD-g3WZjV_ds55ZdWEre0Hg50595SX4JMACsIMdS93TjBh7TJ8VClkN_hMN6YpyjfkQyyo-kIAUjspbivOF6sn9JpHwJGEPaEF98aUoTDzekQrcsbjl5Nmu4DWwSxFpEpUL/s200/Goldcoast04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447130479019674306" border="0" /></a>In addition to the natural beauty of the coast, hills, and water falls (photo at right: Purlingbrook), I was also fascinated by the ubiquity of <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.google.com/search?q=grey+headed+flying+fox&hl=en&sourceid=gd&rlz=1Q1GGLD_enUS329ES336">grey headed flying foxes</a>; huge fruit eating bats with wingspans over a meter wide. Months earlier one evening in Newcastle, I'd seen the sky full of them moving from their roosts to nearby fruit orchards. It looked like the flying monkey scene from the <span style="font-style: italic;">Wizard of Oz.</span><br /><br />Jonny knew the location of a colony near Cannungra and took me there to see them.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAp2djFidZZTiPvwEE7joDUYYxid4jOIGshhv6NcMbSJMpssG8cpkP0C5MaGYb2hkhwpXJO3StugHPoQ9hyphenhyphenIpGXQclb_i22eyqb1CA6XYZgWCLtnAkD0ZNrVu5XvdfWS6PZXCX9cdrhAm0/s1600-h/Goldcoast05.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAp2djFidZZTiPvwEE7joDUYYxid4jOIGshhv6NcMbSJMpssG8cpkP0C5MaGYb2hkhwpXJO3StugHPoQ9hyphenhyphenIpGXQclb_i22eyqb1CA6XYZgWCLtnAkD0ZNrVu5XvdfWS6PZXCX9cdrhAm0/s400/Goldcoast05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447124023462962258" border="0" /></a><br /><br />There were hundreds in every tree I could see on both sides of the road for a few hundred meters. While Jonny and his sister Gemma remained in the car, anticipating a barrage of guano if they all took flight in the same instant, I walked down the road awestruck.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWQa4whvrW1qd1dBeG5TtiMEOqondJl0UMm6JIcbIgUCDV3WigMTcqN6YGSYVWdmdKDEp-3vw2I-nQ2WZ5S4H9QaZtrVUAewYduEy3DWNsilsWyj26nUqWTsHel8dXLNWugUh8oNx8rWQ/s1600-h/Goldcoast06.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWQa4whvrW1qd1dBeG5TtiMEOqondJl0UMm6JIcbIgUCDV3WigMTcqN6YGSYVWdmdKDEp-3vw2I-nQ2WZ5S4H9QaZtrVUAewYduEy3DWNsilsWyj26nUqWTsHel8dXLNWugUh8oNx8rWQ/s400/Goldcoast06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447125190046221298" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My stay was brief and, though I brought my hang gliding harness, the weather brought either pouring rain or adverse winds, so no flying was done. I did, however, get to at least see where I <span style="font-style: italic;">might</span> have flown, had the conditions been right.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_vz4KzFT_rXBXUTErxlaouTFpn0-HGzJv0JnX-RlX3wfTpjBbBo2c2Oew5562FEVfOs4LN_KZt-ZYbIT97bXR3cMgQRzXrD_mjA5CnOKl6ju801BPc_oWriI_VwtTr4geM9MHSkZRjQYh/s1600-h/Goldcoast02.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_vz4KzFT_rXBXUTErxlaouTFpn0-HGzJv0JnX-RlX3wfTpjBbBo2c2Oew5562FEVfOs4LN_KZt-ZYbIT97bXR3cMgQRzXrD_mjA5CnOKl6ju801BPc_oWriI_VwtTr4geM9MHSkZRjQYh/s400/Goldcoast02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447118023927133010" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Beechmont launch</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcBW6PA-H2SwagKd719Rh_lGu8FVA7t6hBC5ZyixTTFSHhARNZkD42m_sdoNPHzY2q24ssyKmLlUCdloNr1uRLYVBmZ4JS1EnYXSyKNW0pmJRszuJwOiefYHbl-UOSZRTPGyWuum11NvC/s1600-h/Goldcoast07.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcBW6PA-H2SwagKd719Rh_lGu8FVA7t6hBC5ZyixTTFSHhARNZkD42m_sdoNPHzY2q24ssyKmLlUCdloNr1uRLYVBmZ4JS1EnYXSyKNW0pmJRszuJwOiefYHbl-UOSZRTPGyWuum11NvC/s400/Goldcoast07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447118031601492722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Byron Bay launch</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span></span>Next time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-71117312319487451982010-03-02T14:02:00.000-05:002010-03-10T02:03:00.611-05:00Boys Toys<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWiXfUd6g4v2jpRpsot_oPynIf-Us_N1CXZvWlCCMUnfXPESjXs3RlWIuDdQsXA3yanXK1Zn9lEaqrSv_VMgL_W9GwAbIMdDwr7DrsqcOT7Su1jFAmNcptzEc6me7FdBuIAwzVXKdj9azD/s1600-h/Barretts05.