Mechanic Olympics

Almost one full year has past since I left Kuwait, embarking on a quest to become an aircraft mechanic. Some said I'd lost my damn mind. Some called me their hero. Most probably wondered if I'd actually do through with it and I count myself in that third group. If you know me at all, you know that I've had a great many "career paths" in my relatively short number of years as an adult. If you've ever asked me what I'm doing, or what I'm doing next, you have probably heard a great many more grand schemes of possible career paths, some of which I have not completely ruled out. I still like the pirate idea. And the tree village resort idea. There's still time... I may get to those yet.

As for the choice to pursue my A & P Mechanic certificate (Airframe and Powerplant mechanic for those not hip to the aeronautical industry lingo), I think this one is actually holding water. I am almost halfway through my classes, I have a summer session and one more school year to go. Plus, my written, oral and practical test for both the A and P ratings. It's safe to say that I'm still a beginner. I have no military experience, no aircraft experience, and no mechanic experience. And yet, I volunteered my name for the PAMA (Professional Aviation Maintenance Association) Olympics: a competition among A & P students, sponsored by Snap-on tools.

I wrote down my name, never thinking I'd be chosen for the 5-person team to represent our school, after all, I'm just a beginner. They picked me. I was flattered of course. So, when the coaches informed us that we would have to perform 12 skills from all aspects of the A & P program, including the subjects I have not covered yet, I wasn't really listening. I was thinking about how cool I was to be selected over the obviously more qualified dudes in my class.

"Do you think they picked you cuz you're a girl?" one of them asked.

"Maybe." I said. "Too bad you're a guy. I have a lot less competition."

Two weeks before the competition, we, the Tarrant County College (TCC) team, gave up all social life and extra sleep to spend 12+ hours a day at the school practicing our skills. Or, in my case, to learn a semester's worth of material in a few days.

The weekend before the competition I came down with a fever that lasted from Saturday afternoon to Sunday night. Monday morning I went to school, took my airframe electricity section test (scored a 96) and then went to the doctor. Bronchitis and pneumonia. "Take it easy," they said as they injected a steroid shot into my backside and gave me a prescription for anti-biotics. "Get some rest."

Yeah, right. I did take a nap though. One. I hate naps. Then back to school.

Last weekend TCC hosted the 2010 PAMA Olympics and your favorite faux-redhead took 4th place. Unofficially. Officially, our team won the 1st place team award and one of the guys from our team, who has recently finished his oral and practical tests for both the A & P, took 1st place as an individual. Unofficially, I scored higher than the other three guys on my team and just barely missed the 3rd place prize of a Snap-on wrench set. The results were not published so to not offend anyone, but I've been told from several reliable sources that the crusty old dude instructors were "blown away." They now know me by name instead of just "the skinny redhead one."

And so, it was all worth it. Next year I go for the gold.

These are the skills we were asked to perform within a time limit of 15 minutes at each station:

• Magneto point setting (a magneto is like the distributor on a car)
• Spark pug end replacement
• Electrical resistor values, wire splicing and wire selection charts
  
• Weight and balance equations (finding the center of gravity and stuff like that)
• FAR research (Federal Aircraft Regulations. The FAA publishes enough rules to fill an entire library. Now, find the one rule that applies to this specific situation... yeah, no fun.)
• Safety wire (Aircraft bolts are tied together with wire to prevent them from coming loose, and if they do come loose, to prevent them from flying off and into the engine or propeller.)
• Rigid tube manufacture (Look as this schematic and bend your tubes to match with the proper hardware fittings.)
  
• Hardware identification (Part numbers, not just general categories)
• Hydraulic hose manufacture (measure, cut, and install fittings according to a drawing)
• Borescope an engine and report any damage found
• Torque procedures (torque hardware according to size and material)
• Rivet installation (aircraft exteriors are held together with rivets, like nails for a house)

I am proud to say that, yes, I do know how to do all of these things.

From Um to Om to Ohms

Hello party people. It's been a few minutes longer than a really long time since I added any stories to this blog. I do apologize. So much has happened since May 2009. I didn't write because I didn't know where to start. But, as the great Master Yoda says: "Do or don't. There is no try." So, I start at the present and I'll add a montage of back-story as we carry on in the current happenings. So, with no further adieu...

From Um to Om to Ohms

"Um" is the Arabic word for "mother." In tradition, when a woman gives birth, her given name is replaced with the title Um (first born child's name), as in Um Yousef, or Um Sherifa. However, if Yousef is born after Sherifa and her sisters, Shuruq, Farah and Sarah, her title changes again to reflect the first son's name. In this way she pays respect to her future caretaker and decision-maker for the family when her husband has passed on. That's a little something I learned in the last three years. Maybe you already knew about that, but it was news to me. Hey mom, if you're reading this, prepare to be called Um Ryan at least once in the near future.

