#houses i think i am going to put some up in the ridgeline and the island shops down on the bottom

[wigglebox]

i’ve been quiet on the art front for a little bit bc my hyperfixation with animal crossing came back and i gotta play it out until it tires itself out

my first animal crossing island waaaay back at the beginning of the pandemic was named Destiel and i made it mostly green and blue all throughout and woodsy but i hadn’t played in a year and a half so i nuked my island, started again, and then broke my switch’s screen so i nuked my island AGAIN [thankfully it wasn’t that far along lol]

and renamed it the OG name of the first island i had 

it’s provided some funny dialogue exchanges

also this is what i mapped out on that little website and i’m getting close to it! 

there’s more fun things now to decorate so i’m excite! 

[nika-the-hunter]

House of Mist [Ch.8]

Warning: Most of this chapter is combat with occasional depictions that some might not feel comfortable with.  Evergreen Point, Pacific Northwest. House Mist Territory

+33 days

It had been a week since Nicole had covered all the holes in the walls and ceiling with the wooden sheets Rykis had helped her purchase. They worked wonderfully in conjunction with a heater Jasix had brought her not too long after Nicole had returned. Together, the weather sealed room and heater kept her warm even while it snowed outside. The heat that wafted through the hole in the floor that led to Rykis’ space told her that he had a similar setup. While meeting down there for her daily language lessons, she saw that he had blocked off his windows with a massive street sign. When she finally questioned him about how he got one all by himself, he showed off a small spherical machine, not too much larger than her Ghost. “We have storage devices, break down objects into information, like you Guardians’ Ghosts do.” “Couldn’t you have just used that on the wood for me?” She blabbed out in confusion. “Only works on non-living... inorganic stuff. Like metal, though nothing too complicated or volatile. Though they are quite rare in Eliksni society. I have one because I use to work at one of the markets regularly.”

Nicole nodded and followed along. They were conversing entirely in the Fallen language now. It seemed strange to her that she was learning so quickly; but she had been alive for just over a month now, and had been dead for God knows how long. Who was she to judge how long it took a space magic powered zombie to learn how to speak another language.

However, it had occurred to Nicole that her Ghost was not learning any of the language like she was. He was the only one Nicole had to speak English with but it put him at a disadvantage with the others. “Do you think I could get one?” “I do not think so, unless there is a broken one your Ghost could see about fixing.” Rykis rubbed the bottom of his facemask. “I could see about asking the Archon the next time I am at the Center...”

“Okay, we-” Nicole stopped talking when she heard something.

A voice called out from somewhere outside the room. From the sound of it, they were in the old buildings atrium a few floors below their rooms. “Hello?! Is there anyone here? Messenger service!” "I wonder what this is about?" Rykis asked aloud as he got up from his bed. Unlike Nicole, he had one of those beds she had seen at the old military base. She had asked about getting one, but Rykis said it would take some time to locate one for her. He opened the door to the atrium and stuck his head out. "What is it? I am on the fifth floor."

The messenger was of the House of Mist’s not-Dregs; the Fallen that were smaller than the Vandals, but had both pairs of arms still. The messenger walked up the stairs and came to Rykis’ door. “Vandal Rykis... Guardian. The Kell is calling a briefing of all ready fighters. The meeting is at noon, at Baron Acskis’ dwelling. Message understood?” Rykis nodded, “Yes... we will be there, thank you.” The not-Dreg messenger returned Rykis’ nod and headed back out. Rykis turned to Nicole and sighed. “...I fear that the time has come for our move on the Devils.” “Well if that's true, then it’s about time,” Nicole said. “How long has it been since you said Humans crossed the mountain pass?” “Years, not sure. Sometimes they routed around the pass on Ninety, but they’ve not come for a long time,” he replied. Rykis walked over to his window and pulled away one of the road signs to peer at the sky. “It is an hour and a half to noon... probably. We should get going.”

Nicole hopped off the bed and stretched her back. “Alright, I’ll get my armor-” She called to her Ghost in English. “Ghost? Armor me up, looks like the Kell is rallying the troops.” The Ghost flew down into Rykis’ room, through the hole in the ceiling. “What’s going on?” The armor still flashed across her body suit, fitting much better than her old set. “Messenger said that they’re calling a meeting. Rykis thinks that we’ll be going after that roadblock camp up in the mountains.” “It’s about time we do something Guardian like.”  Her Ghost grumbled and vanished into her armor, anticipating her to start on her way.

She glanced over at Rykis, who had been strapping the individual armor plates back across his undersuit. He had left his painter’s sash and bag off against the wall, and had begun to check his rifle over. “I never asked this before, but are you a soldier?” “Well not exactly... I work at the market as a translator, and as the only real skilled artistic person... I paint signs. However that is beside the point, I am trained, as is every Eliksni in the House Mist, in the event that I am needed.” “So you're... a militia member?” Nicole asked as they walked down the stairs and out of the building. “I suppose that is a good way of saying it, but the only reason I’m in any fighting right now is because the Kell assigned me to follow you, and he definitely wants you at that meeting.” Rykis replied. Nicole frowned, she did not want to be responsible for him getting hurt. He had been really nice to her ever since she had met him; though he was also the only one could speak to her. But, he seemed to genuinely accept her. “You... don’t have to follow me into this, I can understand your language well enough now.”

“Oh?” Rykis’ eye ridge raised slightly in an inquisitive look. “What does this mean?” He then proceeded to speak something in the Fallen language, and Nicole had absolutely no clue what he was saying. Her silent confusion behind her faceplate caused Rykis to break out a laugh. “That settles it then, I am staying with you.”

Nicole sighed and conceded with a nod. “Fine... you’re right, I just don’t want you getting killed because of me.”

“I have been taking care of myself just fine,” Rykis said. “It will be fine, Nicole. Though I am glad to hear that you care about me.” The journey across the ruined occupied city was rough with snow. It came up to her knees in the middle of the road, and snow drifts were climbing the sides of long abandoned vehicles. None of the Eliksni children were out in the streets that day. Everyone seemed to be inside during the storm. Nicole walked warily away from the skyscrapers; thousands of broken windows held massive icicles that would most definitely cause impact damage without actually damaging her armor.  The constant falling snow and wind made seeing the Baron’s dome nearly impossible until they were a few hundred meters away. The guards standing outside the main entrance were more ornate than the Baron’s usual guard complement; their armor was cleaner and had more decorative details across their armor surface. They wore layers of animal pelts over their armor to probably brace themselves against the cold.

The two glanced at her, their exhale plainly visible in the freezing air. Their rifles raised slightly as they inspected the pair approaching them. When they got closer, one of the guards opened the door and the other waved Nicole and Rykis through. “Quickly, in the back. They are going to begin shortly,” one said. “That was quite expedient...” Rykis led the way to the briefing space. The room was filled with quite a bit more Eliksni, they were mostly Captains with a handful of Vandals. Baron Acskis was not in his mini-throne, that seat was occupied by the largest Fallen Nicole had ever seen; it was the House of Mist’s Kell. She had seen the Kell only once before when she was only a few hours old; Nicole had been very intimidated back when she had no idea what was going on here. The Kell had moved the throne closer to the display table, and the tactical map that Nicole’s Ghost had made was being displayed.

As soon as Nicole and Rykis entered the room the Kell stood from the throne. “Good, the Guardian has arrived. Baron, let us begin.” Nicole began to translate what was said for her Ghost to understand. He was very thankful that she had remembered to do that for him. Baron Acskis glared at Nicole in the back of the room, and then stepped up to the projection. “We will be assaulting what we believe to be the main House of Devils camp tonight. Using the storm for cover, Captain Balkasis will take the armor divisions and Captain Verasis’ three Pike groups up the valley-” He made motions and the map transferred to the region, with lines dictating the directions people were to take. “-and attack the Devils roadblock headon and crush it. Meanwhile, Captain Takas will lead twelve Skiffs to flank around and set down on the frozen lakebed and the surrounding ridgeline.” The Kell took over briefly for the Baron and pointed back at Nicole while clearing his throat. “Guardian, that is what you’re going to be following. Senior Captain Takas and her forces will assault the main encampment. Skiff flyovers indicated that their main camp is directly north from the lakebed. I have utmost confidence in you all, and I expect you to utilize the assets at your disposal to their full potential.”

Nicole noted that the Kell seemed to glare down at the Baron during that last bit. Acskis gave a passing glance towards her again. A knot formed in her stomach; this was not going to be a quick one-and-done operation like the scouting run she had gone out. This was also going to be the first time she had gone into combat since then, and the third time since she had awakened. Nicole glanced over at Rykis, who was looking at the deployment map with some intense concentration.

He turned toward her slightly and noticed her look; he sighed and waved towards the projection. It was still difficult to gauge his facial expression, because the mask, and being a different species than whatever predispositions she woke up with often teamed up together. “I hope you really do have those advantages you mentioned back at your hearing. Your presence has encouraged us to be more aggressive than we have ever been in years.”

Nicole just nodded her head, she was wondering the same thing. Other than her Ghost being able to revive her, she did not seem to be any better than any of the Fallen here. In fact, they were probably better than her in all other aspects regarding combat. The briefing went on; explaining retreat and evacuation routes, where medical stations would be established, and the Kell emphasized that any House Mist fighters should stay out of both the Tanks and the Guardian's way when in the field of combat. Nicole wondered what the Kell thought she was able to do that made it a danger to be near her.

The Kell stood from their seat and waved to the groups of Fallen. “We will be moving out as soon as we are ready. Go to your groups and await the order.” She looked over at Rykis again. A Captain had walked over and was talking with him. The Captain was tall and slender, their armor on the other hand was bulky and covered in pouches. They nodded their head to Nicole and introduced themselves. “Guardian... I am Senior Captain Takas. I’ll be leading the Skiff deployment. You’ll be going in with us tonight.”

Nicole returned the nod, but honestly did not know how else to respond other than her name. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Guardian Nicole.”

“Mmm... Neh-cole, I see.” Captain Takas waved to the door. “Come, Rykis and Neh-cole. The Skiffs are waiting down in the staging area.” Takas walked them out of the Baron’s home and down the hillside towards the old freeway.

Nicole had seen the staging area before a few weeks ago, but now it was something completely different. There were about half a dozen of the old Human tanks huddled out of the snow beneath the overpass; as well as a few other old vehicles of Human make. They had Spider Tanks too, but they were folded up on trailers, like what Nicole had seen back on the train. The activity in the area was beginning to pick up now that the Captains had returned from the briefing.

Captain Takas lead them beyond the highway and over to an open field that may have been a parking lot at one point in the past. The twelve dropships the Baron had mentioned waited near the ground, gently rocking in the wind and snow. A few held Spider tanks latched into their cargo area, and Groups of Fallen were climbing aboard at the order of other lower Captains. Takas stopped beside the lead Skiff and gestured towards one of the access doors. “This is the one you’ll be riding in. As soon as we hit the ground, you’ll dismount from one of those drop bays.” She pointed over to one of the holes in the bottom of the ship. “When you’re out, clear the zone as quickly as possible. Vandal Rykis here will be right behind you.” “Got it, Captain.” Nicole said, grabbing hold of one of the hand grips beside the hatch.

“You’ll be the first out. Clear the way for my troops.” Captain Takas’ voice held a tone of seriousness that Nicole had not heard since the Baron had shot her through the head. Nicole gulped and hoisted herself in; which was not as easy since she lacked the additional two arms the Eliksni had. The inside of the Skiff was cramped with the others already inside the craft, though they moved out of the way for her as soon as she boarded. No one wanted to touch her apparently. Other than that... it was still a small claustrophobic space. Machinery and pipes lined the bulkheads with computer screens and gauges squeezed between them.  The lack of space did not seem to bother the others though.

The drop bays were located in the tail of the Skiff and the only way to get there was down a low tube she would have to crouch down to get through; seeing as that was the only place where the others were not gathering, Nicole knelt down and crawled to the back of the bay. The bays were wide open and cold air mixed with a few loose snowflakes wisped up around her. Rykis crawled up beside her and sat across from the hole into the world beyond.

“The Kell has ordered the Tanks out, it will take them some time to reach the pass, so we will be waiting here until they are close enough...” Rykis paused. “Also, the storm is getting worse. The weather station near the mountains is reporting that it is even stronger there.”

“Do you think the Tanks will be fine in this weather?” Nicole asked.

“Yes, we’ve tested them in previous winters. They will just be slow.” Rykis shrugged and shifted his position in the bay. He pulled a bag off of the wall and stuffed it under his side for some cushion.

Nicole pulled one off and did the same, he had a good idea. “Ugh, why did they call us in now if it's going to take hours for the Tanks to get there?” “Wouldn’t you want to do only one briefing instead of two?” Rykis offered. “Besides, it is not like we can’t just continue what we were doing in the tower here... which was what?”

“Um, you were telling me about that storage ball you got, but that was pretty much over with.” Nicole pointed at the pouch that held it on his belt. “What other kinds of tech would I be able to get once I’m part of the House?” The alarms sounded in her helmet, she needed to switch out the Ether canister. She slipped a fresh one out of a thigh pouch and switched the two out. A cold crisp puff of air blew into her face, it smelled pleasant. Though she did not need to wear her helmet right at the moment, so she cut the air supply and took it off.

