We waved at Dave as he soared back towards us and yelled down from above, “Thanks!”
To complete the adventure, we had to do our best to get their car to the landing zone, a winding journey about 15 miles away. Since it may run out of gas, I was to take a particular set of roads and just leave it where it quit. That way, if the car wasn’t at the landing zone when they got there, they could backtrack and eventually find it.
Or I could just take it anywhere. Nothing but my conscience was stopping me.
I climbed into the beat-up, yellow clunker that may or may not have enough gas, and Chris climbed into the rental car. It started (a good first sign), and I rolled toward the entrance of the mountain road.
Well accustomed to driving a car on fumes, I coasted the stick shift down the mountain as best I could. Once at the bottom, however, I had no choice but to just go for it.
Through the neighborhood, out to the main road, and then around The Point and past the parking lot where this whole adventure began. I babied the accelerator, turned the engine off when stopped, and drove as slowly as possible.
We made it.
I stashed the keys on top of the left front tire, as we agreed upon, and looked up in the sky.
There they were. Far away and high in the sky. Soaring. Gliding.
Humans flying.
