Tag: Paratrooper

My First Motorcycle Arrest

By Mike Huber

Instead of one of my usual blogs on motorcycles, I felt it was time to highlight some of my motorcycling shortcomings. Many of us when starting this magnificent hobby have had a few blunders along the way and, well, some of us have had more significant blunders than others.  Being who I am, it seems when I do anything it is extreme.  Over my 28 years of motorcycling, it is pretty obvious that riding is no different.

I was a young U.S. Army Specialist serving in the 82nd Airborne Division.  One of my best friends was about to go through a rough divorce at the same time that I felt the call to obtain my first motorcycle.  He let me practice on his bike and use it for the test if I purchased it from him.  Facing an imminent divorce allowed for an extremely generous discount (he needed divorce and beer money), and being flat broke, this was what led me to make the purchase.  The bike was a bright yellow Honda Magna 750 that had more than enough power (probably too much) for a first motorcycle.

The deal was pretty much done.  I passed my written test and was ready to take my driver’s exam.  I’m not sure if I was nervous or inexperienced (or both), but as soon as I started the test maneuvering around cones, I knew I was making a ton of mistakes.  The Honda Magna was heavy and not the best choice for a new rider taking the motorcycle license test.  Amazingly, though, I passed the exam.  I later learned my friend had been chatting up the evaluator while I was testing to distract him.  Regarding a successful test output, my friend had as much skin in the game as I did.   After passing the test, I paid him $3500 in cash that I obtained by somehow qualifying for a personal loan.  I became the proud owner of a 1995 Honda Magna 750!

It didn’t take me long to realize I was invincible on the Magna, even though I had no riding skills.  I was a 22-year-old unstoppable 82nd Airborne Paratrooper with a fast motorcycle.  What could go wrong?

Pretty much everything could go wrong.  Almost every evening when leaving Ft. Bragg there would be lights flashing in my rearview mirrors.  It couldn’t be for me as I was way too far ahead of them.  This, of course, was because I was going over 100 miles per hour.  Everything was distant in my rearview mirrors at that speed.  From what others had told me, the MPs were not allowed to leave post and had to call any pursuits into the local Fayetteville police.  By the time that happened and an officer would be dispatched, I was long gone and most likely home on my couch watching TV and having a beer.

This cat and mouse game went on for months.  Not daily, but usually one or two times every week.  I didn’t care as it was nothing but entertainment for me.  These near run-ins with the law helped my ego, but did not improve my riding skills one bit.  Until one day when the birds came home to roost.

Sitting at a light on Ft Bragg, I decided to teach myself how to split lanes.  Not noticing an MP (a Military Police officer) nearby, and noticing even less the car driver next to signaling the MP.  Instantly the lights flipped on and I heard the “whoop whoop” of a siren.  This happened at the moment the light turned green.  All traffic stopped to allow the MP to move forward but he couldn’t as everyone had frozen (except for me, of course). Clicking down into first gear and blasting off like a Shillelagh missile, I was out of there.  Knowing the MP would be able to catch up quickly (I was in the heart of Ft. Bragg), there was no running to the safety of the post border.  After a quick couple turns, I realized it was probably best to pull over.

It was no surprise that the MP was not too happy.  As he was listing my charges, I asked him if I could go inside my battalion headquarters to let my team know I would be late returning from lunch.  The MP agreed, and I entered the headquarters building and proudly announced “Hey, Sarge, I am gonna need a little longer lunch today.”

My sergeant asked why, and the MP promptly and quite loudly said, “His ass is coming with me to the station!”  As I rode to the MP processing station and received my charges, it hit me: It was my wedding anniversary.  Since my CQ (Charge of Quarters) shift was 24 hours, I hadn’t called my wife.   While the arresting officer was rambling to everyone in the station about my reckless driving, I thought this would be a good time to call her.  I asked and was granted permission to make a phone call.  I called my wife and wished her a happy anniversary.  She was quite pleased that I somehow found the time to call during my busy day.  The call was going great until my wife asked where I was.

“Ummm, jail,” I said.  “I am in jail.”

My wife was instantly very mad at me.  Prior to that she had been happy.  I’ll never understand women.

