Few words are more annoying then "It might be flyable".
The world comes to a grinding halt when they are uttered. Should I make dinner? Is there time to walk the dog? Are we barbecuing with the family this weekend? Can the parents come over for the holiday?
Well, that depends, it might be flyable. And it really doesn't help that there have been a slew of accidents the last couple of years and I have been chewing the inside of my cheek raw wondering about the ROR of this sport...
It has been a long month of torrential rain. With a lot of the extra time on my hands, I have begun running with my little dog regularly, doodling up a storm, packing healthy lunches...
Sagely I started to consider and acknowledge... it may be time to part ways with my beloved M3.
Last night the rain cleared. It was four weeks to the day since I was last in the air. After getting off work, unpacking my cooler, I started dinner and ate the moment my partner was home too. Changed shoes and took little dog for a walk/run. Towards the end, where I could have kept going for the extra half mile, I saw a wing lift up above a roof....
Well, no harm in heading back to the house a little sooner...
I might as well wear an extra sweater and bring my gloves...
Just in case, I'll put my gear in the car too...
I pulled up in the parking lot and getting out, I could see the wind was cross so I didn't hurry. I visited with folks until, out of the corner of my eye, I watched the wind sock straighten out.
Somehow, I was hooked in before I thought about it and off launch.
Probably a lower bench flight I mused, it was a little late to catch an upper bench flight. Once off launch, I headed right; dodging the crowd that always goes left. There is more lift to the southern end but with more obstacles fighting over it, little room to use it. By going right, if there is lift, it is mine to turn in.
I looked down and see between the thick stubby trees below my feet, a doe and fawn. We made eye contact. I smiled and waved.
"Werido" said the flick of her ears as she dismissed me and went back to munching.
I laugh as I dance, gaining a teeny bit more altitude with each gentle flat figure eight. I spent twenty quiet minutes in the rocking waves until I saw I was above everyone and in the lower lift band at last.
I swung my self over to the southern end. Benching above the parking lot's hot asphalt isn't an option. It spits up eky hot heat and can be nasty business -if you are tempted, resist!. High above the crowd, and just behind the restrooms, I pull an easy-going 360 to turn in a fat rotating thermal and head to the back ridge.
My heart always accelerates when I do this because sometimes, this little M3 of mine, reminds me it's an M3 and to pay the hell attention.
A third of the way there -Boom! My left tip is pulled up and forward, I hear the right tip curl and my related hand relaxes in response. Ooooo.... don't look, weight shift left just enough and right pressure is back with an audible snap. Good, weight shift right, 180 from the hill and I am in the upper lift band.
PS: I am a total chicken about the idea of "blow back" (i.e. getting sucked over the ridge) so I am always way more forward than most folks. Plenty of room for all of this.
All right, time to check; how is my forward air speed? Count to ten slowly, watching... and yes, all is good. Cool, let's do some figure eights and climb up.
PS PS: This is all going by click-click-click in my head, maybe a whole minute in total time.
Ok, it is not so quiet up here. ;)
But... then, in minutes, the glass off is up here too. Buttery air; gentle, thick, welcoming air. The kind of air I, klutz of the world, am graceful in.
At the end, as I flew out to leave the lift band, I leaned back and looked up and smiled at my wing. Maybe we do have to part ways sometime but not at this time. For now, I will keep flying.
PS PS PS If you are an instructor, I am totally cool with feedback on my piloting decisions.
The world comes to a grinding halt when they are uttered. Should I make dinner? Is there time to walk the dog? Are we barbecuing with the family this weekend? Can the parents come over for the holiday?
Well, that depends, it might be flyable. And it really doesn't help that there have been a slew of accidents the last couple of years and I have been chewing the inside of my cheek raw wondering about the ROR of this sport...
It has been a long month of torrential rain. With a lot of the extra time on my hands, I have begun running with my little dog regularly, doodling up a storm, packing healthy lunches...
Sagely I started to consider and acknowledge... it may be time to part ways with my beloved M3.
Last night the rain cleared. It was four weeks to the day since I was last in the air. After getting off work, unpacking my cooler, I started dinner and ate the moment my partner was home too. Changed shoes and took little dog for a walk/run. Towards the end, where I could have kept going for the extra half mile, I saw a wing lift up above a roof....
Well, no harm in heading back to the house a little sooner...
I might as well wear an extra sweater and bring my gloves...
Just in case, I'll put my gear in the car too...
I pulled up in the parking lot and getting out, I could see the wind was cross so I didn't hurry. I visited with folks until, out of the corner of my eye, I watched the wind sock straighten out.
Somehow, I was hooked in before I thought about it and off launch.
Probably a lower bench flight I mused, it was a little late to catch an upper bench flight. Once off launch, I headed right; dodging the crowd that always goes left. There is more lift to the southern end but with more obstacles fighting over it, little room to use it. By going right, if there is lift, it is mine to turn in.
I looked down and see between the thick stubby trees below my feet, a doe and fawn. We made eye contact. I smiled and waved.
"Werido" said the flick of her ears as she dismissed me and went back to munching.
I laugh as I dance, gaining a teeny bit more altitude with each gentle flat figure eight. I spent twenty quiet minutes in the rocking waves until I saw I was above everyone and in the lower lift band at last.
I swung my self over to the southern end. Benching above the parking lot's hot asphalt isn't an option. It spits up eky hot heat and can be nasty business -if you are tempted, resist!. High above the crowd, and just behind the restrooms, I pull an easy-going 360 to turn in a fat rotating thermal and head to the back ridge.
My heart always accelerates when I do this because sometimes, this little M3 of mine, reminds me it's an M3 and to pay the hell attention.
A third of the way there -Boom! My left tip is pulled up and forward, I hear the right tip curl and my related hand relaxes in response. Ooooo.... don't look, weight shift left just enough and right pressure is back with an audible snap. Good, weight shift right, 180 from the hill and I am in the upper lift band.
PS: I am a total chicken about the idea of "blow back" (i.e. getting sucked over the ridge) so I am always way more forward than most folks. Plenty of room for all of this.
All right, time to check; how is my forward air speed? Count to ten slowly, watching... and yes, all is good. Cool, let's do some figure eights and climb up.
PS PS: This is all going by click-click-click in my head, maybe a whole minute in total time.
Ok, it is not so quiet up here. ;)
But... then, in minutes, the glass off is up here too. Buttery air; gentle, thick, welcoming air. The kind of air I, klutz of the world, am graceful in.
At the end, as I flew out to leave the lift band, I leaned back and looked up and smiled at my wing. Maybe we do have to part ways sometime but not at this time. For now, I will keep flying.
PS PS PS If you are an instructor, I am totally cool with feedback on my piloting decisions.
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