Everyone has them: the dreams that they are flying.
Today, I lived that dream. Not because I set any personal best, not because I flew long or high, but simply because the air was smooth and buoyant... simply because I almost gave up and sank out, but held on to find idiot-proof lift. Wherever I flew, the steady, almost constant chirp of my vario assured me that I was the envy of raptors.
Sixty miles to the West, the Sun bounced off the Pacific Ocean on a wedge of water between the Cleveland National Forest and Santa Catalina Island. Below me, chumps, suckers, and the better part of the Proletariat Class schlepped down the the Ortega Highway on the way home from oppression. Winding down the same road, invariably stuck behind a truck, motorcyclists looked for a way to pass and put their lives in the hands of housewives in SUVs. My life was in the hands of God and today He favored hang gliding.
While I floated, as relaxed as Gilligan in a hammock, my only concern was a mild twinge that I started this sport too late in life... coupled with the sad knowledge that I would have to wake up before sunset and land, to join the chumps on the Ortega Highway.
But, I am not a sucker; I picked the right day not to work.
Here is a video of a fun weekend:
California Flying in January from knumbknuts on Vimeo.