Big Springs 2005, Lauren's experience (long!!)

[Lauren Tjaden]

Day 1
Mosquitoes chewed my legs and gnawed on my neck. Sweat poured into a river between my breasts and turned my hair into a sticky tangle. Griffin ? my glider ? slung herself across my neck, dead and useless on the ground, showing none of the spirit she did in the air. My harness dragged down on my shoulders as I trudged out of the endless cotton field. I was slowed even further by the ankle deep sand. Every few steps I rested and gasped for breath. But my hour-long walk wasn?t the worst of it. I had plummeted to the ground within the start circle, on the first day of the Big Spring competition. I would have been less ashamed if a sex video featuring me with a Dalmatian had appeared on the internet.
I found it challenging to say much positive when asked about the flight. It?s hard to have fun when you are the goat. I had allowed myself to become intimidated by the world class pilots, by the cactus and mesquite, and by the asphalt runway that you raced down while launching, the cart wheels chattering in protest. I had flown poorly. No excuses.
Pete Lehmann (two ns, dammit), Paul, Claire Vassort and I feasted on steak at the Red Mesa, but the meal could have been chopped liver for all I cared. I vowed that if I flew that poorly again, I would tell Tim ? who was scoring the meet ? that I had lost my 5030. I threw myself on another pilot and kissed him when he told me he had landed even shorter than I had.

Day 2
I was convinced that the time I stole to take a stroll before the pilot?s meeting at 11 ? where we were told the day?s task ? would result in a good flight for me. But as I towed up, the storm to the east, parallel to the line of the path of the course, came to life. I glimpsed perhaps 5 bolts of lightening spear the earth as I towed. Off tow, I quickly soared to cloud base, in with the gaggle. Time and again, the lightning struck. The gaggle flew ahead of me. I followed, afraid. I tried not to look to the right. I know ? a hang 0 knows not to fly right next to a storm. I just didn?t want to be the first one to land again.
The storm was a bruise in the sky, yellow and purple, with spectacular light shining through the clouds, a candle flickering behind the mist. It was the most beautiful and deadly thing I have ever seen. I circled close, a moth drawn by a flame. I couldn?t believe that some pilots flew even further to the right than I did. Lift was abundant, smooth, and strong.
Fred Permenter?s voice came on my radio when I had flown 12 miles away from the airport, telling me the task had been cancelled. Relieved, I spiraled down immediately. Big mistake. The wise thing to do would have been to bolt for the west. But I didn?t. I landed OK, in extreme turbulence. Moments after I landed, Griffin lost her balance and tipped over, with me hooked in still. This was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. If she took off, I was going with her, and chances were we wouldn?t stop until we were halfway to Kansas.
Griffin lay obediently on her side while I freed myself, shaking violently. I hooked my helmet to her nose wires, removed excess clothing and stuffed it in my helmet, and began to hike her out. I wrestled her as she began to leap into the air, dragging me part way with her, as my leggings and clothes blew across the cotton. When I finally reached the road, I turned her tail into the wind. She raced down the gravel, scraping off part of her keel, while I lay on her backside as best as I could. I remembered something about pilots breaking down their gliders while laying them flat, but I didn?t know how to do it. I desperately wanted to get her on the ground, not only so I would have control of her, but so we wouldn?t be the best target for miles around regarding lightening.
The storm and gust front passed around me. I had ample time to gather up my sh@#, strewn around 3 counties, and reflect on what Tom McGowan told me before I left Maryland. He said it was a sad thing if I would fly in conditions in a comp that I wouldn?t free fly in. Well, Tom. I let you down, and I let me down, too. At least I was alive, and I had a free lesson about personal responsibility ? though it was one I should have already memorized . By the way, not all comp pilots are stupid. For instance, Claire chose not to fly. Others raced away when they saw the threat, and still others were far ahead of the problem because of earlier launches.

