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For you newly-minted pilots who have asked me, “should I buy an airplane?” I offer a quick rule of thumb, based on my ten years in general aviation, four years of ownership, and MBA: No. Okay, now that we’ve gotten that formality out of the way, here is some insight into the costs of acquisition and ownership, so you can make the inevitable decision. You have no doubt heard the fairytale that you should consider ownership if you fly more than 100 hours a year because airplanes are an investment. It’s true that my airplane outperformed 11 of my 12 stocks, but if you look at the numbers closely, you’ll notice that buying postage stamps or stuffing the money into a mattress for those four years would have beaten everything. ...

Smile or grimace? Why the hell am I doing this? I kept asking myself this question throughout most of the first day of Rain-Soaked Venture Pedaling R.S.V.P.. (For a more optimistic take, view Claire Petersky’s summary.) [](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day1.jpg) [](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day1.jpg)[**Day 1: 106.9 miles**](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day1.jpg) Seattle to Bellingham [](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day2a.jpg) [](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day2a.jpg)[**Day 2a: 21.8 miles**](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day2a.jpg) (Bellingham to the border) [](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day2b.jpg) [](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day2b.jpg)[**Day 2b: 56.9 miles**](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/rsvp_day2b.jpg) (Border to Vancouver) [RSVP route map](/bike/rsvp_route_guide_2004.pdf) The forecast for Friday was “92% chance of rain, with a possibility of late afternoon thunderstorms.” The percentage is interesting because it conveys both precision *and*, in this case, accuracy: [The rain rain rain came down down down](http://cubbi.org/disney/lyrics/wtp/raindown). It was initially a misty pitter patter, but picked up around mile 10, turning into a bonafide “rain shower.” I didn’t bring my full set of rain gear because the gear is impractical when the temperatures are above 50°F. At that point, I sweat profusely, negating any benefit. The day started at 59°F, so I just donned my jacket. I also have a set of fenders on my bike to reduce a lot of the water kicked up from my tires. It looks goofy and adds weight, which is why 950 of the other riders don’t have them. Whenever someone passed me, there was a good chance I’d get tagged by the rooster tail kicking up from their rear wheel. They’re getting even wetter, though, as the water eventually arcs up onto their back. At mile 20, my front tire started losing air. With the roads wet from the rain, I had no difficulty seeing where the air was coming out and finding the small metal shard. I pulled over at the first open space to fix the tire. While pumping up the new tube, I broke the stem. A couple of dogs must have heard the F-bomb over the highway noise because they came running over and helped add to the noise level. The dogs weren’t an immediate threat, so I continued working. A few minutes later, the lady who lived there wanted to get out of her driveway. Although I had given her a wide berth, this wasn’t sufficient for her. She wanted me *off*. I explained that I didn’t want to be there, either, and would move as soon as I fixed the flat. She was concerned her dogs would be distracted outside once the gate opened. She stormed off, but not after accusing me of all the things that could possibly go wrong with her dogs running out into a busy highway. I packed up all my stuff and walked my bike over 20 feet onto a craggy gravel area where I could continue fixing my tire. She eventually went her way and the dogs never came out. The total downtime was approximately 23 minutes. I was thoroughly soaked and cold. I coaxed myself to the mini-stop at Lake Stevens, mile 38, by playing “five more miles.” I have to be careful here because the stop *is* community supported, and for that, I’m truly appreciative. However, I find it very lame that Cascade has no mechanical support or sports beverage available. I needed air for my tire, and adjustment of my rear derailleur. It had been skipping since the flat. I stayed just long enough to pee, top off my water bottles, and grab a handful of pretzels. A bunch of people were abandoning the ride. I continued the “three more miles” game through mile 75, near Mount Vernon. The 1 1/2 miles leading to official rest stop had been recently grooved in anticipation of a new coat of blacktop. The rain and lack of delineation made it unbelievably hazardous. I tried riding on the sidewalk, but every 15th patch was ripped out and replaced with gravel. *One more mile.* Mount Vernon was reasonably stocked, as it should be. I saw more people abandon. Riders were huddling under the tent, out of the rain, and it was hard to access the food. I filled both of my bottles and tried to get some mechanical help. The mechanic was immersed in doing some kind of major work to a tandem. I saw no point in prolonging my misery so I borrowed his pump to top off my tire (only half full) and continued on. I think it was around this point that I ran into Randy Martin, who had recognized me from my posts on Cascade’s bulletin board. As strange as it may sound, his friendliness was a morale boost. We met up again briefly in Bow, just before Chuckanut Drive, after which I didn’t catch up with him again. Chuckanut Drive winds along Samish Bay and is easily the prettiest part of the first day. The weather had also improved, and I saw a rare glimpse of the sun. Following this is a climb where there has traditionally been a donation-based lemonade stand. This was the seventh year the mom and daughter had been running the stand. They even had a scrapbook from previous years. I didn’t need lemonade, but stopped anyway and donated a buck. I had finally crossed into Bellingham proper. One of the last minute notes warned of poor markings in Bellingham. Apparently while they were painting the Dan Henrys, the Bellingham police department asked them to stop. Instead of markings, they relied on A-board signs. The tick sheet had been amended to direct riders to the new official terminus of the first day, the Arne Hanna Aquatic Center, where the post-ride festivities would occur. This was a three mile side trip from the Ramada motel, last year’s terminus. As it was only 3pm, the salmon buffet dinner wouldn’t be starting for a while. I went directly to the motel. After checking in and peeling off my clothes, I started running the bath. I cranked up the air conditioning and laid out all my wet stuff in front of the blower. On cue, housekeeping knocked on the door, then started to come in, ignoring the “Do not disturb” sign on the door. I convinced them that I didn’t need a second rollaway bed, but thanks anyway. I soaked in the bathtub for about 30 minutes, noting how generally run down the Ramada looked. All of the fixtures were leaking, caulk was done haphazardly, and there was an intercom speaker underneath the sink. (Huh?) I dressed, then started walking over to the aquatic center. However, after a couple of blocks, I decided that the dining options near the hotel were fine. I punted on the festivities, even missing the post-ride massage. **Day 2**: I wasn’t feeling motivated because the forecast was for rain *again*. I tossed my luggage into the baggage truck and noticed that the mechanic was set up in the parking lot and didn’t have a line. He looked at my derailleur, made some kind of quick hand adjustment, and sprayed oil on the chain. 30 seconds later, it was working again. There was a continental breakfast buffet going on at the aquatic center, but this was in the opposite direction of where we were going. I ate a Clif Bar and made my traditional beeline to the Dutch Mother’s Cafe. The Dutch Mother was surprisingly uncrowded, except for the line to the men’s bathroom. A woman appreciated my comment about how this was like a concert, only the genders were reversed. I made it to the border at 8:30 a.m., half an hour after it opened. There was a large queue of cars and cyclists, but two customs officers worked the cyclists and passing through took less than five minutes. The first several miles around the border reek of funky farm fertilizer. The smell clears out after 5 miles. At mile 10 is a small hill known as “The Wall.” It’s very steep — just over a 10% grade — but it’s also very short. Several riders later asked me where “The Wall” was. The reaction is much like the one on “The Hill” on STP: *That’s it?!?* Following a gradual descent is the Fort Langley, at mile 38.9, the food stop for today. I happened to hit this before a large pack of bikers and got in and out quickly. I noticed my seat had sagged from the water, the one weakness of leather. It fit a little better, but it’s also possible the seat is ruined. Listen to the [Albion Ferry](https://cdn.wt8p.com/i/albionferry.mp3) ...

