Fun behind The Shop

Shortly after I graduated from arch school I did a stint designing mega houses in Northern Virginia. I had sold my NYC urban assault moto bike and bought a beautiful (yet primitive by today’s standards) Cannondale mountain bike. My friend Jason and I used to ditch work early and ride the trails around Great Falls Park where the Potomac has class 5 rapids. We inadvertently had chosen a park that was frequented by some of Langley’s newest residents, fresh from mostly military careers, and now in the big leagues at ‘The Shop’.

In short, some of them were just major pricks, and even though I had a bell on my handlebars to warn them of our proximity (to which I got endless grief from hard core cyclists), they often refused to let us pass on the steep downhill single tracks. So Jason and I invented a game to make our rides more interesting and sporting.

We each bought beat up briefcases at the Tyson’s Corner Salvation Army. We would approach each other from opposite ends of the park and surreptitiously, in full view of one of these guys, exchange briefcases and ride off in separate directions.

Since these boys were on the verge of distinguished spook careers, they felt it necessary to chase after one of us. We got a great deal of exercise and delight dragging them up and down the very technical terrain. A few times they even followed us home and parked down the street with their ‘innocuous’ government cars pretending to read a map or newspaper while we sipped beers and cleaned our bikes.

One day I had a guy very determined to catching me. I had taken him to the top of a steep shale ridge and was roaring down the other side, intent on ditching him and linking up with Jason for some beers. As I barreled downwards, I spotted two trees on either side of the trail, so close that there was probably less than an inch to spare on either side of my handle bars. I did the math in my head and went for it. At the last millisecond I saw that there was a giant spider at face level in her web between the trees. As I was committed at this point, I went right through the middle and his web wrapped around my helmet.

I came to a not so graceful halt, ripped off my helmet trying to figure out where the spider was. In the midst of this the guy caught up to me and was trying to figure out why I was dancing around like a mad man with fingers franticly combing my hair. I regained my dignity and went over to retrieve the bike and briefcase out of the bushes. I opened up the case and offered him a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich. He huffed off in disgust.

About 20 years later I got a 911 call from a guy who was passing through Seattle on his motor yacht headed to Alaska the next morning. He needed an electrical problem fixed. After talking with him while I diagnosed and fixed his problem it became evident that he was an instructor at Langley and remembered me and Jason. In fact they had assembled a file on us. He told me, “Yea, we figured out pretty fast who you guys were and what you were up to. We thought it was a great way to train some of our slower recruits…”

I never did find the spider.

Taxi Cab Tag

I used to commute between where I lived in Brooklyn and my job working high rise construction in Manhattan on a Honda 110cc street/trail motorcycle. I had found that this was the ideal bike for the rough streets of the city. It was a very light bike and, although it wouldn't go much faster than 45 miles and hour, it was nimble and agile enough to get me around town in city traffic. Plus it was stout enough to survive the rough city streets.

The biggest nemesis to my safety and well being in the city were the taxi cabs. Anyone who is familiar with traffic in New York City knows that taxis are way up there on the aggressive driving pyramid. What little respect they have for pedestrians and cars is non-existent when it comes to motorcycles. Out of all of the close calls I've ever had on a motorcycle I would hazard to guess at least 90% were related to taxi cabs cutting me off in traffic or pulling out in front of me from the curb or side streets.

There is an old Dire Straights song called 'Making Movies' about a girl living in a large city who roller skates through traffic with music blasting through her headphones. The song on the radio dictates her rhythm and tempo as she weaves in and out of traffic. There is one line in the song that recounts her stance as an 'urban toreador' with a taxi cab. This gave me an idea as to my own dilemma regarding these aggressive cabs. I decided I wasn't going to take their abuse and instead of being their victim, I was going to play a game of my own devising with them. A game I liked to call 'Taxi Cab Tag'.

The rules were simple. I rode through traffic defensively with the intent of getting to work or home without incident. As always, I wore a full face helmet, a strong jacket, gloves, jeans, and usually, my steel toed Red Wing construction boots. If a taxi cab interfered with me in an aggressive manner I would gauge the playing field, traffic on the street, and then zoom up next to the driver's side door and give it a good kick. Tag! You're it! Foolish and stupid? Yes, but oh so fun. If there was any kind of traffic I had the advantage on my motorcycle. I could weave in and out of cars, take tight corners and generally confound any cab that decided to take up the challenge.

I got quite good at judging how well a taxi cab was going to play the game. A cab without a passenger was generally more likely to play the game but generally less likely to be aggressive in the first place. A cab with passengers was more likely to act aggressively but less likely to give chase.

