Italy Day 1 - Venice - San Marco

Ethan and Hannah getting puddle shots

[I'm going to retain the as-written slightly-loopy style, because I enjoy the authenticity. Enjoy] I slept! 9-3.30 and 4-9, it was great. A little scary when I thought the 3.30 was gonna be it, but I started a new audiobook and it did the trick. After breakfast we headed over to San Marco Square to see the cathedral! The cathedral had a massive line. Massive. We looked around the square and watched the tidewaters (new moon = big tide) begin to rise from the drains around the square. We also checked out the clock tower, but the entrance is a tiny locked door that says nothing about access. So we went to the museum to by tickets to the clock tower! [My mom loves to do research and I love to send it. It works out amazingly] And the Doge's palace (so we could skip that line [another hack from the research. Go mom!]). And while we were there, might as well hit the museum!

The museum was massive, a Napoleonic restoration of the old governmental building. Marble floors, intricate everything, etc etc. The museum was divvied up into multiple sections. Weapons, old maps, almost every coin ever minted by Venetians, A canon with an open breech, models of boats, pottery, and soooooo many paintings I couldn't begin to care about, especially as my legs were beginning to hurt. At the end we blitzed through the palatial chambers for the Napoleonic governors and maybe some Hapsburg noble. Very much Versailles-light.

After the tour of the museum we still had some time before our 2pm clock tour, so we grabbed sandwiches at a local shop (paninis make so much sense now, they can have delicious and cheap sandwiches premade, then reheat them in a few seconds and sell hundreds). We ate by the grand canal, learned we were not allowed to eat while sitting, and stood awkwardly while we enjoyed lunch. Clock tower time! We walked back to the museum to meet up with the tour guide and 1 other guest (I can't believe there were huge lines for every other tour and only 1 non-Farrell for this tour - which is only offered once or twice a day). We all walked back across the square, and up to the small door which she unlocked with an ancient key.  Inside the tower we learned all about the clocks history and operation. Up until 1999 the maintenance crew lived in it, but in the last modernization they installed a wall of PLCs, high power stepper motors, and automated most of it. [If you're an Electrical Engineer that made sense, if not... it's high-power high-reliability hardware usually found on assembly lines]

We got to watch the giant wheel-of-fortune "digital" displays change in front of us, and then headed to the top to see the giant statues, These giants (later renamed the Moors as the copper tarnished to black) were 2meteres 50cm tall [8'2"], and struck the bell with their sledge hammers before every hour (the other clocks in the square would chime the hours). The view was incredible, the whole square, and the surrounding streets. Apparently if the weather is clear enough you can see the dolomites, but they were not in evidence at this time. (Also mention the solar clock, later simplified)[The clock used to be even more badass, but they gave up on that complexity]. Then we went down a level to the side wings/roofs, from where we got to watch one of the moors strike the clock.  Great tour, 5 stars, etc etc. Digital Display (Brian)

Next on the list was the Doge's palace. The Doge was the elected head of Venice, which essentially made him the leader of half the world's trade. Which sounds like it would make him a very powerful person, but he was elected, and the nobles were keen to keep him in line. So essentially everything was ran by committee, and the palace was devoted to rooms to both emphasize the committees, and the power of them. Entering, you would walk up gilt staircases and through the armory to your meeting room, where the various committees convened. If you were in trouble, they would put you in a dark room with imposing painting, and then you would walk through a dark door immediately past the pathway to the prison, to remind you of your uncertain future. Rumor has it they would torture prisoners nearby so you could hear their cries (and if there were no prisoners in need of torture that day, they felt no shame in hiring an actor - at least according to the tour guide I eavesdropped upon).

Great Hall (Brian)

The last stop in the palace itself was the massive great hall - a single room, one of the largest in Europe at the time, for all the nobility to meet to discuss the events of that week, and painted around the edge of the room were all the Doges of all time - except for the one who tried to stage a coup.... His portrait was conspicuously blacked out as an eternal reminder that the power rested with the nobility (Until, you know, Napoleon decided it didn't).

Bridge of Sighs - Ext (Brian)

Leaving the palace we crossed the bridge of sighs, where you would sigh as you caught your last glimpse of the outside world on the way into the prisons. The prisons were fun to wander through, covered with tight doorways, excessive steel bars, and a few amazingly good stonecarvings prisoners scratched into their windowcells [edit: window-sills. But windowcells is rather apt] to kill time.  After the palace, we went to dinner. We put Ethan in charge and he chose a promising street, and eventually selected one that offered patio seating. The patio was a courtyard, actually connected to the network of streets via an alley (from which a lost tourist wandered at one point). It was great weather, interesting surroundings, and mixed food. The bruschetta we started with was amazing, the ravioli and mixed seafood quite good, and lasagna was fine. ("No, it was meh" - Mom, interjecting live while I type).

After dinner it was sunset, and having learned that the bell tower had an elevator and did not require us to walk up 50 flights of stairs, we decided to hit that! The line was immensely shorter than earlier, only a few elevator-loads, and we made it up and exited the lift as the bell tolled. For whom? me? this joke is terrible rephrase [editor: nope]. Either way loud AF but fun AF.  We then wandered the perimeter of the tower taking photos and panoramas, and the light was ideal. Perfect mix of great sky and enough lighting for the rooves and canals to pop - and even highlight the previously invisible dolomites. It darkened as we did laps of the tower, admiring the bells and the plaque where it noted that Galileo "expanded the horizons of mankind" on this point (we had to look it up to make sure, but this was where Galileo demonstrated the first celestial telescope to the nobles and the doge ((innovating on the English design of the terrestrial looking-glass invented a year prior)) ). As it got truly dark, we headed back down to start our journey home.

Fed up with walking, and finally done in San Marco, we decided to take the boat home. We bought two-day passes so we could jump on the vaporetto (the busses of the canal system) whenever we wished, and we rode it through the darkened canal. Due to the elections, the stop nearby our apartment was closed, so we chose to keep going and bailed at the Rialto bridge. We then started walking back to our hotel, made a wrong turn, and suddenly realized the amazing replica of the clock tower and the moors before us was so accurate because it was the same exact tower with the same exact windows we looked out of earlier that day. What I thought was a straight canal with minor kinks was in fact a horseshoe canal with a massive bend, and we managed to travel to within a few hundred yards of our embarkation point.  So we walked back through San Marco square to our apartment, getting some cannoli on the way.  14,000 steps, but a very interesting 14k steps.