Rykis told her about the data-pads and weapons that would be available to her once the Kell had granted her official status in the House. Though there was not much beyond that. He said that she could request a Pike for personal use, or send a vehicle to Tansis to see if it could be repaired, but Nicole really liked the idea of having a Pike. She thought back to when she rode the Pike back down the mountain pass, how freeing it had felt. That would definitely be something she would look into later. When the call to take off finally came, Nicole had dozed off on top of the bag. She was quickly awakened by the sudden high pitched whine of the Skiff’s engines lifting the craft out of its low hover. More snow blew in through the hatch as the Skiff flew higher into the storm. It was dusk outside, the orange glow of the setting sun tinted the storm clouds more the higher they climbed. Nicole threw her helmet back on and it hissed back to pressurization. She summoned her Ghost to the palm of her hand. “Alright, quiet guy, did you get the attack plan for review?”

Her Ghost replied. “Finally, something I can understand. I must say, you learning a language I don’t know is very infuriating. But if you have to ask, yes I did.” His eye lit up and a small projection of the Kell’s plan was floating in the air between Nicole and Rykis’ sleeping form. She reviewed it, at least three times. The Skiffs were to drop them off in the lakebed, and then shoot up to the ridge line to deposit a few of the Spider tanks on top. Covering fire would be provided, but that was all she was able to understand from the map. She huffed and leaned back against the bulkhead.

Nicole glanced down through the hatch as the Skiff dropped down beneath the cloud later. They were very close to the mountain slopes, way too close. The pass road, old Interstate Ninety, was probably only fifty meters beneath them, and passing by fast. She could just barely see the tank column crawling through the snow just below. The trucks were nowhere to be seen, neither were the walkers.

The tanks were mere moments away from rounding the final corner before they were in sight of the Devil roadblock. The lights in the Skiffs snapped off, as they broke off from the others and flew over the ridge line.

“Here it begins... when the lights come back to full that is when we go.” Rykis sat up from the bag he was sleeping against. Behind them, the other Eliksni in the craft queued up for the drop bays.

An explosion echoed through the mountain valley, coming in over the sound of the Skiff engines. Then another, and another. Rapid gunfire followed. The Tank column had engaged the roadblock.

With the battle beginning, the Skiffs dropped like rocks and swept down low across a frozen lakebed. They flew meters off the ground for just a few moments before stopping suddenly. The lights inside the dropbay snapped back on, and an alarm chirped repeatedly.

Nicole dropped down into the snow. The downforce from the engines was kicking up all the snow from the ground and swirling it randomly across her face. She charged forward and scanned the area that she could see. It was not much in the heavy snowfall, but she had ran into a cluster of tents.

Fallen wearing House Devils colors were emerging from snow-covered tents to investigate the fighting that had begun at the ridge line. Either they were not paying attention, or the snow was too thick, but they seemed to head away from Nicole without seeing her. She squeezed the trigger and her rifle kicked against her shoulder.

Her bullets tore through the nearest group and the under armored Dregs crumpled to the ground. A quick glance around showed that was all she could see here were Dregs, the higher ranks must have another place in camp. Hearing the sound of gunfire from behind them, the other Devils spun around in Nicole’s direction. Electrically charged bolts sizzled passed her and she slid into cover behind a nearby crate. It’s not that she probably could not handle a few shots, it's just that there were a lot of Dregs out there.

An object sailed through the air and landed in the snow nearby Nicole’s leg. Arcs of electricity linked it to the ground and the crate’s surface, and it began to hiss loudly. “Move!” Her Ghost shouted into her ear.

Not to react slowly, Nicole immediately dove out and away from the crate just moments before the space behind her erupted in a thundering explosion and bolts of lightning. She shook her head and pushed out of the snow. The Dreg and a few of their allies that presumably threw the grenade were charging through the burning tents that littered the area around where the crate had been moments before. Nicole brought her rifle up to take them out first, but a volley of fire from her left got them first.

Rykis ran over to her and pulled her to her feet. He slapped her back. “You’re good. Keep moving, we’re clearing as a wave.”

Sure enough, the other squads from the Skiffs were just charging into the tents, and taking on any Dregs that were caught off guard. Most of them seemed to have fled further north, where the others were likely camped. She saw that some Mist Vandals had shoved Dregs into the snow and somehow restrained their arms to their backs. They were taking prisoners. Everything here was moving very quickly, as what Eliksni combat seemed to be.

Nicole moved with Rykis, taking the lead. Her weapon chattering away at the unfortunate Fallen that chose to stay in her way. The three Skiffs behind them took off and fired down into the tent city ahead of the advancing Mist forces before flying back to the relative safety of the ridgeline. The Explosions had ceased on the other side of the camp. Either the Tanks had broken through, or something had gone wrong; all she could hear was the sound of small arms fire from further ahead to the east.

Things were going well enough until Nicole encountered a House Devils Vandal wielding a Shrapnel Launcher. The weapon launched razor sharp projectiles smothered in a burning oily substance. They cut through her shields in one shot, but none impacted her armor with enough force to puncture. She had been in the middle of a reload, and she instinctively reached down to her belt for something. Her hand came back clutching the grip of a simple knife that had materialized out of thin air. Without putting much thought into it, she flipped the knife around to holding from the blade and threw it at the Vandal. As soon as the knife left her fingers it burst into flames, lit by some unknown source. When it struck the Dreg, the flames immediately spread across the creature almost as if they were liquid.

If it had not been killed by the blade sticking into its face, then the crackling fire did the trick.

A series of bright flashes went off up the ridge, followed by a tremendous explosion north of her position. The shockwave blew the snow out of the sky, and for a brief moment Nicole could see what was left of the small town to her north. Pieces belonging to what looked like Pikes and Spider tanks began to fall from the fireball. The leg of a House Devils walker slammed into the snow beside Nicole, still twitching.

Briefly, Nicole could see the ridge above the Devil camp and it was lined with the six Mist Spider tanks she had noticed were missing from the tank column earlier. They had flanked around the mountain and climbed up the backside. Judging by the debris that were raining down, they had just taken out the camp’s vehicle area.

The snow returned and brought the visibility back down to only a less than a few meters. A few ground based flashes streaked upwards towards the ridge. Not all of the Devils’ armor had been destroyed it seemed. Nicole rolled to the side and fired a burst into the chest of a Vandal. Higher ranks were starting to filter south to meet the invading attackers. She moved virtually on her own, however keeping an eye on Rykis who was always nearby. One of her bursts struck the Vandal’s unarmored face, and its head just exploded. A white gas sprayed from the neck, and took the rough form of the Vandal before blowing away in the wind.

She was just dumbfounded at that sight, and she looked back at Rykis for a brief moment. What the hell was that? It did not make any sense to her. That would be a question for after the fight.

To her left, the silhouette of a Devil Captain loomed over the shattered remains of a tent. Its shockblades crackled and hissed as it sliced through the protective armor of a Mist Vandal. The electricity arced from the blade to the Vandal, causing it to convulse rapidly as it fell into the snow.

Nicole turned her rife to the Captain and opened fire with a sustained burst. The bullets plinked off the Captain’s shields, the shield indicator on her HUD hardly moved. She had been right not to try and take on the Fallen earlier in the month when all she had was a pistol, this rife was barely getting the job done as it was. But now it seemed completely useless against the Captain.

“Uhh... any ideas, Ghost?” She asked, able to hear the panic in her own voice.

Her Ghost’s voice cracked from her helmet speakers and an indicator started to flash across her visor, highlighting various fallen weapons that had been dropped by the dead. “I’m working on it... give me a second.”

She continued to plink away at the shields, constantly moving to stay out of the Captain’s range.A highlight flashed across her HUD; it was displaying an overlay above a discarded Wire rifle sticking out of the snow.

“That should do the trick!” Her Ghost announced.

Nicole threw her rifle onto her back and slid through to snow to grab the weapon, dodging underneath a swing from the Captain’s shock blades. She had seen it used more than a few times on the only two engagements she had been on previously. Pulling the trigger, the weapon charged up and fired.

The energy bolt slammed into the Devil’s shields. They burst in a flash of blue crackling energy, and the Captain stumbled from the force of it.

Nicole’s shoulder hurt too, there was not that much padding on the rifle’s shoulder stock. However, it was in her interest to make it worse for the Captain; she fired again. This bolt had no shields to stop it, but the heavy armor over the Eliksni’s body provided ample protection. A good sized dent on the breastplate knocked the Captain back, but he stood back up and moved to charge for her chucking as he went, and then vanished.

She blinked the confusion. It took her less than a second to recall that Tansis had told her that the Eliksni could teleport; but it was a second too long. The Captain reappeared right in front of her and brought one of his electrified blades across her chest. It glanced off her armor, but sliced through her soft padded belly. She winced and lept back out of the Captain’s reach, then pulled the trigger once more.

The recoil kicked her shoulder, and the reverberations caused more pain to shoot from her stomach. The Captain would not be a problem anymore; it’s headless corpse sat half a meter away in the snow.

With one hand, Nicole pressed against her wound and it came back red. More pain pulsed from within. “Not... again...” she muttered. Cautiously, she peeled the bodysuit apart at the tear, unsure if this would be a wound would have to be healed right away.

Evidently the bodysuit had been keeping her insides.. inside. Bits of her internals fell down into the snow and blood turned it red. She dropped down to her knees as the pain tripled. That just caused more to flow from the gaping hole in her body.

With the Captain dead, there did not seem to be any other Devil’s around. Her Ghost appeared beside her and flew down to her belly. “Ooh that’s bad... let's fix that right up shall we?”

Nicole tried to tell him to shut it and just fix her, but she could not make herself say the words. She had never been really wounded. Except for when the Baron shot her when he was frustrated, she had just been instant killed every time and had been spared the pain. Her Ghost’s eye emitted a bright light and she felt it’s warmth pass over the pulsing spot. All at once, the pain ceased and was replaced in a warm sensation. Nicole watched as the bodysuit was stitched back together by her Ghost. It looked good as new, and she felt good as new.

“There you go, all patched-” The sound of crackling electricity sailed through the air and struck the snow not too far from Nicole. An Eliksni Grenade blinked once and detonated in a flurry of snow and arcing bolts of energy. Nicole rolled into her side and was thrown a few meters by the blast. Her Ghost, however, was propelled head on into a crumbling wall nearby.  

The smoke rose from singed points on her armor where the bolts had arced between her and the grenade, she rolled over and crawled towards the crumbling wall. Her body tinged from the shock, but she pushed beyond it and jabbed her hand into the hole in the wall. Nicole pulled out her Ghost; he was intact, but was not responding to her. He blinked and his fins twitched, however her Ghost did not float off of her hand. “No no no... Ghost!” She brushed the soot from his shell and eye. “Wake up buddy...” The Ghost just blinked again with no other response. If he was out of commission, even temporarily, what would happen to her if she died? Would she just be down for a bit of time, or would she be dead for good; she had no clue.

The ground rumbled as another barrage from the Mist tanks on the ridge fell  closer to where she sat in the snow. It brought her back into the moment at hand and the battle still going on around her. A House Devils Vandal lept over the other end of the shattered house and raised its shrapnel launcher. Nicole stuffed her Ghost into one of her belt pouches and dove for the Wire rifle nearby. Before she could shoulder it, the Vandal took a rapid fire burst to its side and dropped.

Rykis lowered his rifle and grabbed Nicole's shoulder. He lifted her to her feet and handed her a spare automatic rifle from his back. “Are you okay, Neh-cole?”

“My Ghost is stunned and out of commission. I think I'm mortal for now,” she replied with a cough, answering in the best Eliksni she could muster at that moment. “How are you holding up?”

Rykis’ face flashed with concern behind his mask, but he nodded. “I am... Doing fine. But you need to avoid getting into these situations. Use more cover.” “Yeah, okay.” Nicole shouldered the rifle and glanced around, “We need to move north.” The fight in their immediate vicinity had seemed to come to an end, with the sound of battle heating up further up the valley. She moved at a half couch through the snow. It was slow moving, but kept her form out of sight among all the impact craters across the field. The area beyond the first Devil camp was barren snowfields much like the lake bed where they had landed. The occasional tree gave the Mist fighters some cover besides the snowstorm. The radar on her visor blooped as a group of red contacts advanced toward them. She was not sure what the range was now that she was on her own for now. Dropping down on to her belly she groaned internally as her bruised ribs protested the strain. Rykis dropped behind her and crawled through the snow beside her. “What is it?” He asked. “Sensor is showing that there are some Devil’s up ahead, four of them coming towards us.” Nicole moved forward, slowly and continued to talk. “Going to stay low so they don't spot us first”

“Remember, stay safe.” Rykis still sounded concerned. Nicole sent back a look at the Vandal but kept pushing on. He remained just a few instances behind her.

She checked the sensor after a few meters to see that the four icons had stopped moving towards them. They were just beyond her field of view in the storm so she aimed the automatic rifle in their direction. However, before she fired, the indicators vanished from the readout. Confused, Nicole stood up on one knee.

Suddenly, a bucket full of snow belched from a small depression beside her and the rumble of machinery shook around her. The snow fell away as one of the Fallen Spider Tanks rose out from its snow covered pit and knocked Nicole effortlessly out of the way. Rolling back upright, Nicole brought her rifle around. It looked like a different model than the kind she had seen so far. Sitting on the back, right behind the main gun turret was a Devil captain seated on an auxiliary turret and a myriad of other weaponry hanging down right beneath the Walker’s head; Its two front legs were angled differently as it began to walk towards the ridge line.

She opened fire with the auto rifle and the energy charged shots pittered harmlessly against the hull. Lowering the gun slightly she sighed. “Okay I didn’t think that would really work.... Rykis, we have a problem!”

The Captain on the auxiliary turret spotted her and swung the weapon around to face her down. Kicking up snow, Nicole dashed in a roll as the spot where she had been exploded. She fired back, letting the bullets rake across the Captain’s shields. The indicator that appeared above him flashed down, this gun appearing to be more effective against shields than her old Assault rifle. She kept on him, moving behind the Walker to the other side. The Captain’s shield burst and he fell from the turret spasming. But unfortunately the Walker became aware of the fight going on behind it, and it turned in place; one of the legs stomping down on the dying Captain attempting to get back on his feet. “Rykis!?” Nicole shouted, looking around her. “Where the hell are you?”

