When did you know you HAD to fly?

Hanggliding, for me, was an "aha" moment. I had never seen it, but when I first read of it in the early 1970's, it was as if I had been waiting for my wings to appear. I flew in my dreams all the time and used to leap from the top of our house with sheets, umbrellas, my faith alone. The bruises didn't matter (somehow I managed to avoid broken bones or brain damage) but I knew I would have to get into the air. Somehow.

Hanggliding was as if the gods had read my mind -- my own wings, no motor, silent, soaring with the birds. I loved the idea of hanging over the landscape, observing, isolated, contemplative. The lack of motor appealed even more since I loathe unnecessary noise and complications. No motor to maintain meant I was in charge of my dream even more -- no other humans need be involved. And the simplicity of the wing -- the apparent simplicity(nothing more than dacron, wires, and aluminum tubing) -- made the sport perfect in my eyes. Less equipment equalled less aggravation -- fewer things to break.

(Actually, I have found that hanggliding is a solitary sport in the air -- or can be if you resist the need to discuss every turn with your buddies over the radio -- and a group sport on the ground. You need help with windy cliff launches, hangchecks, and wind dummies.)