We've realized that Venice is now entirely tourist-driven. The workers and volunteers typically don't even live in the town, and the locals have launched a campaign called 49,999 to have them declassified as a city to avoid higher taxes (I think. Total guess as to why, but they really don't want to be a city). So in short 500 years have seen the powerhouse of western civilization reduced to a much more interesting version of Disney world.  That could be worded better fix that. [Nope.] Done. Ctrl-S.

And we're back! Surprise!

After unwinding and journaling at the hotel, Ethan and I decided to go back to San Marco to watch it flood again as the tide hit, and watch the the bell ring 132 times at midnight. Now that we finally knew the path to San Marco, we were able to make it to the square in 10 minutes, much quicker than our previous times [25 minimum]. We watched the flood waters rise, listened to the band at the restaurant play their final songs, and hung out until the stroke of midnight. The Moors struck their 12 strikes, and then waited for the cacophony. Instead, the Bell tower struck 96 times and the two little dingers on the clock tower we were promised never even fired. But we did get some great flooding and with the night lighting, we got some amazing shots.  And so once again we took the hike to/from San Marco, snagging some more night shots along the way.

Italy Day 0 - Venice

Aquaculture!

[Woke up early, finished packing, and drove over to my parents place. Then we all left for IAD where we caught our 5pm flight to Ireland. Our second leg left ireland at 6am (2am american time), and I finally fell asleep for the flight to Italy. Two hours later I awoke on the descent towards Venice. It's amazing. Tons of canals across the entire region, artificial lagoons for aquaculture everywhere on the shores of the Adriatic, and the cityscape of Venice in the distance. There's adventures coming, diving into the unknown, and it's invigorating. We finally arrived in Venice around noon, local time. We proceeded through a perfunctory customs and immigration checkpoint, and started following the signs for water taxis.

I'm now going to switch this post to my original notes with minimal rewrites. I think that's the best way to share the surreality of being dropped, sleep deprived, into the unknown.  And if you've never tried that, you should. [[I really enjoy this style.  Most? All? of Italy will be primarily as-written]] ].

Found the water taxis, dad gave a random dude (on our dock tbf) the ticket he printed off the internet, and said dude walked away with it. But he came back with his mate, who escorts us into his? boat.
This is chaos. Boats everywhere, almost hitting each other, all the wakes reflect and compound off the jetties to bounce us hard, not quite thailand chaos but same genre.

Once we make it out of the channel it's pretty awesome. Flying past lane markers across the bay to Venice, boats passing us, passing other boats, an ancient city approaching from the distance.  The plane -> boat transfer is awesome and a clear delineation that "you're not in Kansas anymore". [If you ever go to Venice, take a boat to the city the first time.  If you have to get off a Venice-bound train in Marghera before the bridge, do it. Anything less is a disservice to yourself]

After a few minutes, we're all [I'm good at persuading people to do dumb shit] sitting on the headrests looking over the boat, hanging out being cool. It's very cool.

Hit Venice itself, slow down, enter a canal proper. It's like straddling 1000 years. Gondolas everywhere. Old buildings, docks, landings, boat garages, bridges hundreds of years old, all while you ride in motorboat and take a pic on your phone. Pilot has us duck down for a bridge or two (Ethan and dad reached out to touch it. Why not? I do).

Boat honks violently. Enter the main canal. Main canal is massive. Rookie year at Battlebots is a life consuming monstrosity [I left for a two-week Italy trip only 3 weeks before filming bb, 1 week before ship date, after a 3 month build], so I haven't done any research. I didn't even know we were flying into Venice until this? morning. It's great.

Right is the fancy shop bridge [Rialto]. We head left a mile up-canal and stop at a bus-boat landing dock and unload. Call the airbnb.  Wait for airbnb while massive seagull investigates dead rat. Airbnb lady shows up, we walk to airbnb. It's on the 3rd floor off a random alley and filled with books. It's actually pretty great.

Freshen up, change shoes, etc, head out to lunch. I try to get bank money but can't, so we wander around discussing food options until nobody has any preference anymore and stop at the first place we see.  I order coke and pizza (del quattro formagio). It's surprisingly good. Definitely livens us all up.

Wander the city a lot. I honestly don't know what squares we saw, or what buildings.

Go to the fancy bridge that's an ancient market [rialto again]. Great views, lots of fun watching the chaos in the boats below and the people above, 5 minutes speculation over trash boat before it does the trick. Very similar to arc de triumph or bangkok riverboats.

Go to nextdoor mall that's an ancient market because it allegedly has roof access. Roof access is closed for a private event so we just wander into random luxury shops to look out their windows.

More wandering

Go to the supermarket. Younger generation buys wine, it's so cheap. I wait outside while they finish debating shopping and stick a doomba sticker to a pier.

Head home. Drink a glass of wine and unload groceries. Make a new plan: Some bridge and gelato. I honestly don't know which bridge. Between exiting the psychosis that is BB and sleeping 14 of the last 90 hours I'm just enjoying, not worrying about the details. It's fantastic. [End of initial journal entry]

[Second Entry begins]
Eat gelato at a monument for XXXXXXXXXXXXX. Contrary to my first thought, his name was not Naczio a Abrenzia. [Born in neighboring-region]

Walk to the new bridge. Delightful woodcarved bridge over the main canal with a sunset in the background and churchbells ringing. Doesn't really feel real.

Wander towards some square (san marco?), detour to see the bay, then head home. Lots of window shopping and people watching.

All in all it's awesome. It's kinda amazing being plunged into a new culture, language, transportation network, etc with no prep. Luckily my family has done lots of prep, but even so I always love that feeling. Looking forward to sleeping and then seeing a lot more when I can actually think.

TOTD 2022

8/1/2022

Another year, another week of hanging out with degenerate motorcyclists and Miata bros. I only had 4 days with the crew this year, but it was still great. Instead of daily blogs, I have random stories and pictures. You're welcome lol.