The Walker spun around enough for its chin mounted machine gun spun up and began to lace the area around Nicole with fire. She dove out of the way, coming back up on her feet and moving around the back side of the machine to keep it turning.

Coming in behind her, Rykis tore something off of his belt and pulled the lid off. A brilliant red flame sprung from the flare as he dashed passed the Guardian. Nicole looked on in confusion as Rykis ran straight towards the spider walker and slapped the flare to the side, some unseen adhesive holding it to the hull. He sprinted back at her, and picked her up. “I have just called it into our tanks!” he shouted.

The machine gun on the tank spun up and spat bullets in their direction as the gravity of what Rykis had done dropped into her mind. On the ridge above the valley, the Mist Spider tanks honed in on the flash of light on their sensors, and fired. Nine high explosive shells  were launched through the air and slammed into the Devil’s Walker. The first two shells detonated against the armor, doing little besides denting the armor plating, but seven more blasted against the vulnerable joints; ripping the machine and its crew apart. Rykis thankfully had put enough ground between them and the tank for them to be spared death from the concussive force alone. He had dropped them into a tree well to take cover when the tank ceased to be. The blast knocked the snow from the branches, partially burying them in the pit. Nicoled looked up at Rykis, sitting in the air pocket he had created when he dropped in above her. The only light at the moment was from his four glowing eyes. “Are you okay?” He asked as one of his arms knocked open a small hole for air, although neither of them needed it. The snow from the hold collapsed, landing on her helmet’s visor. She couldn’t move her arms under the snow, but she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine...” She stifled a laugh. “Rykis that was the craziest thing I have ever seen... granted I only remember about a month... but still.”

Rykis shrugged, knocking more snow down onto her. “You are Ghostless, and I care...” With that, he stood and helped Nicole out from the snow. “Besides, neither of us were armed for such a fight.” “Well, thanks...” Nicole smiled behind her helmet. “Are you okay? That machine gun was getting pretty close to hitting you.”

He looked down and gave himself a patdown of his front and back, coming back clean. “All seems to be well.” Rykis looked like he was going to continue, but paused and listened to a voice speaking in his helmet. It then occurred to her that she had not been hearing any of Mist’s radio traffic since her Ghost had gone offline. She did not even know how to manually change her signal.

He looked down at her once he had heard enough and noted the way her helmet was tilted; he relayed whatever information he was given to her. “Baron Acskis has announced that the fight is winding down, and our tanks have rolled through the Devil leadership camp and secured a site for transport. It seems that they’re calling for those of us from the first wave to group with the tanks and let the fresh reinforcements finish clearing the camp for any pockets of Devils.”  

Nicole glanced around where she stood in the snowstorm, the area was illuminated by the burning remains of the tank and the trees that remained around it; noticing almost at once that the fight had seemed to piddle into the occasional bursts of gunfire off in the distance. Her mind went back to the attack plan. This camp spanned nearly nine square kilometers according to her Ghost’s count, and the eastern part of the camp, across the old highway, had held the Devil’s air pads. Apparently during the fight they had found that their leadership was to the north, where the tanks now waited.

The two walked through the snow, on edge the entire way. Bodies and ruined equipment belonging to the House of Devils was scattered in groups, most not too far from what looked like the remains of cabins they had probably been using as shelter. They had managed to catch the Devils’ by surprise, and won out.

The tanks were sitting in snow up to their side panels, and a few had plows fastened to their front plates. Nicole spied more than a handful of fresh dents and ruined armor panels. All recent battle damage. There were only three of the tanks here too.

“Will we be getting Skiff pickups once we are out of the battle site?” One of the House Mist Not-Dregs asked, climbing aboard the back of one of the tank turrets. The Not-Dreg standing out of the tank’s cupola, a Tanker as Tansis had informed her, shook their head. “No, you will either march back, or ride on the turret. Skiffs are ferrying critically injured to where Baroness Kisakas has set up medical treatment.” The first Not-Dreg grumbled and threw a pack onto the back of the turret and sat down on it. leaving it at that. Rykis waved for Nicole to climb on first, and she obliged; taking a seat on the cold metal on the front of the turret, where she could lean against the main cannon for support. Ideally, they would not need to move the gun on their way back to the staging area. Rykis dropped heavily against the turret beside her. The fatigue that she began to feel in her body was probably hitting him just as hard. One of the tanks, fully loaded with House Mist fighters, lurched and began to pull out of formation. Dozens of others were walking beside it, having arrived too late to secure a spot on the first run out of there but opting not to wait for one of the other tanks to leave. Almost as soon as the tank had left the grouping point, a sheet of metal that had been up against a ruined building exploded outwards, bouncing off a nearby hulk of a truck.

Nicole found herself staring straight down the blowing barrel of a rocket launcher held by a House Devil Dreg. In the split-second before the Dreg launched the rocket, Nicole’s head raced. She just had to jump off the tank, but Rykis probably would not react as fast... and he was only there because of her and she cared for him too. She gave him a shove off of the turret, and only afterwards did she recall that her Ghost was still not working and in her pocket.  

The rocket slammed into the turret’s armored plate where she had been leaning just moments before. Her shields managed to soak up the blast and kept her alive, but the wind had been thoroughly knocked from her lungs. She was launched sideways into a snowbank that had formed against a shipping container. Pain shot through her leg as it violently impacted something buried beneath the surface. She felt a snap in her leg as snow buried her underneath the container. Her head was spinning, but she was alive; however that pain in her leg was just growing worse by the second

Outside the snowbank, the Vandal atop the third tank swung the machine gun turret around and lit up the doorway, The armor-piercing tipped bullets punched fist sized holes in everything and the Vandal did not stop firing until he was sure no others were hiding inside the building.

Rykis stumbled up from where he landed and looked from the tank, where he had been sitting, and to the missing chunk of building that the rocket had been fired from. Where was Neh-Cole? He spun around and scanned the snow, all four of his eyes searching for the Guardian. They had been getting close, as friends at the very least. It was strange as well, being the one to teach her how to speak his language or being her purposed guardian... he was a guardian for Guardian. Rykis would have laughed if the situation was better. He spotted her arm swinging around in a snow pile trying to dig herself out.

Leaning down, he used the butt of his rifle to dig snow out from around her. As he got close, the snow began to turn red and it took a second for his  mind to make the connection that Human blood was red. Moving with more haste, Rykis grabbed Neh-Cole’s arm and pulled her out. The blood was coming from a large gash in her leg, but it was impossible to tell how bad beneath the bodysuit; there was a jagged piece of metal visible in the melted red snow that looked to belong to the remains of a vehicle from long ago. She groaned when he rightened her. “Thanks...” she mumbled and attempted to take a step away from him now that she was free. Unfortunately when Nicole went to step on her injured leg, the pain overwhelmed her again and she dropped back to the ground. “Fuck.” Rykis quickly scooped her up and held her in his four arms. “It is alright, Neh-Cole. I do not mind.” He offered to carry her down the mountain.

She gasped as her injured leg swung down and bent at a weird angle, the pain flashing through her again. Rykis’ lower arms shifted in order to provide support and ease the pain. “Okay... Thanks... Be gentle I think its broken?”

Nicole took her Ghost out of her pocket to see if he would wake up and heal her, but he did not, Choosing to flash wildly like a strobe light instead. She placed him back into her pocket with a resigned sigh, hopefully they would be able to find a fix for him before too long.

What Rykis meant by carrying her down the mountain was actually just holding her in his arms and walking over to the tank. He climbed aboard and set her atop a pile of tarps with her leg stabilized. Nicole’s helmet was off and she was leaning against his side when the tank rolled off down the highway, making its way back to the Bellevue ruins four hours away.

Rolling though where the road block had been the day before, Nicole could see the remains of one of Mist’s Human tanks smoldering from its opened hatches. A neat hole was punched in the side of its turret. Directly across the highway from the old human vehicle was one of the strange Devil walkers, with its entire crew compartment blown open. It appeared that it had been the one responsible for the killing blow. Further down the road, another Mist tank sat disabled, its track was blown to bits, but otherwise completely intact. The night had been hard fought, but they had won.

A Vandal climbed over top the turret from the other side and looked across the handful passengers riding on the front. “Medic here. Is anyone hurt?” Nicole did not say anything since she was sure that the medic would not have anything for a Human. However, Rykis waved them over. “Here, the Guardian’s Ghost is damaged, and her leg is wounded.” “The Human?” the medic asked, crawling over to Nicole’s leg.

“Yes, I’m Human. Can you do anything to help?” Nicole spoke up now that the medic was here already.

The medic unlatched Nicole’s thigh armor and peeled open the body suit to examine the damage. “Mm, bone broken just above your knee... this will take a while to heal normally.” The Vandal must have read Nicole’s inquisitive expression for they continued. “Leg anatomy is very similar to us. Plus cross training was more useful years ago... I think I may still have some Human safe medicines in my kit...” The medic dug into their pack for a few moments and pulled out a cluster of faded glass vials the remains of english letters barely visible.

Nicole frowned and looked from the medic’s face to the vials, and then back at them. “Are those still viable?” “They were when I last worked on a Human... probably seven years ago. Old age creation, they say they never expire.” The Vandal pulled out what looked like an injection needle mixed with a gun. The words UMIC were embossed on the side in worn out chrome. She recognized the name from her ancient security badge. Maybe the medic got the device from where she had worked. After squinting at the faded text on the side of the vial, the medic loaded it into the needle gun and jabbed around the wound three times. The machine hissed with each injection and then the medic stowed the device in their bag. “This should be a pain reliever, I will wrap and brace the leg until you can get to better facilities.” Nicole nodded as they continued to do just what they said they would.

The pain began to fade until it was nice and dull. Still there, but much more manageable. She began to feel drowsy, either the exhaustion from battle was finally seeping into her system or it was the painkillers were doing it. “Can I see the bottle?” She asked.

“Sure,” The medic pulled the bottle from the injection gun and handed it to Nicole.

She brought the small vial up to her face and tried to read what little was legible on its wrapper. It was definitely a painkiller, and a small bit of surviving subtext said that it would cause extreme drowsiness if dosed properly. “Thanks, this’ll make me sleep.” Nicole handed it back to the Vandal and sighed, deciding not to fight against the medicine  and get some rest.

Nicole repositioned her head onto a bundle of Rykis’ cloak, so that it was not his armor plates, and let the rumbling tank send her off to sleep.

xxx

Something was wrong. Nicole felt off, she could not see. Vertigo flashed across her mind and orange light with a thunderous bang erupted around her. Ice ran across her body and she managed to tear her eyes open. The tank was burning, and she had been thrown carelessly into the snow. Her armor was gone, instead she was her original bodysuit she had been resurrected in. She rolled onto her stomach and scrambled away from the wreck. Nothing was making sense and concentrating on anything was proving impossible. The ground around the tank splintered and broke away, falling into whatever lay below.

The ground beneath her shook, and she turned over to see a Kell sized Devil Captain walking in her direction. Nicole tried to scramble away, but seemed to be going nowhere no matter how hard she struggled. Rykis appeared just up the road, firing at the Captain with his rifle, a flare in one of his lower hands brightly flashing red. “Neh-cole, Hold on!” he shouted.

The Devil Captain waved, and instead of a barrage of fire coming to strike the Captain and save her, the glowing shots fell atop Rykis... obliterating her friend. A gaseous silhouette of him rose out from the fireball and dissipated in the air.

She rolled back onto her back and scrambled for the sidearm on her hip, but it was completely useless against the Captain. The bullets just pinged harmlessly off of the armor. There was nothing she could do.

He reached down and picked her Ghost from her pocket, not even flinching at each bullet impact. Nicole dropped her pistol in defeat. Her head spinning even faster. The Captain closed his fist over the Ghost, crushing the first thing she knew into a fine white powder and letting it blow away in the wind. The Devil Captain stood tall, seeming to grow even larger before her very eyes. He raised his foot, now the size of an old city bus, and brought it down on her. xxx

Nicole shot up from the bed, throwing the blanket off of her and tweaking her broken leg in the process. She was drenched in sweat, even with her bodysuit folded down to her waist. It was a dream... just a dream. Controlling her breathing, she glanced around the room she was in; she was back in her tower. This was Rykis’ bed. Had that medication really kept her asleep for the entire drive, and walk back home? It evidently had. Light flashed on through the hole that led up into her room, and Rykis climbed down to check up on her. “Neh-cole, are you okay?”

She nodded in the dim light, “Yes... now I am... That stuff really did a number on me didn’t it?” “I carried you back after the Kell dismissed us from the staging area. You slept through all of it,” Rykis said.   “I see...” She was still tired, and still scared of going back to sleep. But having Rykis here with her was making her feel better. “I was having a rough nightmare just a few moments ago...” He nodded thoughtfully. “I am also having issues sleeping. That was a terrifying situation we went through tonight.” “I think it's trivial to be scared if I could just be revived later. But I feel really bad that you had to go through that because of me.” Nicole put forward her thoughts. “To be honest, I could have decided not to go, but like I mentioned before I left, I am here to help you...” Rykis looked down at her and twiddled his thumbs, “But I would be lying if I say that I am glad I did.” “I get that, I’d rather not go and fight either; but that's apparently what Guardians are supposed to do,” Nicole sighed. “I don’t want to think about it... just wanna go back to sleep.” Rykis nodded and started back towards the ladder that led up to her room, but Nicole called back to him. “Wait... Rykis.” She hesitated. “Do you think you could stay here with me?”