Now there is both time and distance between me and Kuwait, I am grateful for everything I gained, everything I lost, and people I met while I lived on those rich and polluted shores.

I went forth with our crazy plan to quit our good jobs, stacking papers as they say--making the big money--and I am now enrolled in the Aviation Maintenance program at Tarrant County College NW Campus. I am in a building of mechanic students, sandwiched between the police academy and the largest firefighters training facility in the area. A shout out to all my single, lady friends: If you're looking for some hearty, useful, good-ol-boys, come find me at TCC. I'll give you a tour. By the time we walk from the front door to the hangar door, everyone will know your name and wonder if we're married. Those boys spread gossip faster than a prayer chain and anyone seen talking to me runs the risk of being rumored as my "more-than-friend."

The similarity of Ohm and om is about the only visible connection that can be made between my two opposing lives as founder of a yoga non-profit and an aviation mechanic student. Ohm, as in Ohm's Law which defines the relationship between power, current, resistance and voltage; and "Ooooommmm," as in the origin of sound, often recited three times at the beginning and end of a yoga session.

How does one reconcile the vast scape from yogini to mechanic? Well, for the first week or so I had a strange sort of insomnia wherein during sleep my brain tried desperately to find a connection between my yoga knowledge and the incoming aviation information. I would wake up assigning part numbers to yoga poses and categorizing muscle groups into NPN or PNP transistors. It was maddening. I got over that and now I'm devising a series of yoga articles based on the principles of electrical circuit resistors. Stay tuned for those...

Overall, life is good. We are at the very limit of how long we can go without income, but Doug is just about to save the day with a job doing what he does best: Webmastering. The interview was yesterday, it went great, they said "he's our man" and now it's just a matter of waiting and wading through the paperwork. We've had about six months to resettle into the American Life. We moved to Fort Worth, TX, bought a Ford and got a dog. He's a 6-month old boxer puppy, aptly named Ruckus.

Today my schedule looks like this:
Wake up around 7:00-7:30am, take dog out.
Make espresso in my Italian stove-top espresso pot while Doug makes a delicious breakfast.
Watch an episode of Dead Like Me from 2004 on Netflix Live.
Update the the DCY website: www.dirtcheapyoga.com.
Open an early birthday presents from Doug and Ruckus. Highlights: The Zen of Zombie: Better Living Through the Undead. and piano sheet music for MUSE and Fiona Apple.
Write a personal blog.
Write a DCY blog.
Take Ruckus out again and then go to the gym.
Write a Examiner article about neti pots.
Attend Basic Electricity class at 5:30pm.
Celebrate my 11th wedding anniversary a few days early with Doug and a romantic late dinner in Fort Worth.
Take Ruckus out and let him play with his best friend and neighbor, Poncho, the pit-bull.
Have a nightcap or two and call it a night.

Not a bad day. And it not a bad life to live and learn from Um, Ohm, and om.

One-way Trip to Angelo... And Back.

My car is my home; the road is my companion. Until that blown tire. Now my car feels like a dead-weight mortgage and the tow truck driver my new bestie.

When I could not find the spare tire anywhere in, on, or under the car I called our insurance company and asked them to send a tow truck. An hour later, Michael - my new best friend - arrived, picked up the Z and I, and drove us to the nearest town of Cisco. Cisco has three car repair shops and Michael and I visited all three before I found a used tire in the the right size.

I then found the spare tire.

It was hidden in the side of the car... very hard to see. It was deflated to save space, so it wouldn't have done me any good anyway. The canned air next to it was old and rusted with a label that was peeling off.

I later found a new can of tire-inflating air in a different hiding spot. But that was days later, after I dropped my USB thumb drive behind the passenger seat and went digging for it.

Back on the road, I took a different route from Abilene to San Angelo, through Balinger and cotton country. This section of two-lane highway feels like America. Good ole boys in duely* ranch trucks generously move to the shoulder, allowing faster drivers to cruise around them. It is customary to give a little wave through your back windshield. A small gesture of thanks left-over from cowboy code.

A strange phenomenon happened as I sped along these country roads at twilight. God started talking to me. How did I know it was really Him speaking? He signed his name, of course. Plain as midday sun, readable as black and white letters, he said: "If you're going to swear, use your own name." ~God.

Good one, God. I get it. Touche. And then, a few miles farther, he spoke to me again. This time the message was less jovial and more inspirational. He said: "Don't worry about the future; I've already been there." ~God.

Wow. Just like John Connor. Unlike John Connor, though, God has a marketing budget and his media booking agent, apparently, is The Baptist Church.

I guess that's all God had to say to me that day. The awkward silence at the end of conversation was replaced by my other new best friend, Sirius XMU satellite radio. Here's a sampling of some of my favorites:

Santigold: "Shove It"

The Rapture: "No Sex for Ben"

The Thermals: "Now We Can See"

Neko Case: "This Tornado Loves You"

*The term "duely" refers to pick-up trucks with a set of duel rear tires.