Tuesday I was following the crew out to Fontana Dam when I made a wrong turn. I decided to just go with it though, and did 200 miles out across the Skyway, where I visited Bald River Falls.  At this point I was hot and sore from riding, and decided to just chill out in the river for a bit. This turned into climbing the rocks at the side of the waterfall, which then turned into helping some rafters haul their raft up the waterfall. And then, well, this happened:

Wednesday I woke up very sore so I did a shorter day, hitting the Tail, the dam I missed yesterday (It has massive spillways that are very very tempting), and the parkway - which was repaved, empty, and glorious. When we got back to the house we discovered my front tire was dangerously worn. I'd been keeping tabs on it, but an afternoon of hucking it around the mountain pushed it to the end of it's life. But that can be tomorrow's problem, now it's time to eat, drink, and watch the thunderstorms roll in with the crew.

Thursday morning I called a local bike shop to see if they could sort out my tire. He said he had an opening if I left immediately, so I threw the bike in the van (no time to pull off the wheel), and left for his shop.  It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as the old-timer who ran the shop felt compelled to give the bike a complete once-over after replacing the tire. Tire pressures, suspension alignment, chain tension, lubrication points, and he advised me on where rust was starting and what may need attention in the future. I took copious notes and tipped generously, and after lunch (and waiting out a rainstorm), I set back out to run the tail.  It was so much better, I should have visited PJ as soon as I got to the Tail. The bike now dove into turns instead of being requiring me to force it into turns, and it was now relaxing and fun instead of a full-body workout.

But it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows: an old civic locked up their brakes, slid across the double-yellow, and hit one of our crew. They both bled off a lot of speed before impact, and his bike was in one piece, but unfortunately his wrist wasn't.  His wife took him to the hospital while some of the guys went back with a pickup to grab the bike. Meanwhile, the rest of us went for a swim in the lake, jumped off bridges, paddleboarded, and just generally chilled.

Friday, my last day, it was time to really get into the Tail. That was my plan at least. I had a great trip out across the Tail, went to see the bottom of the Dam, and then headed back to the Tail to take another run. But the road went from full sunshine, to some damp spots, to full downpour over the span of a mile. So I ducked into the gas station to hide from the rain. I met up with some of the crew and once the rain let up we went down to the resort at Tapoco for lunch, pausing to snap a few pics while the fog settled on the river.  It dried out while we ate lunch, and then it was back to ride the tail again! I made it several miles into the middle of tail this time before the road did it's dry-damp-downpour trick again, so there was no escape for me. I accepted being soaked to the bone and causally rode back towards home. 

Once I made it over the crest of the mountain and to the overlook, it had stopped raining.  So I pulled off to chill and chat with motorcyclists from all over the world. Baltimore, Quebec, Amsterdam, Mississippi, New York, Florida, and locals who live 5 miles down the road. After giving the road an hour to dry out, I went to take one last run. A few miles in the road was back to being damp and I felt my front tire slip just a bit... but I decided I didn't want to play those game again. So I headed back to the house for barbecue night, and spent a few hours trading stories with an emergency surgeon who climbs, motorcycles, and wrenches in his free time.

Saturday was just packing and the drive back. It was great to see everyone come together for our injured brethren, loading his vehicles, smoker, coolers, everything - onto his truck/trailer,  before he even finished his morning coffee.  Turns out there's a lot of expertise in rigging in a motorcycle club.  And then, just for good measure, it rained the whole way home. Thank God for audiobooks.

From the archives: Rappelling into Glory

4/8/2012

Warning: This post isn't as fun. Mom? You don't want to read this one. Another decade-old incident but this time recounted from memory, since my notes at the time were "My femur and my boot both really wanted to be in the same place at the same time, they had a 40' race to get there, and my boot won.  Other than that great weekend." 

I spent a long weekend with urbex buddies, climbers, rope-nerds, and all-around great people. We hit up a nuke plant, we slithered through paved-over waterways, we climbed a handful of factories... one of the best weekends of my life.  But Sunday was the crown jewel. We had a 300' rappel down into a dam spillway, and I'd spent months preparing, going so far as to purchase a 400' rope just for the occasion.

Setting up, all our nerves were setting in. Even though we know what we're doing, this is a slippery 300' hyperbola on wet ropes that would be happy to end any or all of us. So we confirm our knots and backup knots, anchors and backup anchors, I mentally rehearse the tricky bit step-by-step, and just like that it's go time. I'm confident, I've been training, so I take on the split-rope. Rappel 150 feet, then pass a knot and rappel the second half. I leave my straight-shot rope for those with less experience, figuring I can support anyone having issues from the other rope.

Once I get over the gradual lip and the floor is finally a vertical wall, I'm pretty happy. I've rappelled hundreds of times and the sketchy bit is over. Amazing and surreal views both up and down, watching teammates descend across the gorge, everyone was doing well and it was a great time.  Passing the knot was tense, but I'd practiced this, and I safely transferred my weight between ascenders, bights pre-tied for this purpose, and the rappel rack maintaining 100% locked-in

I continued down and finally touched down 300 feet later, excited to explore the internals of this dam, but I didn't want the fun of the rappel to be over yet.  The reports over the walkie-talkie were that the rest of the abseilers were going to take the straight rope, so I decided to ascend back up the two-piece rope to hang out with them, snap some pics, and enjoy the spillway.  I ditched most my gear to save weight on the climb and headed back up the rope with only some ascenders, webbing, and an ATC for the return trip.

I ascended 30-40 feet and it was indeed a super fun encore. Finally ready to explore the rest of the tunnel, I switched over to the ATC to head back down. I put the brake on, kicked my feet free of the rope-wrap I'd been resting on while switching over, and immediately knew something was wrong. My exact thoughts were:

LOCK! NOPE.
This is very bad.
How bad?
Not sure. We'll know soon

And I slammed into the concrete at the bottom. Right boot tucked under my left thigh. The ATC did not grab the wet rope at all. That's not a standard warning for the ATC, believe me I checked. I still don't understand why it let go, and to this day I will use a rack or a figure-eight (Rescue 8s are my favorite) every time. 

Anyways, there I am at the bottom of a 300 foot hole, wind knocked out of me, with my leg in the wrong direction, afraid I ruined everyone's trip by dislocating my hip. I know it should hurt but there's only minor pain, so I tried to move it gingerly back into place. There's the pain, bad enough it's impossible to gently push through. I know I only have one more shot at it before the pain ramps up further, so I kick that fucker back in front of me.

