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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, more than seemed
natural. 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 tree rows and an adjoining hay field, kicking limbs as I
went.
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, all while my favorite music thumped and the
wing responded crisply to my whims. It felt like there should be a
camera ship behind me. Houses lined 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 precedes so many accidents.
This little field is so perfect—narrow at one end
then 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
exercise, requiring 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 but to a
limited degree. The finger
is the wing, finely maneuvered with the brakes and weight shift, while the rock
is controlled by your throttle. But what with these limited controls allow
is truly
amazing in how precise 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 graciously answered
his questions. Selfishly, I though "Better Tim than I," and went back to playing.
Another cool part of my playscape was one of those perfectly curving dirt
roads that had to be made with paramotorists in mind. Tall grass lined each side so
it felt like flying down a tunnel—not as good as corn tunnels, maybe, but still
cool.
Shortly I got to watch Tim's perfect launch after
which 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 entertaining.
Geese can obviously fly circles around us. And it's
truly amazing how quickly they can launch—essentially leaping into the air with feathers flapping.
But normally, they run gracefully aloft, gathering speed and climbing
slowly. In cruise, I can almost match
their speed with trimmers fast and it is incredible to fly alongside these
marvelous birds, watching their elegant motion 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, although I know one pilot who has done
just that but figured his was a fluke, strangely fearless bird with
"issues". Well I discovered one other situation that was indeed an
issue. I was flying along the ground, headed towards a small goose gathering
where they were all 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. One bird in particular was taking a long time to figure it out
and, by the time he launched, he was still pointed at me. I closed my
eyes, turned my head, and prepared to be rammed. Somehow he missed. 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 emanated 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. I flared, touching
down in waist-high crop and stopped almost immediately. 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, which was fine for the cool
breeze of flight was now baking me as I carried everything through grabby
beans with no airflow. Finally, I emerged roadside, plopped everything 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” and 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. |
