Hang Gliders and Cow Pastures
Wisdom doesn’t have to be serious business.
It was an overcast day, and we were all busy with our own tasks, making things ready as the cows stared on. They were wondering what we were up to. We probably should have wondered that ourselves.
I had the pickup truck, so I was the designated driver. We had walkie-talkies so we could communicate with each other. Vital, considering. What we were about to do...
Bob was wearing my old motorcycle helmet, kitted out with a voice activated microphone. I spared no expense. He wouldn’t be able to push a button with his hands, he’d be too busy holding on for dear life.
Dave was one of the camera men, as was his young brother-in-law. Jason was... there. Driving his own boys around in a Suburban, acting as a camera car for one of the three cameras. We were sure to capture something good.
On the ground at Bob’s feet was an inflatable raft. Nothing all that sturdy, either. It was a kid’s pool toy. And someone among us had the presence of mind to realize that the grass and sticks and rocks in this cow pasture were going to shred that thing to ribbons in seconds.
No problem. That’s what the blue tarp was for. We lashed it to the underside of the pool. It would do.
Also at Bob’s feet was the thing we’d made.
It was vaguely kite-like. Built from electrical conduit and baling wire, the discarded handle of a lawn mower, miles of twine, and—of course—more blue tarp. There may have been duct tape as well. Seems likely.
The vaguely kite-shaped thing on the ground was meant to be a hang glider. And, if you hadn’t really gotten a decent look at an actual hang glider before, it was definitely in the realm of “close enough.” It was a fixed wing, blue, triangle shaped, with an aluminum frame and guy-wires to help it hold its shape.
Dubbed “Enterprise 1,” she was built for flight.
The swimming pool was just the mobile launch platform.
The pickup truck was the motive force.
So, obviously, a rope was tied to the center support of the former lawnmower handle, and stretched to be tied to two anchor points in the bed of the pickup. Since it seemed to need some tension, one of us (ok, me) had the idea of tying a hammer into it. How this provided tension, I can’t recall.
Now, with ropes and a hammer and wires and aluminum and swimming pools and motorcycle helmets and walkie-talkies and, by God, blue tarps in place, we were ready.
Enterprise 1 was set for launch.
The strategy was simple: Bob would sit on his knees in the pool, hold the handle of the hang glider, and then give me the signal. And I would punch it.
I know what you’re thinking... this is a surefire win. Success was inevitable.
But no.
Bob did not immediately take flight. In fact, on that first run, there was no flight whatsoever. But rest assured, dear reader... flight is coming.
That first run was the trial. No liftoff, but we were in no way disappointed. In fact, all of us (except Bob) were on the North side of gleeful. Cheers. Laughter. Tears in our eyes.
“You were lookin’ tense,” Jason said, smiling.
“It wasn’t that bad, actually,” Bob said. “Kind of hard on the knees, though.”
Oh, well, one cannot give Kevin a problem and not expect a solution! Hard on the knees? I can fix that.
Out came my pocket knife. And with a flick of my wrist the blade was opened. And then, after a bit of rummaging in the bed of the pickup, I emerged with a cardboard box. A few slashes later I had two lengths of cardboard, which we doubled up and then duct-taped to Bob’s knees as makeshift knee pads.
Problem solved.
“That cardboard will keep you from breaking a bone,” Jason assured us. Though he said it in a funny voice, I could tell... he meant it.
“Ready to go again?” Dave asked.
“What the hell, my butt’s already warm. Let’s go for it!”
Those words, echoing in our ears, fueled our faith. They were the sound of legend being born.
A quick inspection of our craft assured us that we were good for another go. And so, cardboard now in place to prevent injury, Bob re-mounted the pool, gripped the lawnmower... er... hang glider handle, and... gave the signal.
Again, I floored it. And again we raced along the cow pasture, bovines all around, cheers and laughter and screams of stop-stop-STOP booming from the walkie talkies. Our glory was assured!
But alas, we again had no lift.
We stopped in the middle of the pasture, and gathered around as Bob managed to extricate himself from the craft. A bit wobbly, but standing in obvious glory.
He pried the helmet from his head. He stood, majestic, huffing a bit, flexing his sore knees. His expression, however, was one of defeat.
“Sadly, this... craft... is not sky worthy,” he said. “Enterprise 2 will be better.”
That was around 30 years ago. Enterprise 2, as anticipated and yearned for as she was, never materialized. And we are poorer souls for it. Poorer, living, uncrippled souls.
But you were promised flight. And so were we.
She might not have been sky worthy with a pilot, but Enterprise 1 did have that kite-like design. She was simply begging to be in the air. And who were we to deny her?
Two men stood as her guide, steadying her, readying her. And then, the signal.
Once again the gas flowed, an engined roared, and Enterprise 1 was propelled forward... to destiny!
Unlike her previous two attempts, this time she took to the air almost immediately—almost as if she were simply hampered by her human pilot. She was a creature of the air, and had no need for someone to guide her. All she needed was a powerful engine and a good headwind, and she was aloft!
And then, she was down. Nose first. And what was once, for a brief instant, the queen of the sky now found herself playing the role of anchor, dragged along the pasture, throwing rooster tails of dirt and grass and cow patties.
And when the engine slowed, and the whole apparatus came to a halt, Enterprise 1 lay in a crumpled ruin on the ground. Her first flight was her last.
But her legend lives on to eternity.
Now, 30-something years later, my friend Bob is trying to drop a few excess pounds, to get back to what we will always call his “flight weight.” And he’s doing a great job. I’m proud of him. It takes a lot of work and willpower and effort to trim down, but he’s doing it.
In telling me about it, I responded with a joking reference to our epic adventure. And, though Bob is not characteristically someone I consider “poetic,” his response struck me as profound.
Rather than relay it, here’s a screenshot. Bob’s words are in gray, mine are in green.
The moral?
Wisdom isn’t always the result of somber seriousness. Sometimes it comes to you as a joke. Sometimes, it may even come to you as one of the worst and dumbest ideas of your life.
But regardless, my sincere hope for you is that you “will be judged not by your altitude, but by your sheer determination to take flight.”
And, of course, that your butt, too, will always be warm, and that you will go for it.
A Note at the End
Yes, this really happened. I regret nothing.
We have tons of video from that day, from three (possibly four) different cameras. My friend Dave actually edited together a documentary-style video from all of it, which has lived on with all of us all these years. I have the original footage, and I keep thinking I should do something with it. I probably will.
It was insane to do this. Dangerous. But I’m going to be honest... I miss the days when crazy crap like this was how we spent our weekends. And I wouldn’t trade a second of it.
We've all aspired to fly, but you guys made my day with this story! I laughed, I cried and I was there, in that pasture, along with you, willing your hang glider to take flight. Yes, disappointed when it didn't and elated when it did. But you guys did it. You made it fly. Just like the Wright Brothers, but not as far.
I actually laughed out loud at the creative knee pads. What a delightful entertaining post. Happy for you to have this memorable experience with your friends and to still be friends all these years. What a gift.