The West

1900 miles of driving over 4 days and I was exhausted. The road had lulled me into a state of complacency with its perfectly spaced concrete seems that resonated with the suspension in my Jeep Cherokee but I was soon to be awakened like never before. The fresh-off-the-lot little black Jeep was filled to the rim with a summer’s worth of perceived camping accoutrement—the Royce Union mountain bike that was a Sport’s Authority special, the red Gregory backpack that could hold enough gear for a week on the trail, crates full of stoves, pots, food, and of course, my Zamberlin full-leather hiking boots.

It was June 11 of 1999, and I was on the greatest adventure of my life. Having just pulled off the most amazing heroics to complete my Master’s thesis, Micro Air Vehicle Control Design: A Comparison of Classical and Dynamic Inversion Techniques, the good folks at MIT granted me my diploma, I bought the Jeep on the spot, drove to my parent’s house in Moorestown, NJ, and bid adieu to the East for the first time in my life.

First, a 14 hour day, then a 19 hour day behind the wheel. I put the lowlands behind me as fast as possible. Then a soul-inspiring overnight respite in the dew-laden grasslands of Badlands National Park. Mount Rushmore just didn’t do it for me, but the granite hills, Oh the granite hills! My excitement was building, and I knew the long hours on the flat, featureless road would soon be paying their dividends. Another rainy night in my Sierra Designs tent, but that time loneliness accompanied me along with the ponderosa pines and the erratic boulders on a deserted 4x4 road in the Black Hills. I could feel that I was close.

Another day spent behind the wheel, and Wyoming replaced South Dakota. And that’s when I saw them for the first time. Nothing could have prepared me for that. My journal entry said it all: “I rounded a curve and got my first-ever, distant view of the mountains. My jaw dropped, and all I could say was, ‘Holy Shit!’” My first sight of the Rocky Mountains! Well, the Big Horn Mountains to be specific. Sure they might not have been the Tetons or the Colorado 14ers, but let there be no doubt, I had arrived!

The Big Horn Mountains—who has even heard of them? It didn’t matter, because just as St Louis symbolized passage to the West for American frontiersman, those snow-capped peaks marked the first time I ever laid eyes on the grand mountains of the West. That summer was spent on perilous, yet transformative solo journeys through the Tetons, Glacier National Park, and the Sierras to name a few, but after 2 months, the East beckoned and I returned to responsibility and my first position as a professional engineer. My outdoor adventures continued throughout New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine, but something was always missing. Finally, after two years of longing, I broke my ties with the East and made the long drive once again towards the Rocky Mountains but this time to a new land of exploration—Colorado. A dozen years have passed in Colorado with hundreds of weekends accounted for in exploration of the state’s grandeur. And in that time I’ve also climbed some of the highest peaks in the world, but never, not ever have I seen and felt such magnificence as the moment I rounded that curve in the road and got my first glimpse of the West.

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This personal essay was written in response to homework assignment #3, “To See or Not to See—That is the Question” for the Life Writing class in which we were asked to think back on our lives and writing about a time when we suddenly “see” something that we will never forget (a moment of understanding or a wonderful opportunity of using our eyes to view and experience the world).

Ceiling Fans in the Sky

Oh my God! The man appeared to be a white ghost, but I knew for certain his spirit was still within his body. Although only moments had passed, it seemed like an eternity. Of all the possible outcomes, this one was far from the worst. I might lose my job, but at least the man isn’t dead.

I never had much money growing up, but I had a strong aptitude for all things mechanical and used this advantage in my undergraduate studies of mechanical engineering to help pay for school with scholarships. But still, there were additional expenses and that meant summer and weekend jobs. I spent the summer after high school in my hometown of Moorestown, NJ learning the ins-and-outs of house electrical wiring and stocking boxes at the big-box Hechinger’s hardware store.

And since it was summer, I found myself in constant motion shuffling air conditioning units and ceiling fans throughout the electrical department. It seemed that we never sold very many of these cooling devices, but Bob Moore, the electrical manager, always had more of them on order and they always needed to be somewhere other than their current location. I suppose that’s why he hired a tall, young guy like me. Each day, Bob would give me a handwritten list of the stock that needed to be moved and I would spend hours climbing a 30 foot ladder to the top of the blue steel shelving units with boxes of dusty ceiling fans in my arms. One by one, I would stock the shelves, and then the next day I would reverse the process by pulling different models down to put on the floor. And this is precisely how my days were spent at Hechinger’s the summer before I went off to college.

That first year at Rutgers was one of constant learning and constant work. Work in the classroom, the lab, and of course, at Hechinger’s. I began to take on additional responsibilities at the hardware store that included providing sound electrical advice to homeowners. My confidence from the classroom transferred to the store floor and adults twice my age were actually listening to what I was telling them to do. I was truly growing up.

And with that growth came additional responsibility. One day, Bob Moore let me know that I didn’t have to use the staircase ladder anymore. After a few hours of training, I was able to drive a massive forklift to move entire pallets of ceiling fans and air conditioners to and from the highest reaches of the stores. I jumped at the opportunity and excelled at learning the subtle transfer of movements from my hands to the steel tines 30 feet above. Almost instantly, I went from slugging a single box to moving dozens of boxes. I was young, cocky, and felt like I could do anything.

