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 Impressions
of a
Visitor
The 2002 IL Labor Day Powered
Paraglider Fly-In
by Phil Russman
5:45 AM. Still
dark. The roosters have been sounding off since 10pm. Lights go on in the
barn that's been converted into a hangar, workshop, and gathering area.
I'm trying for a few more minutes of sleep in the chicken coop.
By 6:15 AM, someone's pulling on his starter rope. Starts on the third
pull, idles for a while, revs up. More motors start. Someone takes
off, first up into the dawn. The sun's not up yet hence the scattered
strobes climbing into the Midwest sky. Jeff cruises above the rest with
his video camera to capture them making tracks through the layer of fog resting
a few feet above the bean fields. The propellers drill across the
countryside, parting a White Sea. Again and again, the paramotors buzz
along the blanket of mist until it's all gone. At least 'til the next time.
Now the boys form their gaggles, either coordinating over the radio or simply by
choosing a wing to follow, and they're off to float across the farms and rivers.
By 9 or 10 am, everyone's back at the Paradrome, laughing or shouting about foot
drags and the morning mist. The newer students, the "newbies",
are kiting in the stronger winds, not realizing that they'd be better off
working on forwards in the dead calm early morn. But why get up that early
to work that hard and not fly? They'll find out.
Now it's breakfast time and either someone's brought subway or cooked up some
eggs. If you're quick, you might find leftovers in the fridge. As the
pilots dig in, the hangar banter gives way to hunger till the only sound is
munching pilots, their patient para-wives and kids.
The eating tapers off after wing loadings have been sufficiently increased for
the afternoon air. Projects begin or re-commence...fixing, tweaking, designing;
radios, mufflers, props, harnesses. Everyone is standing by, it seems, to
help everyone else. There is always someone to offer advice, hold whatever
steady, find a tool, lend a part, all without expecting anything in return
except the knowledge that someone is going to get back into the air. Shut
up and fly!
As the heat of the
noon sun approaches it's peak, the population begins to thin out, but it's not
really any thinner. It just appears that way because they're all
horizontal. It's power naptime, as Mikey puts it. And car seats, air
mattresses, chicken coops and wings become the conveyance to midday dreams, of
flying if you're lucky.
As 5 PM approaches, the kiting starts again, and it's snack time to find the
energy for the evening engine hoist. Eventually, someone thinks it's safe
to fly and fires up, hooks in, pulls up, and they're off in three steps.
Everyone watches to see the wind dummy tell his story. One after another, the
wings lift and launch to chase the sunset across the Illinois heartland.
Meanwhile, Nick and Wally are helping New-B's launch and directing traffic.
And Stacy relaxes knowing everything is under control because there's nothing to
really control. The paradrome's on autopilot fueled by generosity, fun,
and friendship.
As the sun sets, strobes start strobing. One by one, the paramotors settle back
into the field, landing as close to the barn as possible, partly to avoid the
walk, but also because it's cool. The last few buzz around over head,
waiting till the last possible minute to give in to the darkness.
Dinner or supper or whatever one calls the evening meal materializes as everyone
chips in to make it happen though Mikey seems to wind up standing by the BBQ
more often than not. And as if experiencing it once was not enough, the flying
continues on video to keep the memories of the day's adventures alive into the
night, fighting off sleep as long as possible until the last person turns out
the lights and hits the proverbial or literal hay, just in time to hear the
roosters 8 hours early.
Phil Russman is a
screenwriter and past TV editor among other things. He visited our event in
conjunction with the William Shatner USPPA promotion and flew with us for two of
the days.
 
   
   
   
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