This entire book was intended to be a brief 15,000-word or so summary of my early life. As you can see, at over 35,000 words it got quickly out of hand. There are so many more people, places, and activities I'd love to tell you about.

This would include my childhood friend Max, who would drive me around on the back of his self-built motorized tricycle delivering papers on his paper route.

And I can't forget my best friend at Mather, Pete Killian, the highly intellectual navigator bombardier who met his wife while at Navigator training and chose me for best man at his wedding.

And I have to tell you about at least one of the adventures with my Mather friends Doug, Doyle, and Tin. How we set out one weekend totally unprepared to conquer Mount Shasta and halfway up got caught in a blizzard and found shelter in a rustic stone cabin where we spent the night along with a group of hippies with whom we shared stories and the most interesting potluck soup you could possibly imagine. Fortunately, in the dim light of the fireplace fire we couldn't really see the freegan additions our new friends had made to the soup we were cooking over the fire in a large pot they had brought. (I just learned the word freegan. It exactly describes their contribution made forty years before this word was even coined! I also just learned that I am what you call a wordie. No, I didn't misspell it. Although I may also be wordy, a wordie is someone who loves words the same way a foodie loves food. So, naturally, I had to share these two new words with you.)

I can't my streaking buddy John Haynes. Kids, it was a dare, and streaking was very popular back then. Streaking was the fad where you stripped naked and ran like crazy across some public place. After a quick jog around the condo complex, I put my swim trunks back on, but John remained naked for the rest of the evening much to my neighbor's chagrin. John's wife and the rest of my guests at the pool party found it entertaining.

John was also my orienteering partner on a three-day event celebrating our promotions to first lieutenant. About thirty of us newly promoted officers spent a weekend camping and navigating an orienteering course in the woods around Sutter Buttes. For three days I drank nothing that did not contain alcohol, mostly beer. John partook of much more potent beverages. We came in next to last in the orienteering contest, but that was because John was fighting a hangover. The winners jogged the entire course and probably actually drank water.

And then, there were my other camping buddies at McClellan AFB — Mike, Roy, Steve, and of course Mike's dog Tensor. With whom, I finally did get to the top of Shasta and also with whom I snow camped, cross country skied, and shared several other camping adventures in the Sierras. I will never forget Mike challenging me to forty strokes out and forty strokes back in the chilling 40-degree waters of Fourth of July Lake. We stripped down and dove in with Tensor right behind. I don't want to exaggerate how cold the water was, but I was pretty sure my testicles were trying to seek warmth near my tonsils. After twenty of the fastest swim strokes I have ever managed, I turned to see that Tensor, the dog that rarely left Mike's side, was turning around and heading for the shore. I hollered to Mike that I was going with the dog. Mike and I both ended up following the dog to shore.

Mike was the General's aid and very active in getting all types of community service activities organized. He arranged a tour of the base for a group of troubled teenagers who were in a court mandated rehabilitation program. He put me in charge of them. The tour bus was late picking us up so I went into the office to call and find out what had happened to it. While I was on the phone, I looked out the window and saw my teen charges absconding with the bus. I ran out, chased the bus down, and read the bus driver the riot act for taking orders from a bunch of teenagers and leaving without me!

Mike also organized a trip for the Junior Officers' Council to visit European bases. There were 20 of us that began the journey that was to rely on catching hops on military aircraft to get to our destinations. Starting from Beale AFB in northern California, we all made it as far as Pease AFB in New Hampshire. Pease was a Strategic Air Command Base for strategic bombers including FB-111s and long-range tankers like the KC-135. The tankers were our best bet for catching a ride, but it was up to the tanker crew how many passengers they would take. They frequently took none and rarely took as many as six; so, we were going to need multiple flights to get everyone across the Atlantic.  

My life has been so full of unlikely events that it came as no surprise to me that we ran into my friend Doug who was stationed at Pease. He was also trying to get a hop to Europe to do some sight-seeing; so, he joined us. The first flight out took four people and was headed to Germany. We broke into groups of four and drew cards to see which group would go. Mike drew for our group and I think he drew a three. The group that got that first flight drew a King.

The next flight was scheduled for several hours later; so, Doug gave me and my three camping buddies a brief tour of the area. When we got back, we found that the next flight was only taking three passengers. I volunteered to let my camping buddies form one group and I formed another with Doug and Dan another friend. Naturally, I drew the ace of spades. I almost put it back and claim it was a two. It didn't seem fair that Doug who could catch one of these hops at any time and I who would be just as happy to stay with Doug should go ahead of those for whom this might be their only opportunity. But Mike saw the card and insisted my group take the flight. So, Doug, Dan and myself boarded the flight headed to Mildenhall AFB England not too far from London. I slept most of the flight in one of the crew's bunks. I did wake up to view the spectacular Greenland ice sheet.

Everyone who made it across the Atlantic was supposed to meet up at the American Embassy in London. When we got there, there was a group of Greek Cypriots protesting outside the American Embassy. Protesting at American Embassies was quite popular back then and I didn't know anyone who had ever done it; so, I grabbed a sign and joined in long enough for Dan to take my picture.

We were the only ones who made it to the Embassy. In fact, no one else made it across the Atlantic. We stayed in London for several days. Long enough to see Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London and to realize there was so much more to see than could be crowded into our limited time. Without Mike to set things up, we gave up on touring US bases. We had no idea how we were going to get back to the states. We called Mike and he told us if we could get to Torrejon AFB Spain, just outside of Madrid, we could get a flight back to McGuire AFB in New Jersey.

We hopped on the first train for Paris on our way to Madrid. This was before there was a tunnel under the channel so at Dover we were transferred to a ferry. On board the ferry, we teamed up with a British nurse from Trinidad and a really lovely young British brother and sister on Holiday. I tried to impress them by putting on what I thought was a pretty good Scottish accent singing Loch Lomond. They informed me my Scottish was awful. I'm sure my singing wasn't that great either, but like my writing, I do it because I enjoy it.

When we landed in France it was well after midnight. We and the Brits decided we wanted to continue to hang out together, so we walked the length of the train we were connecting with trying to find seats together. We ended up at the back in the baggage car for the rest of the journey to Paris. Sitting on luggage we talked and even sang until morning when we arrived in Paris.

We toured Paris together — the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Elysees, the McDonald's where we ordered pomme frites, the Eiffel Tower which was closed, and the Louvre which was a bit of a disappointment.

With our British friends as interpreters, we were able to find inexpensive accommodations for the night rather than the costly places that cater to American tourists that speak only English.

The Lady who ran the small place we had found did not speak English and was thrilled to have American guests. I practiced saying "key to the bathroom" in French all night so I could use it in the morning. When I went to the front desk the next morning, I made the mistake of starting with, "Bonjour." She smiled babbled something in French and handed me the key before I could use my well-practiced phrase. They say the French prefer not to hear their language crucified by Americans. I've since been told that my southern accent wreaks havoc not only on French but also German, Russian and Chinese according to my various language instructors. I mentioned that even my new British friends had criticized my Scottish. Having a redneck accent has its challenges. There are even places in this country, especially the Boston area, where they criticize my pronunciation of English. Screw y'all. At least I don't pock my caar.

We caught a train for Madrid that morning and parted company with our British friends. We made it to Torrejon and caught a hop to McGuire without seeing any of Spain's tourist attractions. My sister picked us up at McGuire and took us back to her place in Alexandria, Virginia where we stayed for a couple of nights until we could get a commercial flight back to Sacramento.

And that was just one of so many adventures I could tell you about. But, even telling things as briefly as I just did, this book is getting way too long.

The moral I'll leave you with is this, the world is full of interesting people, places, and exciting adventures. Take advantage of them.