Robert Ehrlich writes
We want to subscribe to some
higher calling, such as "the thrill of the flight". But we are
deluding ourselves: we want to expose ourselves to danger and escape -
producing the adrenaline rush.

Not that I'd presume to question another person's motivation in such
things - as long as you're not crashing out onto me or anybody else,
then whatever turns you on.

But there are cheaper ways to get the adrenaline if that's all you're
looking for. More certain ways to kill yourself as well.

The threat of dying is an obvious drawback to many sports or hobbies
(call soaring what you will - I don't really draw any such definition in
my own head). Whether it's karate, racing motorbikes or something as
innocuous as fishing. Hell, in my experience even something as simple as
playing in a band can have its life threatening moments. And other more
common moments, where you simply wish you could just die.

The point of it all though is the balance of risk vs. reward for what
you do. The small chance that I'm going to electrocute myself on the PA
at tomorrow's gig, or some punter is going to take such grave exception
to my music that he feels compelled to express himself by physically
damaging me are minor considerations next to the rush of performing. And
you minimise them, by maintaining the PA so that it doesn't wire you
into the mains, by rehearsing the act so that even if somebody doesn't
like it, they respect you for getting up there and doing it.

How is gliding different? Do you really climb into the sky to brazen out
death head to head? If that's your only motivation, take up base
jumping. Or Russian Roulette. From what I've seen (and yes, that's very
little in this arena so far) we go to meticulous lengths to reduce the
risks of death or injury as far is humanly possible, through planning,
maintenance, training, etc.

When I arrived at the airfield last Saturday for the first time, one of
the more experienced pilots was setting his glider up for the day, and
he was good enough to welcome me, the tongue-tied and overawed rookie,
and let me shadow him as he went through the daily inspection of his
plane. That done, we were just passing the time waiting for the rest to
catch up with us at the launch point, and he pointed out that the long
clouds coming in from the north were indications of wave being generated
from the Welsh mountains. He was waiting for an aerotow to 4000 in the
hopes of catching it.

The look of what I can only describe as hunger in his eyes as he spoke
wasn't for the chance to feel the rush of playing a game of chicken with
the Reaper. It was for something else entirely.



Bill