I couldn’t do it.
Ain’t no way I could stand on that tiny platform, with only that thread-bare “safety” strap keeping me from tumbling into the great beyond.
“Um…dude…umm…”
He could read the room.
“Hey, no worries. I’ll launch Dave, and you can watch. If you change your mind, you can help me.”
I held one wing tip, and Dave’s buddy held the other as Dave clipped into his glider. The three of us walked Dave and his contraption over to the platform. I helped hold it steady as Dave’s buddy climbed down onto the second level and clipped the strap around him.
I let go and stepped back. Dave inched towards his friend and the edge of the platform. Dave’s friend stretched forward and grabbed the control arm as Dave put one leg back and squatted slightly. Dave’s fighting the gentle warm breeze to keep the glider still and pointed in the right direction.
“Pilot ready?”
“Ready!”
“3…2…1…Launch!”
And with that, Dave jumps, and his friend passes the glider over his head.
When a plane takes off, it’s a technological marvel. You know the plane contains people, but you can’t see them. All you see is the aluminum cylinder hurdling down a giant concrete runway 100’s of yards away in a whirlwind of mechanized sound and fury. It leaves the ground and immediately disappears into the distance.
A hang glider launch is a deeply human experience.
Dave — the person — jumped off the cliff. Not the machine. Dave and his giant kite immediately gained altitude. Never once dropping below the height of our mountain top. But fifty yards out and already 40 or 50 feet above us, Dave circles back towards us and starts yelling.
“Dude, it’s awesome! Get up here!”
Here was a man, and he was flying. Yes, he had a contraption strapped to his back, but it was the man that was flying. Seeing him lazily and soundlessly glide 50 feet directly above and just talking to us was crazy.
I became overwhelmed. It was truly beautiful.