The pain instantly ramped all the way up. Nothing went into place. Just pain, an order of magnitude worse than I've ever felt, and I've done a lot of dumb shit.

At this point, my friends had ran over to me. I only had one (stupid) plan and it had failed, so I surrendered full control to the team, which fortunately included two EMTs.  They're super calm, so I'm super calm. It's not like I can do anything about it anyways. They cut my clothes away for a better look ("This is my favorite T-shirt, can you cut around the no-climbing logo?" "Of course!"). They know what happened, but they just tell me they can't pop it into place and I need to go to the hospital.   Unfortunately, we're deep within the earth and even if we had cell signal it'd take any rescue crew a day to get to us. No worries. They're cool and collected.  The trip organizer is freaking out slightly, but productively. He's deferring to the EMTs and assisting where he can.

They craft a surprisingly decent splint out of tripod legs and donated belts, locking my femur in place. Giving me my now-shredded shirt to bite down on, they load me into an inflatable raft that became my stretcher, and the full crew carried me down to the waterfront of what could have been my sepulcher. My raft was gently placed in a second raft, and two of them climbed into a third raft that had been tied to mine, and towed my bier out of the mountain to a service road.

Now that I'm stabilized, their priority is not getting arrested. I was fully on board, they saved my life, I'm doing ok but thought I ruined the trip (later they told me it was an amazing experience and we've all bonded over it), I figured it was the least I could do. Leaving me one raft to support my leg, they ferried the whole crew out of the dam and evaporated into the woods. With three of us left, we (they) called 911 to send an off-road ambulance to rescue a poor hiker who slipped on some rocks.  As we heard the ambulance approach, the organizer reclaimed my splint and melted into the terrain, leaving me with only my EMT friend who'd originally taken charge. Dear OrangeDrank: I still don't know your real name, but I love you.

The professionals walked up casually. "Well, I guess you're the man we're looking for!" 

"Yes. Can I have some drugs?"

"Of course!" And they shot me full of morphine. It was wonderful. I stopped shivering, I could relax, I was acutely aware of the pain, but I thought "Damn, that hurts way worse than I realized. Sucks for that dude!" 

...That dude being me. I actually made small talk with the medics as they drove me over trails that barely qualify as roads. They were in a good mood, since it was a rescue and not a recovery. I was in a good mood. I'd made it through the hard part. I survived. 

I'm sure the drugs helped.

At the hospital they informed me that my femur was completely snapped. They scheduled me for surgery to replace my bone-marrow with titanium in the morning, and strapped me into a tensioner to align all my broken bits overnight.  The crew showed up to wish me their best and drop off a couple books, but they had to head home to their respective states in the morning.  Xrays done, I finally called my parents. "I want you to know I'm ok. I'm in the hospital and I have surgery scheduled for tomorrow... because I broke my leg pretty bad."

It wasn't until several years later when I realized what a close call I'd had. A violent femur break can go two ways... inward or outward. Outward, it sucks. Inward, it slices the femoral, and you bleed out internally before you even realize what happened. And I tried to kick that bitch back into place. 

Amazing diptych by Avius, who automatically clicked the shutter when I screamed.
Like every good photog should.

From the archives: Climbing NYC

I wrote this account for an anonymous magazine article. Unfortunately my co-defendant panicked and forced us to cancel the article, but after a decade in my drafts folder I think it's finally time to post it, as written in 2013:

Life becomes what you make of it. The government - spooked by a prank back in college - denied my security clearance. This set me off on a course of events that ended with me sitting down for a discussion with Homeland Security. The lack of a security clearance meant I was suddenly free of the threat that had restrained my adventurous tendencies for the prior year, and I dove back into my passion with a vengeance.

Losing my fear of career fallout opened a world of possibilities. I immediately set about crossing off my personal "big 3" - The three things I wanted to climb before I died... or worse: turned into a responsible adult. [2023 Me: Lol]  I took care of #2 [cooling towers], and #3 will be easy enough to take care of  [Bethlehem Steel, still unclimbed], as they are both sweet climbable things in the middle of different nowheres. Number one was less easy... my ultimate dream was a piece of infrastructure in the heart of post 9-11 New York City.

A friend was selling a sweet wide-angle lens, and his personal grail was also in New York - which conveniently happens to be right between our homes! I'd buy the lens, we'd kill some time, and then cross off the top of our lists. Simple enough plan, but being realistic, we knew it might have some complications. So we prepared... I gathered some bail money: a few hundred cash, a blank check left with a friend. I prepped my camera, electrical tape pinning my flash down and hiding the front-facing led indicator. I psyched myself up. I picked out clothes in dark greys and blues.

The day started perfectly. We met, made the sale, and scouted his target quite thoroughly and without arousing suspicion. My partner-in-crime deferred on his climb, spooked by cameras and security guards. I offered to climb with him, but only after we did my climb... just in case.   When we went to scout my goal we found police cars.... ... ...closing down half the road for construction! This meant traffic was only flowing one direction, which halved the likelihood of being spotted by a driver. It was just past midnight and hours before anticipated, but there was a gap in pedestrian traffic too opportune to pass up, and we sprinted for it. Up the cables of the most iconic bridge on the east coast, if not the country.

The Brooklyn Bridge became our playground. We swung around opposite sides of the cable-guards, barely a hiccup in our manic ascent.  As we neared the top the cables steepened and we finally slowed our ascent. This is when the sheer stupidity, the sheer awesomeness, and the sheer drop off the side of the cable all became real, but we were committed to it, and to whatever consequences entailed.

The summit felt like a dream. The highpoint of my exploring career and one of my main goals in life achieved! During certain climbs the summit feels like the summit of the world, with the entire earth spread out at your feet. I highly recommend it. In hindsight, I recommend it elsewhere.  We shot a number of pictures, I hid my memory card in my sock, and took a few intentionally too-blurry pictures so that if we were searched they wouldn't look too hard for a memory card.  My secondary goal for the night was to get these pictures home. Not being arrested was at least third on my list.

We descended the same way we came up, waiting for a lull in pedestrians on the wooden walkway 100 feet below us, before silently creeping down the cable behind the last group.  Near the bottom we were back to sprinting, vaulting the final dozen feet to the deck before sauntering off of our neo-gothic jungle gym.  We were down, safe, and relieved. It was one of the coolest things I've ever done.

