Out of a Clear Blue Sky

Tom walked over and slid his hand along the forward edge of one of the long wings. "Probably one of the first things you will notice is that it's a lot lighter than a conventional craft. Not surprising since there's no engine and no heavy landing gear. All the control surfaces are directly coupled. Because they are light also there's no need for hydraulic assist, even less so than in other small planes."

We moved over to where I could look down - yes, down - into the cockpit. The seats rested only a few inches from the ground and the top of the canopy was well below my head height. The thought came into my mind that this was a lot like a kayak compared to a larger motorcraft or even compared to a sailboat. A kayak is just a thin skin with a seat inside. No keel or centerboard. The person in the cockpit - even the name is the same as for an aircraft - the person in the cockpit acts to keep the center of gravity low so a kayak is very stable. The glider looked like two persons would make up a major part of its weight.

Looking down into the cockpit the instrument panel didn't seem that different for those I was used to with the exception that there were no engine displays. There were no RPMs to keep track of, no engine vacuum, no mags, no oil temperature to monitor. The flight instruments, however, were quite familiar. There was air speed, altitude, turn and bank, compass. There was one I wasn't used to and Tom told me it was a very sensitive vertical speed indicator called a variometer. I did see a small radio panel and a GPS display.

I could just see rudder pedals and instead of the more familiar yoke - steering wheel to ground lovers - there was a stick as in the stunt plane. I closed my eyes for a second or two, imagining myself in that cockpit, my hand on the stick, as I swooped through empty space with only the sound of the wind. I shook my head slightly and opened my eyes to find Tom studying me, a smile on his face. "Yes, I can see you really are part bird," he commented and somehow I knew he knew what I had been thinking.

We moved back into a small room at the side of the hanger where there was a large table and a number of chairs. The walls contained several charts and maps of the area and a computer rested on a table at one side, its screen showing a display of current weather.

Tom held a chair for me on one side near the end of the table and then took a seat himself at the end to my right. "OK, let me tell you a little about gliders. I'm sure you already know a lot of this but I'll probably say it anyhow. Just don't go to sleep."

This brought a laugh from me. As if there was any chance I'd go to sleep. I was as excited as I could ever remember being about anything.

Tom began, "You know, of course, that a plane gets its lift from the air moving over the wings, not from the engine. That means that if we are moving forwards there will be a force holding us up. The trick is to get moving forwards and keep doing so. To get going we are going to get a tow from a powered craft. Once we're aloft and moving enough we will release the tow cable and he can go home and we'll be alone for as long as we can stay up."

I interrupted. "Just how long can you stay up in a glider?"

" As you know most any plane can glide for some time. If you lose your engine you look for somewhere you can glide in for a forced landing, right? There was a military plane some time ago, a delta wing fighter. I think it was an F-101 but I'm not sure. Anyway it had a flameout and glided over a hundred miles back to base to land. A plane designed to be a glider is even better. How long it can actually stay up depends a lot on the atmospheric conditions. If we can catch up drafts and the right winds it can be quite a while. I know of some that have stayed aloft for more than ten hours, but we won't likely be trying that." Then he grinned. "For one thing there is no bathroom in the plane."

I smiled at this. All small craft pilots are very aware of this fact. Some small military planes handle long flights with a device called a "pilot relief tube." At least they did when pilots were all men.

Tom continued. "Today the pressure is high - nice, dense air - and with the clear sky and sunshine we should be able to find some nice updrafts. Especially on the windward side of the hills. We can catch one of those and spiral upwards and then use the altitude to travel away from that location. We'll just have to leave enough altitude to get back where we can pick up another updraft or thermal. Otherwise we'll need to find a nice landing spot. Around here I generally don't have any trouble."

We spent most of the next half hour with Tom telling me about the subtle differences between controlling a powered craft and a glider. Tom would be in the back seat but he had told me he would let me try the controls a little. If I started to do something dumb he could always take it from me but it was better if I had an idea what and what not to do.

Shortly before two I heard the sound of an engine approaching the hanger. "That's probably our tow," Tom commented. "Let's get the bird outside."

He opened the big hanger door and together we rolled the craft outside into the early afternoon sunshine. A single engine craft was idling on the apron and we moved the glider in line behind it. Tom pushed a pair of chocks against the wheels of the powered craft and the pilot climbed out. He and Tom pulled a nylon tow cable nearly two hundred feet long into place connecting the powered craft to a lug on the nose of the glider. They checked over the connections to both planes and then I saw them give each other OK signs with their hands and the other pilot climbed back into his craft.

Tom ran up and pulled the chocks and then came back to where I was waiting next to the cockpit of the glider. The canopy was open and he helped me into the front compartment before climbing into the rear one. He closed the canopy and made sure it was latched. Then he said, "You might want to put on the phones, at least until we get cut free." I nodded and picked up the headphones as he donned his own.

I just listened as he spoke to the pilot of the other craft. He started to taxi slowly and when the slack came out of the tow cable we started forwards behind him. As soon as we were moving the wings righted themselves and we trundled along behind the other plane on the small wheels which must have been just inches below us. At the end of the runway the other pilot must have called for clearance on another frequency. We didn't wait long- it was Sunday afternoon and this wasn't a busy airport anyway. A quick word back to Tom on our frequency and then he pulled out onto the runway with us following.

Soon we were lined up and I heard the engine of the other craft pickup. Then he released his brakes and we began to roll forwards. We didn't gain speed as fast as I was used to on take off but that wasn't surprising considering he had to pull our weight along also. But we had plenty of runway and it didn't really take too long to reach rotation speed and I saw the plane in front of us leave the ground. Almost instantly I realized we were no longer earthbound either and I felt the thrill I always did when I lifted into the sky.

We climbed slowly for some time, moving away from the airport towards the line of hills. I could still hear the sound of the other plane's engine but it was much more quiet than I was used to. Then there were some words exchanged between Tom and the other pilot and suddenly I saw the tow cable pull away from our craft and I realized we were on our own. The other pilot waggled his wings and turned away from us, to head back down, I assumed. As he departed the sound of his engine disappeared and I Tom said, "You can take your phones off now if you want."

I lifted them clear of my ears and instead of the deafening roar I would have found when I flew, there was only the sound of the wind rushing past the surface of the plane. Tom had control and he flew us towards the line of hills in the near distance. As we approached I suddenly felt the pressure of an updraft as the warm air rose beneath us. Tom banked the plane enough to keep us circling in this rising column as the altimeter hands moved ever upwards. Looking downwards I could see the forested hillsides with their autumn leaves in changing colors appear to recede farther and farther as we climbed.

When he thought we had enough altitude Tom turned away from the hills and we started across the sky in near silence. He pulled the plane through a lazy eight a couple of times and then said, "OK, Sandy, why don't you try one?"

My mouth felt dry but I wasn't scared or anything. Just excited. I answered, "All right. Just tell me if I'm doing anything wrong before I get us in real trouble."

"Don't worry so. I'm sure you'll do it right. If you feel me pulling on the controls just follow and let me correct things."

I took the stick and began a gentle banking turn. The craft handled wonderfully! I began to feel as though I were a part of it or it was a part of me. So soon and I was already feeling at home in this strange cockpit.

We spent more than two hours and during that time I found that a glider could perform some stunts also. Tim was a wonderful pilot and was also a great instructor as he let me try a few acrobatics, always making sure we had sufficient speed and altitude before I entered into any maneuver. At last he took the controls again and we headed back towards the field. We made our approach just like I had seen him do the day before. A long pass parallel to the runway and then a steep bank and a decent to touch down on the grass beside the asphalt strip.

Once on the ground we rapidly slowed until at a stop and the nose dropped down. Tom released the canopy. I began to unfasten my harness but by the time I had released everything Tom was already out and offering me a hand. I climbed out and I'm sure my state of excitement was evident on my face. "Oh, Tom, thank you. That was fantastic!"

