Flying
by Megan Cummings
Photo by Doug Miller
Flying is only one of my compulsions (I have many others, but none I feel like admitting at this time), but the pursuit of flight in all its forms has been a main theme in my otherwise erratic life.
It started out when I was young, at the age of 7, when I became convinced that if I wore a bathing suit and belt at all times I would be able to fly like any spandex-ed superhero. Other than a collection of embarrassing family videotapes, nothing came of it.
Growing up I experimented with aerial gymnastics and paper airplanes. For the gymnastics, landing was always a problem and I quit at the age of 13 with significant structural damage. And the paper airplanes are the reason my memories of middle school are a blur of various detention rooms. So I was grounded other than falling off things.
In high school I discovered pole vaulting. Hurling myself vertically via a flexible (and breakable as I recall) pole became my modus operandi. I did this in college as well.
I believe I was the shortest NCAA female pole vaulter --and unfortunately one of the slowest. I had no qualms about flying upside down, but my runway speed was atrocious and I soon grew frustrated.
Photo by Doug Miller
I moved on to more mechanically assisted methods of achieving altitude. It was our enigmatic, and easily flattered, editor Doug who became aware of my love affair with flight, and helped me find the ultra-light people. The small hang-glider-with-a-weed-eater-engine things that my father swore were death traps. I tried to con him into helping me build one, but he never took me seriously (Okay, so I was twelve at that time). So now that I’m independent I can thumb my nose at caution and trust my life to a contraption made in someone’s barn.
The magnificent Doug also arranged a hot-air balloon ride for me during the Festival of Colors here in Sierra Vista, so he deserves double kudos. He accompanied me to the field where we watched lifeless yards of fabric become animated with the aid of a high-powered fan. With bursts of heat the bloated form became a magical balloon.
Photo by Doug Miller
What a unique experience! After floating oh-so-peacefully over Sierra Vista, I see my prior attempts at flight as downright violent. There is no wind because the balloon moves with the wind current, and other than the sporadic bursts from the burners it was completely quiet. It also fed my voyeuristic nature by allowing me to peer down into people’s yards and hearing them yell at their excited pets.
So next time your dog is barking in circles, it might not be the puppy chow or dementia. Take a look up in the sky and you might just see a balloon skimming your roof with a girl clad in a bathing suit and belt.
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