One evening I found the perfect player for my game. Or rather he found me. A big yellow Checker Marathon cab ahead of me had just discharged his passengers at the curb and pulled directly out in front of me. It was only by a combination of hard braking and moving between lanes of traffic that I was able to avoid running into him. I always got off from work a little before rush hour really started in full swing, so the streets were packed but not congested. This gave me some room to maneuver plus gave the cabbie the sense that he could catch me. If it were just the two of us on a lonely stretch of road the taxi would have the advantage of speed and power to my advantage of maneuverability.

So, after this particular incident, I gained my composure and rode up next to the driver's door. I waited for a hole to open up in the next lane over to my left. Just big enough for me, but not for the cab. I kicked the cab's door as hard as I could with my steel toed RedWing (those Checkers had thick steel in their doors!) and waited to see the pissed off look of the cabbie before I broke left, went around a few cars and settled back down to the flow of traffic. In my right mirror I could practically see the steam coming out of the windows of the cab as he tried to switch lanes back and forth trying to catch up to me.

I knew the traffic lights so well on Second Avenue that I could tell where I was in the 'bubble' of green by looking at the crosswalk signs as I passed each intersection. Sometimes I would zoom up a few blocks ahead of the cab and let a red light catch me. But only if he was stuck at a light farther back. Several times I would make a quick right turn right as the pedestrians were starting to cross at the cross street.

I could tell that my game-mate this evening was very intent on catching up to me as he was making every effort to follow my every move through traffic. In fact he was getting more and more intent on connecting with me on some meaningful level. I saw him cutting off more and more people and at one point nearly run over some people in a cross walk. Our cat and mouse game had taken us all the way from the upper east side of Manhattan to the Wall Street area and now I was leading us back up Broadway towards the Village. I could have just zoomed off and left him in the dust at any time but I decided to have one final go with him.

The streets of Manhattan form a generally orderly grid, with mostly clean rectangular blocks. But Broadway was an old sheep path that lead up the island in a haphazard manner and divided blocks into odd shapes. I knew one block in particular that had an interesting alley in the center of it. When you entered the alley it appeared as if the alley dead ended at the buildings at the far end of it. These buildings were actually skewed slightly in such a manner that you couldn't see that there was a narrow pedestrian sidewalk between two of the buildings when you entered the alley.

Making sure that the cab was about half a block behind me, and in full view, I turned down the alley and rode to the end. I stopped the bike with the engine running, pointed towards the opening between the two buildings and waited. The cab entered the alley and stopped when he saw me at the end. Trapped. I figured the guy was going to inch down the alley and some point stop the cab, get out and come at me with ill intent. Instead the guy revved up the Marathon's engine and started tearing down the alley at me. I suddenly realized that this guy was intent on smashing me against the brick wall.

Down the alley he came at maybe 25 to 30 miles per hour. Not very fast but in the tight confines of the alley very fast indeed. I revved up my motor and put the bike into gear, waiting to pop the clutch and squirt through the hole in the wall when he got about 50 feet away. And then something incredible happened. Something that I wouldn't have imagined could happen.

This particular block has several restaurants and businesses along Broadway. As a result, there are many large steel dumpsters lining both sides of the alley. The other significant thing is that there is an almost imperceptible narrowing of the alley as it proceeds towards the end. When the cab was still about 70 to 80 feet away from me, just as I was ready to pop the clutch and bolt, he connected with one of the dumpsters and almost immediately glanced a dumpster in the other side. The dumpsters on either side of the cab rolled as much as they could but then each became jammed against their respective buildings. Like a wedge driven into a wet log the whole taxi cab became jammed between the dumpsters.

When he became stuck, the cab still had just enough forward momentum that the rear of the cab lifted slightly, and although the wheels were still touching the pavement, they could find no traction on the slippery cobblestones. I stared at the scene in dumbfound amazement. Here was this big Checker Marathon cab, stuck, with doors pinned on either side, not able to move. I got off of my bike and stared at the driver. He was in a rage unlike I had ever seen, pounding on the dash and the roof, practically foaming at the mouth and fixing his dark almond eyes on the with such malice that I nearly froze in my tracks.

I climbed over the cab to look at it from the rear. His back up lights were still on and the tired were spinning, barely touching the pavement. I took out my Swiss Army knife, pulled open the screw driver and did one of the most stupid things of my life. I crouched down in behind the rear bumper and took a trophy.

The Checker Cab's back up light is a separate clear round glass lens from the turn signal and running light lenses. It has two screws holding on a chrome ring which in turn holds on the glass lens. I took it apart and put the lens and chrome ring in my jacket pocket. I then climbed back over the cab with the irate cabbie still pounding away and hurling curses at me that would make Don King blush. I hoped back on the bike, started it back up, gave the cabbie a salute and rode through the hole in the wall.