In June, a New York Times article said there were fewer complaints about cubicles from job seekers. It seems people are now less likely to worry about whether their workspace is equipped with walls, doors and Herman Miller chairs. Well, Duh. As the market pendulum has swung from seekers to employers, it’s not a stretch to say people are so thankful to even have a job, they’re less concerned with petty luxuries. Today, I’m going to reflect upon the “then” (when George Bush was in office) and “now” (with George Bush in office). ...

(Continued from Part 1, (Map, annotated altitude Profile, Preride Guide) Twelve Monkeys beware! The early morning ride through the university district wasn’t as harrowing as I’ve come to expect. It would have been shorter, too, except when I crossed the Eastgate bridge, my mirror fell off. The distraction was enough that I missed a left turn towards Lake Washington Blvd. I didn’t go too far before clueing in, though. ...

I finished the two-day version of STP (Map, annotated altitude Profile, Preride Guide) and lived to tell about it. Woot! **Saturday** Left Seattle at 4:05 a.m. Arrived in Castle Rock, WA, at 4:30 p.m. 139.8 miles, 2,559′ ascent Average speed 13.0 mph. **Sunday** Left Castle Rock at 5:15 a.m. Arrived in Portland, OR, at 10:47 a.m. 67.3 miles, 1,339′ ascent Average speed 12.0 mph **Overall:** **207.1 miles, 3,898′ ascent** 12,166 calories burned*. ...

What is the game of “Chicken?” In the movies, two hooligans with something to prove settle their differences by racing their cars towards each other. The first one to turn away, averting certain collision, is the “chicken” and loses face among his cohorts. The other player, referred to as the “winner,” gets bragging rights and the fickle heroine. If no one turns — which is a theoretical possibility, but in practice, never happens in the movies (dramatic license and all that) — the game is officially a draw. A rematch is unlikely, but both participants are automatically entered as co-nominees for the Darwin Awards. ...

Director Mitch pointed me to an article on the interview twists and turns some HR people will inflict upon candidates. (Further commentary is available on Newmark’s Door and Just Procastinating. Guest blogger Dr Bob makes some general HR rantiness.) I decided it might be fun to spend next week blogging about some of the bizarre workplace rituals I’ve seen from both sides of the desk. For example, I already have something written on the concept of “Schedule Chicken.” I’ve been hoping to work this in some way. 🙂 ...

(for maximum humor value, mouse-over the dashed lines.) Long ago, before the mists of the dot com era wafted down upon the masses, I worked at a company that made bananas. I traveled to a customer site with Tim, the company’s top salesman to observe his crafitness. After we met with the Zookeeper and Primate Custodian, Tim went through the familiar sales spiel, highlighting the importance of bananas: high in potassium, a good source of energy while cycling, and in fashionable yellow. He was about to segue into the specific differentiators our bananas had, when the Zookeeper (the decision maker) asked the question: “Can your bananas be used to kill someone?“ ...

About nine years ago I started flying as a way to blow off steam from the stresses of work. As with anything I do, once I got past the initial learning hurdles, I pursued the hobby very aggressively, eventually earning an instrument rating, a commercial certificate (land) and a private pilot certificate in seaplanes. (NB: Flying seaplanes is almost as good as sex.) In March of 2000, I became a delusional airplane co-owner. Yesterday, I came to my senses and sold my share. ...

To trim expenses, I consolidated my web and email providers this week. My web provider has been good to work with, but the virtual dedicated server is much more than I need (and can afford) right now. The email provider’s been somewhat disappointing, but the account had been prepaid through Wednesday. While I was waiting for the DNS entries to propagate, I noticed someone had sent a trackback ping to the Soy Ginger Mayo recipe on the old site. Twice. ...