The Big Guy and I drove to a bluff, stopped, and parked to watch these model radio controlled gliders. They are flying wings without engines, and the radio controls their flaps only. They look like barn swallows dipping back and forth with the occasional clack, where one of them has bumped another. While we were watching that aerial ballet, I heard a noise behind us on the cliffside like someone threw down a sack of groceries. It was this paraglider. Unbeknownst to us, the paraglider dropped out of the sky while we were watching the radio controlled gliders. Our conversation went like this:
Me: Where’d he come from?
The Big Guy: He must have walked up behind us.
Me: As in “sneaked?”
The Big Guy: No, like drove a car, got out, threw down his chute and…”
Right then, things went a bit South. The wind inflated his shoot, and deflated it. He got dragged a bit more toward the edge. He struggled with the lines. At this point, I thought, “Gee, he needs some help.” But honestly, I had no clue what to do. I had a brief vision of me trying to be the good Samaritan, and taking us both to the cliff bottom with a resounded thud.
Then, he took off again. Just like that. We jumped in the Buick and followed him around the cliff facing on a little rough road. On the other side, there were several paragliders floating around, bouncing off the hillside. Beautiful. Interesting. Weird. But honestly, how do you train to do something that?
My obituary? “She moved from Oakland to Pacifica were she splattered herself on a cliff side one Saturday afternoon, learning to paraglide.” No. I don’t want to end like that – the human pancake. I want to end it with some high cholesterol so we drove to Mazzetti’s Bakery and bought a piece of Red Velvet cake, and ate that for dinner while watching Iron Man 2.