But it was still early in the evening and we were hyped up on endorphins. So we went for another bridge. We justified it to ourselves "The Williamsburg is easy!" - not knowing that a story on bridge climbers had been published earlier that week, about that very bridge.  We told ourselves it didn't matter if pedestrians saw us. We convinced ourselves that it was reasonable to take the built-in staircase, even if it was an obvious route crisscrossing over the roadway.

But we were young and immortal, making our lives interesting. We climbed with gusto, skipping across the plates crossing above the rail tracks and threading through girders thirty feet over traffic, then trudging up a dozen flights of stairs.  Yet another Olympian summit with the city beneath our feet. Despite the endorphins the exposed climb up left me feeling a little naked, so I immediately started snapping pictures, calculating response times in my head. The bridge itself was a beautiful counterpoint to the Brooklyn, steel latticework replacing solid stonework, identical functions and opposite form. I stepped over the railing, across open space, and onto a steel plate on the edge of the tower, a smooth expanse just under two feet wide, just over two feet long, fifty yards over pavement, and a perfect platform for a tripod. As I lined up a shot of north Manhattan a helicopter crossed into frame. I smiled, picturing the artifact it would produce swooping in front of the open shutter.



Then the helicopter turned. And began to circle.  I vaulted the railing and packed my bag in seconds, memory card joining it's brother in my sock. We frantically whispered (as if the helicopter could hear us) theories back and forth, and hid from the assumed thermal-imaging. I lowered myself beneath the plate I was previously shooting from, using the massive I-beams to keep out of sight, oblivious to the fatal fall beneath, solely focused on the "ghettobird" still circling above.  My partner paced the catwalks, keeping the columns of the bridge between him and the chopper.  We hoped that, seeing no-one, they'd assume it was a false alarm. They didn't. They assumed we had jumped, and began playing the searchlight over the surface of the water.  Then it got worse.

Before I go any further, I want to assure you that I am not exaggerating.  A police boat came up the river under us. It was joined by a dozen police cars, a police truck, another boat, and a few more police cars for good measure. Facing insurmountable odds, I give up. It's ridiculous to be risking my life to avoid the surely-inevitable arrest.  Announcing my intention, I swing back up to the catwalks and motion to the helicopter that I would climb down. Said helicopter is too busy searching the river to notice me. My future co-defendant discovers an open maintenance hatch on one of the corner pillars and climbs inside, beckoning me after him.  Having no better idea, I follow. I begin closing the grate behind me when visions of being trapped in the tower and dying of dehydration stall my hand. I leave it cracked.

We descended a quarter of the way to the road surface and then tucked in behind the ladder, blending in to the walls.  Having exhausted all other options, I prayed while we listened to the officers climb the tower, their metal carabiners clanking off every railing as they make their way up.  There was a moment where I thought we'd succeeded. We heard the officers joking, claiming that we disappeared... but then one asked the fateful words "Did you check the towers?" "Nah, they're all locked" "That one isn't." I should have let us starve to death.  An officer poked his head in, shone his flashlight down, and pulled back. I was finally exhaling when a new sun ignited at the top of the tube, followed by a pause, then "GET OUT HERE NOW, ASSHOLES. BOTH OF YOU."  Apparently someone had a better flashlight.

We emerge to a crowd of amused cops, with our spotter - still apoplectic- offering to escort us down nicely or throw us off the edge. We know he's not going to do that, he knows he's not going to do that, but we humor the officer and request the option involving stairs.  They only have one harness so I'm forced to walk down the stairs backwards as a sort of manwich between two officers, both of whom are torn between admiring the view and bemoaning our stupidity.

Back at street-level we were unceremoniously lifted over the railing - because obviously, a railing would be too difficult to climb. We were then put on our knees and cuffed to wait for yet more cruisers to arrive, driven up the sidewalk.  To our surprise, we were placed in the same car, unsupervised. I guess they figure they have us pretty dead-to-rights on this one. To be fair, they did. We briefly made sure our stories line up (this was the only thing we did tonight), and then cracked weak jokes to keep tensions low.

At the precinct we were searched, lost all our gear, money, belts, and shoe-laces, and were taken individually to be questioned by both the local police and Homeland Security. (Example questions: "Who asked you to take pictures of the bridge?" "Which organization are you affiliated with?"). After they decided that we were harmless idiots and not searching for structural weakpoints they sent us back to lockup where we waited for the police to argue about jurisdiction. Manhattan declared that since we were on the Brooklyn side of the bridge and over Brooklyn-bound lanes, we weren't their problem. Unfortunately, Brooklyn didn't decide we weren't their problem either, and instead set about seeing what charges they could come up with. Last we heard that night, they were considering Felony Assault on an Officer - because said officer suffered heat-stroke after 7 flights. Then they searched me again, found half a grand bail money in my shoes, and patted down both my legs. To this day [still] I am amazed they never felt the memory cards in my sock despite grabbing my ankles. Later, my new roommates advised me I should have "cheeked it."

In the morning we were driven to central processing, where we were fingerprinted (again), mugshot (again), and retinal-scanned for good measure. We spent the day bouncing between different holding cells, sleeping and talking to the various other arrestees, who referred to us as the "ganster-ass white n-----s." At the end of the day we went to bed on a cement floor, in a room where there were neither sufficient mats nor floorspace.

[I'm going to take this moment to retell my favorite story from processing. The novelty had worn off by now, boredom had set in, and it was just a matter of surviving until the next step. Lunch consisted of cheese sandwiches. Two slices of wonder bread, one slice of cheese, and mayo. I declined.  One of our cellmates was a hard beefcake of a tatted-up gangster with scars across his face, clearly used to this situation, and he was using his cheese sandwich as a pillow. I saw it, nearly laughed, and turned away to regain my composure. After convincing myself it wasn't funny I glanced his way again, and almost lost it again. After a few minutes of promising myself it was definitely not funny I finally looked his way a third time, coughed severely to suppress laughter and presumably violence, and looked the opposite way for an entire hour until our next shuffle.]

The next morning we spoke to our public defenders. We were facing charges of criminal trespass, criminal mischief, misdemeanor reckless endangerment, and  - the big one - felony reckless endangerment.  After more waiting we had a bail hearing where our lawyers said great things about how responsible we usually are and how we would definitely come back for our trial, the prosecutor asked for several thousand in bail, and the judge declined to give it to him! Thirty-three hours after we stepped into the cop car we were finally free to go.

We went back to the precinct building to pick up our car keys and licenses. Which we were told required photo ID.  Lacking said photo-ID (which they had confiscated), we could wait for the arresting officer, who wouldn't be in till midnight at the earliest. It was 11am. I was furious. Why did they fingerprint me, take multiple mug shots, and scan my retinas if they couldn't use those to figure out who I was? I felt inclined to do various things that, legally, I shouldn't mention here. Instead, I had my first meal in days. It was wonderful, and afterwards I felt much less arsony.  I spent the afternoon napping in a church until a friend got off work- which meant I could finally shower, look myself up on news websites, and sleep somewhere soft. Eventually, I traded my property receipts for my car keys and headed home.

Over the next seven months I took 4 more trips into the city for court dates. The first was the grand jury hearing, where my peers would decide whether to pursue the felony charges. At the last minute I was reassigned a different court room, and after hours of hearing other cases the judge called me forward. The prosecutor said the felony charges were "completely baseless," dropped them, and it was all over in less than a minute.  All of the court dates followed a similar pattern: hours of waiting followed by a brief "yes ma'am understood ma'am" as the judge and my assigned lawyer decided what to do with me. After additional trips to the city I eventually got my shoe-money and camera gear back, although (well over a year [decade] out now), there is still no record for the rest of the confiscated property.

Overall, I'd say it was worth it. I set out to make my life interesting, and even if it wasn't the intended method, it was a success. I had to do 70 hours of community service, in return for which they offered a suspended sentence on all the charges.  My public defender negotiated a change to "Violation Disorderly Conduct" with a punishment of Time Served.  So the only thing on my record is a non-criminal offense, and if I get arrested again the original charges won't come back to bite me.

Diamond Lil - B24 Liberator

In the before-times, we booked a flight on a B24 Liberator for Father's Day.  My dad is a history buff and has been reading stories from ww2 throughout my life, and here was an increasingly-rare chance to experience what those men (boys) experienced, to a degree. However, maintenance requirements cancelled the flight. So we booked on a B29 instead! And then covid cancelled that flight. Fast forward a few years, and flights have resumed, maintenance is completed, and my dad informs us he's buying tickets!

So Sunday morning we woke up early and headed out to Hagerstown to finally ride a piece of history. We arrived around 8:30 and checked in, only to be told that - due to the weather (chance of rain, low ceiling), the flight would definitely be delayed, and might be cancelled altogether. Saturday's flights had already been cancelled and pushed to Monday, but it looked like the weather would continue to clear up.

So we wandered around the museum. Hagerstown actually has a great aviation museum, featuring a plane from the 1919, military trainers, and various other exhibits  - all in a hanger built by Fairchild during ww2 (entirely out of wood, impressively) to house the pt-19 trainers and c-82 "Packet" cargo planes they were manufacturing to support the war effort.  They have a lot of weird aircraft, including a SM-73, which was an experimental cruise-missile decoy - part of a project that was ultimately cancelled but provided a fascinating distraction while we waited for the pilot to make the call.

Ultimately, things were looking good! We got the safety briefing, which alternated between comically mundane "You must follow all requests of flight attendants, no smoking onboard" and the bizarre "Don't step on the tunnel hatch. The latch isn't reliable and there's a small chance you could fall to your death."  Then they assigned us starting-seats based on the groups we arrived with and the weight of those groups. Ethan and I, being skinny, ended up in the Radio Operators seats. We didn't know it at the time, but these were the best seats in the house outside the cockpit. We then toured the outside of the plane and got some history lessons. 

Finally, after a few hours, we got the go signal! We made our way out the plane, loaded up, and strapped in. The engines coughed to life, one-by-one, and FiFi (the b29 next to us) loaded up and headed out to the runway. We followed and went down a parallel runway, and got to see FiFi take off as we rolled past.  At the end of the runway, we did a lot of tests. Engine spin-up tests, brake tests, aileron and flap tests - and the assistant flight engineer in the back of plane with us was on the radio relaying confirmations of each step up to the pilots. 

Then, it was time for takeoff. We roared down the runway, thankful for our earplugs and the breeze that immediately cooled off the cabin (especially up top in the radio seats), and lifted off at what felt like an absurdly steep angle. Looking out the rear tailgunner, all we could see was the runway.  The stepper crawled onto the staircase to make sure the landing gear retracted, and then set about moving the waist gun into position.  I could definitely see why the ww2 pilot said "it flew like a dumptruck with wings" - it wasn't the smooth flight you expect on an airliner, it was a jostly flight where the plane would suddenly move a foot in any direction, at any time - there was the threat that airsickness was a real possibility. None was present, but I was aware that if I tried to read a book (not that I would) it would be a terrible choice. 

And then, maybe 90 seconds after we left the ground, we got the hand signal for "unbuckle". I climbed down to the mid-seats as we began our rotations, and then moved to the waist gunner position next.  It took a lot of effort to point that beast as it stuck out into the 200mph air blasting past the craft, definitely a full-body movement method of aiming, where your legs and core do even more work than your arms.  I determined I could hit a large barn, but had no chance hitting a car besides pure luck. I also would have totally shot the wing or the tail - which is true to form, as plenty of b24s came back with self-inflicted wounds as the gunners tried to take out an attacking fighter. Far more difficult of a role than I thought, and nobody was even shooting back.

Next up was the tail gunner. I climbed over the tunnel-window (Making sure not to step on the latch and take an unscheduled skydive), and kneeled in the tail. This was a great seat, with a panoramic view of the world passing by. And all wide open, if you squirmed past the gun you would easily fit out the window with no glass to stop you. 

After that I went down to the bomb-bay. Luckily, half the racks had been removed (well, all of the racks had been removed after a training accident and a life as a trainer / executive transport, but half the racks had been returned!) which meant there was a fair bit of room. However, there wasn't much to do in the bomb bay. The windows were small, the room cramped, and I was very grateful that we got bumped to the radio seats for takeoff. So I chilled out, inspected the bombs, dangled a hand out the window. After a few minutes I rotated up to the cockpit. Just an overwhelming number of dials and switches, and a comically modern GPS unit stuck to the windshield. They even had a roof hatch which they left open, the ultimate skylight. 

