It was an ordinary summer afternoon — unremarkable, with nothing to look forward to but an ordinary dinner, an ordinary evening, and some blanks hours of sleep before another long day of meetings and paperwork. In search of renewal, I decided to drive to the coast, sit next to the ocean, and listen to the waves. Then it occurred to me… “Gee,” I thought, “there’s no rule that says I can’t sit above the beach and listen to the waves. And my paraglider is sitting right there in the closet.”
Minutes later, I was loading my gear into the back of the Crimson Brick, my ancient and venerable (and white) Jeep Grand Cherokee, for a session of ‘above the beach sitting’. The drive to Pacifica — against the commute — went swiftly, the hike from the parking lot was full of anticipation, and soon I was laying out my canopy, shrugging on my harness, and preparing to fly.
There are those who claim that paragliding at the coast, dawdling in front of the cliffs in smooth steady ridge lift, is almost as tedious as sitting in traffic. And it’s true that it might not present many technical challenges. But I hadn’t come in search of challenges; I’d come in search of peace. Launch was easy, uneventful: a moment to get clear of the terrain, tug the right brake, turn parallel to the ridge, and then I was heading south and climbing.
It was like some childhood dream of flight. The air was cool, but not too cool. The sun was bright, but not too bright. Below me, an endless succession of waves marched in from the west to crash against the shore with a roar I could hear quite clearly from the air. To the east, the sounds of the city were muted, forgotten, borne away by the wind. With few other gliders to avoid, and no significant hazards to worry about, I was free to relax, enjoy the view, and forget — about paperwork, deadlines, politics, all the petty stresses and betrayals of the mundane world.
How long does a flight like that last? By the clock, it lasted an hours – long enough to watch birds flock homeward and shadows shift as the sun sank toward the sea. But in some true sense it has never ended, for the memory lives on…
Greetings and salutations from a new reader, linked from a Keenspot page (“The Devil’s Panties” if you must know). I normally just read webcomics, but I find your story engaging, and you are an unusually good wordsmith in this day of sadly declining literary standards. I especially enjoy your use of sly references to, and parodies of, popular memes, both period and otherwise.
One reference in Chapter 27 nags me:
“This ship?” asked Everett in surprise. “Are you sure? You see, there are many kinds of airships: big airships, little airships, non-rigids, semi-rigids…”
Combined with the other person’s very specific answer and the chagrined response “Yes, that’s one of ours”, it sounds very familiar, but I can’t place it to save my life.
Anyway, congratulations on an interesting and witty adventure story. I look forward to further developments.
Hi Kona, I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the story so far. I considered doing it as a webcomic… but there are so many excellent webcomics out there that its prospects seemed unpromising, so I decided to try this 1930’s-style cliffhanger instead. And I must say, I’ve gained new respect for those classic pulp fiction authors! There’s a whole range of skills involved — in pacing, organization, and planning ahead — that have been entirely forgotten. How did they manage to pull it off?
I’m not surprised you couldn’t place that reference, for it’s quite obscure. It comes from an old Doonesbury comic — one of the Vietnam-era strips from before our time. Some Congressmen are interviewing a Cambodian woman about the secret bombing:
[Woman] “I know that the plane came and bombed our village.”
[Congressman] “Yes, but how do you know where it came from? You see, there are many kinds of planes: big planes, little planes, jet planes, propeller planes…”
[Woman] “It was a McDonald-Douglas Phantom F-4D.”
[Congressman, after a pause] “…oh yes. That’s one of ours.”
I think one of the traditions of pulp-fiction cliff-hangers is that one is allowed to snitch lines like that
*smacks forehead* THAT’S it! I have worn out boxes of those old Doonesbury books. I loved that strip before it got so droningly political. Unfortunately, I cannot say it was before MY time. I was in that ugly little war. I’m a fan of several subjects your site covers, including history, British naval warfare, steampunk (LOVE Girl Genius) and mysteries. I’m enjoying the introduction to lighter-than-air craft you are providing.
I envy your paragliding. It must be a great experience. Thanks for sharing it with us so eloquently.
Those early days of Doonesbury were great, weren’t they, back during what seems like the morning of the world? I imagine that a few more Doonesburisms (if this isn’t a word, it most certainly should be!) will creep into the story as it progresses.
I was lucky enough to miss LBJ’s misadventure by a year, but I have friends who were there. They don’t talk much about it, of course, and I know enough not to ask, but when they do talk, I listen. This is one of the reasons for some of Everett, Davies, and Michaelson’s attitudes — as veterans, they are under no illusions about what Alistair Horne so eloquently termed ‘The Price of Glory’. It’s also why Davies knew so much about marching in Episode 5. I’ve worked out the details of the three men’s service in the Great War, but these revelations may have to wait for Season Two…
I agree about Girl Genius — it is most certainly the Hand of the Master! And Phil Foglio draws much cleaner-looking airships too, darn it! The only way I can hope to compete is with technical accuracy, so I’d better get back to work on that long-planned FAQ page. Wish me luck. And if there are any specific things you’re curious about, let me know and I’ll add them to the list.