Once released from jail, I was not punished, other than receiving a written letter stating that I had embarrassed the battalion and the 82nd Airborne Division:

The letter was quite stern.  I could not ride a motorcycle on Ft. Bragg until I successfully completed a motorcycle training class.  The safety class was sorely needed, as my riding skills were horrendous (to say the least).  The one hope I had was that upon completing the training class my new riding skills would be used for good and not evil.  Sadly, there would be a Part 2, a Part 3, and even possibly a Part 4 to my maturing as a motorcyclist. For the time being, however, I was allowed back on post and I didn’t receive any military judicial punishment, and that was something to be thankful for.

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Season of Change: Part 4

By Mike Huber

I awoke in my tent still buzzing from the previous night’s ceremony. A frequent side effect from ayahuasca is not being able to sleep that well, but even with little sleep I was ready and excited to face the day with a renewed feeling of positive energy.  I had not only made it through the ceremony but came out the other side feeling a confidence and happiness that I hadn’t felt in years.

Even though I had this elated feeling I was still cautious not to be too upbeat.  I had a final ceremony that evening to go through and I was certain there were still a few things I had yet to process.  Hopefully, this evening would be where I would find the purpose that I originally sought, a star to steer by to light a path, even if it was just a few nearly dead chem lights to point the direction.  Just something.

I passed the day by talking with the others and listening to their experiences and getting to know everyone a little better.  As the day wore on, I began to feel uneasy again as to what that night’s experience would be.  With the ceremony starting at 19:30, the two hours leading up to it I spent in solace and went fishing to pass the time (I had two solid bites but didn’t set the hook so off they went).

Upon entering the yurt I sat on my mat and awaited to be called.  Since this was the third ceremony and I felt as though I had resolved a lot of what I had come here for I chose a smaller dose.  I wanted to be semi-coherent this night so that I could work with the plant, build a relationship, and have her assist me in bringing my purpose into the light.

As I returned to the mat with my cup of medicine, I sat looking deep into the cup for several minutes asking for guidance before I drank the bitter tasting plant medicine.  It didn’t take too long before the muscular black panther appeared and strutted up the mat to be face-to-face with me again.  As I sat eye-to-eye with this magnificent beast, I noticed behind it was the entire universe filled with an infinite amount of lavender colored geometric fractal patterns. I felt so uplifted and began to repeat “what is my purpose?” It was at this time the panther left and the universe melted into a dark scary funhouse as I began to violently purge into my trusty bucket that was kept at my side.  All the while the facilitators were singing and their icaros were resonating through my entire body.  It was beyond overwhelming.  Every sense in my body was heightened as I was blasted with emotion from every direction.

One of my proudest accomplishments is being a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division, but on prior occasions taking ayahuasca my prior Army service never entered my hallucinations.  As the madness of the funhouse carried on, I looked up through the ceiling and could see an enormous 82nd Airborne insignia light up the entire universe.  I once again was in a dark place and began asking why was I seeing this insignia.  Did the plant have a problem with soldiers?  Paratroopers?  Every time I asked my surroundings just became darker and darker.  Every so often it would uplift me for a moment and I would ask about the insignia.  Each time I was thrust back into the funhouse of Hell.  Obviously, I was asking the wrong questions (I learned this after the third or fourth time purging and visiting these dark places).

I am a slow learner. I managed to refocus for a moment and it hit me.  It was almost as if the plant was screaming at me and punishing me for not coming to the obvious conclusion of these signs.  I had asked for purpose during that ceremony and that was it.  The medicine was showing me what my purpose was.  It is to help my fellow veterans in some capacity (this was the conclusion I reached). This was what I had asked for, but I had been too overwhelmed by the hallucinations to focus and obtain that answer.

It’s been three months since I attended the ayahuasca ceremonies. While I am still very mindful of what lessons the plant medicine has taught me, life (as it tends to do) has had me distracted and I find myself backsliding into old habits and losing focus on my new purpose.  I am now alert enough to realize this and I have the discipline to push myself back on track.  As I continue my path forward I am thankful for having the resolve to attend and learn from this beautiful plant medicine.  It is not a magic bullet, but if you follow through on the lessons this plant teaches you there is no doubt you will be a better person.

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National Museum of the US Air Force

Ohio this time, folks, and today’s feature is the National Museum of the United States Air Force.  We had been exploring Indiana, and Dayton was a just a short hop across the border.   This was part of our great visit with good buddy Jeff, and wow, did we ever have a good time.