Rykis stopped, and turned back around. His head cocked at an angle. “Are...are you sure?”

Nicole moved over, so that there was more space in the bed, she separated the blankets in two so they would each have one. “Just be sure that you don’t hit my leg.” He nodded slowly and came over. The bed was big enough for them to use and not touch. But she felt that just having him nearby would help her sleep. “That is... doable,” Rykis replied, crawling in beside her. “We’ll look into getting your Ghost fixed in the morning,”

“Sounds.. like... a... plan...” Nicole yawned out loud. She was grateful for the other presence with her. Even if he carefully stayed clear of her leg. He was a welcomed friend, and maybe more. Though that would be something to look into later; some feelings were still new to her, and would need time to develop.

They slept well, even into the next morning.

[cara-maitland-blog]

Pax Maitland || Lisa/Cara

Cara was in their quarters, a small suitcase open on the bed and clothes splayed out around it. The trip was only a day or two but she had no idea what to expect from Erin and Cheyenne, so she was in overplanning mode. She was pulling a black dress from her closet when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She held the dress against her and spoke over her shoulder. “What do you think of this? It’s versatile enough to cover...” She turned when she realized it wasn’t Ainsley that had come up. It was Lisa, standing at the top of the stairs, hands in her back pockets, rocking on her feet, unable to meet more than a passing glance at Cara’s eyes. 

“It’s nice,” Lisa offered with a weak smile. 

Slowly and deliberately Cara laid the dress out on the bed, as if moving too quickly would startle her niece and frighten her away. “Thanks. I um, I’m not sure what we’re doing, so...” She shrugged and waved vaguely at the clothes strewn about. 

“Ainsley said something about Las Vegas?” Lisa asked, still not moving any closer. 

Cara nodded, also not moving any closer. “Mhm, with Chey and Erin. I’ll probably end up in my room or at the blackjack tables most of the time,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She pushed a pair of jeans aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.” 

Lisa leaned a hip against the banister. Her hands met in front of her, fingers of one picking at the nails of the other. She nodded acknowledgement, letting Cara know she heard. “I um, still don’t know what to do with...what you told me,” she said, eyes trained on her hands. “I don’t know if asking more questions will make it better or worse, so I just...don’t get anywhere.” She glanced up through her lashes and back at her hands again. 

The fact that Lisa was here was a step, small as it might be. Cara tipped her head and chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “When I told you, or Ainsley or anyone for that matter, I didn’t do it looking for forgiveness,” she said, thinking that maybe that’s what Lisa was struggling with. “I reconciled myself to my path in life a very long time ago. The part that includes the work I did, as well as our family, and now this, Ridgeline, the pack here. It’s all a part of me, part of what’s made me who I am. And there’s not a single piece of it that anyone else needs to forgive.” She stood, hands clasped before her and took a couple of tentative steps toward Lisa. “If you want to know more, I will tell you what I can. Some things, obviously, I need to keep to myself. Contracts, confidentiality, safety, reasons like that.” 

Lisa finally looked up, brows furrowing as she thought about what Cara said. She was right: she couldn’t forgive it, but then, she didn’t have to. It wasn’t her life, it wasn’t the lives of anyone she knew, as far as she was aware. And, most importantly, it seemed that it was now in the past, that Cara had moved away from it in favor of Baldwin and Ainsley and the pack. The last word, however, caught her attention. “Safety?” she repeated. But then a moment’s thought and she realized how dangerous it might be and she nodded understanding. “You’re done with all that, right?” 

Cara held up her hands defensively, palms out before her. “I’m done. Everything that I’ve learned, what I know of tactics and defense and such, I’ll put into training the pack and protecting the people I love. That doesn’t mean going off killing indiscriminately. But when it’s necessary, like Sloane’s maker? Yeah, I’ll do it. Because I can, and so neither of you have to.” 

It made sense, Lisa supposed, in a turned-around and twisted way. She still wasn’t exactly sure what to make if this knowledge about someone she knew for her entire life to be warm and generous and loving. She was doing mental and emotional gymnastics, but it seemed to be helping. “Okay. I’ll, um, let you finish packing,” she said as she pushed off from the banister. “Have a safe trip.” 

“Lisa,” Cara called, taking another step but not reaching out, not yet. She didn’t think Lisa was quite ready for that. When her niece stopped and turned, Cara said, “When I get back, when you have time, I’d like to talk to you about building a house here. This,” she said, looking around at the small quarters before settling back on Lisa, “isn’t going to last long with two of us here.” 

Lisa paused, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’m going to be tied up for a few days, but once that project’s done my decks are pretty clear for a while.” 

Cara smiled. It was another step. “Great. You know where to find me whenever you’re ready. And Lisa? Thank you for coming up tonight.” 

Lisa managed a weak smile. “You’re welcome. And uh, congratulations on the whole bonding thing, with Ainsley. I wondered if that would happen. Figured if it didn’t happen for you two, whoever was in charge of that has a fucked up sense of humor.” 

Cara’s smile broadened. “Oh I think who or whatever is in charge definitely has a fucked up sense of humor. But thank you. See you in a couple days, yeah?” 

[thevelonaut]

Homefront.

This is absolutely classics country. Fortunately, any semblance of romance gives way, quickly, to pain and frustration. On the way South East, I’d known in my heart of hearts that a tailwind (and occasionally swipey cross-wind) was helping me out. I knew that I’d be turning back into it, and that however gentle it felt as we wandered the streets of Brux, it would be multiplied significantly as I crept back across the ridgey-flats of the North West. The reason that the early-season classics are a hotch-potch of gurn, of hellish faces and awful weather, is much the same as the reason why this was a crap place for a crap war; once the sun goes in (and to some extent when it’s out), the endless flat lands, farm smells, headwinds, sideways drizzle and cobbled tracks become as steadfast an obstacle as the Pyrenean cols, the switchbacks of d’Huez, the ramps of the mighty Lecht. I’d prefer some hardy cols to this. It’s the kind of place suited for those broad-shouldered monsters of the old days, who could puncheur into wind like a force of nature. I can, for a bit. For a little bit.

The fifth day / Brussels → Ieper

Ypres, the French call it. Some five days (and 100 years) after the Battle of Paschendaele, I roll into Ypres through the Menenpoort. I say roll, I think it was the least uphill-feeling part of the day. I’d hung out with HC, her brother and sister-in-law in Brussels for two days. I’d had a cheeky swim to spin my legs, I’d noted a twinge in my groin which I imagine is due to over-cranking a gear for 200k, loaded with luggage, and not ever stretching it en route. I curse it. It needs rest, two days probably won’t cut it, and the Cambium isn’t so comfy after a four or five hour day. Maybe leather is better. I think so. I’ll flog it.

Anyway, I was up and out at 8am; the paths and back streets of Brussels are fairly easy to navigate, and the sun was out to remind me to head in a NWerly direction. I ended up on the ring-road and saw no way to head further north without a) riding on a motorway or b) turning back and trying again from about 3 miles back. With a 90-mile day ahead, I decided to head for Aalst, due west of Brussels, then turn to the north-west after about 30km. It wasn’t the worst idea. The pastoral, calm canalside riding that had seen me down seemed to desert me; instead, I was often on paths alongside the murder roads of NW Belgium, caning it up decentish-tracks and pavements, lamenting the canopied, wind-free joyfest of days two and three. This is another of my problems - I never set out a good return trip. Or, perhaps, I am so addled by the sense of return that I fail to enjoy what is nice about it. Or, the wind is a hell-ferret that never stopped in its attempts to break me. Eventually I stopped at a Spar and sprayed my face with Appletiser, and at 2.30pm when the sun hot-spongs for a spell, I applied suncream and ate a baguette and houmous on a housing estate by a dual carriageway. If it sounds exciting, then it is. I picked up a little of that TCR spirit. Fuck the views.. they all look like this anyway. 

They do. Seriously. I did about 90k of this. There were marginally more leaves on the trees, but most of them were blowing into my face. Still, it is pancake flat, ironing board, smooth as Christ riding. Let’s not mince words. Easy-hard. Or hard-easy.

I get to Oudenaarde, then Wevelgem, and hit the final 20k to Ypres where I know there is a campings. Those last km are sign-posted all to hell with Commonwealth War Graves. Evocative names, famous craters, hills, memorials, regiments; atop the ridgeline, white crosses, monoliths and megaliths, the bright stalagmites that point to where most peoples innards ended up; scattered into the pressing wind, lovely human beings fractioned into micro-particles, cast into a land ever-fertile for the growing of war-dead cabbages and sprouts. They say each breath you take will contain at least an oxygen molecule that Julius Caesar himself would have inhaled. (They don’t say that in the song. They should.) Along the Menen road, you are sucking in the literal and figurative remains of almost a whole generation of human beings.

I don’t like it. I’d seen Ypres was en route to Dunkirk, from where I spring home, and figured that it made sense to pass through. If I did a long-day-short-day two-day ride then I could stay here. I crept in through the gate; the sun is now out glorious, and the town is a magnificent sight. HC navigates me (she’s in London, having taken a bus to the station in Brussels, a train to London, and a bus home in the time it has taken me to yam some houmous in a lay-by) to the campsite; it’s a nice one, if you ignore the Canadian grave-baggers in the mobile homes, the people wearing T-shirts that name regiments and feature photographs of eternally-young great-great-uncles. I put up camp, wash, and stroll to Lidl to bag the last baguette, 3-flavour houmous (oh MY ACTUAL GOD THIS IS AMAZING) and a tin of mackerel. Whilst I demolish this on Ypres square, I note a bunch of people dressed in their going-out clothes walking purposely through town. I’d forgotten that they play The Last Post every night at the Gate, and ambled along covered in beetroot and parsnip dip to pay my respects.

Except I didn’t really know how to. Or why I should? TO what, exactly, am I paying respect? And where are the Germans? Why is the Poort covered with only the Allied dead? And it’s nice that we honour the Indian regiments, when they were forced to dig so many trenches and graves, and be treated like shit for the privilege. Plus, I recently read that an explicit promise to release India from the Commonwealth in return for military support was never honoured. So, really, the whole thing leaves a strange taste in the mouth. Not just the race, the nationalism, the anti-nationalism, the visible lack of outreach; the spectacle itself feels like a fetish. There cannot be a person here who actually knew the dead of Ypres; too much time has gone by. And it is important that we honour this stupidity in order that we may not see its like again. But the crowds, the iPhones, the inane chat when it’s finished. I wasn’t in the mood. Is it the case that a ride across the Maginot Line is the perfect pace to consider the distance and futility of a war that became a mass-grave, formed into a perfect borderline? The Last Post had been, on some unconscious level, playing in my head for hours. It’s the soundtrack of a dark, sad place. So, so sad.

I woke at 6.30am the next day and hotfooted it out of town.

The sixth day / Ieper → Dunkirk → Dover → London Bridge → My bed.

The roads from Ypres to the border were quiet, uneventful, still windy. I got lost two or three times. I’d cycle later this month with my friend Ed, who uses Strava and Garmin and magic; the ease of navigation with devices astounds me. It picks out exactly where you are, and tells you exactly where to go. I almost give in to the temptation to update my by-now 4 year-old Blackberry to something worth a shit, that could do such things. Handlebar mounts for phones don’t do it for me, though. I use every square millimetre of space on a handlebar for, well, my hands. So... not yet. The phone still works. I got lost. Added six miles onto a 40-mile day. Nae bother.

I reached Oost-Capel after a spell of anonymity. I craved a coffee, hoped this French border town would have someplace to sit. It did not.. Belgian towns are decidedly absent of cafes, I know not why. It’s one of those subtle differences; you feel as if you are in France, but it’s the upside-down version. Instead of a nice cafe, there are about ten border guards sleepily waving down cars, mirror-checking the chassis, asking where people are off to. It’s an unsettling sight, but they wave me right by. (The guards at the port would later give me the same bored wave-through. I’m not carrying weapons of mass destruction (400k of fixed touring has savaged my groin and patella, mind you) but it’s both curious and somewhat alarming that a bike can get through to the ferry easily.)

There’s a nice small walled city called Bergues, where I stop for a brew. I dip the remains of last night’s baguette into it, soaking up about half that black glorious. I love soaking bread in coffee, but even though I still get the coffee, I feel like I’m denying myself something. Bergues is right pretty; I trace the little canal network to the North and take a cycle path alongside a canal to Dunkirk. It’s the nicest part of the day. I reach Dunkirk at about 12.30pm, and orbit the old town for an hour or so, then take the dock road up toward the ferry port. I load my bright pink musette with a lunch from Lidl, carry it over a motorway overpass, under a gyratory, behind a Travelodge, past some cranes, around ten roundabouts, over another autoroute, along a busy truck road, around a slag pile and just beneath some fire-spewing chimneys. The ferry port is not a pretty place. Pretty, in that industrial sense, which is to say not so pretty at all. I eat lunch in the weird cafe where no staff work, only machines; it’s a post-Marxist approach to the service industry. I wonder if the docking ferry in front of me is driven by a human being. I think about all those human beings who waited for a boat home in 1940 and all the ones that never got a chance to leave the cruddy fields of Flanders. I am covered in houmous, again, at a moment of silent contemplation. The world is a calm sea, choppy in the middle, and some white chalky downs that leap out of the channel at Dover. Everyone takes photographs of the sharp teeth of England’s mouth, opening up in a bucolic snarl to gobble up its visitors. Pretty soon, I am in torrential rain outside Dover station, throbbing legs, pack of peanuts, Spar lemon-lime and a newspaper to tell me what I missed.

