Love Story: In The Web of Life by Ken Renshaw (most motivational books txt) 📗

These tall granite mountains heat the airrising from the low areas and produce magnificentthermals.

I had finished my lunch and was now circling atseventeen thousand feet, barely below the ragged bottom of a cloud.It was sixty degrees in the cockpit so I put on my sweater. Iturned north and sped up to seventy knots, porpoising through thelift and sink. Soon, I was at Olancha Peak overlooking the OwensLake bed.

During the Gold Rush, Owens Lake was full ofwater. A steamboat ferried miners to the eastern shore andhoped–for riches. Now, it is dry, dust–blown. Early in thetwentieth century, the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power(DWP) bought most of the land in the Owens Valley, drove out waterhungry farmers, dammed the river, and piped the water to LA, sopeople could water their lawns.

A few small towns that predate the DWPstewardship remain in the valley, mostly dependent on the touristtrade. I was now flying past Lone Pine, the gateway to MountWhitney. I could see Mount Whitney below me a few miles to theWest. I was tempted to fly over it and buzz the people at thesummit, but didn't want to delay my trip.

In about a half hour, about 3:00, I wasapproaching my turning point, the town of Independence, and thecounty seat of nearly nothing, about the size of Rocky Butte. Thelift was weakening so I circled to gain altitude. At seventeenthousand feet I turned east for the dash across the valley to theInyo Mountains, which spawned a street of clouds that went southtoward home.

Air that goes up must come down the rising airover the mountains comes down in the valley. For about tenterrifying minutes I flew fast to get through the sink as I watchedmy altitude drop, until I looked up at the peaks and dropped towithin couple of thousand feet of the bottom of the valley. At thebottom of the Inyos, I found weak lift. I circled slowly and triedto assuage the adrenaline flowing in my body. I looked at my watch.It was 4:00, uncomfortably late in the soaring day for someone onlyhalf the way around the course. The lift slowly increased and thengot strong as I went south. Soon, I was at eighteen thousand feetagain, traveling at ninety-five knots, silently scraping the bottomof the cumulus clouds.

Pilots have to be careful not to get sucked upinto the clouds. A sailplane pilot decided to explore flying into athunderhead during a legendary flight in Germany seventy years ago.A half hour after he entered, his frozen body and the shards of hissplintered wooden sailplane fell out of the bottom of the cloud. Itmight be a legend, but I have decided not to try itmyself.

In about a half hour, I could see that I wasnearing the end of the street of clouds and the Mojave Desert aheadlooked like a big blue hole with no sign of any lift. Twenty milesaway, I saw a very large, isolated, cumulus cloud, perhaps toppingthirty thousand feet. It was yellow in the late afternoon sun andwas bent over by the late afternoon wind. I flew fast over thesinking air, loosing thousands of feet of altitude, to get underthe cloud, into being sucked up at nearly a thousand feet perminute.

I did a calculation. There would be no liftbetween here and CrystalAire, ninety miles away. There would be atailwind. I figured I would need to get to twenty-five thousandfeet to glide home. Cloud base was at eighteen thousand feet, and Iwouldn't consider going into the cloud. Then, I remembered thethunderhead was bent over by the wind, and there would be a streamof wind flowing up the windward side. When I got to the raggedunderside of the cloud, I flew to the upwind side and sure enoughit was there, a river of air flowing up and over the side of thecloud. I began tacking back and forth near the cloud, occasionallyspeeding up to keep clear. Climbing steadily. I pulled the lever todump my wing water ballast. It streamed into the cloud, myoffering. I was now at twenty-three thousand feet and was sure Icould make it home. I called Joshua Control, the station thatcontrols the airspace over Edwards Air Force Base and the testranges, and asked for permission to overfly. It was granted. It was5:00. All the test pilots were dead, retired, or in a bar atCalifornia City; I had the airspace to myself.

A minute later, I heard Dan at CrystalAire callme.

"King Romeo. Where are you, we wereworried?"

"I am eighty-five miles out. Starting my finalglide."

"Did you say eighty-five?"

"Yes, I'll be there in about an hour. Would youcall Tina for me?"

"Wilco," He replied. I could hear cheering inthe background.

As I settled into the long, quiet glide, Ireflected on the day, the excitement, and the occasional terror. Iwas achieving my flight goal, maybe a life goal, maybe aninter-life goal. I would get an FAI gold badge with three diamonds,an alternative to the Blue Max without having to killanyone.

I had traveled in space and in time, from noonto evening, from CrysalAire to Independence. I had traveled inspace-time, fulfilling the goal from another space-time.

I thought of Tina and could feel her lovethrough space. I recalled our time at Rocky Butte and could feelher love from that space-time. I also felt that she wasworried.

I felt Tina's vibration change from worried tojoy: Dan must have called her and told her that I was safe and onmy way home.

I thought of Uriel and his task anddreams-come-true now remitted to me: love, marriage, and new job,fulfilling future; possibly a vine covered cottage, with a whitepicket fence, and a Golden Retriever.

I glided on wings of gratitude.

****

When I neared CrystalAire about 6:00, I found Ihad a thousand feet to spare. I radioed Dan.

"I'm about a mile out, can I do a high speedpass?"

"Go ahead, everyone with any sense is on theground."

A high-speed pass is similar to a victory lapin auto racing. A mile off the end of the runway, I went into asteep dive, sped up to one hundred ten miles per hour, leveled offa few