Se lave first you face
Brushing his hand over his face
But no sus hair, not yet,
Not your hair yet,
And motioned toward the water tank,
Under the unwalled shack next to the truck
protected under the roof,
itself next to his bed -
Unprotected in the sun,
But at night by Orion
Motioning across his face
before the beer.
Washing my face I popped the Pacifico
I learned my English working in a tourist office
Up there nodding his head in Ensinada.
I been here, in this place though,
Punching the aging wood table with
Viente y ocho.
Twenty eight years, si.
You are loco on sus motorcycles
Si, es muey coloure.
No, we say mucho.
Es mucho coloure.
I see. Mucho coloure.
Where you come from?
San Felipe, Ensenada.
Si, and you go?
A La Paz? Three days.
Today we go to Bahia de Los Angeles.
One hundred and sixty kilometers.
Viente before you get to the highway.
Here south, must be careful. Lock your motos.
Y when you get to the market, one stay with the bikes,
With your gear, or it be gone.
Even in San Felipe,
They stole the wheels off my chair.
I saw un amigo y went for some beers
Y when come back
He slapped one dry hand on the other
That cracked in the shack like a firecracker
I call la policia and make un report
Y I see the guy later on
With my wheels
Y I call the policia
And say there’s the guy.
The guy claimed they were his
But I was say no, my chair, my wheels.
Si, por favor.
He said, punching his pen on the table
Until it bounced to the ground
He leaned over for it until he fell out of his wheel chair
Flat on this back,
Kicking the ground with his stumps
Like an insect upturned
Until he pushed himself against the table
And put his abbreviated legs beneath him again.
Too much of this in the hot sun,
Opening a glass Coke and tipping another
thin golden bottle
See that bike,
Leaning low on the table with his elbow,
Pointing a thick finger,
Back in his wheelchair again,
From the first race.
See that guy there,
In the white?
Thumb over his shoulder,
And looking down into his drink or the table
Or some distance in between
The guy is dead now,
But before he die,
He said, give this to Coco.
Y the guys son drive it down here.
Coco looked at his yard with neatly arranged
Junk and beer cans on the wire and the desert beyond
That had nothing in it
You must be careful in the turns
In the mountains
The trucks come around the corners without looking
And without slow down
And looked some again at the desert and turned away.
Y now, the agua,
Moving his hand over his head
Wash your head now,
It protect you in the sun.
Have outdone very many night flights/have advice on how to,become more comfortable flying at night?
Hmm, I have somewhere around 20 hrs of night, so not too much. I like using Navaids—knowing how they work and then utilizing them is a good tactic for night flight, and it prevents you from getting lost. That always eased my worries when I first started. If you know how to use a VOR/GPS/NDB/whatever,and everything is operative, you are in the green.
I’ve only done a few night cross countries by visual alone distinguishing little towns/cities and airports to know where you are when first started my private training. That shit is really hard. Don’t do that if you suck at pilotage during the day, because night will be impossible for you.
But night flying is worth it—especially in the summer. No one’s out there, and it’s smoother, cooler, and the look of an instrument panel at night brings a tear to one’s eye. Can’t beat a night flight on a summer day.