Tour over. Legs recover. I pull out of London Bridge and spin crazy-legs to home. HC makes porridge. The sun goes down.

[ridingthatbike]

Mud bog slumber party

It’s high thunderstorm season in Western PA. We’ve been having one and sometimes two big storms every day for a week. There’s roadway flooding all around the city and suburbs. There’s no rain forecast for exactly one and a half days. This will be great! The mud will be knee deep, the multiflora rose will be lush and scratchy, and the underbrush will be face-height. Let’s go camping!

This is not the first time I’ve gone mudboggin’ at Raccoon Creek, (recall the time the mud pulled the soles right off of my old boots) so this time I insisted on knee-length gaiters for everybody, and we came out fully intact. 

I hardly saw any poison ivy, and there were very few mosquitoes as well, despite how wet it was -- the stinky crunch of skunk cabbage underfoot does a good job reminding you of how low and damp this area is, even in the driest of summers. 

We approached this trip as a learning expedition, in a way that I haven’t really previously -- pretty often, I am either physically training my body when I’m backpacking, or I’m looking at it as an escape or destination. This time, it was more about skills practice. This was Kelli’s first backpacking trip, and only Becky’s second, and it was also just my second trip in the role of Excitable Experienced Person with Something to Teach My Friends, and we were all looking forward to practicing some skills out in the woods. A difficult and important one for each of us individually is stopping to reassess and rebuild a plan as needed, because we all tend to really like Having a Plan and Executing the Plan, to our own detriment at times.

The day was hot and incredibly humid (this will not be a surprise if you remember the part where I said it’s summer thunderstorm season and that we are in Western Pennsylvania, but the toll those conditions take on a body surprises me every time). We mapped out a loop around the western side of the park to get to our camp spot, slowly and steadily making our way up and down the hillsides, through the mud, getting acclimated. We burned through our water fairly quickly, really at a perfect time, since we were near an intersection of the trail and a dirt road, and had not yet started the couple mile stretch with no stream crossings. Just a few hundred feet down the dirt road was a stream crossing. I could see it as we approached, and despite the rain, it was low and muddy, and I was irritated with myself for bringing a steripen instead of the pump filter for water treatment. But as we got closer, I could hear some rushing water. Where? I couldn’t see it! There was a fast, clear source coming through the culvert under the road. Perfect perfect perfect. Becky and Kelli got water treatment practice, a beautiful butterfly (later remembered by Becky to be called a great spangled fritillary!) came to visit, and we decided that the dirt road seemed awfully nice, and maybe let’s just take this route for a while instead of battling face-height rose thorns.

Hey thanks, convenient culvert!

Great spangled fritillary! This butterfly wanted nothing to do with me or Kelli!

We hiked the last few miles down the road and back onto the trail to our spot, where we’d reserved a shelter, though none of us ended up sleeping in it. Becky and I set up hammocks, and Kelli cowboy camped on the ground, in a little triangle, very much like a slumber party. I was so pleased - am so pleased - am maybe still a bit giddy, in fact - to have had the opportunity to use the knot tying skills I’ve been practicing. We set up our hammocks, and then I tied up a ridgeline for Becky to clip her bug net onto. I guyed out the rain fly for my hammock (so tightly that I didn’t use a ridgeline for it!), and then set up some clothes lines for us to dry out our sweaty hiking clothes. I am pleased to report that everything stayed as tied, and that my rain fly was as taut in the morning as it was when I set it up. 

So proud of my knots!

It was too hot for any of us to want to build a fire, so fire skills practice for Kelli and Becky will have to wait for a future trip, but we cooked a big lovely dinner and breakfast, so everybody got to run the camp stove for a while, and that’s another skill to learn, so we really didn’t miss the fire. We made a lentil and potato chowder with skillet biscuits, and ate horrifying quantities of Girl Scout cookies, safely squirreled away by Kelli for just such an appropriate moment. 

Note that I am dressed as though it is 1980 and I am a character in the movie Wet Hot American Summer. I’m fine with it.

A damn fine dinner.

The moment the temperature dropped to the dew point, the grass instantly became covered in droplets of water, soaking our feet as we moved around camp. We began to quiet down as the fireflies emerged, slowly at first, and then in full force, filling the campsite completely with their flashing. We were mesmerized and lulled into sleep.

Fixing morning coffee, to be followed by a hearty breakfast. 

While we were packing up, Becky gasped, and pointed out the biggest spider I have ever seen in my life. So big that you really want to have something in the photo to illustrate the scale but it’s too scary to get that close, so Kelli volunteered to put her hand in front of the spider so I could at least get a rough approximation. It was definitely at least as big as the palm of my hand. I looked it up when I got home (true confession: I googled the phrase “biggest spider in Pennsylvania” for drama’s sake) and learned about fishing spiders. There are two kinds -- ones that live by the water, and eat water skimmer bugs and small fish (for real!) -- and ones that live in wooded areas and just eat bugs like your average spider. They are apparently pretty shy, and while they are capable of biting humans, they are more likely to run away than to bite, and even if you do get a bite, it is only as bad as a mosquito or house spider bite. I was thrilled. Becky and Kelli are badasses, who harbor some deep misgivings about spiders that big, and still indulged my curiosity and hung around to let me get photos. Y’all, this guy is missing a leg. This is a seven-legged battle-weary veteran spider. At this point, we are all very pleased with our choices of sleeping location.

We hiked on out through the rest of the deep mud, down the steep hillside, past the almost-ripe black raspberries, back up into the patch of woods we’d come in through, and wound our way down into the mineral springs for one last cool-down before arriving back at the trail head, beating the day’s storm by about two hours. 

I think I’m the number one gaiter fan.

There are so many black raspberries out at Raccoon Creek. They probably peaked in ripeness two days after this hike. 

Such a good trip -- somewhat ridiculous to do a backpacking trip right before heading out on a long bike trip, because of the packing/unpacking/repacking logistics, but I’m so glad we went!

[mr-pangea]

RPG Life

RPG’S

           Role Playing Games (RPG) are the first type I want to stop on, as I believe they are the most applicable to what I’m discussing here. One of the first RPG’s was (you guessed it) Dungeons and Dragons. While RPG’s get their roots from the tabletop system, I’m not delving into that world. There is plenty of information regarding tabletop games and I’m not a historian; I’m just a sometime gamer.

           RPG’s are invaluable to the discerning mind. At the beginning of most RPG’s you design your character. Some of this comes in the form of physical attributes, while others are down to your characters skill level and “character type. During the process of these games we learn time management, attention to detail. You learn to ration supplies, and there is constant exploration. How many people can attest to spending hours inside a game, wandering the far reaches of the playable map in search of elusive game prizes hidden in the mist.

           What if you converted some of that enthusiasm into your every day life? Yeah I know, not as much fun. Do it anyway. A simple thing you could do is go take a walk, explore your neighborhood. Not all that glamorous, but neither is level grinding when what you need is to come up strong against a mini-boss.

Ready for a hard one? Say hello to a stranger. Flex those interpersonal skills. It’s hard! But think about how you’ll run up to every blank-staring NPC (Non-Player Character) in a video game and initiate a conversation on the off chance that they have a piece of the puzzle to help you towards your Ultimate Quest. Do the same thing here. I have a favorite quote from Timothy Leary, and the tail end of the quote reads like this: “Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others…”

 I love RPG’s. I always have. A huge success in the RPG world was the Bethesda released “Skyrim”. One of my favorite things to do in Skyrim since beating the game is to climb to the top of ridgelines and find dramatic views to perch at. I had a Saturday off about a year ago; it was literally a day off, with not an errand to run or chore to get done around the house. I sat down and fired up the game, intent on exploring a mountain range to the south when it dawned on me that I had the time and energy to go find a real dramatic view.

A short time later I was in the parking lot for a trail called Tinker Cliffs. I had run the trail a few times, but I hadn’t hiked it for the view in a long time. I stepped onto the trail with the full intent of enjoy the length and breadth of the hike.

I know hiking is not everyone’s cup of tea, and I’m not saying go do a hike this minute. My suggestion is to get out and do something new, something that is foreign to you, but easily accessible. Hence saying, go for a walk around the neighborhood earlier.

 Here is a fantastic point from RPG’s that most people don’t pick up on. GET RID OF THE USELESS EXTRA SHIT THAT’S LYING AROUND. Now that I finished yelling… look around you. How much crap do you really need? Yes sometimes that odd collection of seashells, or the collectors’ edition action figures might have some value to you. Do you really need all those magazines you’re never going to look at though? How about the socks with holes in them? (I’m guilty of this one).

In most games you have a finite amount of space for storing your loot, be it ammo or treasure. Maybe your character can only carry so much weight (also true in real life). When the time comes, you look at your inventory, determine what you do and don’t need, and will literally dump the garbage loot wherever you’re standing. Sometimes this could end up being recovered later on, but the point is that in a game, you know when too much is too much and you adjust your character to accommodate.

           Do this in real life. Pick one small thing, that fortune from your fortune cookie from last months Chinese buffet visit and chuck it into the trash. I know it seems small and insignificant, but if you start the process, soon purging your real life inventory will be something you look forward to.

I want to go back to the hard task I had mentioned earlier: talking to people. You know before we had all these cool electronics, conversation was a thing. I am totally aware of everyone needing to be plugged in these days, however we as a species are constantly seeking contact. “I don’t actually care, I don’t need anyone.” False. You can put this down and walk away now, but you know I’m right. In this instance, you’re the person who needs it the most, you care SO much and you feel so isolated that to come out of your shell and let someone in absolutely terrifies you; that’s fine. It’s ok. The tricky part now is allowing yourself to go initiate the conversation.

Think about a game; you walk up, hit a button and start conversing. It is that easy. Pick a safe place, a good one being a line in a grocery store. No, don’t go to the self-checkout, this is an exercise. Stand in line with your toilet paper and bread and ask someone for the time. It is that simple. If you have an argument against this you’re afraid to try. It’s ok to be afraid, as long as you admit it to yourself. Once you’re open about fear, it is easier to remove its control over you.

 I feel now is a good time to touch on a subject that correlates well with your interpersonal skills: status effects. When you’re character has gotten some kind of status effect (this could be poisoned, slowed, tired, etc.) you get the potion or perform whatever task you need to get your character back in top shape.

You can do the same thing with yourself. I’m not talking about just popping a few ibuprofens for a headache. Let’s go back to my example of being afraid to talk to a person in line at a grocery store. You know it’s uncomfortable and you are nervous about the interaction. It’s a fear-based situation, right? It’s your body reacting, it’s your “characters programming”.

One simple way to address this is to “reprogram” yourself. You can do this in stages, gradually building yourself up to that grocery line conversation. If you’re in an RPG you control your characters interactions, so from your perspective, you can control your own interactions.

Another way you might approach this is to prepare yourself. Sometimes when playing, you’ll take a potion to protect against status effects. Maybe the day you’ve decided to talk to someone in the grocer y store, you decide to wear your favorite t-shirt, or put on that lipstick that makes you feel good. Build up your own confidence! In every game you play, you’re starting off as a 0. If you feel as if your character’s status is low, crank up the dial on that bad boy. It’s Your Choice; you decide what happens in Your RPG.

[wasilewskitbfrostzn64insura-blog]

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dodge truck insurance

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dodge truck insurance

[localfreshies]

New Post has been published on Local Freshies | Be a local wherever you go

New Post has been published on https://localfreshies.com/lassoing-corn-snow-at-lassen-volcanic-national-park/

Lassoing Corn Snow At Lassen Volcanic National Park

There’s a BIG push in the ski industry to glamorize powder. Of course, we LOVE the wintry form of snow, but there’s something we love nearly as much… corn. This elusive type of snow doesn’t form well in all mountain ranges and takes a special type of weather phenomenon to create the perfect slate. But when it does, it’s magical. Think of it as powder… but with warm weather and sunshine. That’s why when we got the invite from our friends at Outdoor Adventure Club to make a last-minute trip skiing Lassen Volcanic National Park, we dropped everything and headed north.

Flowers, Green Grass, & We’re Going Skiing?

As we awoke in the sleepy town of Mineral, the early sun rays painted the landscape outside our window. Everywhere we looked, spring was in full bloom. The aspen’s chartreuse yellow leaves fluttered in the pleasant light breeze. Fresh daffodils blossomed on rolling hills. The only hint of winter’s grasp that remained was the frost on top of the cars. And yet only a few miles away at Lassen National Park, the snowpack was over twenty feet deep.

Snow Twenty Feet Deep In May?

Photo by: Local Freshies

Our team quickly assembles and creates a plan for the day with a few different options depending on how we felt. With a game plan set, we fly out of the house excited for the corn harvest. The winding road through the tall forest of pines contains spots of dirty snow here and there but for the most part has transitioned to a full spring road. It wasn’t until we pass the sign to the park that we get a glimpse of the ten-thousand-foot peak. The snow is so deep that from here the mountain looks like it could be mid-winter. Sides of the road at some places are over twenty deep. Wow!

The Ants Go Marching One By One

Photo by: Local Freshies

Pulling into the lot around 6:45 am, there’s over a dozen people gearing up for the day. We do the same. Stepping onto the snow, the heat from the sunshine makes us want to peel our 1st layer already. Uh oh. Is the snow going to be manky? The only way to find out is to begin the climb.

Hard Work Leads To Amazing Views

Photo by: Local Freshies

As we get away from the heat of the asphalt and into the shade of the trees, the snow is firm and crusty. Whew! A great sign that it’s going to take a bit of time to soften. Trudging through the canopy of tall trees, the snow looks less pristine. Pine needles, particles of dirt, and other natural material cover the surface. After about an hour of climbing, we quickly exit the forest and are now on an open ridgeline. The views are amazing and above us is the first slope we’re going to ski.