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWiXfUd6g4v2jpRpsot_oPynIf-Us_N1CXZvWlCCMUnfXPESjXs3RlWIuDdQsXA3yanXK1Zn9lEaqrSv_VMgL_W9GwAbIMdDwr7DrsqcOT7Su1jFAmNcptzEc6me7FdBuIAwzVXKdj9azD/s400/Barretts05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446817757565436898" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Scott and Monica hosted me once more for a long weekend of fun in Newcastle. One of the coolest things we <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrmFv7G59QjGfVfbRHLP2WQaFBHpMDZI_jUz9kt-WVgJ19QjHnvnR0bAAZMePW9qPZlxuoTkcZi9PnO7QOCMgfxszMWw_zl98hyphenhyphenJA3in8G-6nQn7pYuLf50PMTUfulzs9FKkrtR0oNQD1Q/s1600-h/Barretts02.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrmFv7G59QjGfVfbRHLP2WQaFBHpMDZI_jUz9kt-WVgJ19QjHnvnR0bAAZMePW9qPZlxuoTkcZi9PnO7QOCMgfxszMWw_zl98hyphenhyphenJA3in8G-6nQn7pYuLf50PMTUfulzs9FKkrtR0oNQD1Q/s200/Barretts02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446821577565804642" border="0" /></a>had the chance to experience together snorkeling in a large tidal pool full of temporarily captive fish. It was like having one's own private aquarium as big as an Olympic pool.<br /><br />The last time I was in Newcastle it was mid week, which limited Scott and Monica's ability to play. This time around I came on a weekend specifically to play, be it fly, swim, surf, sail, or whatever else came to our minds.<br /><br />Two other friends of theirs from Germany, Ernst and Sylvia, just happened to be in the area as well so it was a weekend of a fivesome waking up in the mornings as a group and pondering just what kind of fun we would have that day.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTWO3YvG2Q_Sicx-9I9ewAxIzl-yaP7vkisXJ8l5_v7MgLNdj-6agc8DlemEIaS3chD9RHg2frVWNudbzbvEeUc-_BU_Hd5oR-n7MmAaQeCu88zHDIHmmmPuYSoeKOG6l4hL4nI8a4iD9/s1600-h/Barretts08.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTWO3YvG2Q_Sicx-9I9ewAxIzl-yaP7vkisXJ8l5_v7MgLNdj-6agc8DlemEIaS3chD9RHg2frVWNudbzbvEeUc-_BU_Hd5oR-n7MmAaQeCu88zHDIHmmmPuYSoeKOG6l4hL4nI8a4iD9/s200/Barretts08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446823331467194658" border="0" /></a>Something I got to do that I've always wanted to try but haven't yet (on an imaginary list of probably 100 things) was welding. While Scott and I worked on a modified electric bike that he was constructing from various parts (some of which he was fabricating and welding himself), he gave me the chance to try to join two pieces of metal. I did, yet when I finished, he took one of the pieces in his right hand and pulled it off. "That's not welded." I tried again. Same result. I tried again. Same result. The fourth time I poured so much molten metal on the joint that the two pieces glowed for some time after I'd finished. When it cooled off enough to touch, Scott tried to separate them and couldn't. High fives. I'm a welder now. No matter that the two original pieces were distorted by all the heat they'd been forced to endure. They were <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">welded</span>.<br /><br />Ah...boys and their simple pleasures.<br /><br />The winds and weather didn't cooperate during the weekend but on my last day there, the morning I was flying out to Queensland's Goldcoast, everything lined up perfectly. Scott and I jumped in his car, let some air out of the tires, drove out onto the dunes near his house and squeezed in an hour or so of dune gooning on Redhead beach.<br /><br />I had my own helmet in his car but once we set up his glider (mine is still being repaired), he just handed me his helmet and said, "Go."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4yMttbbHvM_e-DnXP1YYOZnkiR2darggV2dB_W3Bq3azwonqDgYuBnb4spE2gnH5TpoFBzO_E7xrH9N1q1ENcsdB3rBAxj0OdtoHxtvaNx8Pbcu7RBDbzho3sf2lD_W_2Se7FEM9e-uLN/s1600-h/Barretts09.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4yMttbbHvM_e-DnXP1YYOZnkiR2darggV2dB_W3Bq3azwonqDgYuBnb4spE2gnH5TpoFBzO_E7xrH9N1q1ENcsdB3rBAxj0OdtoHxtvaNx8Pbcu7RBDbzho3sf2lD_W_2Se7FEM9e-uLN/s400/Barretts09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446893295065390242" border="0" /></a><br />Scott has created harnesses for both his cairn terrier and beagle that enables him to take one of them along on flights (hence, the helmet's ornamentation). Once airborne and horizontal, his dog will just climb onto his back and enjoy the ride.<br /><br />We played until I blew a landing and broke a downtube. Scott, ever the gracious host, offered to run back to his garage to get another but my flight up north was only a few hours away. It was time to finish playing with all of our toys.<br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5446820194017400209%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="267" width="400"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-68121120662112565962010-02-21T20:01:00.020-05:002010-03-09T05:26:39.474-05:00NSW Titles<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGFgGXVQVxD12SPZLdBEjGXQJ6MLg7iFZ4-7r8dokdlLC1j7XCwpp5zpRrgggrL2IJlCImYlWXxNsAslQM_j-Spk9HUKjcREzF1mVUh1j4NpEd6pHXkS7163dtKizLkgXpz51-Br9pexN/s1600-h/NSWTitles01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGFgGXVQVxD12SPZLdBEjGXQJ6MLg7iFZ4-7r8dokdlLC1j7XCwpp5zpRrgggrL2IJlCImYlWXxNsAslQM_j-Spk9HUKjcREzF1mVUh1j4NpEd6pHXkS7163dtKizLkgXpz51-Br9pexN/s400/NSWTitles01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446384953344167426" border="0" /></a><br />After so many years of supporting others who competed in hang gliding events, I've finally come to the point of wanting to compete in one. I've been flying sailplanes for 40 years ago (since I was 14), powered aircraft for 38 years, and hang gliders for 18 years. In all that time, however, I've only flown for the singular joy of the amazing experience of being up in the air, carving turns, climbs, and descents through space however I choose.<br /><br />I'm not generally competitive by nature and perhaps even quite the opposite. Yet I do see the merit of bringing the best out of ourselves by competing against others. And so I set my glider up with 57 others in Manilla, Australia on the first day of the NSW Titles. In this competition, the highest placed finisher who is also a resident of the Australian state of New South Wales is declared the State Champion.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxKOfUV27f9tJ7w3TsndV3Cqynu_uS42P7c2hGz9bLrd-xzPKsCT2qxVH_CygovrovLJeJVuFMUCGW10VZ241An_nF15D22gZPyDttrt-0ljZUq1rlVwyDm64DhruAYqKPblBsQhxMtBp/s1600-h/NSWTitles02.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxKOfUV27f9tJ7w3TsndV3Cqynu_uS42P7c2hGz9bLrd-xzPKsCT2qxVH_CygovrovLJeJVuFMUCGW10VZ241An_nF15D22gZPyDttrt-0ljZUq1rlVwyDm64DhruAYqKPblBsQhxMtBp/s400/NSWTitles02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446389048222050610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Being a bit too involved in the competition to take photos myself, every picture here and in the slide show below, excepting one (its identity will become obvious) was taken by my driver, </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://flygirl.co.za/content/view/779/398/">Gaynor Schoeman</a><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVGe1fbfOzuZ-N46yKYUvfCR3OcUZ5dANtdTmx0RisNyqjxIl2bE8z_PinEHHrhQcZ1j1FMdCzR1GqZQp9se3sfmcvAJHjenrq93XHUkTvUeZKoXdh_0eghF8Rjh3ER-MiNf9kS4O-j4K/s1600-h/NSWTitles04.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVGe1fbfOzuZ-N46yKYUvfCR3OcUZ5dANtdTmx0RisNyqjxIl2bE8z_PinEHHrhQcZ1j1FMdCzR1GqZQp9se3sfmcvAJHjenrq93XHUkTvUeZKoXdh_0eghF8Rjh3ER-MiNf9kS4O-j4K/s200/NSWTitles04.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446497827515122434" border="0" /></a>Of the seven possible days of competition, the weather cooperated for five. I flew the first four but, having trashed my glider by landing in a tree, was forced to miss the fifth. In 51st of 58th place at that point, missing the last day altogether still only dropped me to 57th. I actually beat somebody.<br /><br />Tree landings are not so terribly uncommon in hang gliding. I know someone who has had three in the last two years. They usually come about when an intense sense of competition overrules logic and judgment. As I'm not that competitive, there should be no reason I'd ever land in a tree. Or so I thought.