Alan Fox

When I was 18, I combined a $1,000 inheritance from my grandmother with the $800 I had saved from tutoring and bought my first new car – a metallic blue VW bug.  I found the best price at a dealership in Costa Mesa, about 80 miles from my home.

While Volkswagen bugs with manual transmissions were never known for their get-up-and-go, this one seemed unusually sluggish on the drive home.  I later discovered I had neglected to release the emergency brake.  While I never made that mistake again, I did run out of gas a few times.  There was no fuel gauge in those early VWs.

I was extremely proud of my new car.  For the first month, I parked it on the street in front of my parents’ house.  One morning, I came out to find that someone had sideswiped my beloved VW during the night.  There were two unsightly scrapes on the left rear fender.  I was extremely upset, especially because I didn’t have enough money to pay for repairs.

I was angry for an entire month.  Then I decided to change my attitude.

I realized that it did me no good to remain upset.  After all, a car is a thing.  If I had the money, I could have it repaired or replaced.

On the other hand, the people I loved could never be repaired or replaced.  I had only one mother, one father, and one little brother.  But I would probably own many new cars in my life, each one hopefully better than the last.

In that moment, I decided to reserve my love only for people, and not for things.  And I’ve kept that promise.  I’ve saved myself a lot of grief by refusing to feel upset when a “thing” is damaged or destroyed.

By contrast, when my brother died unexpectedly about 20 years ago, I was devastated.  On a deep level, I still am.

Ironically, my red Tesla now has two scrapes on its rear fender.  Both were my fault – the exit to our office parking structure isn’t as wide as it should be.

I like my car a lot.  But I do not love it.

I reserve my love for you.

Alan

In my last two blogs I wrote about travelling to the North Pole and to Antarctica.  These are probably two of the more unusual destinations I’ve visited in my life.  Now that the Pandemic is no longer considered a global emergency people have decided to travel again, and travel agents are preparing for a surge of summer activity.

Where are we all going?  Personally, I’ve always enjoyed cruising.  At the end of summer, I’ve scheduled a river cruise from St. Louis to Philadelphia.  Cruising is great – you don’t have to pack and unpack every day, the scenery comes to you, and Daveen prefers a cruise without any waves, so a river cruise is perfect.

Last year we enjoyed a ten-night cruise on the Columbia River.  Most of us are familiar with Lewis and Clark, the explorers known for leading an expedition through the Pacific Northwest.  It’s hard for me to imagine a world in which a Boeing 747 could not fly you anywhere you wanted to go – even across the country or to another continent.  And no Ferraris or Teslas or freeways or even maps – just horses and canoes and improvised wagons.

But because we have access to modern transportation, I’ve been fortunate to travel to many destinations. Some I’ve enjoyed visiting many times. These include:

1. Edinburgh, Scotland. Fifty years ago, my dad introduced me to the annual Edinburg Festival in August, and I have returned often since then, usually seeing four or five theater performances in a single day.
2. New York City. You might sense a pattern here.  I mostly visit New York to attend the theater on (and occasionally off) Broadway.
3. The perfect family vacation.  Daveen and the children visit the beach.  I remain in my hotel room fully dressed, covered with suntan lotion, and reading a book.  No sunburn for me.  (I was on the big island for the 1991 solar eclipse.  Just as the moon began to block the sun, a cloud cover moved to obscure the view, so after considerable time and expense I found myself watching the solar eclipse on CNN).

If you don’t want to expose yourself to coughing strangers on an airplane right now, you might sponsor a “travel party,” where everyone attending describes one or two of their favorite vacation spots and shares a few photos and videos.  Could be an interesting evening, and you’ll have even more ideas for your next vacation.

Meanwhile, I’m off on my next trip.  It’s only 3 miles via car on easily navigated roads, to the Beverly Glen Deli for lunch with one of my sons.

Happy travels.

Alan

In last week’s blog I finished just as a crack in the ice approached our small plane. Our party (my two sons, Daveen, and I) quickly boarded our small, chartered airplane parked at the North Pole (actually, nine-tenths of a mile away), for the return flight back to the safety of the Canadian weather station base camp.  We managed to take off just as the ice crack extended dangerously close to our plane.

But our adventure wasn’t over. The flight back took eight hours and we needed to stop at a rendezvous site to refuel.  After refueling, the pilot told us that the ice pack was too bumpy for us to take off. He handed us all shovels so we could flatten the takeoff strip.  Unfortunately, we didn’t flatten it quite enough.

On takeoff we felt a large “bump” just as we became airborne.

Our pilot announced the bad news over the intercom. The plane’s hydraulic system had been knocked out which meant he wouldn’t be able to extend the flaps to slow us down or lower the wheels when we landed.  As we approached the weather station, he warned us we would be landing on a gravel runway with skis rather than wheels, and at a higher-than-normal speed.

“We’ll be fine,” he added.  That was certainly reassuring.

As our group leader I knew I was responsible for setting the tone, so I made it a point to remain entirely upbeat.  If this trip was to be our last, we might as well enjoy it.

Just before we landed the pilot instructed us to lean forward and hold our hands over the back of our necks.  Gee, I thought.  Just like a Boeing 737.

Crash. Thud.  Bumpity-bumpity-bump.  There was a loud cascade of expletives from the cockpit.

I’ve heard it said that a good landing is one you walk away from, and in that respect it was fine. For the passengers at least.  The pilot was a bit upset.  He told us that in ten years of Arctic flying he had never had an accident, and it looked like the plane would need more than $500,000 in repairs.

When we trooped into the weather station we were greeted with a festive lunch.  I wondered why I was so hungry.  And tired.  Then I realized – our adventure had lasted 23 hours.  The sun remained above the horizon the entire time, which meant that we couldn’t properly estimate the passage of time.

Would I do this again?  Maybe.  After all, I’m not even 93 yet.

But even as I write this a part of me is a little surprised I traveled to the North Pole in the first place.

Alan