Not A Single Track On The Slope

As our eyes look at the slope, the entire face has not a single track on it. A perfect clean slate. This is one of the best parts of spring skiing… mother nature does the grooming. How? Well, through the melt-freeze cycle after three or four days, any tracks that were made will be totally gone. Suddenly, we hear voices behind us. Oh no! It’s time to put ourselves into high gear.

First To The Top… Means Dibs

Huffing and puffing, we trudge up to the top making sure that we’re the first. Regardless, we know where we want to ski and don’t want our lines to get poached. An unwritten law in backcountry skiing is the first person to ascend gets dibs. Making it to the top, we transition from touring mode to snowboarding mode. As the group below us arrives at the summit, we exchange pleasantries and ask where we’re all skiing. We find out that they have different plans, so our untouched landscape is truly all ours.

Perfect Snow + Perfect Pitch = Heaven

The only tracks on the slope… are ours. Photo by: Local Freshies

We high five and point it down the slope. Was all the hard work worth it? As we roll over the first pitch and put in our first turns, the answer is a resounding YES!!! The snow is perfection as only the first few inches have softened. I can’t hold the excitement back and let out a howl… “YEEEAHHHHHHH!!!!! BABY!!!!” Bouncing from turn to turn, it’s the best corn of the season. At the bottom, we glance back at our handiwork. With a huge grin, we look at each other and say, “The slope has been slayed.”

Time To Get Some More Goodness

Grabbing a bite to eat at the bottom, we take in the glow of what we just did. Were we ready to get some more? Heck yeah! While the southeast had softened just right for the morning, in the PM it would be TOO soft. The plan is to ski a more northerly face. We split apart our snowboards and change them into ski mode for our next climb. This time with the snow so soft, we make the decision to put on our crampons. Shuffling out of the valley, we yet again begin our climb. Making it into the trees, our choice was a simple left or right. We chose left. From what we could tell at the time, either direction seemed about the same… boy were we wrong.

The Hardest Climb Ever…

Slowly, the climb changes from a moderate pitch to what is the steepest face I’ve ever climbed. With us still considering ourselves “beginner” backcountry tour enthusiasts, maybe it isn’t as steep as it feels to us. One of our experienced team members confirms that this is a “heinous” skin track, clocking in at over 30 degrees. That did make us feel better, but with no way out, the only option is to keep climbing. Step by step we slowly and painstakingly drag ourselves up.

We Made it!

After what seems like an eternity on a steep face, we make it to the ridgeline. Ah… sweet mercy thank goodness. The two choices from here are to ski the same face or put in a bit more work and shred a north slope. We all feel like a bit more work is worth it for better snow. As we traverse over to our next peak, this seems like child’s play compared to what we were just on.

Yet Another Face To Shred

Photo by: Local Freshies

Standing at the top and looking down, most of the terrain has been tracked. Suddenly, I see an entire segment from top to bottom that is untracked! We quickly strap in and drop down onto it. Turn after turn comes so easily. Picking up the pace, the snow is just as good as the first run. At the bottom, we look up again at our handiwork… perfection.

We vow, as Local Freshies®, to make it up to ski Lassen Volcanic National Park every spring. Promise!

[jacewilliams1]

Low and fast – a bad combination

Some pilots know that I am opposed to the practice of low-altitude flying for thrill purposes. This includes buzzing airports, houses, friends etc. While researching for this article and a presentation I gave on the subject, I found that this subject is debated by others as well. One person I debated years ago said that this practice is “perfectly safe.” So let’s start the discussion there. Is low altitude flying, often called “maneuvering flight” by the NTSB, or sometimes called “buzzing,” or to borrow a term from the Navy, “flat hatting,” perfectly safe? If you think the practice is legal and safe – change my mind. Comment on this article.

The Navy banned low altitude flying or “flat hatting” decades ago because of the aircraft and aircrew losses they suffered. The Navy wisely enshrined its opposition to such flying in OPNAVINST 3710.7 under Part 5.5.1.6 titled Flat Hatting, which noted:

“Flat hatting or any maneuvers conducted at low altitude and/or a high rate of speed for thrill purposes over land or water are prohibited. Any acts conducted for thrill purposes are strictly prohibited.”

And added, “Pilots shall not perform or request clearance to perform unusual maneuvers within class B, C, or D airspace if such maneuvers are not essential to the performance of the flight. ATC personnel are not permitted to approve a pilot’s request or ask a pilot to perform such maneuvers. Unusual maneuvers include unnecessary low passes, unscheduled fly-bys, climbs at very steep angles, practice approaches to altitudes below specific minimums (unless a landing is to be made), or any so-called flat hatting wherein a flight is conducted at a low altitude and/or a high rate of speed for thrill purposes.”

In a fast airplane, it’s tempting to fly low.

Even though the practice is banned, the Navy lost a T-45 and two pilots last year for this behavior. The Air Force lost two pilots on April 3, 2004, at Savannah, Georgia, in a T-6 Texan II for similar reasons.

The 2017 Nall Report issued by AOPA for data from 2014 reported 53 accidents (29 fatal) involving maneuvering flight. The report’s authors noted:

“The great majority of fixed-wing maneuvering accidents, whether losses of control or collisions with obstructions, are initiated at low altitude. Some occur in the traffic pattern, but many of the crashes following unintended stalls and nearly all collisions with power lines, broadcast towers, and ridgelines arise directly from the pilot’s decision to fly needlessly low in inappropriate locations, making spins unrecoverable and leaving the airplane vulnerable to obstacles that could easily have been overflown. Very often these sudden impacts are not survivable, so maneuvering accidents are consistently one of the two top causes of deaths in general aviation.”

The general aviation fleet has suffered more than a few of these kinds of accidents (usually fatal). Years ago a 15,000 hour, ATP-rated Lancair 360 pilot buzzed his own house in Placerville, California, after picking up his daughter from college. The pilot pitched up into a steep attitude, stalled the aircraft and crashed in his neighbor’s front yard. The NTSB database is filled with many stories like this.

Another pilot posted this on a blog:

“I posted a video of my Legacy and what you see is a ‘low approach’ directly over the runway a maneuver that is perfectly legal and safe [emphasis added]. Everybody I have met that has seen the video has enjoyed it. I’m sorry that some feel it demonstrates reckless behavior, I simply disagree. I built my airplane to enjoy and I’m proud of the video we shot. For those that may be unhappy with my video I’d rather you just appreciate it for what it is and go on your way without comment.”

Was he correct? Is it safe?

How low is too low? This definitely is.

Maybe a better question is, “What are the hazards of low altitude maneuvering flight and is the flight worth the risk?” As a former military bombardier/navigator, I can tell you Navy aircrews flew very low and very fast for a living, at night, in the mountains, before NVGs came along and sometimes in poor weather. We received extensive training and spent many hours practicing so we could do it as safely as possible. What were the hazards? Misjudgment of altitude and terrain, other aircraft, bird strikes, wires, towers, emergencies or abnormalities at low altitudes that distracted us from flying the jet, etc. In spite of the hours of training and practice, we lost many aircraft and aircrew to CFIT (controlled flight into terrain).

During my research on this topic, I read a report about an accident that occurred near Minneapolis, Minnesota, involving a Cessna 172 that hit a wire crossing the Mississippi River. The report includes a link to a video recorded by a witness on the ground. In this case the pilot was likely unaware of and did not see the wire in time to avoid it. That is one hazard of low altitude maneuvering flight. There are many more.

When I debated this topic with a group of pilots in our region, they opined that low altitude flying is legal. Is it? Check out these videos and ask yourself, “Is it legal?”

https://www.facebook.com/mike.weaver.127201/videos/1760768977302575/?t=10

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7547fxKVos

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lMGUTeQZEu0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6OAEGPVcvhU

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=airplane+water+skiing

Consider the regulation that governs aircraft altitude during flight. 14 CFR §91.119 states:

Minimum safe altitudes: General.

Except when necessary for takeoff or landing, no person may operate an aircraft below the following altitudes:

(a) Anywhere. An altitude allowing, if a power unit fails, an emergency landing without undue hazard to persons or property on the surface.

(b) Over congested areas. Over any congested area of a city, town, or settlement, or over any open air assembly of persons, an altitude of 1,000 feet above the highest obstacle within a horizontal radius of 2,000 feet of the aircraft.

(c) Over other than congested areas. An altitude of 500 feet above the surface, except over open water or sparsely populated areas. In those cases, the aircraft may not be operated closer than 500 feet to any person, vessel, vehicle, or structure.

What is open water? There’s a specific definition.

So let’s break this regulation down. The first paragraph says “except when necessary for takeoff or landing no person may operate an aircraft below the following altitudes…” So unless you are truly taking off or landing, you cannot go below either 500 feet agl or 1000 feet agl, depending on the congested area portion of the rule. Clearly in the case described by the Legacy owner, he was not intending to take off or land. Just because there is a patch of concrete with numbers and a centerline does not give one authorization to play Maverick – but I’ll come back to that later.

The second paragraph says, “at least 1000 feet above the highest obstacle within 2000 feet of the aircraft when operating over congested areas of cities, towns, or settlements, or open air assemblies of persons” – pretty clear, right? What is an open air assembly of persons? How about a ball game, or county fair, or three people standing on the ramp?

The third paragraph causes some confusion and misunderstanding because of its construct, but let’s break it down. It is easy to understand if you divide the paragraph into its clauses or parts. The first clause is, “Over other than congested areas. An altitude of 500 feet above the surface.” This clause means you cannot go below 500 feet agl over other than congested areas – period.

The second part of this paragraph provides an exception when over open water and sparsely populated areas. It says “…except over open water or sparsely populated areas. In those cases, the aircraft may not be operated closer than 500 feet to any person, vessel, vehicle, or structure.” So over open water or sparsely populated areas you can go down to the surface. What is “open water?” Well, the FAA defines “open water” on the back of aeronautical charts. Basically it is off the east coast or west coast, over the Great Lakes and Great Salt Lake, as explained in the graphic.

Some pilots have learned the hard way that there are rules about low flying – even at airports.

What is “sparsely populated”? Unfortunately the FAA does not define this term so we have to turn to NTSB administrative law judge rulings to see how the Federal government has interpreted this regulation. This website is instructive on these issues.

If you put 91.119 into the search parameters you can find lucky aviators who have been suspended for buzzing airports like the one below who was busted by our local FAA FSDO inspector for buzzing a nearby airport. The inspector was driving out to the airport and saw the infraction and so it began.

As I said earlier, this topic is not unique to one particular community of pilots. Check out this discussion on Van’s Air Force. Most pilots there are advocates for low altitude flying; some are not. I think most know it’s not legal, hence their comments. One interesting comment came from a wise CFI:

Interesting posts. Let’s see if I can summarize:

The rules are for everyone else, not me. 

I can do whatever I want, as long as I’m willing to lie about it.

If I do it at some other airport, it’s okay.

If someone reports me for doing something wrong, they’re the bad guy.

If no one sees me doing it, no problemo.

If I’m not sure it’s okay, I’ll do it anyway – easier to ask forgiveness rather than permission.

What happened to being a good neighbor? What happened to the rules? The more noise we make close to the ground and the more people we aggravate, the sooner we end up loosing [sic] our privilege of flight. Sometimes, even being “right” doesn’t matter. Have fun and fly safe. 

Terry, CFI

Like Terry CFI, I see some pilots believe their “right” to have fun in their airplane cannot be infringed by anyone. They mistakenly believe that the airspace belongs solely to them for their enjoyment. Some erroneously believe that they can see all traffic in the pattern all the time, know where all the hazards are, or believe that all towers and utility lines are charted on sectional charts (they are not). I wish I was omniscient like them. Some of this bad behavior is exacerbated by social media like YouTube where pilots are encouraged to post video of themselves doing stupid things in airplanes. These pilots don’t like to follow the regulations in the air and perhaps anywhere else.

The FAA has researched and commented on these poor pilot traits. The following is an excerpt from the FAA publication, Pilot’s Handbook of Aeronautical Knowledge:

The FAA oversaw an extensive research study on the similarities and dissimilarities of accident-free pilots and those who were not. The project surveyed over 4,000 pilots, half of whom had “clean” records while the other half had been involved in an accident.

Five traits were discovered in pilots prone to having accidents. These pilots:

have disdain toward rules.

have very high correlation between accidents on their flying records and safety violations on their driving records.

frequently fall into the “thrill and adventure seeking” personality category.

are impulsive rather than methodical and disciplined, both in their information gathering and in the speed and selection of actions to be taken.

have a disregard for or tend to underutilize outside sources of information, including copilots, flight attendants, flight service personnel, flight instructors, and ATC.

As pilots we have a tremendous responsibility to our families, passengers, our community and to ourselves to set a high bar for safe operations. Set a good example for others to follow and stay safe!

The post Low and fast – a bad combination appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2019/04/low-and-fast-a-bad-combination/

[themoneybuff-blog]

Questions About Fuel Efficiency, Savings Bonds, Materialism, and More!

