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When I started gliding in 1990. it was for FUN. I soloed, got my Bronze, took a break to do my PPL (A) but found more fun in gliding. Then I bought a K6E and managed to do my five hours, followed by Silver height.
That was where progress stopped. The instructors were patient, gently trying to get me to do my 50km. Pilots who had done it bubbled with enthusiasm: they couldn't wait to do it again. It wasn't that I didn't believe them, just that - deep down - I was scared to death. I was petrified. That's not FUN... is it?
Each weekend an instructor would ask about my 5Okm and each time I made up an excuse. Some were genuine. Most were pathetic. Fear can be really tiresome. I did a few dual cross-countries and field landing checks, and enjoyed them, but I couldn't quite bring myself to do them alone. I became so fed up I even designed a T-shirt: white with a vertical yellow stripe down the back and on the front, an open red circle with 5Okm in the centre and a red line running through it.
Then, one Bank Holiday, I drove to the club. It was one of those days when only a few people turned up. I was last to launch ... and into a rather good sky. I relaxed to enjoy an afternoon's local soaring.
There was a superb cloud street going in the direction of one of the 5Okm destinations. A little voice in my head whispered the unthinkable. It's not really that far. Could I do it? Suddenly I felt brave. I called base and asked if there was a spare smoked barograph. There was, so I landed. Luck was on my side: both a Full Cat (Instructor)and an 00 (Official Observer)were nearby I sheepishly asked if it was possible to attempt my 50km with a remote start from King's Lynn to Tibenham. No, because of the Eastern Regionals at Tibenham. RAF Wyton was suggested as an alternative.
My fit of bravado was beginning to weaken, as was the sky. I launched again, to 900ft, and struggled hard to stay in a weak thermal. The club's K-13 and K-18 were in another not far downwind. I joined underneath them and we all grovelled until I reached the dizzy height of 2,000ft. I then flew half-heartedly towards Downham Market, my first landmark. I felt relieved I wasn't going to be able to do the task because the sky had gone blue. Yet I didn't feel like giving up, and every time I thought of turning back a thermal would appear. The most difficult part was crossing the waterways from Kings Lynn down to St Ives: the ground sucks. But I managed to stay between 3,000 and 4,000ft, getting closer and closer. Finally, I saw my destination in the distance and in no time at all I'd made it. I really did feel good: now I knew why people went cross-country.
I had done it, and enjoyed it, but I had another reason for feeling smug. When I was 21 I broke my neck, and am paralysed from my chest down. When I left hospital the consultant said: "Go home and learn to knit. It's the only thing you'll ever be able to do."
As for Gold... never say never.
PS. This article was written by me and published in an Aviation magazine in March 2000. Simon has kindly re-written here for me.
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This post has been edited by LadyPilot: 10 September 2006 - 07:57 AM
loving it!
You must be so proud of yourself and your achievments!!