He smiled and I surprised both of us by putting my arms around his neck and giving him a quick, tight hug. At first touch I felt him stiffen slightly but in less than a second he relaxed and accepted my embrace. A quick kiss to his cheek and again I said, 'Thank you. Thank you, so much."

I quickly released my hug as I realized what I was doing but Tom didn't appear to be in the least offended. "You are quite welcome. I can see Sam's judgment was right - as if I ever had any doubt. You really are part bird - a true eagle, I believe. It's incredible the way you picked up handling this."

I felt my face go warm. "Well, it's not like I've never flown before, after all."

"No, but there are definitely differences and you acted like you had been flying unpowered craft for years. You have a real feel for planes, without doubt."

I helped him roll the craft back into the hangar and put it in place. When we had finished we headed back out to our cars. I again thanked him for the wonderful experience. He walked over to my car with me and opened my door but before I could get in he placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him.

"Sandy, you are a fantastic pilot and I want very much to fly with you again. But I want more than that, also. Would you allow me to take you out next Friday night to dinner and perhaps some dancing afterwards?"

Would I ever! But I managed to retain some semblance of calm and answered, "I would love that, Tom."

"I will call and give you the details if that's all right. I think I have a good enough idea of what you like to find something interesting."

I smiled up at him. "I look forward to it. Thanks again, Tom." I climbed inside my car as he closed the door after me. I started the engine and pulled away, the usual smooth response of the vehicle feeling rough and cumbersome after the response of the glider to my feather light touches on the controls.

The week turned out to be quite busy at work. I didn't get a chance to fly at all, which, really, was probably a good thing - at least for my budget. Between what I owed Sam for the rental for last Saturday's flight and what I spent on dinner at the Brown House, I had already overspent this month.

On Wednesday Tom called me. He said we would go somewhere nice for dinner. I should dress like I had last Saturday. I was a little apprehensive about the dancing. I really didn't care for loud, fast music and a lot of modern dancing leaves me totally cold. I was comfortable with older ballroom dances and enjoyed them but hard rock was definitely not my thing. Still, I didn't want to discourage Tom by saying anything.

Friday afternoon I got home about five thirty. Tom had said six thirty so I didn't have a lot of time. I had already picked out an outfit, not that this took a lot of thought. I had a very limited wardrobe of semi formal wear. The green velvet cocktail dress would have been fine, but I had worn that last time. There was a high collar, Chinese type sheath, close fitting and slit up the sides, but it was a little light weight for how cool I expected the evening to be. Besides it might be a little restrictive, depending on just what type of dancing Tom had in mind. That left my classic "little black dress." Mid thigh length, sleeveless, fairly plunging V-neck and low back. It would have to do.

I managed to be ready by six twenty-five. Thankfully Tom didn't come early. If fact, I was to find that he was almost exactly on time. Just at six thirty he knocked on my door. I opened it and stepped back, inviting him inside. He was dressed in a gray suit, well made and fitting nicely. He looked at me and I made a small twirl. "Will this do?" I asked with only the slightest hesitation in my voice.

He started to answer and then actually stopped to clear his throat. "It will definitely do. You are absolutely lovely, Sandy."

I let my breath out and managed a "Thank you, Sir." I picked up my wrap - the cape again - and he held it for me as I fastened the clasp at the neck.

He held the door for me and waited as I locked it, then took my arm and led me down to the Porsche, this time with its top up. He held my door for me again. I was coming to believe his manners were a natural part of him. He wasn't just trying to impress me.

We started off and I refrained from asking where we were going, just allowing him to proceed. I don't think it was thoughtlessness, but rather that he wanted to surprise me. We headed out of town on a state highway and started up into the hills. In about a half hour we turned off onto a smaller road, followed it for a couple of miles, and then turned into a gate between two large stone pillars. Another quarter miles on a crushed stone drive and what appeared to be a large - a very large - house with a circular drive in front appeared. I looked over at Tom and he said, "It used to belong to some giant of industry or something but now it's a private club."