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFYutr_02f2lGeXZcl_Lu_Kn7m9ydzldCBVIbpd0OfDb6oteIJKBt7fZnxkM9EeUqDr3PRVcBQpH1_MkkRIZ1XU6lEXV9KWclF5P8aqmG3TaQ_-bfbswXUMP_S9bm9cu3i_H8opqgFuAop/s1600-h/NSWTitles05.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFYutr_02f2lGeXZcl_Lu_Kn7m9ydzldCBVIbpd0OfDb6oteIJKBt7fZnxkM9EeUqDr3PRVcBQpH1_MkkRIZ1XU6lEXV9KWclF5P8aqmG3TaQ_-bfbswXUMP_S9bm9cu3i_H8opqgFuAop/s400/NSWTitles05.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446402595343921906" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In retrospect, I can find at least six consecutive errors in judgment which compounded each one before it and concluded with me spending two and half hours hanging perilously 20m above the ground. It would take too long to explain all of them but one surprises me the most: excessive competitiveness, i.e., as I was so determined not to land, I stayed too long in a place that, from it's topography in relation to the current winds, should have provided me the lift I needed. It didn't and by the time I finally gave up, I was already trapped.<br /><br />When I landed on the trees and seemed to be stable, I nevertheless shot my left hand out to the nearest significant branch I could find to hold on. An extension to my radio's PTT (push-to-talk button) is attached to my left index finger and activated by pressing my thumb against it. In grabbing the branch, I had also unknowingly pushed and held down the PTT. The pilots on my frequency (I was told with a laugh that evening) where treated to about twenty seconds of heavy breathing and profanities.<br /><br />My dilemma was witnessed by many of the pilots waiting to launch on the ramp at the top of the mountain and some of those already in the air. Once I determined I was stable and finally released the grip on the branch to my left, this also released my PTT. Only then was Gaynor able to call me and ask if I was okay. Advised that I was, she and a friend of mine from Norway, Thor Landgraff, drove down to find me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOXaIz6lFgBPjL1poqMmsqXXNh_j3bfu1Ha6l6RR5jwm30Ovyk13jtR9bz5oWWPtvn27kJN52opmUUUs0g3eABtUPWO04baaPFkjuuXN5kQ3R525fZdO99T3uQOyzr46tCZniSNHXCrrO/s1600-h/NSWTitles06.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOXaIz6lFgBPjL1poqMmsqXXNh_j3bfu1Ha6l6RR5jwm30Ovyk13jtR9bz5oWWPtvn27kJN52opmUUUs0g3eABtUPWO04baaPFkjuuXN5kQ3R525fZdO99T3uQOyzr46tCZniSNHXCrrO/s320/NSWTitles06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446498156893461602" border="0" /></a>Once below me, Thor made the wise suggestion of deploying my parachute over the nearest major branch I could reach to ensure that, if the branch holding me gave way, I would not fall completely to the ground. Before I let the parachute go completely free, I made sure the bridle attaching it to my harness had enough wraps around the branch to ensure it would lock if I fell.<br /><br />The most notable aspect of the rescue was Thor. I was so high in the tree that there were no substantial branches near me that anyone could climb. Furthermore, the local volunteer unit that responded within 30 minutes had the equipment and ropes needed to bring me down but weren't really up to the task of climbing the tree. The alternative was waiting for a ladder truck from the nearest major town's fire department (an hour away). Pondering this, Thor graciously volunteered to don a harness and climb the tree himself. He got to within five meters of me and, after a lot of effort, finally got a line to me.<br /><br />It would have been a much bleaker afternoon and perhaps evening as well, had Thor not be there with his wisdom and enthusiasm.<br /><br />So many lessons learned, some of them for the second time in as many months (e.g., how foolish it is to cling to the hope of lift while your options of escape diminish by the second). Though I still contend that the most dangerous thing I do is ride two-wheeled vehicles (responsible for three episodes of broken bones while all my other activities have left me free of injuries), I know I'm very lucky to have escaped this with nothing but ripped sailcloth and broken aluminum tubes.