Bombed out

The bomb disposal part… I’m in the Navy reserves now. I spent seven years active duty. I like diving and jumping out of planes and helicopters. I like shooting guns and blowing things up.. But I like paragliding more.

This is a key problem and part of the reason for this trip. In my civilian job, I work outdoors. Clearing bombing ranges. It has it’s ups and downs. Literally. Especially in Southern California. It’s actually a great job for me. I would wither in a cubicle. Even in the worst conditions, I can turn to a fellow and say “at least we’re not in an office.”…most of the time, he agrees right away. Every once in a while, someone gives me the crazy look and snarls “at least we’d be warm!”

But recently, my eyes have been turned skyward, watching the clouds, studying the birds..ravens, red tailed hawks, turkey vultures…the local soaring masters. And my chest tightens.

During the summer months, I would throw my wing in the car and drive myself to Torrey Pines for an easy, light wind ridge flight. But it is nearly dark when I leave the range now. You should not fly in the dark. It is mostly just silly and dangerous. Trees, power lines, fences, rocks. Planes can’t see you. That sort of thing.

So my frustration mounts.

And the bubble pops. I have somehow lost my mind and in the midst of a horrible economy, I am quitting my fancy job and leaving the country. After selling one of my homes for an overall loss earlier this year, I saved enough money to cover my bills for four months and spend up to $2000 a month. For two months. If I want to stay longer, I will have to drink less and be more creative in my choice of accommodations.

So with a month left, and the holidays bearing down, I’m trying to work, buy tickets, get Reserve time knocked out, get medically and dentally ready, research places, get my Brazil visa, sell the bigger ticket items… One camper at least, a car and my storage. Stay positive. I want the administration of this adventure to evaporate and be magically transported to the airport bar drinking a single malt scotch at the steak place waiting to get on my plane.

No magic is happening. Just slow progress.

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