_2024-08-06_ _This is part one of an account of how I got my amateur radio license, a bug that bit me when I couldn’t have been more than 16. For those unfamiliar, the technician class license was at the time the beginner license class that one would get before more advanced license classes that allow for more modes of operation. Essentially, we were trying to get a license to talk to people 5-6 miles away but we had no idea._ High school was a breeding ground for curiosity and mischief, and for me, that meant exploring the mysterious world of amateur radio. My partner in this odd venture, Richard, was a friend just as clueless as I was about the intricacies of radio operations. It is far from my memory where the original radio came from, but he had one. We knew if we lit up the transmitter on this handheld beast that it was against the law and that made it all that much more exciting. Would the FCC would leap out of a closet and haul us off to jail if we hit the button? No, but we had no worldly experience. We were going to figure this out, and our guide? A Radio Shack manual that felt ancient but was really fresh off the press. Those Radio Shack manuals were our sacred texts, although they went mostly unread while we blasted 1990’s Metallica and watched the trains in the back yard flatten coins we left on the tracks. Those manuals however promised a gateway to the enigmatic airwaves, filled with arcane knowledge about circuits and propagation that seemed like a foreign language. We had to take this test to use this radio and we found a testing session at a county fair. It was place usually reserved for cotton candy and Ferris wheels, but on that day, it was the hallowed ground of the ham radio test. The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation and the low hum of conversations about frequencies and call signs. I remember the palpable tension, the silent prayers of hopefuls clutching their pencils and the stark reality of the exam in front of me. My first test? A spectacular failure. It wasn’t just a stumble; it was a full-on faceplant into the harsh asphalt of reality. The questions seemed to morph into hieroglyphics, and my brain turned to static. I walked away from that fairground with a bruised ego but an ignited spirit. The bug had bitten me, but not for the romance of the radio waves—no, it was now a personal vendetta against those damned tests. I didn’t care about making contact or broadcasting my voice across the airwaves. My mission was clear: beat the tests. I became obsessed, a man possessed, burning through practice exams and quizzing myself late into the night. The manuals, once a source of casual curiosity, became my battle plan. Every page, every diagram, every cryptic formula was a weapon in my arsenal. It was no longer about joining the ranks of the hams or decoding the mysteries of the ionosphere. It was about proving to myself that I could conquer this challenge, that I could wrestle the beast of amateur radio to the ground and emerge victorious. It was an initiation by fire, a journey that transformed a high school hobby into a relentless pursuit of mastery. So there I was, a kid with a chip on his shoulder and a Radio Shack manual in his hand, navigating the labyrinth of the amateur radio world not for the love of the game, but for the sheer thrill of the chase. And in the end, that’s what amateur radio is all about—finding your own path, overcoming your own hurdles, and connecting with a world far larger than you ever imagined, even if you start off just wanting to beat the system. I didn’t pass until decades later, but that’s a story for Part 2. #radio #blog