Dreaming and Waking

With no more preparation than an hour to read over the manual online and doing a couple of practice tests, I'm allowed to drive a car on the public roads with everyone else (as long as I have a driver over the age of 25 in the car with me and a red "L" stuck to the back of the car).

They let 16 year olds do this‽

I'm scheduled for a driving course starting next Saturday. It starts with 18 hours of classroom time over three weekends. My road lessons will start after that. On a friend's recommendation, I'm registered with a driving school that is supposed to be very good with anxious drivers, and the staff on the phone seemed really nice. Just what I need, mostly...

Because really nice instructors cause me a whole new kind of anxiety. If they are too nice and too understanding, I may cry.

In an effort to get any panic attacks, hyperventilating, or crying out of the way, Russ and I took his car down to some very quiet streets in the nearby industrial park this afternoon. I got behind the wheel for the first time ever and did a bit of very slow, very stilted driving. Russ was great: patient and encouraging. He gently pushed me so I did try a few more things than I had expected to, like reversing a bit and making a couple of turns. I think I reached a top speed of 20 kilometers an hour.

It was, on the surface, remarkably unremarkable. I didn't hit anything. The few other cars on the road passed me without issue. There were no hysterics, though I got a little teary a couple of times. I don't think Russ even noticed, but it may be that he has become somewhat accustomed to my random nervous crying over the years and wisely ignored my watery eyes.

I should be feeling better about the whole thing, given that it went well, but I'm feeling very unsettled. Up until today, the plan to learn to drive was theoretical. Now it's starting to sink in just how much there is to learn. Giving myself this one little practical experience will give me something to visualize. That's probably a step up from my preparation so far: practicing shoulder-checking while walking down the sidewalk.

Stand at the edge of a clearing on the top of a mountain. Check that the lines are untangled and clear, that the wing is laid out correctly, and that the radio is fully powered. Bob double checks everything too, then radios to the landing field: "Launching Melissa on a small blue glider."

Bob stands at the edge of the runway, feeling the wind's direction and speed, waiting for the perfect cycle for launch. When the time is right, he points out which way to go, then calls out the commands:

"Ready?"

Nod.

"3, 2, 1, tension! Pull, pull! Hard!"

Pull on the lines, throwing body weight forward. The wing starts to come up and the wind pushes back. Suddenly, the pull back eases and the wing is overhead.

"Release and stabilize!"

Release the lines and tug gently on the brakes. Glance up: the wing is overhead.

"Load and run! Run hard!"

Weight thrown forward, head down and arms up. Try to run, but barely get a few steps before the wind takes the wing up: airborne!

It's so turbulent for the first few minutes that I worry that something's wrong. I'm about 2000 feet up, and climbing slightly, so there's some real fear. But, just normal turbulence and the ride quickly smooths out as I glide further away from the mountain side.

Next, I worry because I'm having trouble hearing my radio over the wind in my ears. We can't transmit out on the radios, only listen, so I just have to wait until the teacher realizes I'm not doing what he has asked so he'll repeat himself. A bit of craning towards the radio, and I make it work.

Then, I finally realize something: I'm flying. I can see for miles in every direction, and I'm flying. I scream "I'm flying!" into the wind and I hear laughter over the radio.

"We heard that," someone on the landing field some two kilometres below me says.



Bob, the launch instructor, hands over radio contact to the landing field, where Dion's been listening to my flight so far. Dion tells me to make a turn: 90 degrees left. I cautiously lean left and pull gently on the brake. I barely turn 10 degrees. Gradually I learn that I have to lean hard, throw my weight, and the wing's not going to collapse.

"You're going about 35 kilometers an hour," Dion says.

I want to scream "You're kidding", but I'm breathless. Besides the wind howling past me, I feel like I'm hanging still in space.

I'm starting to get the hang of turning by the time I get to the landing field. I bleed height doing figure eights at one end of the field, then I do the final turns around the edge of the field, following Dion's instructions quickly now that I have less wind blocking out the radio.

"OK, final approach. Get ready to flare."

I raise my hands. I swoop over the heads of the other students on the field who cheer and take my picture.

"OK, flare!"

I pull the brakes down hard, jogging as I touch earth again. The wing stalls and begins to fall to the ground.

"That was a perfect landing; the best one yet today!"

