JUST A QUICKIE
(I'm in Hull! (Massachusetts, that is))
In September '82 I spent a week in Scotland with my first ex-wife, and we 'motored' from Prestwick, counter-clockwise, very roughly along the borders, but also among various mountains, to the northwestern coastal area, via diverse b & b's.
One day after lunch in a small hotel, in spite of knowing the inevitable consequence, she motioned to the sky, where a sailplane was floating by. We immediately followed by car to the airfield outside of town, and were advised to join the soaring club (for indemnity purposes), full price Five Pounds. So, I joined.
The sailplane was launched by a Rover sedan pulling a long wire looped around a pulley, so that when the Rover pulled this way the glider went up the other way. Ingenious.
Three other 'members' were already waiting for flights, but the next to last member's flight was interrupted when the wire snapped, albeit with no harm done.
To wait, or not to wait? Silly question.
By the time a new long wire was unrolled, and twisted into loops on either end, weather conditions were regressing, with a bracing cross-wind, and a heavy mist off of the adjacent water pelting the field.
My pilot was a stalwart and tenacious young buck, and as we rose, with wings seemingly vertical, he made reassuring remarks, but at barely one thousand feet as we entered the cloud cover he expostulated something not heard in church, and promptly released the wire.
Banking sharply around, and down, and with some obvious determination, he finally lined up with the field and landed smoothly, having completed just one 360 degree turn starting from lift-off. Totally 'tubular'
At the rate of about One Pound per minute of flight, the retrospection alone has been more than worth the disbursement.
And Scotland is also outstanding!