Day 3
That this competition was a marathon became clear rapidly. I endeavored to keep my shirt on in the parties around the pool. Struggled to sleep. Woke and guzzled coffee. I decided to eat carbs, which I never do, in an effort to baby myself as much as possible. Early, you needed to set up, and roll your glider out to the staging area ? before the pilot meeting. It smelled better to set up outside, though the sun was brutal. The hangar is usually used for crop dusters and smells like chemicals, though it is a great asset to have. At the meeting, you needed to program in your route, and then it was go-go-go. Or rather, wait around, nerves eating your stomach ? I sure the hell couldn?t get any food in there ? until you saw the top guys suit up. Then it was a race into the big line to launch.
I had already learned lots. I vowed never to fly when I saw lightening again; at least, nowhere near it. If I saw a storm and I was high, I would run. If I was low and the sky looked threatening, I would land. I would follow my own instincts in the future. Rob Kells instructed me how to break a Wills Wing Glider down on her nose ? you just have to take the VG off first, so it doesn?t stretch your side wires. I learned how to wheel my glider, tail into the wind, down the runway so I did not need to carry her so far. I learned to strip off all excess clothes before hiking out my glider. I pasted messages to myself, like Paris does, on my base tube. They showed altitudes, but also told me to take a breath, or that I could do this task! I bought kneepads to overcome my fear of the asphalt runway (note, if you buy them, pop off the plastic knee covers; your harness zipper lines can become stuck underneath them).
I learned how to fly in a gaggle decently ? a huge thing for me, since my tendency has been to bolt for another thermal as soon as I am joined by others. If I tried to stick around before, I became so inefficient in order to avoid traffic that I was almost better off leaving. I actually became half comfortable.
I learned how to handle the launch crew. I was launched the first day when I told the crew I was NOT ready ? they said, ?Yes you are, have fun,? and waved the plane off. I wasn?t in the right position and popped off the cart badly. Claire and Mike B. told me to give them hell, and hit my release if they ignored me.
The same scenario happened on the second day. The overworked crew was in a split to get 70 pilots launched, but I needed a few seconds - like, less than 10 ? to take a mental breath. They started to send me off in spite of my protests, and I screamed to the crew that I had said no, I was not ready to launch. It worked. I told them I was ready in a couple seconds and they said I could take all the time I wanted. We understood each other after that. I would not dilly-dally, and arrived totally prepared, but they had to listen to what I said.
The third day I began to have fun and learn more about actual flying. I had a brief flight, but I didn?t feel so boneheaded. I was joined by a hawk for a few circles, who screamed at me and dove towards me. Cool.
I realized I needed to launch earlier. A little front came through and demolished all the lift nearby. An earlier launch would have given me more options, and more pilots to fly with for a longer period. I commented to Linda that I didn?t mind flying alone, though, in fact, that I kind of liked it, and further, that I thought I was pretty good at it. Yeah, she said. I watched you fly yourself right to the ground today. Oops. Lesson learned. She and Mark, her boyfriend, both had much longer flights.

Day 4

I took off early left with an early gaggle. The first turn point (of the triangle task) was downwind and a little cross of the airport. I felt like I was back in Maryland, with the weak climbs and low altitudes. I flew upwind until I found a street to drift with. It was great! I flew over some top pilots who had landed, which filled me with an immature and immense joy. I heard the happy chirping of my 5030 for the first time when I actually made the turn point ? the sweetest song in the world. The others must have thought I was crazy, I was whooping and hollering, I was so happy. I had to fight a little upwind to hit the turn point, but I got high first. Damn, my brain was working! I joined the gaggle after the turn point, but then made a mistake. I was brave enough to go first, trying to find lift. For a king posted glider it is folly to leave an area without a clear idea of where to fly to next. I landed perhaps 5 miles later, never seeing another glider again. I finished 40th out of 60 on the day ? not bad. Could have been better, as always.
I should comment here how generous the pilots all were with their knowledge and support. No one made me feel stupid, even when I was. Pete, Mike, Kevin, and Fred Permenter were all so wonderful to me. Linda and I became great friends. Can you spell ?t-r-o-u-b-l-e??