<br /><br />The glider will be fixed in a week. I, on the other hand, have no consequence except a profound experience which hopefully taught me a thing or two (or six).<br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5446051946491496689%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="267" width="400"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-80017414332834140222010-02-06T21:55:00.010-05:002010-11-02T21:55:56.766-04:00A Van Down by the River<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQOrlZILXYknfgZ2k_r1bWEay1aYS4zRBWuEWyiIumwG3657yrphmE7hEr23ik6Dqg0Fe4KFKoLMtPZQxo0bDxtPtybXdRNimw16L7MWKJZ3rDeo_egckMecklgC2dBcqBB55eLKCPVb60/s1600-h/Van00.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQOrlZILXYknfgZ2k_r1bWEay1aYS4zRBWuEWyiIumwG3657yrphmE7hEr23ik6Dqg0Fe4KFKoLMtPZQxo0bDxtPtybXdRNimw16L7MWKJZ3rDeo_egckMecklgC2dBcqBB55eLKCPVb60/s400/Van00.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443118413458420210" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Coledale sunrise</span></span><br /><br />I bought a Ford Falcon station wagon here in Australia just before Christmas. Though Chris has been <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzBc95rEMFoM_J7YEJSdEvAqtn8fQLuOFXV30BD9-wogS6BF3Jlc-D-KOyaxsXEokJHlTN3QUdiuCQ5mKkmSVwcdvVa76xTWIqYKMsndgsL4DHryurZ7Yo3ql3ALxQyxOpBXLGYNhowws/s1600-h/Van01SR.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzBc95rEMFoM_J7YEJSdEvAqtn8fQLuOFXV30BD9-wogS6BF3Jlc-D-KOyaxsXEokJHlTN3QUdiuCQ5mKkmSVwcdvVa76xTWIqYKMsndgsL4DHryurZ7Yo3ql3ALxQyxOpBXLGYNhowws/s200/Van01SR.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443117834871402994" border="0" /></a>so gracious as to give me her small Volkswagen to use while she's away in Africa (for almost the entire time I'm here in Australia), I still needed a car to which I could subject the typical abuse a hang gliding vehicle must endure...and one big enough to accommodate five people, five hang gliders, five flying harnesses, and more.<br /><br />The Russians have been using it these last few weeks but now they all have gone home (excepting Zhenya, who's still working at the Moyes factory). So I've parked Chris' car back in her garage in Bathurst, caught the train to Sydney, took possession of my own car once more, and have begun living a kind of life I've been wanting to live for some time; that of a vagabond with means.<br /><br />There's no shortage of friends here who would give me a place to sleep and, even if that weren't so, I could still afford to stay where I wanted. But what I wanted to experience was a life of chosen simplicity, something a bit like my year on a boat from '07-'08 as I circumnavigated the earth.<br /><br />Thi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsVwzE-1xn_4mFm6cZL5uaD1Ar9S3JseOmz0VJ6f52WVb2z6p5_0o64X5QstTiOr4FY5PnPeinEbyqRjzbTGrb9cth0z41jfku5diiTeL_0wzQk3PYN9pYKEwE65TQZfKn5vthuNqUD1dE/s1600-h/Van03ML.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsVwzE-1xn_4mFm6cZL5uaD1Ar9S3JseOmz0VJ6f52WVb2z6p5_0o64X5QstTiOr4FY5PnPeinEbyqRjzbTGrb9cth0z41jfku5diiTeL_0wzQk3PYN9pYKEwE65TQZfKn5vthuNqUD1dE/s320/Van03ML.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443118078521043858" border="0" /></a>s time the goal is merely to experience various places I enjoy here in Australia with a sense of being as low maintenance as I can. So I park by the sea (different places each night so as not to be too intrusive into what are often residential streets) and sleep in the back on a pad, waking at sunrise without effort as the light begins to pour in.<br /><br />This morning found me at Bronte Beach, north of the harbor. In the night I'd been woken by the sounds of heavy rain but, rather than being disturbed, it was actually very pleasing. When I woke, it was still raining. I left the car, barefoot and bare-chested, clad only in boardshorts, and walked along the beach in the warmth of the air and the coolness of the rain.<br /><br />Bronte, like so many other beaches in Australia, has pool built at the edge of the surf that is, in effect, a man-made tidal pool. There is no need for plumbing, chemicals, pumps, or maintenance because the pool is naturally flushed out and cleaned each day at high tide.