Back in the bomb-bay Ethan and I checked out the bombardier seat. To get there when in flight you have to squirm over the landing gear - without touching the cowling which was spring-loaded and would be happy to let your through. We agreed we would totally do it, but that was unfortunately (and understandably) not part of the tour. On his suggestion we headed back to the radio seats for a more comfortable view and a better ride. As the rotations wrapped up we took an extra rotation and looked down the tunnel gun. Basically just a window in the floor that would have a 50 sticking through it. I couldn't imagine trying to track an enemy plane while it dodged and we bounced, all while the ground flew by underneath. I guess it'd be easier at altitude, but still. 

Our seatmate was a ww2 veteran, and his brother-in-law was actually KIA in a b24 in the war. Amazingly, he was just as spry as the middle-aged men, but his presence underscored the fact that in the war, a bunch of 18 year olds were climbing around this plane with it's lack of handholds, lack of insulation, lack of any comforts - in frigid conditions, surrounded by flack explosions, while being shot at, for up to 14 hours at a time. I took my earplugs out and while not painfully loud, it was super obnoxious and still impossible to talk anyways.




We took some impressively hard banks, the engineer crawled down the stairs to make sure the wheels were out, and we landed pretty uneventfully.  As we taxi'd back to the hangar probably a hundred people took pictures of us, it was like being a stormtrooper turned up 500%.  Once parked, we waited for the props to spin down before opening the flimsy door (the one with a half-inch gap when closed properly) and made our way onto the ground, grinning ear to ear.

And if you'd like to see more, Ethan recorded our flight!

Tail of the Dragon

The guys in my local motorcycle club have held an annual trip down to the Tail of the Dragon - a famous driving road on the border between Tennessee and North Carolina in the Smokey Mountains - for the last 16 years. I've been riding with them for a few years, and they extended an invitation to me to come along about a month before the trip. I was undecided, busy, and suddenly the trip left the next weekend. I decided to go along, knowing almost nothing about the trip.  However, I have lately been attempting to "Seek Discomfort" for growth and a more fulfilling life, and living a week with a few guys I knew and a bunch of strangers is exactly that.

Sunday:
I loaded my bike, a friend's project bike, and several sets of motorcycle armor in my Sprinter and headed 10 hours south. Around the time I got off the (gorgeous) highways in North Carolina I found a truck with MD plates and motorcycles in it, and followed it through the backroads into a compound in the middle of nowhere. Pulling in at the bottom I was relieved to find that I did know the driver of the truck ahead of me! He showed me around the abandoned compound, and as we explored and unloaded the rest of the crew showed up. We unwound, had a few drinks, and I was informed any bed I could find was mine. So I wandered in, found a random bed, and crashed.

Monday:

On Monday the plan was to head out across the skyway for lunch, and then hang out in the river. My backroad motorcycling skills were a little rusty, but one of the guys offered to lead me in his rally car. I was hesitant because I knew I was slower than him and didn't want to ruin his fun, but he was gracious, and, you know, seek discomfort. We headed out, and a couple miles in he reached out his window and started giving me signals I recognized from trackdays. Surprise coaching session! We blasted through the back roads, him setting a pace he knew I could handle but outside of my comfort zone, and I mostly kept up. Occasionally he'd pull into a scenic overlook and offer some tips (Rotate the shoulders more, look further through the curve, etc). It was a great way to shake off the cobwebs and get back into the mindset, and I thanked him profusely for the help.

Lunch was fun, I stayed at the restaurant to use the wifi for a work meeting, and then headed out to join the others at "Dirt Beach" - named for a friend who threw his bike into the woods at this turn on a previous trip. We hung out, skipped rocks in the river, and had a nice relaxing time. Afterwards, I headed up the road to see the waterfall, and then met up with two of the guys to run the "360 Loop" - named for rt 360 - which would explore some more backroads and then join up to the Tail.

A nice fun backroad, a bit of highway, and then around 6pm we got to the Tail right as the clouds started rolling in.  I was apprehensive, having read about the road, the wrecks, and worrying about holding up the boys. But embrace discomfort, etc etc. Lets do this.  We did the first few miles up to the overlook, and it was hard work. Very twisty road, full of surprising turns, and had random damp spots just to ratchet up the difficulty even more. At the overlook we looked at the darkening sky, I got a few tips on navigating the tail, and agreed to meet them at the bottom - so that they would have a chance to get off the mountain before the rain hit. I did the next 8 miles of tail as it got darker and wetter, and to be honest, enjoying very little of it. As I got to the bottom, it started pouring, and we road the rest of the way home in the wet, on thankfully-straighter roads.

Tuesday:

I had to work again in the morning, and then headed out to the tail to give it another shot. Now that it was sunny, dry, I knew what I getting into, and had developed a few tricks (lower gears are your friend) it was much better. I traded lead back and forth with the fastest Harley I saw the whole trip, noting his line and entry speeds, and we rode together up to the overlook, where I caught my breath and uncramped my arms, before heading back down the mountain. Going even faster this time, I finally saw the appeal of this mountain. It was so much fun! And almost everyone has excellent lane discipline and most drivers and riders will pull over so that faster traffic can fly by.  I had a late lunch with some of the motobros at the restaurant at the bottom, and then we headed back up the mountain. Ted had his wife riding pillion, so they put me in the lead. It turns out that when I go as fast as I comfortably can - that's about exactly how fast Ted's wife lets him go when she has dramamine. Those trackday junkies can boogie. Luckily I've long since accepted I'd be the slowest guy on the trip so instead of any embarrassment it was just a fun ride with friends.

Ben's shot of the nightly debauchery

I was feeling worn out, thighs and shoulders sore, with one pinky going numb from pushing the bars too hard in thin gloves, so I headed back to the cabin for dinner. Still sent it, of course. Every night we had volunteers who cooked for the group, and in return we all paid for the groceries. It was great. Burgers, barbecue, korean barbecue, so much great food.  After dinner we all hung out in the garage, had some beers, and I witnessed the best conversation of the week when one of the guys got back in from a side-trip to buy a trailer.

Dave: "There are so many pigs on the skyway tonight. Be careful up there"

Ben: "Did you get pulled over?"
Dave: "No, there were a dozen pigs on the road"

Ben: "Was there an accident? Why that many cops?"
Dave: "Not cops, pigs"
Ben: "Yeah man, Fxxx the police"

Other drunks: "FXXX THE POLICE!"
Dave: "PIGS! Oink oink! PIGS!"

