Day: March 25, 2024

Well, Mo and I have been under the weather thanks to Mr. COVID, which got me thinking (or rather, not wanting to think too hard about crafting a brand-new blog post). So, let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we? A sort of “on this day” compilation, if you will.

The saga commenced in 2004, under rather gloomy circumstances. “Sikorsky Has Eliminated My Job”, I announced, freshly served my walking papers at the strike of 11 AM. The sky was practically falling, or so it seemed. Little did I know, this was just the universe’s way of nudging me onto a path I hadn’t even dreamt of yet.

Fast forward to 2008, and the world began to show its colors again. Literally. “First Wildflower Spotted”, I proclaimed, after catching a glimpse of a tiny splash of color on the ground during a hike with Marcy. It was a sign of new beginnings, of adventures waiting just around the bend.

2009 was a year of getting my hands dirty, in the best way. It was the year of the “Shoe Project”, where I dabbled in repair and restoration, and also the year I got back on the bike for the “2009 Speedwagon Classic”, reminding me of the thrill of the road beneath my wheels.

My wanderlust didn’t wane; it only grew stronger. By 2013, I was chasing puppies and sunsets over Jumbo Mountain (metaphorically speaking on the puppies, mind you). Then, 2014 had me skiing into uncharted territories at Hyalite, marveling at nature’s endless beauty.

The adventure never really ends, does it? Even in 2021, I penned “The Last Adventure”, though we all know that on a down note, we lost Buttons.

And just last year, 2023, I was back at it with “Skalkaho Fatties”, proving that the call of the wild (and the thrill of two wheels) never really fades.

Reflecting on these snippets of my life, I’m struck by a profound sense of gratitude. Each post, each adventure, each seemingly insurmountable challenge has been a stepping stone to the next great thing.

The sign said Crescent Lake. And I have never taken the trail to the right. So when my partner inquired as to if I wanted to try and find “the lake” I was all in. We were skiing and so as everyone knows I was slightly out of my element. I just wanted to get the adventure over and go home to be warm and cozy. I am so over winter.

It didn’t take long and the trail stopped climbing and started to traverse the ridge to Elephant Mountain. Below us Hyalite Lake. I thought to myself, “great, this would be the upper trail in the winter that gets groomed so cross country folks can do a all day ski around the lake”.

And then the trail turned downward and towards the lake. I have to say I felt disappointed. And then when the lake appeared I announced we were right next to Hyalite, maybe just up a few hundred feet. I mean, I thought this lake was higher and that we could bomb back down to the car. The way things were turning out we had to take the West Shore Trail back to the car which meant a hilly flat ski back. I kind of wanted a reward.

We got to the WST and headed right towards the Window Rock Cabin. I was hoping my partner didn’t think we could ski all the way to the cabin. I mean, what a huge ski back to the car. I just wanted to go home. I lagged behind a bit and even tried to derail the day by saying things to suggest we should turn around. But of course I was ignored and we made it to the cabin. Once there I was relieved that we were going home.

But no, instead we tried to discover and investigate another way back. Darn this adventure would never end. And then we found that all options were leading us back to the WST. I grabbed an opportunity and talked my partner into skiing towards the lake and make things go faster.

But instead of faster it just got more interesting and beautiful. Wow, I was in no mood for this. So I endured the cool parts by taking photos and making believe I was in Alaska lost on a arctic adventure.

Our route did finally lead us back to the car. And I ended up having fun. Darn these adventures that I get dragged out on. Even with distracting things happening in my life. Things that tend to make me stay home and obsess. Things like waiting for a call about a big life change. Getting out does make things go faster. Thanks to a partner that drags me out on them.

Why do “people” need reassured?  I don’t even know if I am asking the question right. Here is the scenario. Someone is proud of something. And for some reason they “NEED” reaffirmed that what they are proud of is legit.

I am guilty I think. Yesterday I embarked on an adventure. It included hiking over Jumbo Mountain and into town.  Then I rode my bike and did some stuff in town. After that I abandon the bike and hiked the North Hills Trail System all the way back to Carriage Way. On top of Jumbo I snapped a twitter photo. Later in the adventure around hour 5 I snapped off another. Eventually I will post the GPS track as well. So here I am saying, “Look at me and what I did”.  Why do I do that?