He stopped the car and an attendant appeared to open my door. Tom came around and offered his arm at the same time handing the car keys to the attendant along with a bill of some kind. He then turned and led me up to the double door and opened it for me.

Inside was a different world from any I had lived in. There was dark wood everywhere. Not cheap paneling, but real wood. There were oil paintings on the walls. Again, not prints, but real oil paintings. A pretty young woman at a reception desk just inside the door turned and smiled at us but before she could say anything Tom said, "Larson. I have a reservation."

Again the smile and she responded, "Of course, Sir, you are expected." Then she turned and led us down a hallway to a double wide pocket door. Inside was a dining room with a half dozen tables. Dim, indirect lighting, candles on each table along with place settings which looked to be heavy silver plate if not Sterling. We were led to a table in a corner next to a window. From what I could see we were located somewhere on a hillside looking out over nearly empty forested land.

Another pretty young girl, dressed quite well as had been the receptionist, handed us heavy menus. There were filled water glasses on the table along with empty wine goblets. However, we weren't asked about drinks. I suppose to give us a chance to decide what we were eating before we selected something.

I opened the menu and looked. I was a little surprised in that there were only four entrees available. However, they were not the ordinary type that you would find at Dennys. Beef Wellington, Cornish game hens, Baked cod in a white wine sauce, and Steak Dianne. There were choices of two types of soup or three different salads. A limited selection of sides was also displayed. Also there were no prices on the menu. I looked at Tom for a clue and he simply said, "I have never been disappointed with anything here. Not that I've eaten here that often, but they do have a great reputation. I believe I'll have the Beef Wellington."

I nodded and looked at the list once more. Perhaps just to assert my independence I said, I think I'll try the Steak Dianne."

He asked about my choice of salad and side and when the waitress returned he ordered for both of us. Now she asked about drink and he looked over at me. "Are you planning on flying tomorrow?" I shook my head. He turned back to the waitress and asked for a Burgundy, ordering a half bottle.

When our food came it was done to perfection. I have once or twice eaten in a restaurant which billed itself as five star, that had the atmosphere but whose food should have rated no more than a star and a half. This was certainly not the case here. Dinner was one of the best I have ever enjoyed.

We talked through the meal but about nothing of importance. Just a little more getting to know each other. When we had finished Tom asked about desert. "I have heard their cherry cheese cake is very good. Would you like to split an order?"

Again I think he picked up that I would rather not eat a large desert but would still enjoy a small amount. "Why, yes, I think I would. Thank you." This, too, when it came, was perfection.

When we had finished and enjoyed a cup of tea - I'm not a coffee drinker despite being a pilot - Tom simply handed his credit card and when the waitress returned added what I think was probably a pretty generous tip, although I couldn't see the exact amount. Still, the look on her face as she took the slip indicated that she was very pleased.

I wondered where we would be going now. Before we stood to leave, Tom said, "I know from our talk last week that you are not wild about hard rock or anything like that. I suspect that your taste in dancing might go along the same lines, so I thought we might try the ballroom here. They tend to have slower stuff from the forties, fifties, or sixties. Does that interest you?"

I smiled at him, partly in pleasure and partly in relief. "Yes, that sounds perfect. I am familiar with fox trots and waltzes."

He then stood and took my hand as I rose and we left the dining room.

We turned down the hall in the direction from which we had come and quickly arrived back at the reception desk. The same young woman who had first met us was there and Tom said, "We are going to be spending some time in the ballroom now."

She smiled at him and replied, "Right this way, Sir," leading us down a hall way in the opposite direction from the dining room. We arrived at another double pocket door and when we entered I found one very large room. There was a small raised dias or stage at one end where a five piece band was playing. Small tables lined the walls, about a third filled with other couples. An equal number of couples were on the large central floor, dancing to a waltz. The lighting was dim and indirect with, again, a small candle in a colored glass holder on each table.