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFcL3mdqaD_tPuleBj5G63HGUoJ_x1GgSjdwcI1fMe-fqf2lLFgex3ixdBxlsKtYeiyCCj1DNrycYkDAvNRJrRunpQN8n6rUtZqFy_jUFNtN4OMfOq3NBcOfacZIPKZosDWWkXkKx3J_H/s1600-h/Van04.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFcL3mdqaD_tPuleBj5G63HGUoJ_x1GgSjdwcI1fMe-fqf2lLFgex3ixdBxlsKtYeiyCCj1DNrycYkDAvNRJrRunpQN8n6rUtZqFy_jUFNtN4OMfOq3NBcOfacZIPKZosDWWkXkKx3J_H/s400/Van04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443118416830380290" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was high tide this morning just after I woke, it turns out, for time to time I watched the people swimming laps be momentarily disoriented by the waves that would breach the walls and pour foam and turbulence into the lanes.<br /><br />I joined them for a while, swimming a few laps without goggles, opening my eyes in the saltwater to orientate myself as needed, then took a cold shower in the public showers nearby and strolled the beach once more, feeling strangely animal-like and natural, cool rain falling on my bare skin, content with the simplicity of my needs.<br /><br />I dried my head and chest and put on a t-shirt (leaving my boardshorts to drip dry), then went to a coffee shop on Bronte Road to enjoy the feeling of cleanliness and warmth so simply attained while I sipped a latté, watching the rain continue to fall.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaH5dgVkr9z03UcZutau99u_CRjTFguWdT4yro45pVwEG4GYyy3P0GNN_xm8SudWAxZP76pAS3mycXHPPbXd2DxiC61lks2a3QFUZ1-0y9wZg8SR_kUEN8NTIGuaKPxCSylzihtsLVEx6Z/s1600-h/Van05.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaH5dgVkr9z03UcZutau99u_CRjTFguWdT4yro45pVwEG4GYyy3P0GNN_xm8SudWAxZP76pAS3mycXHPPbXd2DxiC61lks2a3QFUZ1-0y9wZg8SR_kUEN8NTIGuaKPxCSylzihtsLVEx6Z/s400/Van05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443482835262361906" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was, in truth, an illusion I created for myself. Warmth and dryness were, if not just a car's door away, then also an open door away. Bill and Molly live in Bronte beach and it was nearly right in front of their home that I was living my private fantasy. All I needed, were I to feel any true sense of distress, was to simply knock on their door.<br /><br />Still, I had the freedom to live this way and so I wanted to. Though I'll be at friend's homes from time to time as my final weeks in Australia come to a close, I'll also be living this way whenever I can.<br /><br />Twelve years ago, before my daughter left to go to college, I had told her that once she moved out, I was going to move out, too, and live in a van down by the river, just like the Chris Farley's "Motivational Speaker" character.<br /><br />It took a while, but I'm finally there.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdhE4AT5UR8tAOlREXoV3g-SRiWD9wKd85VsWi-0JVYQLoXfT7eC4eef6KTqpk3ak5m2BW3Ai6sT529ubvEJZLftyvNgBtMr0cStloUA-SpnSmZQgzgvEk7lhc23WH5RqlO93FgWRrcbw/s1600-h/Van05.jpg"><br /></a><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-84589764742021889652010-01-25T19:26:00.018-05:002010-02-10T00:40:33.622-05:00Mt. Beauty, Australia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVt2vNh41OyD8cvr6_hYZHe6HEG2ZtImkiFhJd0S9KwhMIl2HBNbp9Rqly0NGdVXhVJ9frrU2ah3KDY2kR4cbBmc1QNh3rg0dbCSwBDJo36cgOdPvgU4TR5Xrttma4o_iBcYe4GgETad7C/s1600-h/Bogong01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVt2vNh41OyD8cvr6_hYZHe6HEG2ZtImkiFhJd0S9KwhMIl2HBNbp9Rqly0NGdVXhVJ9frrU2ah3KDY2kR4cbBmc1QNh3rg0dbCSwBDJo36cgOdPvgU4TR5Xrttma4o_iBcYe4GgETad7C/s400/Bogong01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436421121184596866" border="0" /></a><br />This entire trip to Australia had many purposes and goals. All of them, however, grew out of the notion that the eastern part of Australia is home to two of the worlds most significant hang gliding competitions; <span style="font-style: italic;">Forbes Flatlands</span> in the beginning of January, and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Bogong Cup</span> just a few days later.