Chasing Hurricanes

It was pre-dawn. September had just begun. The Pacific Northwest was having a record case of Indian summer; we hadn't had rain in well over thirty days. So we didn't suffer the heat too much where we were going. New Orleans.

Our first layover was Hotsun... I mean, Houston, Texas. I'd been to Houston once before, decades ago; it was a layover on my way to Spokane from Guam. I was dead tired that I didn't even bother to look out the window then. Until today. I was shocked to see how green Houston was! I was expecting adobe colored land as far as the eye can see, covered with the Taco Time cacti and tumble weed.

This, on the other hand, is exactly what I expected. Football fields.

Five hours (including layover time) after leaving Seattle, the might Mississippi was in sight.

New Orleans. I'd put it in my Top Three list of favorite trips.

There was so much to do, so much to see, so much to eat, so much purple and gold! Oh, didn't I mention that we were here to see our beloved UW Huskies play only the No. 2 best college football team in America, the LSU Tigers?

Days before our arrival, hurricane Isaac barely missed New Orleans. But there were plenty of hurricanes left in town after. The sweet and inebriating kind. The kind that makes you dismiss the blister forming on your feet (see No. 15)...What is it about these hurricanes that keeps you coming back for more?

At any rate, that blister didn't stop me from exploring the campus of Louisiana State University. And the game, although a crushing disappointment, was a wonderful, wonderful experience!

We left New Orleans exhausted. Not only had we lost the game 41-3, LSU, but we had walked Bourbon Street more times than I can remember - ahem, pursuing the mighty hurricanes - explored haunted sites after dark, and a cemetary during the day (I dare not go there when it's dark!), steamed up and down the Mississippi, ran the Twilight Run 5k, then walked another 5k on the LSU campus. Did I mention chasing hurricanes?

Homebound we flew, glad to see the our own mighty Puget Sound...

Home of aviation technology...

No hurricanes here. Only coffee and purple and gold Huskies.

Ferry Crépes

Mayet's childhood friend came to visit from Japan. Although a former Seattleite, her friend never rode a ferry when she lived here. She'd never ridden a ferry, period. So last week, Mayet thought it would be a double treat for her friend to take an excursion across the Puget Sound to have crepes for lunch.

There are many créperies on this side of the sound, but there's something about the one on the other side that's worth every sea-sickening wave that rocks the ferry as it sails across the water. And by golly, through rain and wind, we were bent on catching the one o'clock ferry to have us some crépes!

Jamesie Cat loved the ham and cheese crépe.

If Jaida Bug had teeth, she'd probably eat an entire one all to herself!

What's so different about those crépes across the sound, you ask? Honestly, I think they're just like any crepe you can get in the big city. What does make it special though is how you have to get there to get it. By ferry!

Ahoy!

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1970 Chevelle: Off to See the Wonderful Ron Pircey

She didn't stay very long. Just enough to get 5-Star Scotty's imagination and aspirations started. So, knowing what he wants for her, we pack her up again, and headed south to meet a wizard.

And there she sits, under the care of Ron Pircey, the wizard of chassis, whose wand is the tig welder.

Lastly, because the 1970 Chevelle's journey to perfection has nothing to do with my travels, I shall dedicate a blog all to herself. To see the progress, click 1970 Chevelle Build-out.


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1970 Chevy Chevelle: Arrival

It's a calm and quiet Sunday morning. Most of the driving population is either sleeping off a head splitting hangover from their St. Patrick's Day shenanigans, or is in church. I doubt it's the latter. At any rate, we headed north, followed by our friend Mike, his boy Yoshi, and Yoshi's grandpa in this dray truck. No one else on the road is aware that we are anxious and excited about procuring a new vehicular member of our home.

For today, we picked up the newest vehicular addition to our home, the Cinderalla, the 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle.

Even the cat of the house realized there was excitement in the air. "She's normally very shy, and skitters away at the sight of people and commotion," said the owner.

For years, this cat must have played in the recesses of the Chevelle's body, pawing the giant tires, and sniffing at the oily residues left in the sundry mechanical parts stowed in the shelves around the car. But today, we're taking all that home with us. The giant tires...

The power steering motor...

The window glasses...

All the bits and parts that the former owner has saved and collected over the years...

Mike, Yoshi, and Yoshi's grandpa strapped the Cinderella down, tight and secure for the journey on the Interstate Freeway.

5-Star and Palomino piled the miscellaneous parts into the pick-up truck bed with Lego-like precision. And we would avoid the freeway at all cost!

It was like Christmas Eve at our garage. As if these boys were waiting for the shiny red bike that Santa was delivering. And it was amazing how carefully they lowered and gently maneuvered the "scrap of metal" into the garage, as if it was indeed a brand spankin' shiny new car!

Well, I guess it would be like the arrival of a new baby... Everybody is so afraid to drop her, wake her up, or worse yet, make her cry. And just like the arrival of a new baby, the new arrival of this shell of a classic big block machine brought us all such joy and pride!

And we are all looking forward to see her blossom into the coveted 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle that she is.



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1970 Chevy Chevelle: A Cinderalla in the Making

5-Star Scotty has been wanting a fix-up muscle car for almost as long as I've known him. He had his first fully restored, street legal, ten-point-five second Chevelle when he was a teenager. He built his own engine in the basement of his house, and with the help of a dozen neighborhood boys, carried it upstairs when it was finished. "No one wanted to race me for pink slips," he said. That means that his car was so fast off the block that no one dared to race him for titles to their cars because they all knew his 1967 Chevelle could toast them.

Yesterday, we drove up north to look at a Chevelle that had been sitting in the owner's garage for the last seven years. 

This model Chevelle is the last of the double head lights. That, in 5-Star's opinion, is what makes her body design extra special.

Right now, she doesn't have a motor...

She doesn't have a backseat... And, no, those are not the front seats that go with the car!

She doesn't even have a trunk!

Much less, upholstery...

In fact, the car is temporarily sitting on pizza cutters for tires while she waits to be fitted for these donut shaped tubs of rubber!

To the drivers who live by instant gratification, to those who are close-minded and afraid to get a little grease under their fingernails, this car, as she sits, is merely a heap of scrap metal. But to 5-Star, and to the gentleman who babied this Chevelle for the last seven years, she is the coveted 1970 Chevrolet big block Chevelle that is a Cinderella in the making.

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Plane on a Train next to an Automobile

We took the scenic route home tonight, expecting only to catch a magnificent sight of the blazing horizon. But lo, we ran into this interesting sight along the way: an airplane's fuselage on a train car chugging alongside running automobiles.

5-Star worked at Boeing once. He said this plane is headed south for further assembly. But first, notice the gray irregular lines on the fuselage... [Yellow arrow.] Those are repair tracks, where only a certified mechanic has repaired any damages to the metal. 

"Were these fuselages brought up north to be repaired?" I asked.

No. As with any construction, damage always occurs, either by careless mechanics, or faulty tools used to assemble the plane.

A few steps away from us, two gentlemen were discussing previous events that involved such transportation of these airplane parts. Parts are drayed from the Boeing plant up north, to the Boeing plant down south. One day, engineers noticed that the newly delivered fuselages arrived more damaged than when they left the originating plant. So they set up cameras to record the parts on their journey. They were aghast to find that kids were throwing rocks at the cargo en route!

Unless airplanes are a common mode of transportation for you, where flying was part of your job, as a flight staff, or real estate mogul, or where you visit your family on a regular basis across any of the four oceans (there were only four named oceans - Pacific, Atlantic, Indian, Arctic - when I was in middle school), you probably couldn't appreciate the extraordinary engineering and safety measures taken in building one of these mechanical birds.

And I can't help but wonder if mischievous acts like throwing rocks, ultimately leads to the price of a ticket that I pay to visit Truk Islands, or the Philippines, or Ireland. But I digress...

Where was I?

Oh, yes. A plane on a train next to an automobile.

We've come a long, long, LONG way from covered wagons.


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