The official name, as denoted in the title of the blog, is a mouthful.  I’ve heard of this place as the Wright-Patterson air force museum, and it’s been around for a long time.  Dayton is a hop, skip, and a jump away from Vandalia, and my Dad visited the air museum decades ago when he competed in the Grand American Trapshoot in that city when I was a kid.  I always meant to get here, and thanks to Jeff and my navigator’s travel planning (my navigator, of course, is Susie), I finally made it.

Dayton was also home to the world famous Wright brothers.  I recently read a great book about The Wright Brothers by David McCullough, which added greatly to my understanding of their accomplishments.

There were many other early aircraft on display.  I probably should have noted what they all were.  But I was having too much fun taking available light photos with my Nikon.  There’s no flash in any of the pictures in this blog.

There are four main halls in the museum, each dedicated to a specific aviation era.  The first is focused on the early days (that’s what you see in the photos above), and the last is focused on more modern military aircraft.  There are also exhibits of presidential aircraft, missiles, nuclear weapons, and more.

The missile hall was particularly cool.  The photo immediately below shows a nuclear weapon.

The missiles made great photo subjects.  I had two lenses with me: The Nikon 24-120 and the Nikon 16-35.  Most of these shots are with the wide angle 16-35.  Both of these lenses do a great job, the 16-35 even more so in these low light, tight locations.

Here’s another photo of a nuclear (in this case, thermonuclear) bomb.  It’s hard to believe that much energy can be packed into such a small envelope.

The Wright-Patterson Museum also had several experimental aircraft.  These make for cool photos.

That’s Chuck Yeager’s airplane below…it’s the one he used for breaking the sound barrier (or it’s one just like it).

There was an Apollo display, including the actual Apollo 15 capsule.

Our tour guide told us something I didn’t know before.  If the lunar landing module was damaged and couldn’t be repaired such that it could dock with the lunar orbiter, the plan was to leave the guys who landed on the moon there.

One of the displays showed an Apollo astronaut suited up for a moon walk.  What caught my attention was the Omega Speedmaster in the display.  There’s a very interesting story about that watch the Bulova chronograph worn when one of astronauts was replaced just prior to launch.  You can read that story here.  I wear one of the modern Bulova lunar pilot watches.

Here’s one of my favorite airplanes of all time:  The Lockheed C-130 Hercules.   It’s an airplane that first flew in 1954.  Analysts believe it will still be flying in 2054.  Imagine that:  A military aircraft with a century of service.

A long time ago, I went through the Airborne School at Fort Benning, Georgia, and I made a few jumps from a C-130.  My last jump was from the C-141 Starlifter jet, an aircraft that was retired from military service several decades ago (even though it was introduced way after the C-130).  The C-141 jump was a lot more terrifying to me than was jumping from a C-130.

In a C-130 you have to jump up and out to break through the boundary layer of air that travels with the C-130.  Because you jump up and out, it was like jumping off a diving board…you never really get a falling sensation (even though you drop more than a hundred feet before the parachute opens).  On a C-141, though, you can’t do that.  If you jump up and out, you’ll get into the jet exhaust and turn yourself to toast.  The C-141 deploys a shield just forward of the door, so the drill is to face the door at a 45-degree angle and simply step out.  When that happens, you fall the same distance as you do when exiting a C-130, but you feel every millimeter.  It scared the hell out of me.

The Museum also has a section displaying prior presidential aircraft…different versions of Air Force One.  That was also fascinating.  One of the Air Force One planes is the 707 that was took President Kennedy to Dallas, and then returned with his body that afternoon.

Jackie Kennedy would not allow JFK’s coffin to be stowed in the freight compartment on the flight back to Washington.  She wanted it to fly with her in the passenger compartment.  An enterprising flight engineer obtained a hacksaw and cut away part of the bulkhead just ahead of the rear passenger door, which allowed the coffin to make the turn into the aircraft.

There were other presidential aircraft on display as well, including the one used by Franklin Roosevelt and Harry Truman.

Not everywhere a president flies can handle a large jet, so sometimes Presidents use small executive jets.  One of the first of these bizjets used for Air Force One (any airplane carrying the President is designated Air Force One) was a small Lockheed.  President Lyndon Johnson called the small Lockheed executive jet below “Air Force One Half.”

It was a good day, and a full day.  Even spending a good chunk of our day at the Museum, we were only able to see two of the four halls.  That made for a good day, but if you want to see the entire Museum, I think it would be wise to allow for a two-day visit.

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