I have often wondered what became of that cabbie. How he got out of there. He could have called his dispatcher and told them that he was stuck in a dead end alley. But how would he explain that? Or he would have had to break the thick glass of the front or rear window and crawled out, maybe to try to enlist the help of some friends to get his cab unstuck.

It was the last time that I ever played my cat and mouse game of Taxi Cab Tag. After a few more close calls with the motorcycle in the city and surrounding boroughs, I elected to retire it in greener pastures in Connecticut before it killed me or, more likely I killed myself with it.

(c) Kai Schwarz 2012

The Rusty Barnacle Story

Once there was this wonderfully complacent barnacle, clinging to a spot on a rock and watching in fascination all of the marvels that drift by him. He gains most of his sustenance by filter feeding the nutrients from the flowing water. But this barnacle is not just a casual observer no matter how inconspicuous he would like to be. He is affected by his environment, in this case a nail nearby staining him with its rust. All the other barnacles marvel at his cool colors and what a nice spot he has on his secure rock on the edge of the bay. Soon new barnacles are growing and flourishing on his rock and he enjoys the company and adoration of them. But after a while the din is overwhelming. He craves the time when he had his solitude to marvel at the things that drifted by. To wonder what they were, where they came from and where they were going.

One day this barnacle has a crazy, very unbarnacle kind of idea. Through super barnacle strength of will and determination, he does something few barnacles dare to do. He manages to detach himself from his nice secure vantage point and trust the flow of the current that has sustained him. Some of the other barnacles think he's crazy. Many think he's so 'lucky' and wish they had the time, will, guts, circumstances or whatever to do what he's doing.
Our rusty protagonist manages to reverse the cohesive bonding tendencies of his exoskeleton shell (he's been reading up on the subject of biophysics) and drifts clear of his rock. After much thought and observation, he has timed his departure to coincide with the out going tide. He has noticed that the tastier bits and more interesting stuff flows by when the tide normally comes in and that direction holds more promise.

It does not go well for him at first. For several tidal changes he just goes around in circles banging against things occasionally. But mostly he is just being suspended in the flowing current. Like an alien in a calcified space ship. He drifts by his old rock occasionally and several of his friends notice him going by. He waves his filters at them and they wish him luck.
After a while he gets tired and decides to rest on the next solid feeling thing he comes across. He drifts into a shady area and bumps the underside of some kind of overhang. He makes his way to the edge of the shade and light, for he knows that edges are places where interesting stuff happens, and goes to sleep.

He drifts awake with the realization that there is a new fresher taste to the water flowing past him. His head clears slowly (barnacles do everything slowly). The 'rock' he is clinging to the underside of had a most unrocklike feeling to it. With a start he realizes his rock is moving! Not just through the water but slowly up and down as well. He becomes comfortable with the motion and watches as the water beneath him gets darker and the ground recedes away from him. He gets a quick glimpse of some of his old barnacle friends clinging to the rocks of the harbor's breakwater and waves his filters madly at them. They wave back and soon he is only with himself and becomes elated with the thoughts of the experiences, which lie ahead.

(c) Kai Schwarz 2012 (with thanks to Richard Bach)

Metamorphosis Project

About half way through architecture school I was given a design project by one of my professors at the beginning of the semester. Usually we were given a ‘fun’ project to loosen us up and then a more serious project, which usually coincided with something the professor was working on at the time. The project which we were given was to design vacation a house for our favorite architect. At the time I was very interested in Paolo Soleri who I had spent time with in the Arizona desert helping to build his visionary city Arcosanti.

I thought about where Soleri would go to 'get away' and recharge his batteries. Since he lives and works in the high desert I thought he would enjoy being him out on the ocean for a while. I began to think about what would be the ideal structure in which he would be comfortable that could thrive the rigors of the open sea. I needed to design an artificial island of sorts which would remain relatively stable in the most severe storms yet not be affixed to the land. I wanted Soleri to drift in solitude and contemplation.

I the late sixties the Scripts Institute of Oceanography built a deep seas research vessel called the Flip.

This vessel consisted of a front section built in the shape of a ship and a hundred foot long tube at the rear. The vessel was towed far out to sea and then a series of ballast chambers would flood in the tube causing the entire vessel to ‘flip’ vertically in the water. The top third of the vessel stuck out of the water and provided a very stable platform from which the scientists could gather data for all sorts of oceanographic and atmospheric experiments.

I proposed Solerie’s house should follow a similar shape. My professor and fellow students were skeptical of the stability of such a design from my early sketches. So I built a small model from a drinking straw with a weight at one end, representing the ballast, and a foam chunk at the other end representing the actual dwelling. I also built a small wave chamber. When I subjected my crude model to the full furry of a simulated storm of epic proportions in the chamber, the model barely bobbed or oscillated at all in the water.

Once the basic form was agreed upon, I began to design the guts of this thing. In order to survive on its own in the harsh environment of the open ocean I realized it needed to be a living, breathing organism. Because a human, or humans, were to live on this thing there needed to be a symbiotic relationship between them and the vessel to ensure the sustainability of the collective organism. First there needed to be a source of capturing and storing energy. Where does energy come from on the open ocean? I could think of four sources, solar, thermal (differences between surface temp. and deep water temp.) and mechanical in the form of wave and wind action. I decided to use both solar and wave action in varying forms.

I thought of wave action as being more consistent and therefor more reliable than wind action. I proposed running a vertical column though the center of the stem. This shaft would be have openings at the top and bottom to allow a column of water to rise up and down as waves passes by outside of the stem. A turbine with oscillating blades would be mounted either at the top of the shaft, to catch air flow, or at the bottom, to catch water flow.

But how would this vessel be constructed? Initially it could be built using common ship building techniques with steel or composite materials. I became aware of an emerging technology of growing a concrete-like material called 'seacrete' or 'biorock' in the ocean using low voltage electricity and the chemical nature of sea water.

I began designing a structure that would grow out of the saturated minerals present in sea water, as well as utilize high tensile membranes (eventually also grown using bio-engineered algees and other organisms). A large part of this was to utilize wave action to provide the energy required to make it all happen. This led to the realization that at some point the structure could produce a surplus harvested of energy to 'take it to the next level'.

I have to admit that this is a fanciful pet project or 'Gedankenexperiment'. I have been working on this since the mid 80's, pulling together developing technologies that I have encountered along the way as well as my own personal experience from my various long distance nautical endeavors over the years.

With the continued development of nano-technologies, as well as the emergence of carbon/graphene based materials, the possibilities are even more attainable than when I first envisioned them. The sea- crete technology alone, coupled with solar, wind and wave based energy capturing systems has relevance in today's world for reef restoration of coastal communities around the world as sea levels and meteorological conditions intensify due to global warming.

For an overview of the Metamorphosis project and older pictures of the various stages see:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2131107597350.2100909.1235801502&type=1

Boxing up Desire

Fall update from Seattle: After ariving in Kona and working furiously to get Desire ready to meet my weather window, I discovered that NOAA had issued a proclimation that they had just figured out that they were still seeing conditions that last year's la ninia weather conditions were still in effect in the Pacific.

What that ment for me was that instead of a 35-40 day sail back to Seattle I would most likely encounter a 45-55 day journey. I spent the next few days thinking about my boat and my own capabilities and realized that it just didn't make sense to expose myself to that level of risk in terms of being able to carry enough provisions for such a journey as well as the long term effects of fatigue, sleep depravation and exposure to the unpredictable nature of ocean travel.

I then made one of the toughest discussions of my life. Given that I had expended lots of time and resources the previous year (as well as this year) to bringing Desire back to my home waters, and that I was committed to spending the next few years trying to make a success of my new company, it would be next to impossible to mount another effort of this sort any time soon.

I realized that instead of looking at this as a rescue mission I needed to think of it as a salvage mission. I built a sturdy crate and boxed up all of the books, momentous, tools and gear that I wanted to keep from Desire and arranged with an oceanic freight company to ship it back to Seattle. I sorted through the stuff that was left and gave away a bunch of it to friends in Kona who could use it and I organized the stuff that should stay with Desire. I spent the rest of my time sprucing Desire up as best I could and then flew home to Seattle, entrusting Desire to Craig's List and friends who would look after her until she was sold.

The crate of stuff (all 687 pounds) arrived safely here in Seattle a few weeks ago. I've had a few looky loo's (keel kickers) interested in Desire but no serious takers yet. Meanwhile I'm charging ahead on several fronts to grow my budding company out of the dirt.

I made it to Kona and moved Desire from the storage yard to the work yard the next morning. I spent most of the day washing and cleaning the spiders, dirt and oxidation off of her. (No bees this time!) Afterwards it took me a while to figure out why I was feeling so spent. The VOG around here from the volcano is really heavy right now and my throat and sinuses are raw. I need the clean air of the open sea!

Do you have a flag?

Do you have a flag?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTduy7Qkvk8

Why, yes we do.