Other drunks: "PIGS!"

Ben: "FXXX THE POLICE!"
Dave: "HOGS!" <-it was at this point I figured out what was happening
Ben: "Motocops?"  
Dave: "FARM ANIMALS. CURLY TAILS. WILD PIGS"

Everyone: "Ohhhhhhhh"

Ben: "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Pigs."

Wednesday: 
Now that I had enjoyed the dragon, I had one other task for the week: trick the photographers on the mountain into taking my picture for me, and posting it onto the internet for free. There are two ways to do this: 1) crash in front of them. 2) Stormtrooper.  So I armored up, and hit the tail fully stormtroopered out. It was fun, and a good excuse to dial it back a few percent and enjoy the ride rather than being in full attack mode, and everyone loved it.  Took several selfies with Harley riders (mostly for their grandchildren), and then dropped my bike. Right at the top, right in front of everyone. At 0pmh, failing to walk out of a parking spot. Luckily it didn't hurt anything but my pride, and I mostly see the funny side of it.

I headed back to the house, changed into cooler gear (I was sweating buckets as a stormtrooper), and went out to hit the tail on my way to Foothills Parkway for a solo ride. Foothills parkway is gorgeous. Amazing views, amazing pavement, impressive bridges on the side of the mountain, beautiful sweeping curves, and everyone is happy to let you pass and will usually signal you to do so as soon as it's safe. I came around one corner onto a straightaway and saw a sculpture of a bear. Who would put a bear sculpture in the weeds on the side of the road in the middle of a park? And are those mini sculptures behind it? Oh. Those are real black bears! A momma and two cubs, just chilling 20' off the road at the edge of the forest. Anyways, this is my favorite road in the area, and if you ever head down you should definitely hit it.

Thursday: 

I had to work half a day on Thursday, and the plan for the afternoon was to go boating! But all the boats were sold out. So we left to go tubing, I jumped in the back of a car and enjoyed a spirited convoy across the skyway. And the tubing place was closed. Schedules aren't a hard thing in the mountains, apparently. So we went to the gas station, grabbed some beers, and went back to Dirt beach.  Another rock skipping competition, some floating around the river, it was a great day, regardless of the plans. It was also nice to have an easy day, let the muscles recover, and just relax.  I did head up the skyway after dinner to watch the sunset though, which was beautiful. 

Linda's shot of the group

Friday:

Friday morning it was raining, so we went to a local meadery to check them out, feed weeds to their goats, and sample some meads. As we did so the roads politely dried up for us, so afterwards we headed up to the tail to hang out at the overlook with the crew. We posted up on the hill and chatted, watched the cars and bikes go by, etc etc. and then headed down the mountain toward the swimming hole. At the bottom I passed someone in an attempt to guide them into the pulloff to let the full parade they had accumulated pass their 10mph crawl... but they just got angry instead, so I got on the throttle and put some distance between us.  This lead me onto the portion of the road referred to as - I later learned - radar straights.  I think you see where this is going. I waved to the cop expecting a "come hither" but he ignored me, and I continued on my way. I passed the swimming hole using sign language to communicate the predicament to my friends, who encouraged me to continue on my way so that they didn't have to explain the contents of their cooler to Tennessee Highway Patrol.  Anyways, the officer pulled me over as I turned onto the parkway. He had me clocked at 62 in a 50, offered me a "place to stay for the night" which confused me momentarily, and I assured him I had accommodations. Then he lectured me for a while, and left to run the paperwork. I was wondering if I would get away with a warning, but he returned with a ticket for 90 in a 50, because "I know you've done more than 62 today". I was shocked and furious, but I bit my tongue, signed the "I do not agree but received this document" line, and proceeded on a very slow ride down the parkway.  [Post script: One of the motobros ((actually a motolady)) is a lawyer, who is friends with more lawyers, one of whom got the entire ticket thrown out pro-bono!]

Smiling would only have made him more angry...

When I returned to the swimming hole, they asked what happened. I told them "90 in a 50" and jumped off a bridge. (The swimming hole had a 15 foot bridge! High enough to be scary, high enough to leave a welt, but not high enough to be actually dangerous). I had a beer, told the story, and took a couple more jumps. It was scarier than I anticipated, and I'm glad I didn't think about it when I stepped to the edge the first time. But you know. Embrace discomfort. Push your boundaries. Live an interesting life. 

Photo by Linda. Thanks!

After we finished up, I headed up the mountain, pulled over to film the rest of the crew pass by, and cruised back to the house for food and drinks.

Saturday: 

I was in no mood to visit Tennessee today, especially on the day known for being crowded with tourists and police, so I took a cruise on the skyway instead in the morning. Really, the skyway is better suited for a sportbike than the Tail, and it was relaxing to have some spirited riding safely in North Carolina.

The afternoon's plan was dirtbikes. I spent a few hours helping the dirtbike guys switch out their street tires for knobby dirt tires, and then we headed out to the forest roads. I was honest with them: "I'm gonna try to follow, but I'll probably wise up and head back, so don't wait for me".   I could follow their dirt clouds for a while, but between the differences in tires and my newness at gravel I didn't have a chance. I had to learn as I went, getting used to the bike squirming around under me, trusting the bike to bounce over gullies and not jackknife into them. Once I accepted that I was going to throw the bike in the gravel at 25mph, and that that's ok, it was much easier. The dirt was fine, the hardpack fun, but the gravel made me work for it.  I missed whatever turnoff the boys had made, and rode ten long miles through to the other end.  I took a rest, shook out my arms, and decided, why not? And headed back, passing a "Road not suitable for passenger cars" warning sign. And thinking about it, I saw only trucks, a few adventure bikes, and some dirt bikes. Now that I was getting comfortable in the gravel, I realized how beautiful the woods were, as I paralleled a river through an old-growth forest. It was a blast. Stupid, but fun. And despite a few moments where I thought it was over, I never threw the bike in the gravel.

Back at the house I started loading the van and waited for the dirtbikes to return from their adventures. For dinner we packed up all our leftovers and headed back up the skyway to watch the sunset. It was a perfect conclusion to a great trip, perfectly discomfortable.