But in my mind, and by the way I write this for myself, I am good with that. What irritates me is when others ask you for affirmation that you have read or seen what it is that they are proud of.  Or maybe they have jumped off the cliff with the other lemmings and what to bring you with them. Did you see so and so’s blah blah accomplishment?

So then do we all have micro jobs to every day go in and pat everyone on the back. Be it Facebook or Twitter. Scour the channels to say, “good job”. Or, “that is a beautiful puppy”. Or maybe, “that was a great decision”.

I think it is deeper. “I feel bad or uncomfortable about this event but I must back it. Because maybe I feel guilty if I don’t do like the OTHERS. And in doing so I must feel backed by everyone. So you should all do that same. So I don’t feel worse. So I don’t feel like a loser or out-of-place. Please. Like what I like. Like what I have done. Like the things I like. Back me on this.”

So did everyone see my twitter feed yesterday?  Did everyone see that Beat finished the thousand mile Idida Sport?

Last year’s ride? Oh, hands down, it was the champ of all road bike adventures. Might’ve been the gravel roads that made it feel like a throwback to the wild, wild west, allowing us to dust off those cross bikes with the knobby tires. Or, perhaps, it was that stroke of luck where I somehow, against all odds, ended up winning the race (let’s not talk about this year, shall we?). But you know what? The real cherry on top was the epic barbeque at Matt Seeley’s place afterwards. Nothing wraps up a day of pedaling like good company and even better BBQ.

So there I was, gallivanting across the great outdoors with Marcy—our so-called “active recovery mission” (fancy talk for hiking with a purpose), when lo and behold, a splash of color caught my eye amidst the monotony of the earthy terrain. I stooped down, half-expecting to unearth a rogue piece of litter, perhaps a strip of plastic tape gone rogue. But then, I paused. My brain couldn’t quite make the connection; this splash didn’t seem to belong in the otherwise dormant, frost-kissed field.

After a moment, the proverbial light bulb flickered on. Holy guacamole, it was a flower! You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. Considering we’ve been living in a snow globe since just before Thanksgiving, this little bloom felt like a herald of a long-awaited thaw. My apologies to my tele-buddies—oops, I mean tele-tubbies (darn you, spring fever, you’ve got me all mixed up!). Get it? Because it’s like the end of our own wintery episode. Ha!

On a whimsical note, if this little encounter has tickled your fancy for some floral escapades, why not check out a gallery of wildflowers? It’s like nature’s own version of a rebellious art exhibit, splashing color where you least expect it. It will be updated in the future with images uploaded to this blog.

Well, wouldn’t you know it? Just got pink-slipped from Sikorsky Aircraft at 11 AM sharp this morning. Guess even helicopters with names like “Comanche” can’t outrun Uncle Sam tightening his belt. Feels like I just got ejected from the cockpit, with only the emergency chute of unemployment to break my fall.

Next steps? Buckle up, because it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. Unemployment paperwork first, then the thrilling adventure of finding a new home (suggestions welcome, unless you want me crashing on your couch – and let’s be honest, my snoring is basically a mini-Blackhawk taking off). Speaking of crashes, gotta offload some stuff I can’t take with me – trusty computer, comfy bed (perfect for existential naps), and my mountain bike (because who wants to cry into their pillow when you can cry into the wind?). If anyone knows someone in the market for slightly used dreams and adrenaline machines, hit me up.

As for Sikorsky’s big cheese, Steve Finger, he sent us a fancy email this morning that basically said, “Sorry, folks, gotta let 100 of you go. But hey, at least 200 got lucky and just got shuffled around like deck chairs on the Titanic!” It’s like they ripped the rug out from under us, then tried to sugarcoat it with a sprinkle of “redeployment.” Newsflash, Steve, being “reassigned” to a different deck chair on a sinking ship doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.

So, yeah, that’s my life story for the next chapter. Wish me luck, folks, and maybe send some pizza my way. This unemployed pilot is gonna need some serious emotional refueling.

P.S. If anyone’s got any leads on a job that doesn’t involve flying paper airplanes or dodging budget missiles, I’m all ears (and eyes, and probably my nose at this point).