I was obsessed with hang-gliding in the mid-90s.
This was early internet and pre-ubiquitous mobile phone days — the days of internet forums and message boards. I’d found a dedicated hang-gliding message board and stalked it daily. I had even started a conversation with the local (eastern PA) hang-gliding club leader.
But I still hadn’t built up the courage to show up at the hill, let alone try it for myself. I was scared.
When my wife and I booked a trip to Hawaii, though, I thought, “Why not Hawaii? Maybe this is the kick I need.” I found the contact information for a guy on Oahu with a tandem glider. The perfect exposure to a hang-gliding-curious but ultimately scared newbie like myself.
I sent him a message, told him when I’d be there, and he agreed. He’s one of those perpetually excited dudes. Just give him a call when I get to the island, and we’ll schedule it.
So we got to Hawaii, and I started calling. No answer for two days. On day three, a woman answers.
“Um, Hi. My name is John. Dave asked me to call about hang-gliding…”
“Oh? Really? I’m sorry, but Dave’s not here.”
“When will he be back?”
“No, I mean he’s gone. He’s over on the Big Island, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
And that was that. On some level, I was relieved.
But as it turns out, this wasn’t the end of the story.
