Ron Faoro (The Spin Doctor)
Thursday 2/24/05
Skyport to the beach at Santa Clause Lane

Thursday was the end of a hard week at work.  All of February has been unusually busy and I was about worn out when a small kitten was presented at the clinic late Tuesday night on what had already been a grueling ten hour day.  Some people had found it wandering the street in the rain with a bandage applied to the right rear leg.  Well, some good Samaritan had put the bandage over what was obviously a very badly damaged leg.  There was a wound at the hock joint and the poor kitten's paw was infected and necrotic.  It had to be amputated.  All the technicians had also experienced a long and trying day, but they all wanted to help the kitten and convinced me that we should do surgery, even though there was no owner and we wouldn't get paid for our efforts.  So we put an orthopedic surgical team together and amputated the hopeless leg at closing time.  Two hours later, everyone was stoked that we had saved the kitten and were already throwing around names like "Stumpy" when we locked up for the night.  However, on Wednesday, we came in to find that the kitten had developed tetanus.  Despite having given penicillin the night before and that morning, the tetanus worsened and the kitten died of respiratory paralysis.

That's all a long-winded explanation that sets the stage for my mood yesterday morning at the clinic.  Still bummed about nature's cruel twists of fate despite good intentions, I watched sadly as pilots launched Skyport with promising cumis over the range.  I was stuck at work.  My heart wasn't in it today.  But it was (finally!) the first slow day of the month and I left at 1 PM to look for something uplifting, so to speak.  As soon as I left the building, Bob Hurlbett called to say he had just landed at the practice polo field and Sundowner and Sharon were back on the 192 at Sheffield.  Perfect, I thought, I'll go see my friends to cheer me up.  When I chased the tandem crew down, one of the first things SD said was, "You want to fly?" "Well, yeh," I answered, "but I'd have to change and get my gear."  Ever the optimist, SD said we'd pick up Bob and get to Skyport by two o'clock.

I'll be damned if I wasn't standing at launch all geared up looking for the next cycle at 2:05 PM.  This after racing home, changing clothes and vehicles and winding our way back up the mountain with SD driving his third different car of the day, much to the dismay of the flagman who had told Tom earlier that he wanted drivers limited to "locals only."  It was blowing in fairly stiff at Skyport and I got a few hundred over before heading downrange.  Four and a half thousand at Thermal Factory, not much at Montecito Peak, so I limped in low to the east side of San Ysidro canyon.  There I spent thirty minutes scratching, my altitude not varying by more than a hundred feet.  Everyone had warned me it wasn't working down low on Thursday.  If you got low, you flushed.  I was worn out and beaten; I had to watch the tandem and then Bob cruise high over me to points east.  I gave up and headed out.  Would I even make the 192 starting at 2,100 feet?  But on the first small hillock on the ridge I chose to flush from, I hit a pop that I desperately held on to until it took me back to the top of the ridge.  I let the drift take me east toward Romero and hit two more thermals that got me to 3,400 feet in menacingly dark skies.  The rain started and I gave up on anything further east.  SD and Sharon were at Carpinteria High School and Bob landed at a mobile home park across from the 101 from the Padaro Grill.  The glide barely got me to Santa Claus Lane and I folded up on the beach with a big smile on my face, happy to get in a nice hour and a quarter flight in the afternoon.  The clouds followed me out and as soon as the wing was in the bag, the sun disappeared and it started raining hard.  Bob and I hustled over to a small wine shop, our dreams of a cold beer dashed because Padaro Grill and Smokin' Jacks were both closed.  That's when the magic started.

Bob bought a bottle of Petite Syrah and the manager of the shop was kind enough to open it for us and even gave us two wine glasses!  We huddled under the awning of Smokin' Jacks, sipping wine as the rain poured down around us.  SD and Sharon came along with a vehicle.  Tom had a few peanuts and some Wheat Thins.  Sharon bought a small brownie at the coffee shop and put a "5" and a "0" candle on top.  We had made the acquaintance of a woman and her daughter out to pick up an auction donation and she drank wine with us and sang happy birthday to Tom, who turned fifty this week.  She lit the candles for us and Tom blew them out and we nibbled on our little snacks and discussed skydiving (which she had done) and paragliding.  We got a glow like you can only get when you drink in the early afternoon after not having lunch.  Bob promptly broke his wine glass and we had to pack up and go when the bottle was drained.  The sun was out again and we were in high spirits as we drove northbound.  Our spirits got even higher in the vehicle with a little help.  We pulled off at Summerland and SD picked up a six-pack of Sierra Nevada.  So by the time we reached Parma, we were about as primed as paragliders ever get.  We asked Bob if he wanted to get out and grab his vehicle and go home.  Hell no!  He wanted to drive up to launch, keep the four of us together on our magic bus.  Lucky the flagman was long-gone as SD drove his FOURTH different locals' vehicle to launch!

We pulled into Skyport.  Now it was really blowing stiff from the west.  We stood there looking out over our domain, flush with just the right balance of chemicals warming our cerebral hemispheres.  What a glow!  What a rush!  What a great Happy Hour!  What great good fortune to have such good friends to share such heartfelt laughs with!  I had forgotten all my troubles with the help of my friends.  It's what paragliding is all about!

I was high all night.

 [Top of Page]  [Home]