Mastering the Joy of Flight
09/10/2012
There is something mystical about aviation. I love the window seat and find myself staring at the landscape miles below on every trip. There is so much beauty to take in, and sometimes it’s just as awe-inspiring as being grounded but randomly spotting an old World War II-era bomber slowly making its way across the sky.
The last big trip allowed me to experience the sight of so, so much – things like the Olympic stadium and Big Ben clock tower in London, colorful French farms, icebergs, Canadian glaciers, and a giant fault line in California.
Aerial View of Big Ben and the London Eye
While crossing the Atlantic, I eventually napped when there was nothing to see but “the pond.” When I woke, peered out and saw an iceberg field, I started snapping pictures. The passengers behind me must’ve liked all my scenic discoveries because, whenever I pointed my camera out the window, I would hear their window shade open and start to hear whispers.
Glacial Confluence – Canada
Just like with music, the love for aviation is also in my DNA. Dad took me to airshows for probably 15 years straight, and he still goes when it doesn’t conflict with work and it’s not too blazingly hot and humid. Also, my brother flies and my uncle previously owned a plane. The same goes for some of my in-laws. Also, I can’t ignore that the Wright Brothers lived about 25 miles from where I grew up in Ohio – “the birthplace of aviation,” as the license plates say.
Back in Middletown, Ohio, I used to spend my college summers at hangar parties. “Don’t mind the airplane in there… the fridge is back there behind it. Feel free to grab a beer!” Some late-night chats were interrupted by the sound of a taxiing jet. A lot of us would go out and watch those take off and fly away until the flashing navigation lights disappeared into the darkness.
I actually worked at the Middletown airport – then known as Hook Field – over spring break in high school. I mowed grass and ran the weed-eater around all the lights down the 6,100′ runway. Some nights I got to hand-wash a corporate jet. It was a serene, yet kind of spooky experience, being alone in a giant, creaky, empty hangar. At the same time, the job was a soothing, therapeutic one, buffing dried raindrops off the plane from nose to tail and cleaning hydraulic fluid and dust off the landing gear.
For all these fond and endearing memories, I have been kicking around the idea of making an aviation documentary. I won’t get into details right now because, well, you know, it’s a proprietary-type thing. But I can see a community-based project like that as being a great asset for the historical record. That sort of goes back to my Long-term Data Storage post, about how it’s best to keep multiple copies of your documents stashed in various places so the information doesn’t eventually disappear forever. There’s no telling how many old photos are out there, tucked away in someone’s attic, that might not mean anything to some descendant who one day discovers them.
In the meantime, I will continue to plug away and see if the project is something that might have some interest other than my own. Fingers crossed!
This tutorial for taking apart a LaCie rugged external hard drive has moved to a new site in 2022. The helpful post is still free and can be accessed via the link or by clicking on the screenshot of the post below:
https://www.kilmermedia.net/post/disassembly-of-a-lacie-rugged-external-hard-drive
The post above covers the disassembly of an older LaCie drive (Firewire 800/400/USB 2.0). For a newer version, check out:
https://www.kilmermedia.net/post/tech-how-to-lacie-rugged-portable-hard-drive-disassembly
This tutorial for taking apart a LaCie Porsche external hard drive has been moved to a new site in 2022: The post is the same but now instead lives here:
https://www.kilmermedia.net/post/tech-disassembly-lacie-porsche-external-hard-drive-disassembly
My Corvette Story
11/29/2011
Up until just a few years ago, I was the sometimes-proud owner of a shiny, silver, mid-80s Corvette. It was a big step up from my mid-80s Z28 Camaro, but where the Camaro showed its flaws on the outside, the Corvette was equally good at hiding them underneath its shell.
This Corvette had a beautiful paint job with custom pinstripes, shiny aftermarket rims, and a removable top. On the other hand, the previous owners of this mean machine had neglected to take care of the rest of it. The engine smoked and the exhaust manifold was caked in sludge, the carpet in the trunk area looked like glowing-hot metal had been set down on it, and the stock, Bose stereo hardly worked, among other issues.
One random, summer day in Ohio, inspiration struck and I wiggled under the car to see why the retractable radio antenna was permanently stuck in the “up” position. Someone had cut the wires going to the antenna motor and capped them, so I uncapped and reconnected them, only to discover that there was an electrical short – probably a grounding issue somewhere, anywhere – which caused the antenna motor to run continuously. This just made me wonder how many unseen problems I had yet to discover.
I should point out here that I don’t exactly consider myself to be a car guy. Sure, I can change brakes, oil, and spark plugs, and I once partially rebuilt a front-end after hitting a deer. But what I know about the subject is, by no means, expert level. A lot of it has come from trial and error, reading lots of manuals and message boards, and watching videos online.
The boiling point with this vehicle, both figuratively and literally, came when the Corvette overheated on the highway one Spring morning, on the way to work. The digital temperature gauge on the dash (pretty futuristic for that time) showed the heat going into the red, so I took the next exit, which was close, and I looked under the hood. The freakin’ coolant was boiling and steam was rolling out! I knew the car troubles were beyond my skill-set, so I limped the car to work after the car’s temperature and my blood pressure came down.
The Corvette stayed in the warehouse there for a couple weeks, until I had it hauled home and put it up for sale. I just wasn’t into the challenge and the money the car promised to require. I made a quick sale and left my job soon afterward to head to audio school. I am a pathetic consumer so, rather than buying a new, big TV or whatever, the money made from selling the car was used to invest in myself. Despite the many headaches, though, there wasn’t much cooler than cruising around, at 21 years old, in a Corvette.
The guy I sold it to was planning on fixing it up for drag racing. I hope it’s worked out as planned, although a small, small, very small part of me actually wishes I still had that danged thing.
leaving celestia 