Bass Motifs

Logan and I headed to San Francisco a couple of weeks in advance of the Rat Race to attend a double bass conference at SFSU. We stayed in a dorm and ate in a dining hall, and Logan enjoyed a full week of classes, lessons and performances. The university scene was a taste of the future for Logan, and for me it was a blast from the past.

But while I was steering my young ward into the pursuit of his most noble musical aspirations, I was also working under the influence of a familiar base motive. I knew the Dumps flying site was close by, and I was hoping for a chance to sneak over there for a little airtime fix. But I never got a chance.

Then Dorothy and Amelia showed up in time to see Logan's final concert, and to begin the family portion of our summer adventure. Dorothy drove me by the Dumps after Logan's concert, but it was strong and not really too appealing, and we were short on time because we were planning to visit some friends.

Plus, I had assured Dorothy that because I knew I'd be flying my heart out every day for a week at the Rat Race, I would not complicate our family vacation by chasing airtime. I'm not sure what possessed me to say that, or what Dorothy may have been smoking that made her believe it. But it was clearly a misguided promise. I needed to get into the air in this crazy foggy town. I had also told Brad I'd give him a shout so we could check out the Dumps together.

The first day after the bass conference was nice and light, and even a bit sunny. I was aching to go see about flying. Dorothy took pity on me and sent me out with the rental van to check on the flying conditions while she and the kids rode the cable car. Oh man, do I owe her big for that one. I scrambled out there, and met local acro nut Nova at the parking lot, where he gave me the basic site intro. I only had an hour to sneak in a quick flight, because we were planning to see some friends later that afternoon.

So I ran up to launch to make the most of it. I got some more tips from the locals up there and soon I was airborne. The wind was a bit cross from the south but still doable. The fog was pretty thick and low overhead, but apparently that's the norm here. The views in both directions down the coast were gorgeous: long vistas of undulating sea cliffs towering over cold crashing waves below. I followed a guy I thought was our frequent visiting pal Patrick south past a notorious hazard known as the "death bowl", but came back near launch before I got too low over there. Later I found out it had been another Patrick.

My hour was up, so I landed and began to fold up. Dorothy called, and I begged for more time because it seemed like the wind was straightening out and the sun was really starting to burn off the fog. There were more than a dozen wings in the air and they were starting to head further down the cliffs in both directions. But I knew I was pushing it, and Dorothy seemed pretty eager to mobilize to see our friends. I guess I'll just have to get back over here some day. Maybe it's better to have a flying day that leaves you wanting more, as opposed to one where you think you've seen all a site can offer.

Driving back to meet Dorothy, I realized I'd forgotten to call and invite Brad out for his first flight out there. Sorry about that! I guess my base motives really took over my brain to ensure I'd get that little fix. Brad, there are lots of super nice locals who will be able to help you get started flying out there. I suggest you get in touch with Nova, Patrick, or local instructor Jeff who I met that day. Everyone I met out there was really friendly and helpful, and there are lots of new P2 pilots to compare notes with.

Today we drove an hour and a half north of the city, to reach my grandmother's old weekend house near Point Reyes, where we'll stay for a few nights before heading north to Woodrat on Friday. I can't wait!