There are the islands: Danzante, like a prehistoric monster, swimming in the sea. Carmen, horseshoe-shaped, from this perspective. Puerto Escondido, a puddle on the shore, a playing child left behind: the sailboats are barely discernable. I must be close to 6000 feet now.
I cruise along 30 feet over the rim, no thermals anymore; it is as calm as in a balloon. I follow the crest as if it was a trail, effortless, dreamlike. Didn’t we all have such moments, sometimes, when we run or bicycle or drive and feel this primeval urge to leave the ground, when we want to ignore gravity, not bother with it anymore and simply fly? We don’t want to stay on the trail anymore but jump over that fence, clear that obstacle, fly over the abyss, fly over water, fly along the mountain crest. Suddenly we think we can do things that are actually impossible. Like in a lucid dream we know they are impossible but we do them anyway.
And I climb even higher: 7000 feet. Everything stays behind now, a sensation of strange loneliness creeps up on me, half frightening, half profoundly liberating and ecstatic. Nothing but blue empty space around me. I look up for the first time. My wing seemingly motionless over me, I see these few thin lines holding me (they are not even tight but slightly curved by the pressure of the passing air). It makes me shiver, with an incomparable feeling of delight. I turn again and again. Oh yes, I take some pictures, but it seems like a stupid habit.
I can’t stay long because I’ve used up a lot of gas on this relentless climb. So eventually I turn back east. Cruising at just under 5000 rpm, I keep my altitude of more than 1 mile above the ground. It’s difficult to perceive any motion now; I’m hovering in space. I’m very calm, my mind is crystal-clear and super-alert, but somehow there is a wonderful lightness, a trust, a deep profound knowing: this is “it”, no need to think, to explain.
I feel my legs resting on this ridiculous little seat, my body held in the harness, the vibration of the motor in my back, a gentle warm wind in my face. The wing motionless above me – unreal, a piece of fabric, what a joke! I’m sitting in the air, hanging from a piece of cloth, a mile above the ground – what a miracle, what a mystery! I wiggle my feet (the mind desperately searching for reference), I start singing but it distracts me, it’s a phony cliché.
There is the highway in the vast desert, the only manmade thing visible far and near, a truck on it like a crawling insect. The sea is turquoise and transparent from here, a large dark moving spot under water turns out to be a huge fish swarm moving erratically, breaking the surface, suddenly foaming white. Finally I see our tiny little beach. Time is running out, I have to go down.
I switch off the motor. It takes probably another 15 minutes to very gradually sink lower and lower. I draw wide circles over our beach, I see cars there, and people gathering to watch me land. The shadow of the Sierra Giganta has reached the shore now. There is a nice little breeze over the ground – Parvin is thoughtful enough to show me the fluttering flag for exact wind direction – perfect for landing. I glide in over the motorhome, flare, and touch down on the sand, exactly where I launched.
When the wing settles I just stay there for a moment and sit in the sand. I don’t know what to say to all these smiling faces coming towards me. It doesn’t matter at all, just sounds that come out of my mouth.