There were a lot of students yesterday: 10 people to two instructors, with students launching one at a time. I was the last of the first group of four. The school has a backlog of students this summer because of all the weather delays, so they were trying to teach more people than they usually would take in a day. Because of that, some minor weather delays, and some disorganization on the part of the teachers, Russ and Craig did not get to do their solo flights. It was heart-breaking and discouraging. They'd generously let other people in front of them and helped set up the equipment over and over again and then it got too dark and they didn't get their chance. We're waiting to hear about the next available date. I'm really looking forward to taking their pictures as they come down into the landing field.

The last person who did get to launch yesterday was the only other woman in the class. She and I had been partners that morning at the Slope Soaring component of the class, as we both need the small wing. She was really scared of heights and had mostly come because her husband wanted to try paragliding, so we weren't sure if she was going to do the mountain flight. But she did it, and she came down in a perfect landing with a massive grin on her face and declared that she was cured of her fear of heights.

I've got massive bruising and rope burn on my upper arms, where the lines pull and scrap as you launch, and my arm, leg, butt, and ab muscles all ache deeply. I've only done the bare minimum of what I need to do today, including sending an email to Dion asking him how Russ and I go about booking our novice paragliding pilot course.

We were supposed to have our first paragliding class on May 1st, but there was a little delay. The timing was fortuitous, as it allowed me to spend an extra day with Grandma in Vernon, but the reason was unfortunate.

When you are preparing to learn how to paraglide, the last thing you probably want to see is your instructor with a huge cast on one foot.

After doing many extreme sports (skydiving, bungee jumping, scuba diving, etc.) and paragliding for fifteen years without a single injury, my instructor has proven that descending stairs can be very dangerous. He slipped while going down the stairs in his loft, fell poorly, and shattered his heel. He had to have surgery and he was in the hospital for the start of the paragliding season.

Russ, Craig, and I went to our first theory class last night. Our teacher was in a wheelchair, though he obviously doesn't like sitting still and he would frequently use crutches to get around and even hop on one foot for short periods. It was a pretty mixed group of people preparing for first flights: some business people who probably came straight from their downtown offices, a couple of athletic types looking to add another sport to their repertoire, and a group of frat-boy types who made insulting little jokes about each other all evening.

We learned about weather patterns, the physics of flying, and about take-off, emergency, and landing procedures. We learned how not to Tinkerbell (bouncing along the ground with too much lift to run properly but not enough to actually fly). We learned how not to become a Christmas tree ornament (taking off too late on the runway and not getting enough height to clear the trees). We learned how not to crash into a telephone pole (look where you want to go; don't look at the telephone pole). I took a lot of notes. It's been a long time since I last took a night class; my mind was swimming by the end and it was hard to get to sleep.

I keep rehearsing the different procedures over and over in my mind. I think I am a healthy amount of nervous, and now I'm just hoping the weather's good on Saturday and that I remember the important stuff and that I don't fail the first module (especially if those with me both pass - eek!). Up, up, and away!

Do kids still call each other "scaredy cat"? I feel like they probably have harder insults now. Six year olds probably call each other "pussy".

I'm a scaredy cat. I don't have a single phobia that stands out above all others (except maybe claustrophobia); just mild generalized anxiety and a general minor-level fear of pretty much everything.

They say to do something that scares you every day, but that seems ambitious to me. I'm aiming to do one thing that scares me every year. It wasn't a conscious decision at first, but more a matter of not wanting to let fear stand in the way of doing something I want to do. It's been a pretty successful experiment:

2007 – Heights: I went zip lining in the jungle in Puerto Vallarta. Since then, I've been on the zip lines at Capilano Suspension Bridge and the Tree Course on the island. I'm hoping to try paragliding this year.

2008 – Needles: I donated blood. I've now donated six times and I have my next appointment scheduled for the new year.

2009 – Birds: For Russ' birthday, I bought us both a day of learning about falconry at Raptor Ridge, which includes actually working with a predatory bird. We were scheduled for a date in October, but bad weather meant that we've had to delay it until March. So there had to be a revision:

2009 – Babies: So many things to be scared of: They are fragile, especially when they still can't hold up their own heads. They are messy (I have a 'thing' about being dirty or sticky). And, worst of all, there's the rejection: if they cry, what if it's because you did something wrong? Maybe you held them wrong, or you smell funny, or your voice is ugly, or your face is weird, or you have bad energy...

When my friend had a baby, I could put off holding him until he was big enough to walk and talk a little, because all my friends wanted to hold our group's first baby. But then my sister had a baby in July, and it was time to get over it. Get over myself.



Doing pretty good, if I do say so myself.

Next: Birds in 2010, then maybe, one day, caving. Or maybe not.