Whats inside? Here are the questions answered in todays reader mailbag, boiled down to summaries of five or fewer words. Click on the number to jump straight down to the question. 1. Trading up for fuel efficiency 2. Average age of credit accounts 3. Switching to one vehicle 4. Found this great stock! 5. Canadian pharmacies 6. The rental lifestyle 7. Investing in treasury notes 8. Toaster oven purchase 9. Series EE savings bonds? 10. Spotify worth it? 11. Library book sale excess 12. Books on curbing materialism I regularly spend a lot of time thinking about ideas that are really useful in shaping my life as a whole, with personal finance as a significant part of that life. The challenge for me is relating those ideas in a context so that their value to my financial life is clear. I basically see life as a series of interconnected areas. Physical health. Mental health. Focus and concentration. Spirituality. Intellectual ideas. Marriage. Parenting. Key social relationships. Community relationships. Hobbies. Finances. All of those things are interconnected. All of those areas have at least one strong connection between each of those other areas. Your finances do not live in a bubble. I could literally write an article on the connection between any two of those things. In fact, I might actually write an article about each of those areas and how they connect to finances. Because of that perspective, when I find an idea thats really useful in one area, it turns out that the idea is often useful in many other areas as well because it tugs on those connections. For The Simple Dollar, Im interested in all of those things, but Im particularly interested in exploring that areas connection to finances and how that improvement lifts up ones financial state. That goes alongside topics that are focused largely on financial benefits, like frugality topics. The truth is that if I didnt see those connections to finances and I didnt realize how much the other areas of my life support good healthy financial habits, financial independence would be a far more difficult journey. While the actual mechanical steps for improving ones finances are easy, maintaining them requires strong connections and support from the other areas in life, which is something Ive really come to appreciate in recent years. Its all connected. On with the questions. Q1: Trading up for fuel efficiency I am trying to make a decision about trading in my vehicle for a more gas efficient one. My daily driver is a Jeep Wrangler and while I enjoy driving it, it isnt so great on gas mileage. I currently relocated to California where gas prices are higher than my previous home in Texas. With my commute to work alone (approx. 40 miles) I spend about $100 a week on gas. My Jeep is paid off, but Im wondering if it makes sense to trade it in for something that does a little better on the gas mileage front. Crunching the numbers, it makes sense to think about trading it in but I really enjoy having the vehicle. Any suggestions on making a decision about getting rid of something you love for the greater good of saving money? Rick Based on my guesstimation as to the age of your Jeep Wrangler, it looks like it gets about 15 miles per gallon on average. That lines up well with your $100 a week in gas costs given your commute and the assumption that you use it for a few other things. If you swapped it for a Toyota Prius, for example, your fuel costs go down to about $30 a week, as a Prius approaches 50 miles per gallon. Over the course of a month, thats about $280 in savings. Its probably going to be cheaper in terms of insurance, too. The thing Id ask myself when comparing the Jeep and the fuel efficient car is what exactly you get out of the Jeep that you wont get out of the fuel efficient car, and is that difference worth $300 a month to you? That is the lens through which I would evaluate that purchase. What I usually find in situations like this is that the lower cost item often has much of what I like in the higher cost item and breaking it down to paying a lot of money for relatively minor features seems silly. Its also worth noting that you actually have more options here than just keep the Jeep or sell it and get a very fuel efficient car like a Prius. You also have the option of moving closer to where you work which saves a lot on fuel regardless of what vehicle you have and cuts down the time invested in your commute. You might also look for work closer to where you live if moving isnt an option for some reason. There are lots of things to consider here. Q2: Average age of credit accounts Instead of opening a new account which would lower the average age of my credit accounts, should I increase my credit limit on a secured card? Currently it is at $800. I could deposit another $200-$300 to raise my limit. Stephen Its not the average age of your credit accounts that really matters in terms of your credit score. Its the age of your oldest active account that matters. There is a minor negative impact on your credit score from opening a new line of credit, but its minor and short lived. Often, that impact is counterbalanced by having a better debt-to-credit ratio (meaning the sum total of your credit card balances divided by the sum total of your credit limits). If you open a new card with no balance, your total credit limit goes up but your debt stays the same, this improving your credit score (this only works to a certain extent, but will definitely work if youve only got one card and are opening a second one). In your shoes, I would definitely open an unsecured card if youve been handling the secured card well for a while. I wouldnt close the secured card for a while, though. Leave them both open, then close the secured one (and get your deposit back) in a few years. Q3: Switching to one vehicle While evaluating my year-end financial moves, I wondered if I could switch down to one vehicle to cut expenses. A Google search led me to an article you wrote on eliminating one car. Id like to give you some information and get your thoughts on it. I live alone and travel regionally for work. I bought my second vehicle in late 2017 to tow a trailer with my sons racing kart. I can probably drop the full coverage insurance on the vehicles to save some money. I have a 2010 Honda Civic with 248,702 miles on it. I get about 32 mpg and drove 34,529 miles last year. I had $1933.36 in necessary repairs last year. The 2018 annual insurance was $467, the 2019 cost is projected to be $594. I also have a 2006 Honda Ridgeline with 147,422 miles on it. I get about 20 mpg when I am not using it to tow and drove 4,851 miles last year. It may be higher but I only used it when needed. I had $572.07 in necessary repairs last year. The 2018 annual insurance was $148, the 2019 cost is projected to be $301. Kevin If you think its possible with your lifestyle to cut down to one vehicle, you probably can do so. Its usually professional constraints or other life constraints that keep people from being able to pull it off, so if you dont see such an issue in your life, you can probably do this. The big issue I see is that the Civic is going to be far better for commuting, but the Civic cant tow. Do you have any other option for towing that cart? Do you have a solution in place for what the Ridgeline does for you if you drop it? If you do (or if you come to the conclusion that you dont need the towing ability), then Id drop that Ridgeline like a hot potato and keep the Civic. As many miles as youre driving, the fuel efficiency of the Civic is going to save you a ton of money on gas versus driving the Ridgeline that much. I think that if you drop the Civic and keep the 2006 Ridgeline and put almost 40,000 miles a year on it, the gas costs are going to be stupendous. My back of the envelope math says youre better off keeping both cars as they are right now rather than switching to an all-Ridgeline solution. Q4: Found this great stock! Heres a brain teaser for Trent: My boyfriend bought shares of MORL about two years ago and put it on automatic DRIP. Now he gets about $600 a month on average gross. I studied this stock and I just dont really understand it, but it seems like its just about like printing money!! But if it is so great why isnt everybody in it? So dont publish this on your Q&A thing, because I want to keep this quiet. Not looking for a pump and dump scenario, just wondered your thoughts on it. Anna MORL is the stock ticker name for UBS ETRACS Monthly Pay 2xLeveraged Mortgage REIT ETN. Basically, its a bundle of mortgages put together by UBS using borrowed money. Imagine that someone borrows $100,000 to buy an investment. They owe interest on that loan, but theyre fine as long as the investment offers a better return on that loan. Now, imagine you used that investment as collateral for an even bigger loan, which you then used to buy control of mortgages, so that people paying their mortgage bills are actually now writing the checks to you. You can often buy mortgages at below face value a $200,000 mortgage might be on sale for $150,000 or whatever if someone needs money fast, so if that mortgage ends up getting paid off, you make $200,000 plus the interest over the course of a few years. This is a great way to multiply your money, but its really risky. If enough people stop paying their mortgages, you are in bad, bad shape because you cant afford to pay the interest on the loans you have. The whole thing falls apart. Thats what MORL is. MORL is an extremely risky investment that only works well while the housing market is stable and interest rates are low. Its double-leveraged and uncollateralized housing debt, which basically means that if people were to suddenly have difficulty paying their mortgages (like what happened in 2007 and 2008) MORL is going to tank hard. Double-leveraged essentially means it rises twice as high when things are going well and falls twice as hard when things are not going well. I would not hold that investment for anything I was relying on for the future. If youre playing around with investments with money you can afford to lose, sure, but thats basically to gambling. Q5: Canadian pharmacies Im curious about your opinion on Canadian (or other foreign) pharmacies. My husband used them back in the day while caring for his mother. I tried one or two and wound up (computer) virus laden. Are there any good sites for Canadian pharmacies? Is it better to go straight to Canada for better prices? Doug So, heres the deal. Bringing prescription drugs into the United States from Canada is illegal under the Prescription Drug Marketing Act of 1987. However, because of the vagaries of having to deal with every special case of people living along the US-Canadian border, the DEA and the border patrol do not really enforce the law provided youre getting 90 days or less of a prescription filled and its not a narcotic. Basically, they just look the other way because its easier than dealing with the specifics of a case and the bad press that would come from taking away an 87 year olds arthritis prescription or a diabetic persons insulin. To exploit this loophole actually, just an unenforced law a lot of online pharmacies have popped up supposedly dealing in Canadian pharmaceuticals, but a lot of them are pretty dodgy. Theyre already doing something illegal but unenforced and its a market that reputable companies will largely stay out of because the whole thing relies on the US government not enforcing its laws. You may be able to luck out and find a reputable seller online, but there are a lot of sharks in the water because its actually illegal. Id avoid it unless youre actually going to Canada and buying the prescription drugs in person there, buying a small amount, and then coming home. Even then, youre breaking the law, but its a law thats not been enforced for a while. Q6: The rental lifestyle We are at retirement age and are thinking about buying a 5th wheel as our home for a number of years, as we are late to the savings game. It seems that used vehicles are the same price as new, and all of them expensive. What do you think about this alternative lifestyle choice that doesnt include real property? Amber It seems reasonable. I have met many people who have retired to a camper or a trailer. Many of those wind up parking semi-permanently at a campground and serve as campground hosts, so it doesnt seem like that unusual of a choice to me. (This shouldnt be surprising our family goes camping somewhere probably half a dozen times a year.) I think the key is to be sure youve priced everything out and be open to part-time work, both as a way to make ends meet and as a way to fill your time. I also know a lot of retirees who find themselves without much to do to fill their hours once theyre retired. If it seems appealing and the math works out, go for it. Thats my advice. Q7: Investing in treasury notes Question for you: I recently recovered some unclaimed property that I had lost to the state 12 years ago that they sold 8 years ago. I lost dividends for 12 years and lost the value the stock rose after it was liquidated. I wish to make up for my mistakes, so I was thinking of investing the money in T bills as I could use more stable investments. Do you have any opinions on T bills? Amy My feelings on US treasuries are that theyre about as stable as can be in terms of an investment but the returns they offer are really low these days, so low that theyre often matched by savings accounts. Theyre rock-solid and they do offer a tiny return thats as guaranteed as can be in this world, but the return is so small that I would not bank on them as a long term investment. You dont want to lock your money up for many years in treasuries that are returning less than 3% unless you truly need something rock solid. At this point, Id probably just put the money in a savings account or a money market account instead and buy them when interest rates rebound. The question of what kind of stability you need in your overall investments is something I cant judge without seeing your full portfolio. Q8: Toaster oven purchase Im hoping youll evaluate a recent purchase using your buy it for life philosophy. This detailed evaluation is overkill for a single, cheap purchase, but it would be valuable to have a good strategy for similar future purchases. I needed a new 4-slice toaster oven and decided to buy one at Walmart during a weekly shopping trip. Given the low price, I couldnt justify spending the time or gas on a trip to another store. I also didnt think Id find many quality online reviews of sub-$30 toaster ovens. The options that satisfied the size and features criteria were a $20 Mainstays brand model or a $25 Black & Decker brand model. I was skeptical that the Black & Decker model would last 25% longer, or be 25% more effective. Second, a toaster oven is relatively simple I doubted there was any game changing technology that B&D incorporated into this model that the cheaper version lacked. My cynical mind also suspected the B&D model was only branded as such after being manufactured in a random factory. I bought the cheaper model. What would you have done differently? Kevin I would have bought the cheaper model, but I would have probably waited a week and scoped out the local Goodwill first and bought whatever I could find there, as you can usually find toaster ovens there. Aside from the Goodwill caveat, I basically agree with your way of thinking. I might have done some homework on toaster ovens beforehand by looking at Consumer Reports or other guides, but honestly, theyre simple devices to perform a simple task and arent overly expensive, so youre probably fine in this case. While I have no evidence for it, youre probably right on the relabeled Black and Decker. Many items like this are functionally identical inside and have just a slightly different case on the outside. There really isnt a whole lot of variance in toaster oven internal parts. Q9: Series EE savings bonds? I have been buying series EE savings bonds for my grandson for years. My son says that theyre not a good investment right now and that a better gift for his future is to contribute to a 529. Thoughts? Amber I agree with your son. Series EE get very low returns right now; theyre best in environments with high inflation and high interest rates, neither of which is true at the moment. With a 529, the money can be invested more aggressively for much better long term returns if the account manager so chooses. My only qualm here is the gift horse in the mouth issue. I hope that this discussion was a tactful one. Its hard to say from the description. I consider complaining about a gift to be a pretty rude move. If you have a relative giving savings bonds and would rather they contribute that money to a 529 for your childs future, thank them for the bond, wait for a while, and then have a conversation with them about how youre saving for your childs college education. Mention that anyone can contribute to the fund, but let the gift-giver decide what to do with their gift. Its their choice, not yours. Q10: Spotify worth it? I used to listen to the radio constantly. There used to be a radio station near here that played great music of a wide variety, from rock to bluegrass. The station was sold and now plays modern bland country music. I have tried listening to other stations but havent found anything I like. Considering trying Spotify or XM but wary of adding a monthly fee. Are they worth it? Ashley We have a Spotify account that we use as a family. It is often being streamed through speakers in our family room or in our daughters bedroom. My feeling is that such an account is worth it if you listen to a lot of music and want it to just stream and mix up song selections on its own without ads. If you dont listen very often, I wouldnt subscribe. My suggestion would be to try Spotify with a 30 day trial offer heres the link. Set a reminder on your phone 27 days from now that reminds you to cancel it if youre not using it. Then, install the app and try using it as you would a radio. My best experience has been with an inexpensive Bluetooth speaker. Q11: Library book sale excess Our local library has a book sale every year where you can go in on the last day and fill up a box for $2 which I have done for years. I finally realized that I had filled up half of our spare bedroom with books Ill never read from those sales. I would end up grabbing 4-5 that Id actually read and 40 that I wont. What do I do with all of these books? I dont want to throw them away. Anna My first suggestion would be to have a super cheap yard sale. If your town has a community wide yard sale, announce that youre selling books, put them all out there for a quarter each on the first day, then knock it down to a dime each the second day, then a nickel each the third day. People will clean them up if you advertise it a little. Another suggestion is to start dropping them in little free libraries around town. Just take some with you and whenever you see a little free library, stick one or two of those books in there. Itll put that book in the hands of someone who will read it. If nothing else, you can always donate used books to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. Theyll almost always accept used book donations. Q12: Books on curbing materialism Something Im struggling with is my relationship with stuff. Ive been thinking about it a lot lately. I think I feel like to some extent that my worth as a person is tied up in the stuff that I have, like I cant really enjoy books without a large personal book collection or I cant really be a good home chef without a lot of kitchen gear. The thought of getting rid of stuff really hurts because I feel like Im agreeing to be worse at something or less at something. I think this is a feeling youre familiar with. Do you have any advice or any books on how to curb this way of thinking? I need to stop accumulating stuff and start downsizing. Jim The easy answer would be the ever-popular Marie Kondo book, but I think youre asking a somewhat different question than what shes answering. I have three suggestions for where I think youre at, ranging from the more practical to the more philosophical. The first is The More of Less by Joshua Becker, which is definitely the most practical of the three books Im suggesting here. Beckers key argument is that owning too much stuff keeps you from the experiences you want to have because youre constrained by space and clutter. Thus, take the approach that even a small fraction of your stuff represents more than a lifetimes worth of experiences and pass on the remainder to those who will value it. It only takes a small fraction of the stuff you have to represent your life. The second is Goodbye, Things by Fumio Sasaki, which is in the middle in that its a mix of philosophical and practical. This book, to me, focused on the connection between your sense of well being and the environment you inhabit and how that interconnection flows both ways. While it dives into practical steps, it focuses on how those steps reveal and promote a symbiosis between your own well being and your immediate environment. The final book is very philosophical Erich Fromms To Have or To Be? Fromm steps back from the practical but rather dives in a very thoughtful way into why we accumulate things. His argument is that we do so because we view them as a shortcut to a particular type of experience we yearn for, but that the item often serves as a substitute for that experience, an empty calorie that leaves us unfulfilled. This book ends up being an argument for experience rather than possession and I found it to be the most convincing but least directly practical of the three. Read this one to feed your thinking and inspiration; read the others for more connections to practical steps. Got any questions? The best way to ask is to follow me on Facebook and ask questions directly there. Ill attempt to answer them in a future mailbag (which, by way of full disclosure, may also get re-posted on other websites that pick up my blog). However, I do receive many, many questions per week, so I may not necessarily be able to answer yours. https://www.thesimpledollar.com/questions-about-fuel-efficiency-savings-bonds-materialism-and-more/

