Drifting back to Earth OR Yes, I am a Space Oddity

Continuing down the slippery slope in my year (or so) of doing things out of character, this weekend I went up in a glider, or sail plane as the older guys who do it call it.

It’s kind of neat being a 210 pound human kite (and it’s a good thing I went on a diet because 240 is the cutoff weight, in case your tubby and inclined to give it a go).

The kite part comes from being towed a mile high by a small plane.

The way it works, you get to sit in the front seat and the expert/instructor sits in the back one. It’s a snug fit, but not really that claustrophobic as you are surrounded by Plexiglas and scenery.

He unlatches the rope from his $100,000 craft, the plane goes one way, the glider the other, and you begin to waft your way back to earth.

Windy City Soaring is in Hinckley, Illinois, west of Aurora and still mostly farmland. WHat you notice in the glider is the this really is a flat state, nice and green this time of year, but not a sexy place, which is why I guess a lot of folks head to Wisconsin and Michigan on summer weekends.

It was a bit hazy, and though you could see a nuclear power plant and Northern Illinois University in the distance, you couldn’t make out anything urban.

You also notice the little piece of yarn glued to the middle of the front of the cap. The idea is to keep that as straight as possible.

I even got to drive the craft a bit, though how much was me, who can say but the instructor, who works for a cell phone company in an engineering capacity by day.

Now I probably shouldn’t have had a couple cheeseburgers before I flew, but I didn’t want to go up on a empty stomach, either. The meal didn’t really haunt me, until more than halfway back to earth, after a banked turn.

Interestingly, the guy told me men talk the talk, but most aren’t really thrill seekers once airborne. Instead it’s the women who get giddy and have roller coaster fun on board.

The bank didn’t scare me as much as mess just a bit with my equilibrium. Plus, as you descend it gets warmer, and heat plus a touch dizzy is not a good combo platter.

The ride really is quiet, like an airborne Prius, but for the air coming in two vents and an occasional voice on the radio.

I am pretty sure it’s not done, physics being what it is, but the view is such that it seems like it would be cool to glide at night, just lazily corkscrewing your way back to Earth gazing at the stars.

During the day, my instructors says you sometimes can fly with hawks catching the same thermals. And corn stalks sometimes get carried up that far, too.

Landing was actually smoother than many a commercial flight I have taken.

I’m sure there’s a metaphor in all this somewhere. That aside, I’d recommend you give soaring a try if just to be the one to see corn drifting by, maybe with a hawk. Either way, it’s a relaxing sort of thrill, given the right atmospheric conditions.

And it must have done something to my brain, because when I got home I actually started to throw a lot of crap out, my spring cleaning starting late (by about seven years).

Back on the ground, writers are such freaking pack rats, but that’s another story. Let’s just leave this chapter with me having filled two garbage cans already.

It’s another out of character move, but one for the better.