<br /><br />Bogong is the state of Victoria's highest mountain, on a ridge just outside of the town of Mt. Beauty. In terms of landscape, the seven hour drive south to here from Forbes in was like passing from Flagstaff, Arizona to Burlington, Vermont in the same amount of time. In the last two hours, as you drive up into the mountains, the land turns from dry and arid to a breathtakingly lush and verdant setting.<br /><br />Mt. Beauty is a ski area, for pete's sake. I didn't even known any part of Australia actually had enough snow to ski. Mind you, it's no Aspen. From what I've seen and read, I'd equate the probable skiing conditions to northern Maryland (which means minimal at best). Still, it's more than I imagined possible in Australia.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsSyHOqlYkbcJdgfK1ZcfNH3uSZuyEH-Miw4SuEw2NAeFHPF3ddO2BNMLj3ytixedB8k6Bzap1dBgqpFlH3pQk5E9lg024Wf7042bge61B0_6-9Oo5ZSDH3UrD2uWTfXMVzV1hmtoRyZ4/s1600-h/Bogong02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsSyHOqlYkbcJdgfK1ZcfNH3uSZuyEH-Miw4SuEw2NAeFHPF3ddO2BNMLj3ytixedB8k6Bzap1dBgqpFlH3pQk5E9lg024Wf7042bge61B0_6-9Oo5ZSDH3UrD2uWTfXMVzV1hmtoRyZ4/s320/Bogong02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436422029935421762" border="0" /></a>Eight days had been allotted for tasks at this meet. Unlike Forbes, which is an aerotow comp, this was a hill launch one. Each morning the site with the best angle of winds (from four or five within a range of 30 kilometers to choose from) was selected and a caravan of cars and trucks loaded with hanggliders, pilots and drivers (like me), headed up the hills to set up and launch. A task was set, once the task committee reached the top of the hill and had both internet and visual references to contemplate, and the pilots were off.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKG-vvCbL6EA-VbFO_RioYlyRCCGOvryNtxUHbpGPDqNKCxk4f85gZ_swgns2cLHGdRJ1nqzmGgW-jPsSaTpAEltjfoGNFDA-ARcaiVS1cWtDDLk5qezM1JQBVX-Ew07H1o_D_agYrtsBW/s1600-h/Bogong04.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKG-vvCbL6EA-VbFO_RioYlyRCCGOvryNtxUHbpGPDqNKCxk4f85gZ_swgns2cLHGdRJ1nqzmGgW-jPsSaTpAEltjfoGNFDA-ARcaiVS1cWtDDLk5qezM1JQBVX-Ew07H1o_D_agYrtsBW/s400/Bogong04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436424142093524450" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigML7mV5EkHfdOmOzNR4cDyEr7CAPKCSAulNwp6pbiK3a8PDJJeTZYTxeN4rfq0FEBpr35xyW4tFlyglG3KrmJo6eVNeAb9PwCZxBBo7hRDi8Xw0foYvbYgiKftzV_8cJom556uega-sJB/s1600-h/Bogong06.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigML7mV5EkHfdOmOzNR4cDyEr7CAPKCSAulNwp6pbiK3a8PDJJeTZYTxeN4rfq0FEBpr35xyW4tFlyglG3KrmJo6eVNeAb9PwCZxBBo7hRDi8Xw0foYvbYgiKftzV_8cJom556uega-sJB/s400/Bogong06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436422755581072738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate so agreeably as it had at Forbes. There we had eight straight days of flyable weather, with the ninth day and last day available cancelled, perhaps, more out of pilot exhaustion than anything else.<br /><br />At Bogong, the pilots flew only two out of eight days.<br /><br />As the driver for the same four Russians as I had been in Forbes (Zhenya, Yulia, Anton, and Marat), this gave me a lot of rest from my accumulated exhaustion of driving for many long and consecutive tasks at Forbes, where I would often cover three or four hundred kilometers down bad roads in the process of picking up the pilots along the way or at a distant goal, then not arrive home with them until close to midnight, unfed and too tired to do anything about it.<br /><br />For the pilots, however, the imposed rest at Bogong was a rather frustrating time. They came to fly.<br /><br />We <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJV7CfpVz7TRCP_0expVTFlUzowZdiJ8q_iUXtKrtvThVgRMJGWMXymO3t3mQOwLBjYpyY1pRpzeiB4kevb2xl3uXYavYdQWSsiWA3o13vsINpbdLeX3oQvkv6qqLH77WZGbFHQJlD35j/s1600-h/Bogong09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJV7CfpVz7TRCP_0expVTFlUzowZdiJ8q_iUXtKrtvThVgRMJGWMXymO3t3mQOwLBjYpyY1pRpzeiB4kevb2xl3uXYavYdQWSsiWA3o13vsINpbdLeX3oQvkv6qqLH77WZGbFHQJlD35j/s320/Bogong09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436424941122432578" border="0" /></a>amused ourselves with horseback rides, fishing trips to mountain lakes, and a number of other things that a resort area was quite ready to offer. One striking aspect I found was the ghosts of forests on several mountain tops, the sites of huge forest fires only two years back. Most of the structure of the trees had remained and, in those two years, the charred bark had fallen off to reveal sentinals of steel gray wood. From a few kilometers back in the valley, the hills looked as if covered with a silver fur. Up close, each individual sculture was hauntingly beautiful.<br /><br />Of the perhaps 20 people who have made this Australian adventure such an amazing one, only a handful actually live here. The rest, now that the Bogong Cup is over, are heading back home to various countries around the world.<br /><br />Originally, so was I. My three month tourist visa expires on January 31st. My request for an extension, however, as been approved. Though I've been allowed an extra three months, I do have commitments back in the States in late March, as well as many plans for April. This, then, gives me another seven weeks more to enjoy in Australia.<br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Ftimothyettridge%2Falbumid%2F5436397230685797073%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="300" width="400"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234645427120927593.post-29014385550804536822010-01-15T15:37:00.006-05:002010-01-15T18:28:01.086-05:00Down She Goes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdmDgIpDCNtwPU_enoRISWlB8hL5xWJc6H3YsXApX4txfCBeUytIIEzAk9TnultLhp7IXMeYLhOqqKlW57Q19zpTLNgJ0vVlIFdG-5aVYzSL_yUq_y5pf0dCUfavvq7SKToVgdC8dmZw/s1600-h/Liverpool+Finish.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdmDgIpDCNtwPU_enoRISWlB8hL5xWJc6H3YsXApX4txfCBeUytIIEzAk9TnultLhp7IXMeYLhOqqKlW57Q19zpTLNgJ0vVlIFdG-5aVYzSL_yUq_y5pf0dCUfavvq7SKToVgdC8dmZw/s400/Liverpool+Finish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222847593986968738" border="0" /></a><br />The boat I sailed around the world on from '07-'08, Uniquely Singapore, was renamed "Cork" when sponsored by Ireland for the '09-'10 edition of the race.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNbz9BORJWIeClR3yWJiN3OZ5ddHpZIRLIzY-fLhK_Z1Voj7qT4ggyKe-cQNnN66uyNv3KDPj4LpEtOaKwsJ6-4sf0nCV61aVGBsT3pQjWD0yWymk1JLkf6AQwMBqfUl62l1Bkl_WF7XI/s1600-h/UnderKite.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNbz9BORJWIeClR3yWJiN3OZ5ddHpZIRLIzY-fLhK_Z1Voj7qT4ggyKe-cQNnN66uyNv3KDPj4LpEtOaKwsJ6-4sf0nCV61aVGBsT3pQjWD0yWymk1JLkf6AQwMBqfUl62l1Bkl_WF7XI/s400/UnderKite.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222801302893815394" border="0" /></a><br /><br />She is no more. The 21.7 meter (68 ft.) yacht sank <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&q=Gosong+Mampango&sll=28.535916,-81.84602&sspn=0.006202,0.010407&ie=UTF8&cd=1&geocode=FbWTyf8dS8CBBg&split=0&hq=&hnear=Gosong+Mampango&ll=-0.922812,109.02832&spn=14.418037,21.313477&t=h&z=5">here</a> a day ago, during the race from Western Australia to Singapore.<br /><br /><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8458382">http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8458382</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1eXuzsE_eDlc-nwciP37y4Dfpskb3PYSicmKxm7IQQLRJcufQCLnHYC_mB2ov0OVh7iplQ1Z75uQ-kN9mAZ8do70hHIIhV5s5MAE94B0Rh2x2IZYAH2XltclkFaIkdZy09fUyueUtFBQ/s1600-h/02Closing1stStorm2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1eXuzsE_eDlc-nwciP37y4Dfpskb3PYSicmKxm7IQQLRJcufQCLnHYC_mB2ov0OVh7iplQ1Z75uQ-kN9mAZ8do70hHIIhV5s5MAE94B0Rh2x2IZYAH2XltclkFaIkdZy09fUyueUtFBQ/s400/02Closing1stStorm2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222420514450466978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I 'liberated' the ship's bell from her before I was the last to leave the boat at her homeport of Gosport, England. It's bolted to the wall of my temporary home (a trailer) in Florida. I suppose I should do something significant with it now.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com