Day 5

The task was something like 88 miles downwind. This was something I could perhaps accomplish on my glider. I flew with my friends, though I felt free to make my own decisions when I saw something better. The clouds kissed my wingtips for much of the flight. The lift was abundant though not strong. By Lamesa, some 40 miles away, I reached the dreaded canyon area, filled with mesquite and jagged terrain. It is apparently landable, though the retrieve is bad. It looked terrible to me and I didn?t see anything like my normal Nebraska-size field; in fact, I didn?t see anything I considered remotely OK. Different pilots with different skill levels have different standards, and rightly so. Linda told me later she hoped I wasn?t looking down. I stayed close to the one remaining field below until I was next to the clouds again, and then began my journey. I saw a distant field that I thought I could reach, but I held onto every scrap of lift I found. 10 miles later I was over it! All the pilots except one topless (Rich, from Utah) had outdistanced me by then.
I made a crucial mistake when the beautiful street I had flown dried up. I ventured to the west, to a closer cloud, instead of following the street to the east that was further away. I wasn?t sure if I could reach the eastern street, but the obvious trend was that a huge blue hole was opening to the west. If I had been able to make the street, I could have made at least 20 more miles or so. Besides, it was where Rich flew to. Where I chose was a dead end. I landed at about 53 miles ? a disappointment, but my personal best.
I had become such a party animal that I mainly slept in the truck instead of finishing dinner with my friends each night.

Day 6
The winds blew hard ? Mike Barber thought about 20, with higher gusts, though Davis insisted they were only 13. The task for us flexies was 127 miles downwind. Storms had already begun to brew and dotted the horizon. I was afraid of the tows, because we would never fly in those kind of winds in Florida or Maryland. The tows didn?t seem to be too bad, though, with the flatter Texas terrain and resulting lack of turbulence. I am not good at determining what is truly dangerous and what only seems to be extreme. Many pilots mumbled that they wished the day would be called, and the launch was delayed, though ultimately the day was still on.
Paris and Mike both told me I was right to think conditions were on the edge, and Paris said he might not fly. Finally, I took Griffin and put her away. About 10 pilots, out of 70, including the rigids, decided not to fly. I took off with our driver for pickups afterwards. I felt horrified when the sky became beautiful as we drove north. I still felt I had made a reasonable decision, but many of the pilots that flew had extraordinary flights ? like more than a hundred miles.
That evening, I realized what my decision had cost me. More women than the team had slots for were competing for positions. The points I missed out on probably had cost me my spot at the bottom of the team. Linda told me not to be sad, but I allowed myself a few tears of self pity.

Day 7
I was ready try again, though conditions looked ripe for a storm, as usual. I flew around the field, too low to leave with the first gaggle. I had finally found a decent climb when I noticed that the nasty cu-nim cloud next to the field was getting close. My 5030 reported that the wind had increased from 4 to 13. I saw the people below begin to run to protect their gliders. The day was called. I arrived safely in the hangar with Griffin, much earlier than some others, though still 10 minutes too late. You just can?t tell how fast a storm is coming if you are low. You just need to land immediately if it looks rainy. I didn?t see any lightening in the air, but it sure came later. Who knows what is hidden in the clouds?
I broke down, unable to believe it was all over. Paul and I drove to the competitor?s dinner at a local Mexican place. Davis strolled over, and pointed at Linda. He told her she was on the team, and he told Lisa the same thing. I turned my head so no one would see how much I had wanted it. But then he told me I made it, too. I was so NOT cool. I began to cry like I was 4 years old and had just found my lost puppy.
So now I need to learn to really fly, so I am not just filling a spot. I will do my best. Paul, too.
Lauren

[jclaytor]

Congrats, to both you and Paul for you recent achievements...

My experience with the gust front a couple of years back, is probably my most vivid of Big Spring memories. I'm glad everyone worked it out without serious consequences.

I can't wait to see your new blade wing, "angel". Perhaps others should name thier wings... -Now that would be interesting- I have no idea what I would name my own.

Be Safe. Speck out.
John C.

[Paul Tjaden]

In a message dated 8/19/2005 1:44:14 P.M. Eastern Standard Time, jclaytor@jmt.com writes:

I can't wait to see your new blade wing, "angel". Perhaps others should name thier wings... -Now that would be interesting- I have no idea what I would name my own.

I call mine "Glider" or sometimes "you Bitch" when things aren't going so well.
?
Paul