Bean Busting

Aug 9, 2006

I wasn't even sure I was gonna fly today—it was pretty late, I'd just flown the day before,  was planning on flying the next day and the forecast looked windy through sunset; not unsafe but not much fun, either. Plus it was cloudy and no good for pictures.

Tim got home and looked at a WeatherBug station nearby. It shows continuous winds with updates every few seconds. It was 3 gusting to 5. So much for the forecast—we couldn’t pass this up.

Some of our buddies were gathering at a launch site 45 minutes away and I really wanted to join them but it was just too much driving so we headed for closer site that Tim discovered a few days prior (while flying). It's perfect—smooth, nicely mowed grass with a wide open south launch. The magic started early.

Two hours prior I was at "work," landing a Boeing at Chicago's Midway airport. Now I was pouring my paraglider onto the grass. Barely enough wind let me tug the lines enough to inflate my ball of fabric into it's beautiful shape. I set it down in a nice launchable form. From bag to layout: 20 seconds. God I love this!

We tanked up and tested our strobes. This could be a long one. Our mission: fly into the light south wind, playing in the open areas, threading the needle of unpeopled places and towards the Scholtes International Paradrome.

I suited up, situated my music, clipped in and launched. Takeoff  is always another magical moment with a long foot drag in the smooth grass before sliding into the air. Rough grass passed underfoot and a pond to my right. Let the music begin. Lights, camera, action. Yehaaa!

It was smooth—really smooth. In fact, it made no sense how smooth it was. The DuPage river courses southward a 1/4 mile east of this place so I went over and flew along it, just above, S-turning between the tree row and an adjoining hay field, kicking the limb of my choice. Planning on an engine failure is actually part of the fun--choosing routes that would allow me to sneak into that hay field meant finding just the right course. My favorite music thumped and the wing responding to my slightest whim—it felt like there should be a camera ship behind me. Houses line one edge of the hay field and people came out to watch. I didn't do anything spectacular—just gentle turns left and right followed by a smooth entry into a level spiral and smooth exit without gaining altitude. You can't avoid flying through your wake when doing that but today even that was minimal. Magic. I consciously mellowed out a bit to avoid the "Kodak Courage" that has prededed many an accident.

This little field is so perfect. Narrow at one end opening up to the south and surrounded by trees. I first flew along the narrow section, doing shallow slow wingovers until it opened up. Shallow wingovers are way different because they're done at less than the gliders natural pendular rate and require a completely different technique. Before this flight I never really thought about it but it's a great coordination excercise. It's a continuous adjustment of pitch, power and bank that's oh so satisfying when it works out. Planning pitch in a PPG is weird since it's not controlled directly at all. You have to imagine a finger holding a rock on a string. You control both the finger and the rock. The finger is the wing, finely maneuvered with the brakes and weight shift, the rock is controlled by your throttle. And with these limited controls it's truly amazing what arcs can be drawn.

Magic.

I popped up to find Tim waylaid by an onlooker who was fascinated by all this and was asking questions. Tim was incredibly gracious and answered. Better him than I at this point—back to playing. The immediate playground included one of those perfectly curving dirt roads that had to be made with us in mind. Tall grass lined each side so it felt like flying down a tunnel. Not as good as corn tunnels but still cool.

Shortly I got to watch Tim's perfect launch and we headed out. Of course he had to first partake of the nearby fun which suited me well, too.

Approaching a recently cultivated field, I noticed an enormous flock of geese. This ought to be fun.

Geese can obviously fly circles around us. And it's truly amazing how quickly they can launch. When necessary, it seems they essentially leap into the air with feathers flapping but, under normal circumstances, run gracefully aloft. In cruise, I can fly almost match their speed with trimmers fast. It is incredible to fly alongside these marvelous birds, watching their graceful climb for the brief time I got to do so.

I've always thought it would be impossible to hit one, they’re too good to let that happen. I do know a pilot who has done so and thought it a fluke; a retarded or fearless bird—somehow it must have had issues. Well I discovered one other situation that was indeed an issue. I was flying along the ground towards a small goose gathering that was looking at me. To my surprise, they didn't turn away as I approached but rather waited until I was upon them before leaping into the air towards me. Yikes--that was close! Never again.

After doing some more corn tunnel touring, I spied a road with no power lines and no traffic. Ahhhh, this will be fun. So I headed over there and started spiraling over to position myself beside the new pavement. When I throttled up, only a high-pitch wine came from behind.

Uh oh.

The beans grew larger. I prepared for a landing.

One more squeeze of the throttle proved fruitless—still nothing. The beans were upon me and I flared, touching down in waist-high crop. I stopped almost immediately, turned around and set the wing down. Bummer. A glance behind me revealed the culprit—my entire prop was missing!

I unclipped, gathered my wing up and trundled toward a road that was mercifully nearby. My flight suit, fine for the cool breeze of flight was now baking me as I carried everything through grabby beans with no airflow. Finally, I plopped everything down by the road and called Tim on the radio. He was nearby, buzzing overhead, curious. I explained my predicament and that the chances of finding the prop were miniscule. I walked through a row of beans and quickly realized I'd have to step on it to find it. The prop was gone.

But now to get back. I asked Tim to just fly back to get the van and come fetch me.

“Jeff, you have the keys.” He said. Oh yeah. So I started walking along the edge of the field to find something that I could use to put the keys in and hand them to Tim on a fly-by. Nick Scholtes did that in a similar case after he’d run out of gas—handing the keys up to me at the end of a stick as I flew by. Wouldn’t you know it, as I walked along, I found my prop poking out of bean’s edge!

A new urgency set in as I refocused on getting the prop mounted before the setting sun denied my flight option. The strobe gave only 30 minutes and my wing was a complete mess.

A kindly passerby stopped to help and I told him I may indeed like a ride if this didn’t work out. My launch option was not pretty. There were obstructions on the left side of the road and, if the wing didn’t come up reasonably straight I would have to abort. There was only time for one attempt.

Finally I got all the beans banished from my lines and the tangles untwisted. I laid the wing across the road, got the motor strapped on and situated myself for launch. The helper asked if I should signal whether he would be needed. “Making this launch will be the only signal you’ll need—if it works, I’m ok.” I thanked him for his offer.

Fortunately, the wing came up straight and I ran into the air so incredibly relieved. After waiving to my potential ride, I headed for our original launch site. I had 12 minutes to make the 30 minutes past sunset and touched down silently, power off, just in time right next to the van. Is there any wonder we find this sport so magical?

Interestingly, my helper showed up and we talked extensively about his home which has enough room for a launch. He asked us to give it a try and I’ll look forward to doing so.

Variety may be the spice of life but sometimes the food can be a bit hot—I’m still glad I tasted.

These pictures are from a previous flight but near the same area and with the same shenanigans. There was no shortage of fun places to explore and doing so from a few feet continues to be an incredible experience.

Just before this was snapped, Tim had a most amazing recovery. He'd been draggin' his feet in the beans when the drag became a bit too much, sucking him onto the surface. Already at full power, he kept running and amazingly found the only clear path. Against all odds (and contrary to my previous experience) he  managed to take off again. Lucky sucker! 

Fire, seen in the background, makes for great thermals but don't be tempted. It can produce an incredibly violent bump. Don't ask me how I know that.

There's something so unnatural and appealing about being in this little seat, listening to my favorite music, cruising just above the treetops many miles away from the takeoff spot.