My head was in the clouds and it needed to be brought back to earth. And so it was on one particular summer day that I had one of the most humbling experiences of my life. Per my usual routine, ceiling fans needed to be stacked at the top of a 30 foot shelf. Fortunately, they were already palletized and there was a perfect opening for them high above. I slowly, carefully maneuvered the forklift over to the pallet, aligned the tines with the openings in the wooden pallet, and effortlessly raised a dozen fans into the air. I swung the suicide ball on the steering handle and the entire vehicle spun in place like a figure skater. I eased on the accelerator pedal and the pallet crept over the top of 30 foot shelving. The pallet was out of sight, but I knew there was room for it, so I continued creeping forward. Just a little more, I thought. I don’t want the pallet hanging off the edge of the shelf.

BOOOM!!!!

My heart stopped and with the absolute certainty of a child who just knocked their glass of milk onto the floor, I knew I had done something wrong. The crashing boom came from the next aisle over and was immediately followed by yelling, screaming, and crazed commotion. I switched the forklift off and bound to the other side of the shelving. That’s when I saw the man. He was covered in white paint from head to toe and there was a 6 inch-deep magmic flow of paint easing its way down the aisle in either direction from a jumbled heap of paint cans. He jumped around infuriated, but at least he was alive. Somehow, by a matter of a few feet, he had escaped half a ton of paint that crashed to earth from 30 feet above. His life was spared and mine was humbled. The good people at Hechinger’s didn’t fire me, but I was no longer permitted to drive the forklift and have never forgotten how that young version of me narrowly escaped committing the very worst of mistakes.

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This personal essay was written in response to a homework assignment #2, “Work’s Nuts!” for the Life Writing class in which we were asked to write about a job we held at one point in our life that was, well—nuts!

The Recital

The sound of clanking coffee cups is quickly subdued by the roar of the espresso machine. Laptops are crammed onto tiny, rickety tables while hipsters raise their voices in an effort to be heard by their cohorts. Meanwhile, I sit nervously across the room. My heart pounds as I glance over the words on the page before me. So many names and so many songs; it is hard to know how much longer it will be. Then, in an instant, it comes to life. Shrill tones are produced haphazardly, but eventually I find a pattern to the sounds despite that damn espresso maker. How rude, I think. Can’t they see that he is performing? But still he presses on until there is no more, and then the coffee shop erupts into applause. Well, maybe it doesn’t erupt, but all of the parents are considerate of little Jimmy knowing that soon enough, their own child will be propped high on the bench in front of the large, wooden upright piano.

The first performance by my peer does little to slow the pounding of my heart within my ribcage. Thump-thump. Thump-thump… Maybe if I think about something else fun, I won’t be so nervous. Next, the siblings make their way to the piano. Gosh, I am so much bigger than them. But as they begin their performance, I realize that they aren’t nervous in the least bit. Whatever. At least I’m bigger than them. They play three songs together before hopping off the bench over to their parents with smiles on their faces. I glance at the page and see that my turn is quickly approaching. Thump-thump. Thump-thump… It’s not fair; I can’t believe I’m being forced to play the piano out in public in front of all the other students. I’m not even sure why I’m really here; I should be outside playing.

Minutes feel like hours and at last the teacher calls my name. My face feels flush and I can already feel a slight tremble in my fingers as I walk between the tables towards the piano. I feel the eyes of all the parents and even the hipsters on me as I attempt to keep my face from looking like I just sat on a tack. The teacher adjusts the bench and reminds me that if I make a mistake, it’s okay, I should just keep playing. This makes sense to me but is of little comfort as I unfold the sheet music. I’ve played the song dozens of times at home but never in front of anyone other than my teacher. I take a deep breath, focus my eyes on the black notes on the page, and begin to press my fingers to the keys. The piano echoes the thoughts in my mind, but it does so with protest. It is not singing the song; it is more of a forced confession under a bright light. The beating of my heart has not slowed a bit. Rather, my vision has begun to lose focus and the tremble in my fingers is enough to reach beyond their intended press of the correct keys.

I’m a page into the song and it all stops. Nothing. There is absolutely nothing I can do. I am literally frozen in place. The fear has culminated at this and it has won. The teacher leans over to me, “Pat, just keep playing. It’s okay.” I hear the words, but they can’t begin to effect what I am feeling. Or more appropriately, they have absolutely zero chance of unparalizing me. The eyes are still out there, and even without making contact, I know they are looking at me. Now, the coffee shop seems completely devoid of all sound. Except my heart of course with its relentless pounding. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. I tell myself that I can do this. Those other students aren’t much better than me. I don’t care what the teacher says, I’m starting over from the beginning and I’m going to play the whole song from start to finish. It seems like an appropriate time for a big gulp in the back of my throat, but there is no saliva in my mouth to accomplish such a quintessential task. I begin again and force myself note-by-note, line-by-line through the song. When it’s finished, the sound of polite applause fills the coffee shop yet again. As my parents taught me, I respond to the clapping with a slight bow and make my way back to my seat.

Many more songs are performed, each with more complexity than the previous. My face is still red and my heart rate is still elevated, but slowly I begin to appreciate the music and realize that it might be fun if I stick with it long enough to be able to play the songs that the older students play. An hour and a half has passed, and finally the recital has come to an end. As the event breaks up, several of the parents congratulate me on my performance, and the teacher tells me how proud she is of me for playing in my first recital. I consider this praise and begin to feel a bit of pride well up within me. Not everyone can play the piano. It’s not easy.

I gather my sheet music, the recital program, and my jacket and slowly make my way through the tightly spaced tables and chairs to the door. Outside, I feel the cool November air on my face and come to the realization that what I just did, what I just experienced was one of the scariest things of my life, but I faced it head-on and made it through. I contemplate what it means to take on challenges in life and how they define us as individuals.

I reach into my coat pocket, grab my car keys and unlock my 4Runner. As I sit in the seat and start the engine, I begin to remember the peer reviews that I need to coordinate for next week. The NASA engineers will be in town to criticize our design, but I don’t feel the least bit concerned. I am a grown man and I just played in the first piano recital of my life under the unnerving eyes of 8 year olds, their parents, and an occasional hipster. My confidence soars, and I realize that if I was able to make my way through that, I won’t have any problems with the NASA reviews next week.

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This personal essay was written in response to a homework assignment #1, “I forgot who I was…” for the Life Writing class in which we were asked to think about times in our lives when we forgot our very essence. My response was inspired by my favorite quote which happens to be about forgetting who you are in life:

"There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive."
-Jack London, The Call of the Wild

Life Writing Class

Writing has become one of the most rewarding yet challenging activities in my life. Last year at this time, I was wandering along trails in New Zealand and considering the role of writing in my life. Among the many considerations, I came to the conclusion that I wanted to make a deliberate effort to improve my own writing. So when the Boulder Valley School District course catalog for Lifelong Learning classes showed up in my mailbox and I saw a class called Life Writing, I jumped at the opportunity and immediately signed up.

The class follows a workshop format with 10 adult students who all aspire to further enrich the role of writing within their lives. It is only a 4 week class, and there are weekly homework assignments. The writing assignments are short in length (1 page) and are meant to stimulate the students’ need to write about their own life events. After authoring 2 of the 3 essays so far, I decided it would be worth it to share my stories on this site. This is definitely a bit of a deviation for me in terms of content on this site, but it has been fun to expand my own boundaries and see where my writing goes. I am definitely looking for critiques, so don’t hesitate to tell me what you really think!

• Week 1 Homework Theme: “I forgot who I was…” and my response, The Recital
• Week 2 Homework Theme: “Work’s nuts!” and my response, Ceiling Fans in the Sky
• Week 3 Homework Theme: “To See or Not to See—That is the Question!” and my response, The West

Solar Panels on a Westfalia Luggage Rack

In May of 2011, I embarked on several projects to improve the functionality of my 1985 VW Vanagon Westfalia camper. After installing a Bostig turbo charger and designing & building an Arduino-based battery monitor, I designed and installed a solar panel system to keep my beer cold all summer long. But of course, just as I finished the project, I set out on a 10-day kayaking road trip that was part of my kayaking 100 days in 2011! I always intended to share my experiences with this solar system and after having it installed for almost 2 years, it seems like a great to do so!

I put together a video walk-through of the system, so if you have about 14 minutes and want to see and hear all the nitty-gritty details, have a look below! (If you’d like to watch a 2 minute synopsis, check out the video at the bottom of this post.)

The goal of the solar panels was to allow for continuous use of the 12V refrigerator in my van during the summer months, since that would simplify the need to add or remove items from the fridge. Considering that I am always on the go during the summer, I wanted my van to always be ready to support my next adventure and that meant that the fridge needed to already be cold and stocked with beer! And since the pop-top portion of the roof is always loaded with kayaks and other gear and I wanted the panels to be useable without having set them up and take them down each time, it meant that I needed to mount them on the area over the luggage rack. But wait, I have more requirements! The solar panel also needed to be removable so I could set it in the sun when the van was parked in the shade. And finally, just one more requirement—I wanted to retain partial usage of the luggage rack!

Yes, I was able to meet all of those requirements and am extremely happy with the entire system almost 2 years later. The best way to understand how the system works is to watch the video above, but I thought I’d provide a little bit of detail about the components that went into the system in case you are interested in building something similar.

• (2) Ramsond 50 Watt panels for about $150 each
• Various aluminum extrusions and hardware: about $30
• Cabling: about $10 for a 50’ extension cord
• Weatherproof Multi-Con-X connectors from Switchcraft/Conxall: about $90
• Morningstar SunSaver 10A solar charge controller: about $60

Finally, I’ve included a few photos that show the solar panel system in action as well as some details of the mounting system.

Click here to open the photo album in a new window.

Update, 2/19/2013:

If you would rather spend 2 minutes instead of 14 to see how the solar panels mount on the luggage rack, check out this abridged version of the video: