![]() ![]() Slowly, I pried my hands from between my legs, cranked open my eyes, forced my mouth closed and began to breathe. Still flying with my eyes shut, I realized that one of two things had occurred: either the impending impact had come and gone, and I was now floating among the angels, or I was indeed flying and had somehow avoided the inevitable. I felt my feet brush the grass as we glided skyward. The hang glider, now recognizing it had sole control of the situation since its passenger was exhibiting all the piloting skill of a quivering bowl of gelatin, snapped its wings level mere feet from the ground, whipped forward into the wind and began to climb. “Ooooooommmmmmmmyyyyyyyygawwwwwwwwddddddddddddd!” What I was afraid of was the sudden stop I would encounter at the end of this particular flight pattern.ĭipping deep into my bag of pilot tricks (being only my fourth flight, the bag didn’t really have a lot in it) I decided on the only prudent course of action … panic! Fortunately, the particular method of panic I selected for my impending face plant into a field full of cow pies was to let go of the hang glider, grab my personal joystick (yes, that one), squeeze my eyes shut and scream: No, I wasn’t afraid of the sudden aerial maneuvering (one that elicited enthusiastic applause from below) or the speed at which the ground was now rushing up to meet me. Granted, I was only about 20 feet off terra firma, but a specter of dread was now peeking around the wings at me. It rebelled, and a wing began a steep bank toward the ground. With my instructor below shouting commands, I shifted my weight to compensate for the wind that was pushing my glider in a direction I didn’t want to go. I began my walk, then my stagger, then my run. Determined to make my last effort a good one, I started my fourth flight at the highest point on the hill. My longest aerial adventure up until that point had left me wondering if the flags could ever be reached. While I rested after three successful, but short practice flights, I stared at a series of flags set several hundred yards away as targets. Rather humbling to consider that a sack of potatoes suspended in a harness could fly a hang glider as well as I did on any given day. Most remarkably, I discovered, is the fact that if you let go of the hang glider, it will naturally level off and point into the wind, nearly trained by laws of aerodynamics to fly itself. Shift back and the glider climbs or, upon landing, stalls and floats the pilot gently onto the ground. By precise shifts of weight from side-to-side, a pilot turns his or her craft from right to left. A pilot is comfortably suspended in a harness that is attached to the balance point of the hang glider. The glider’s wings provide the necessary aerodynamic force, the pilot provides the balanced weight, and gravity serves as the engine. Believe it or not, a hang glider needs no wind to fly. Hang gliding is wonderful in its simplicity. I had experienced the true feeling of flying like a bird - and I actually craved more. A few quick steps to stay under the hang glider and I was an earthbound creature again with one noticeable difference. The ground slipped back gently under me after a few seconds and my feet touched lightly down. It didn’t matter that I was only a few feet above the field. I must have looked like a modern-day Mary Poppins. I kept running, and then my feet were no longer touching the ground. The glider tugged at my harness and lifted me up, then set me down. And like in ground school, the glider floated off my shoulders. “OK, the wind’s good so let’s lift the glider and start to walk like you did in ground school,” he urged. It’s hard to feel light and airy while confined in a padded, black harness that is just loose enough to allow breathing and yet constricting enough to remove any question regarding gender.Īnd now, standing half-way up the hill, with my head tucked inside a bright yellow helmet and my hands clutching a 60 pound-going-on-300-pound hang glider underscored the futility. During these, he helped me set the nose angle and learn to run so the hang glider lifted off my shoulders slightly.Īctually, the problem was my get-up. Indeed, our first few test runs on flat ground went smoothly enough. And it wasn’t that he had made flying a hang glider look exceptionally difficult. In fact, he practically bubbled over with encouragement during ground school. It wasn’t that my instructor didn’t offer the necessary enthusiasm. ![]() The possibility of flight currently seemed very remote. As the wind wafted up the hill in unpredictable spurts, sweat rolled from under my helmet and down my cheek. ![]() As a result, I was now gazing down a slight incline above a lovely field dotted with cow-patties (this “slight” incline became monumentally steeper the longer I stared toward the bottom). ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |