The Flying Wire

The forecast for last Saturday looked good. We’d been watching the fronts, stalking the weather, and it seemed our patience was going to be rewarded. But when I arrived at Ed Levin that morning, the clouds were low and dropping and the wind was turning to the north. Winter can be like that: full of promises that end in disappointment. (Perhaps that’s why more men than women become pilots: they get used to that sort of thing) Still, all hope was not lost, for there was always Mission Ridge. Off we went, following the ancient ritual, organizing the ride, loading gear into a single truck for the drive up the hill, strapping our wings to the rack as we shivered in the cold.

It was even colder when we reached the top, for clouds had dropped until they were just above launch, the sun was hidden, and it had begun to drizzle. We stood around, pretending things would get better, and this time they did. The improvement was slight, but at least the clouds lifted enough for us to fly. If we didn’t mind the cold, and the gray, and the threat of rain.

I was the third one off, wrestling my glider over the stone wall to launch, hooking in, doing a preflight check, then shouldering my wing for the run down the hill. Three steps… left wing drops, bloody hell, I can do better than this… make a correction… feet leave the ground… whoa, where’d that turbulence come from!

Moments later, I was climbing, annoyed at my launch, wondering if it was worth it. Yes, I might be flying, but this wasn’t some cushy jet with a nice warm cockpit. It was a hang glider, I was out in the open, and the air was freezing. It was also quite wet, and my jacket, control frame, and glasses were beaded with mist. Imagine standing on beach on a cold windy day with fog blowing in from the ocean. Now take away the ocean, the beach, and every last hint of sun. And we do this for fun? Still, it seemed too early to land. And perhaps it would get warmer. And the sun would come out. And a team of bikini models would arrive to offer me large amounts of chocolate.

I flew back in forth in front of the ridge, waiting. It was easy to stay up, for thermals and upslope wind had merged into a big smooth band of rising air. And the view might have been quite nice if I could have seen out my glasses. The only problem was staying below the clouds. Every now and then, I would roll into a steep bank, hold the control bar down, and do a spiral dive to lose altitude. It was a way to pass the time.

Then, unexpectedly, the clouds began to rise: above launch, above the peak, above the radio towers to the south. The sky grew brighter, with a faint hint of sun. It even seemed to grow warmer. It’s amazing how much difference even a hint of warmth can make. I’ll take that over bikini models. Or chocolate. Any day!

What had once something to be endured was now something to be enjoyed. There’s something almost meditative about soaring on a glass-smooth winter day. You feel every motion of the glider: slight bobbles in turbulence, the faint tendency of a wing that’s spirally unstable to wander off to the side. You play games, slowing down while heading into the wind to see if you can go backwards. You watch hikers laboring up the slopes below. You relax, gaze at the view, and somehow, the dust of the world slips away. This transformation is subtle, elusive, and difficult to define, but there comes a moment when your mundane concerns are gone and all that’s left is flight.

But all flights must end — hopefully in a landing. An hour or so into this one, I considered my options. I could land on top of the mountain or I could land in the regular LZ at the bottom. The former was cold and windy. The latter was right next to the parking lot where I’d left my truck. But it was full of cows, and cows are treacherous beasts. You pick a clear spot, set up to land, and that Killer Grazing Instinct – a legacy from the age when Cows Ruled The World – makes them wander right in front of you. We must also remember that to cows, the Whole World Is A Bathroom. No, the regular LZ was out.

Besides, landing on top of the ridge was fun! So I told myself as I set up an approach parallel to the crest, decided I was too high, threw in a turn to burn off some altitude, realized I was too low, turned left to get out from behind the terrain, dropped like a stone, hey, my left wing is going down… this is going to be ugly, let’s see if I can… gee, I ended up on my feet, that wasn’t so bad!

I was smiling as I wrestled the glider back to the setup are. I was smiling as I shivered in the cold, waiting for my friends to land so we could drive their trucks back down the hill. I was smiling as I headed to my favorite café for the Traditional Post-Flight Pizza. And when I look back upon those two cold, grey, and smooth hours in the air, that smile remains.

Many have asked if there are plans for a Flying Cloud book. This is certainly possible. And to paraphrase the famous Monty Python Flying Sheep Sketch, it’s a fair question and one that in recent weeks has been much on my mind.

The online saga will always take first priority, because so many mysteries remain and because it’s such a terrific amount of fun. But a book could be rather cool. So the question becomes, would you Noble Readers be interested in such a thing? Would you prefer electronic format, a printed version, or something more appropriate to the era, such as newsprint or a wire recording? And what additional material would you like to see? (Well, I suppose that’s three questions, but members of my tribe have never been known for their mathematical skills.)

There’s a fair bit of supporting material around, which I wrote this to provide background, but which didn’t fit into the 1930’s-cliffhanger style of the online saga. I’ve slipped some of this into the About pages, but the rest, which ranges from brief snippets of conversation to a full-fledged subplot or two, languishes in obscurity. So it could be fun to incorporate this into a print version.

If you have strong feelings one way or another, feel free to comment here or post your views on the Forum. And for that hypothetical movie version, who would you pick for the cast? I don’t think Angelina Jolie would be quite right for Sarah, but… oh dear, I wish I hadn’t thought of this… Helga?

The Infamous Green Marine from Episode 13 burst onto an unsuspecting world sometime around April of 2009. I had my excuses. I was in a hurry. I had only the crudest of materials and software. And to be honest, I’d hadn’t done much drawing since the last time I broke my arm, so my rudimentary artistic skills had atrophied to the point of nonexistence. The result was a milestone in the history of graphics disasters!

The best thing one can say for the fellow is that his outfit bore some vague resemblance to the uniform of the Royal Marines. The rest of the figure went horribly wrong. He was standing at what might have been Order Arms in some entirely different universe from our own. His weapons was a rifle-like scribble — suitable for defense against an army of hostile scrawls, perhaps, but of dubious value against more mundane opponents. And as for his complexion, a friend of mine observed, “Ah, I see that the Royal Marines is recruiting zombies into their ranks!”

The IGM has finally mustered out and retired to run a pub for poorly-drawn green people somewhere in the Old Country. His replacement is pictured above on the right. I’ll admit that this new recruit still has some problems. It’s hard to make something that’s only 120 pixels long recognizable as an Enfield. I’m sure his sergeant would find fault with his stance. And he’s holding that rifle like it’s a dead rat. (Perhaps this is some new drill from the Manual of Arms that was developed for the vermin-infested trenches of the Great War. “Company… Order… Rats!”) But is he an improvement over his predecessor? I leave this for you to decide…

[Friends of the Infamous Green Marine needn’t despair. The hunch-shouldered green guy is not gone forever. He shall receive a page of his very own in the Extras section once I decide upon the best way to do him justice.]

From the World Site Atlas (http://www.sitesatlas.com/)

Astute readers may have been wondering about Rashid the Slinger. If he’s really from Persia, as I stated in Episode 3, what was he doing spending his childhood in the marshes of the Euphrates, as I claimed in Episode 7? A quick look at a map shows that these two places are in entirely different countries, with a Big Mountain Range between them. Cynics might suspect that Rashid started out as a minor secondary character from Iraq in some initial draft of the story, and that I changed his country of origin in the final draft when I realized his importance, but missed that reference in Episode 7. Naw… couldn’t be…

Still, one of the neat things about online serialized dramas is that one gets to go back and correct one’s mistakes, and that bit about ‘the marshes of the Euphrates’ has gone the way of Ninevah and Tyre. Why is Rashid so important, you may ask? This must remain a mystery, for now, but the short answer is that 1) with a crew this small, everyone is important and 2) slings are cool.

On a related note, I urge those of you interested in the history and practice of this most elemental of projectile weapons to check out the vast compendium of useful information on http://slinging.org. With a bit of work, and about 30 years of practice, I’m sure any one of us could give that Persian fellow a run for his money.

“Sharks kill an average of six people a world-wide every year. Humans kill between 26 and 73 million sharks. This is not a battle humans are losing.”

  –from ‘The Unthinkable’ by Amanda Ripley

Thanks to the efforts of Peter, Kona, and Nelson, there is now an Official Flying Cloud T-shirt. This is available through Zazzle in both gallant gentlemen’s and sultry island maiden’s sizes, though I must admit I like the ‘Miss Sarah’s version’ the best. This was a collaborative effort. They came up with the inspiration, design, and ideas, while I made all the mistakes. It was a terrific amount of fun, and the results came out looking pretty good.

There are quite a few other graphics around — from the Flying Cloud, the List of Interesting Things, and also a few various hang gliding expeditions — that could be turned into t-shirts, mugs, mousepads, refrigerator magnets, bumper stickers, and artifacts of the Elder Gods. So if you have any suggestions or things you’d like to see, let me know. After all, the Flying Cloud is a community effort, and would not be possible without your help.

Many characters in The Flying Cloud speak languages other than English. This would be fine if these were languages in which I was fluent. Unfortunately, I cleverly managed to arrange things so that none of the limited number of languages I know much about are ever likely to appear in the story. One of the many fine examples of advance planning for which members of my tribe have become famous. Darn.

In the absence of expert knowledge, I’ve been forced to turn to web-based translation engines such as Yahoo’s ambitous Babelfish. The kindest way to describe the results would be ‘indifferent’. The words ‘laughable’, ‘side-splitting’, and ‘hysterical’ also leap to mind. While this may add an element of charm to the adventures of Captain Everett and his companions, I cannot help but wish for advice from real native-speakers who actually know what they are talking about. Or speaking, as the case may be.

For this reason, the Signal Corps of the Royal Navy Airship Service has created the College of Translators on the Flying Cloud Forum. This prestigious institution consists of an episode-by-episode list of every non-English phrase in the story, the language it’s alleged to be in — there can be some doubt — and what it was supposed to mean.

I urge you Noble Readers who have some knowledge of German, Dutch, Strine, Latin, Japanese, Tagalog, Farsi, Russian, the Port Moresby dialect of Pidgin, and/or the tongue of the Elder Gods who filtered down from the stars before the dawn of time and waiting in hidden places, sleeping but not dead, until the stars are right for their return – one assumes this is a bit like LISP – to have a look, laugh to yourselves, and offer corrections. Your contributions will be acknowledged in the College of Translators Roll of Honor!

One of the great mysteries of creation is why The Flying Cloud shows up as number one in a Google search for ‘island maidens’. I can’t recall who pointed it out, but this phenomenon began around April of 2009 — long before Sarah or Helga made their first appearances — and has continued with few interruptions until the present day. It’s not as if the story had many island maidens back then. Indeed, their only mention was a few episode titles. And you’d think there’d surely be dozens of sites competing for this one particular phrase. But it seems that the Royal Navy Airship Service has edged them out.

I cannot help but wonder what other simple 2-word or 3-word phrases turn up The Flying Cloud at or near the top of a Google search. If you come across any winners — or better yet, something totally off-the-wall — let me know!

This online serial drama by R. L. Jean has become one of my favorites. At first glance, the premise seems unremarkable: Sabrina, a woman from our century, is swept into the past to find herself living among pirates of the 18th century, the heyday of oceanic piracy. I’m sure this has happened to all of us at one time or another. But things are not as simple as they seem.

First there’s the situation. Something is going on. Even now, months into the story, its nature remains a mystery, but it seems Sabrina has been swept back into the past for a reason. One cannot help but wonder what this reason might be. Then there’s the background. R. L. Jean knows her subject. Every time I think I’ve caught her out on some historical inaccuracy, it turns out that she was right and I was wrong. Darn. And Sabrina has access to this information! Unlike so many characters in the ‘modern-person-gets-swept-back-into-the-past’ genre, Sabrina happened to be carrying a book about the era into which she was swept, complete with biographies of the people she was about to meet. Was this a blessed or a curse? Can she use this knowledge to change the past? And what will happen if she tries? Here too, one cannot help but wonder.

Finally there are the characters themselves. These things can be a matter of taste, but I must say that these people are growing on me. The ones from the 20th century act like people from the 20th century rather than Johnny Depp. The ones from the 18th century act like people from the 18th century rather than Johnny Depp. And they’re all three-dimensional, with plausible motives and attitudes that have evolved in interesting ways as the story progressed. I find myself waiting impatiently for the each new episode so I can learn what they’ve been up to. This is one mark of a successful serialized drama.

So if you’re fascinated by the Golden Age of Oceanic Piracy — and what sensible person isn’t — you owe it to yourself to give this one a try. The Noble Pirates, the Men Behind the Myth (http://www.thenoblepirates.com/) by R. L. Jean.

In some parts of the world, thermals occur in every season, and one can soar year-round. Northern California is not one of these fortunate lands. Here in the Bay Area, lift dwindles toward the end of fall, and northeast winds shut down most of our sites during the long dark months of winter. But sometimes the weather relents — not enough to soar, perhaps, but at least enough to fly. So it was that I found myself in the hills of Milpitas this morning, watching the sky.

The prospect was anything but promising, with layers of fog and cloud blocking the sun. Still, it one doesn’t become a hang glider pilot unless one has a certain amount of optimism, and several truckloads of optimists headed up the hill. The scene that greeted us at the top was unexpected. The fog, which had seemed so dismal from the landing zone, stretched out below us like a calm grey sea, dotted with small white islands of cloud. Beneath it, we could see hints of landscape, like visions from a dream. It was worth coming here, I thought, just to see this.

We took our time setting up. Perhaps we were being lazy. Perhaps we were in no hurry to launch for what would obviously be a brief sled ride. But I suspect we dawdled because we were enchanted. Every now and then, one of us would leave the setup area, walk to the edge of the slope, and stare down at the scene below without saying a word. (This, of course, is one of the Ten Warning Signs of Enchantment. If you or any of your friends shows one of these signs, they may not be enchanted, but they should still be checked for spells, etc…) Still, one can only dawdle for so long. There comes a time when the last cable is secured, the last rib locked in place, and preflight inspection is done. Then its time to shrug on the harness, strap on them helmet, carry the glider up to launch, and prepare to fly.

Hook in, prelaunch check — tip wand, sprog, hooked into both hang loops and locked, leg straps, parachute pins, sprog, tip wand — and shoulder the wing. It feels balanced and wind is blowing up the hill. One last check of pitch attitude, then lean forward and run down the slope. Three steps… a dozen… gosh we’re moving fast! Hang strap tightens… wing lifts up… and… we’re flying!

There is a magic in flight. The view might be the same as it was from the mountain, but the world seems a little brighter. Life might also be the same, but its troubles seem less important, for flight puts these things in perspective. That argument you had with your girlfriend, does it really matter? You still love each other. So buy her some roses, give her a kiss, and take her out to dinner tonight. That project deadline your boss says is a matter of life or death? He’s a fool. It isn’t a matter of life or death. It isn’t even close. This is life or death. And you have chosen life.

I spent a few minutes sight-seeing, marveling at a prospect that always seems new. Then – growing bored, perhaps – I decided to have some fun.

Let’s try a few high-speed steep-banked turns to wring out the wing. Forty-five degrees… that roll-out was a little off… forty-five again… much better… sixty… sixty… pulling 2 g’s… watch that pitch control on exit… got it! Now it’s time for a stall. Slow the glider down… feel how the roll control gets logy…see if you can keep those wings level… ease the bar out a little more… there she goes! A brief fall as wing stops flying. Then relax, let the nose down and recover.

With 1000’ of altitude left, there was time left to play, so I flew across the landing zone to try an approach from a new direction. The field looked strange from this angle — roads, trees, and lake out of place in a way that brought a smile to my face. The windsocks also looked strange, for each one was pointed in a different direction. This was less amusing, for it meant I would almost certainly be landing downwind, and my landings have been not always been things of beauty.

Still, there was no help for it. One of the realities of flight is that each and every one must somehow come to an end. I picked out my turn points, dove to pick up speed, and brought the wing around on approach. A bit high, perhaps, and yes that was a tailwind, but members of my tribe laugh at tailwinds — through clenched teeth, perhaps, with a few curses mixed in, but this still arguably a form of laughter.

Round out in ground effect. Don’t look down to notice that groundspeed because this can only lead to tears. Ease out the control bar to bleed off airspeed. Head up, hands up, grip loose, keep that back arched… feel the wing about to stall… and… flare! Not too shabby. I may have dropped the glider after I was done, but for a downwind landing, I’ll take it.

So that was it: flight number 1126 in my logbook. Date: 9-Jan-2010. Site: Ed Levin Park 1750’ hill. Launch altitude: 1750’ AGL, 2250’ MSL. Glider: Moyes Litesport. Conditions: wind south at less than 5 MPH, 90% overcast at 12,000’, no sun, no thermal activity. Duration: 5 minutes.

Or perhaps it lasted a lifetime.