.. Turd. Although not your common in the garden average pooper. No, what I am attempting to describe here is an organic-mineral cross that gives the sinking feeling of a bare footed encounter with some utter smelly horridness, matched with the flying characteristics of a shot brick.
That’ll be my glider then. Looked ready for action, flew ready for a bin bag. There was a proper, grown up aerodynamic reason for that which has little to do with the build instructions, and much to do with my inability to follow then. I’ll not trouble you with the plane-crash journey from childish enthusiasm to traditional despair, but this kind of little mistake could happen to anyone.
Of course it happened to me. Starting with A trudge up a muddy slope with three family members who wore that look of disappointment once “come on, let’s all go it’ll be fun” turned out to be anything but. Even the dog looked pissed off as we wouldn’t let him go and chase sheep*
A friend took my flying wing under his, and attempted to introduce it to aviation. It bit back with the resolute terror of those afflicted with proper vertigo. Instead of leaping into the air as a randy salmon, it performed a fast half roll and embedded itself in some innocent bracken. We tried again, only this time with more enthusiasm, and amazingly that did make a difference.
It was harder to get out of the ground. I’d not built a glider, I’d built a hand powered drill. Some comflaggerated-fluffage later, wiser men than me kindly pointed out my stupid f*ck up and – in a moment of temporary insanity – let me fly theirs instead.
At which my frustration took flight, and I spent a number of extremely focussed minutes playing chess with the air. I have to admit to being rather smitten with the whole thing – it’s not a boy’s toy full throttle power sport, more a slightly less sedentary hobby than, say, fishing. The glider does most of the work, while you just give it an encouraging nudge in the right direction**
I had to give it back as a) it wasn’t mine and b) it was far over a valley at about -100 feet. My flying pal effortlessly brought it back while I wondered how cheating could beat experience and hand/eye co-ordination. If it is the same as bikes, pointless upgrades are probably not the answer.
Worth a try though would you say?
* He’s not a Yorkshireman, therefore he’d do it all wrong,
** Which after this week, is going to be my new approach to work.