[farmasteanimalsanctuary-blog]

A superior day on the trail

I sat in the living room of the rented house, sipping coffee and nervously glancing at the sky outside and refreshing the radar map on my phone, where it appeared we were under attack by a crab monster (I was staying near the BFW).

It was the last full day of a “guys trip” to northern Minnesota with my friend Dan before he and his family move out to Seattle. Though we’ve known each other since college - well enough that I was one of the groomsmen in his wedding, and he and his wife were two of the four non-family members at attendance at my wedding - it had been several years since we had spent any amount of time together. In theory Dan was working on a draft of a novel. In theory, I was there to run and drink beer. 

Except I had hoped to already be into the “running” portion of the day by 8 am, but with the Crustacean Sensation bearing down on our location, I decided to wait out the initial onslaught of the storm (Dan, who thinks running is terrible, had graciously agreed to drive me to a trail head 17 miles away and was looking forward to some coffee and his manuscript)

And so we waited, continuing the conversation from the past several days - some talk about our respective families, current events, disagreements about the best Jurassic Park movie - as the rain began to pelt the windows, the trees flailing in the wind like the thing outside a used car dealership.

And then it stopped. Go time.

We drove to the trail head and he watched in what I can only describe as bemusement as I tinkered with straps on my backpack, checking the weight distribution of the 100 oz of water, energy gels, and a Vega protein shake. It was 10:16 by the time I finally left the car. We were planning on meeting for dinner (and the beer portion of my day) at 6. I ended up squeezing in 27 miles and stumbling in the front door at 5:33 pm after 7 hours on the trail.

If you’ve never spent time on the Superior Hiking Trail, it is a fascinating place. (Also it’s called the Superior Hiking Trail because of Lake Superior, not because we Minnesotans think that it’s clearly the best trail. Though it is a pretty superior trail). Over the 300 miles of trail - I’ve been on about a third of those miles - the composition of the trail changes dramatically.

There’s sweaty climbs to the top of ridgelines looking down on the waterfall where you were just moments earlier.

Tree roots spread across some sections like tentacles, intent on grabbing your foot and sending you sprawling to the ground. Other sections are dominated by rocks, some lying in wait under a tuft of grass like a mechanical mole in a carnival game. Others there in plain sight, along with approximately 5273752 of their friends, turning each step into an awkward shuffle as your feet find themselves pointed in different directions.

Some sections feature wide open vistas, tiptoeing across plank bridges. 

Others a mere suggestion of a trail through knee deep grass as branches claw at your arms and face, requiring you to punch them out of the way like an Olympic slalom skier banging into gates in the quest for the shortest possible distance. All the while trying not to think about the zillions of snakes that are inches from your feet.

Which is why my first mile was 24 minutes (well and I stopped because I had put the water bladder in my backpack in upside down meaning that I was able to get a whole lot of air out of the plastic tube at the top of it, but none of the water down at the bottom).

It didn’t help that…well…I kinda suck at trail running. I’ve never mastered that ability to look 20 feet down the trail (to plan your path) and two feet down the trail (to execute that plan) and so I find myself taking short choppy steps, pulling my feet high into the air like in back in marching band, waving my arms like an excited Kermit the Frog as I’m flying through the air in the hopes of shifting my weight enough that I miss that rock that I didn’t notice before but not going too far left because that’s a tree root that would awkwardly send my momentum towards a 3 inch deep mud puddle.

(This is usually followed by me landing in a bush)

But, friends, for every time on the trail where I tweak my ankle or discover that what looks like solid ground is actually shin deep water, there are moments where things come together.

Though the crab monster had moved on, the weather couldn’t figure out what it wanted to do, and fog clung to the hillside and the air had the wet, heavy feeling that rain was moments away. I slid my water bottle back into my hydration vest as the trail opened up into a forest, silent except for the raging of the wind.

With no one around for miles, I still spoke my first words since starting off “Holy shit.”

For the first time all day, the trail was completely clear. No rocks, no roots, no basketball-sized piles of snakes. Just the remains of last year’s leaves, and who knows how many years ago’s pine needles blanketing the floor. Each step was met with a solid thump, seeming to reverberate out through the ground like the rings that appear when you throw a rock into a pond.

The trail ran for nearly a half mile, gently swooping down the hill in lazy curves, each one seemingly random, yet also perfectly designed. I whooped at one point, startling myself with how loud my voice seemed in the quiet of the soggy morning. At the far end of the wood, I shrugged off my backpack, pulled my Farmaste running shirt off over my head and began to walk back to the start.

Along the way I thought about how lucky I was. To be out here doing this. To have the love and support of my family, like my wife Kelly. To have friends like Dan. To feel so happy, content, connected to nature.

At the top of the hill, I turned and started to run as raindrops fell on my shirtless back. I picked up the pace, consumed by the feeling, wanting to live in the moment.

Primal.

Wild.

Free.

It felt…

It felt like this:

It felt like Moolan running through the fields of Farmaste.

Primal.

Wild.

Free.

Tears began to fall as I ran on, closing my eyes and tilting my head back, my arms stretched out to my sides, palms up as the rain intensified, silence except for my thudding steps. 

It was a moment that was beautifully simple. 

Magical. 

Perfect.

All animals - whether two legged like me, or four legged like Moolan - should have the opportunity to live life like this. Most of you are probably familiar with what life is like for most calves (if you’re not, let’s just say there’s not much playfully running through wide-open fields), and we have a choice to make about how the Moolan’s brothers and sisters will live their (much too short) lives. 

I opened my eyes a few seconds later, tearing myself away from the moment of perfection and slowly exhaling as I slowed to a walk. It was a moment - a magical, primal, free, wild, simple, connected, passionate moment - that filled me with a sense of calmness and purpose.

I walked over to my bag, slipped on my shirt, and with a last look at the woods, continued on down the trail.

[whichchick]

So I wrote a letter to my state forestry department.

Here is the letter:

Dear State Forestry People: I emailed your office some years ago regarding the three 'deer exclusion zone' fences that were put on top of Ray's Hill along the Bedford-Fulton border, reason being that these fences made it impossible to ride horses along the ridge of the mountain.  I had recently (1996) moved back to the area following college, gotten settled, and acquired a horse.  Through my youth and my college years, I'd been been looking forward to when I grew up and bought my own horse (my parents would not let me own one until I could support it myself) and went riding up the mountain and out along the ridge above where I grew up.  I'm sure that you can understand my disappointment about the deer exclusion fences when I got to where I could actually do the thing and the fences were there. While there is sort of a border around the fences, the actual fence material itself lies flat on the ground and since it's a large square mesh, it poses a significant hazard to horse hooves should they or their shoes become entrapped in one of the squares.  So, trucking along the perimeter of the fences is not ideal even if we ignore the fact that the perimeters are, by virtue of the fact that they go straight down the east face of Ray's Hill, pretty darned steep and rocky. But, the forestry department assured me at the time of my rather disappointed and plaintive inquiry that the deer exclusion fences were ONLY TEMPORARY, that they were important to help the forest regenerate lots of new trees on the ground (because it was a difficult site for trees to establish on and because there was a lot of deer pressure and such), and that they would 100% be removed when their purpose had been accomplished.  So I went away and resolved to wait. My horse, the one I'd gotten after college, the one that I dreamed of riding along the mountain ridge above my home grew old and died.  I got another horse, a four year old when I bought her.  She is now twenty and has arthritis in her hocks.  It is not reasonable for me to ask her to truck up the mountain and cruise along the ridgeline, so that is another dream dead.  However, I have a third horse.  He is eight. I am no longer a recent college graduate, but I still ride extensively and, at forty-eight, remain hopeful. The top of the mountain has been timbered, which I guess was the plan all along.  I get that you left some trees but it looks pretty threadbare.  Not a fan.  Anyway I was up there today hiking along and every one of the exclusion fence gates is open, so I guess you're done with them.  However at the end, where the state forest hits private land, there is a flip gate.  You know, the person-sized ones that you have to pick up and hold while you walk through?  That kind.  The problem with flip gates is that horses can't go through them.  They can't.  Flip gates are not horse friendly. I understand that the PA Forestry People have many more important things than my ability to ride up the road from my house and out along the ridge of Ray's Hill.  But I have been more-or-less patiently waiting through three horses and nearly twenty years for the ability to do this and I still can't.  At this point I'm about ready to get the wirecutters and do some pro-se fence removal. Please don't make me be a criminal about this.  I've waited very patiently for you to be done with the deer exclusion fences and my original horse is dead and my second horse is too old and I'm damn near fifty.  Please take the deer exclusion fence down like you said you would.  Please.  Or make a horse-sized hole at the far end.  If you don't want cars or ATVs or whatever, horses only need a 3' opening.  That's it.  3' is plenty.  3' is not wide enough for ATVs. Most ATVs are more than 42" wide. I await your reply.

The problem here, with this letter, is that I told my friend* I wrote it.  In between her gasps of laughter, she was all I HAVE GOT TO READ THIS LETTER!!!  So, I sent it to her.  She read it and subsequently allowed as how she was constantly snorting coffee out her nose at how hysterical it was, OMG SO FUNNY, funniest thing she’d read in ages.

damn it.

I do not understand.  <<<<<<-- this here is the fucking problem.  This part here.  I am mad as hell that I don’t understand.  She can’t EXPLAIN why it’s so funny.  “Oh, it’s just because I know how you are.”  What?  That is not an answer.  I can’t even...

It is humiliating to know that the seams and zippers in one’s human suit are showing.  That is bad enough.  I shouldn’t have to EXPLAIN TO SOMEONE WHO IS ALLEGEDLY MY FRIEND that having the seams and zippers in my human suit show embarrasses me.  I should not have to explain to her that waving my letter around and showing it to everyone she knows so that they can all also laugh at it (because it is apparently a hoot and a half) is NOT HELPING.

This is like period-bleeding through your pants, a level of gross personal incompetence that illustrates to the world at large how badly I fail at managing even the most basic of recurring tasks, except when that happened, I knew it was happening and could act to fix it.  Unlike period-bleeding through my clothes, I can’t tell when I do this.  I don’t know it’s happening until afterward, when the reactions of people around me fail to match up with what I was expecting BADLY ENOUGH THAT I NOTICE (No small thing there because I am terrible at noticing other people.  It’s one of the reasons I wear a human suit.) and in that way helpfully inform me that the thing I can’t see has fucking happened again.

*I still think we are friends in spite of the massive gap between our respective methods of seeing the world.  I mean, I am a fucking idiot who can’t even write for clarity because my dear friend is laughing her goddamn ass off about this stupid letter that I wrote in all seriousness and without a single fucking shred of taking-the-piss so what the hell do I know?  Maybe she’s involved in a long con some twenty years in duration wherein she wants me to believe we are friends for reasons I know not.