........TO CUBA!
a Story of a Fictional Flight - written by: David Noyes (NL)
It was early Spring on the Bald Eagle Ridge in central Pennsylvania. Heavy rain beat hard against the southwest face of the glider port operations building. Inside, four glider pilots were studying the weather map printouts from the computer. A cold front stretched from a deep low pressure system in New York to a high in Louisiana. Isobars were packed densely in between. A car splashed up the muddy driveway and a small, dark man got out and came through the door.
One of the glider port owners said, "Wipe your feet and come on in. What can I do for you?"
The man approached tentatively and said in accented tones: "Are you 'Tom'? Will you fly me in a glider?"
"Yes and yes, but not in this rain. Come back tomorrow because TOMORROW WILL BE OUTSTANDING!"
But the small man didn't leave. He wanted to know "what kept those airplanes up without a motor". An hour later, his ears bruised and battered by Tom's descriptions of sea breeze fronts, ridge, thermal, and wave lift, he retreated to his motel promising to return at first light to see for himself what an "outstanding day" looked like. He was nearly knocked over by the wind when he got out of his car at six in the morning. This is 'outstanding'? he thought; No! This is a hurricane! Low clouds with occasional breaks were rushing by toward the southeast. Once in a while a little snow would blow by almost horizontally.
A few pilots were pushing gliders to the runway and one glider was actually being towed off in this maelstrom. He found Tom apparently washing a glider although most of the water seemed to be disappearing INTO the glider. He asked if this terrible weather was somehow to be considered "outstanding". Tom grabbed him by the shoulder and shouted above the wind, "My friend, this weather is TRULY OUTSTANDING! You'll have to take your ride with Doris. I'm going to try for Florida." At this, the small man's eyes lit up and he yelled, "Can this 'Doris' fly to Florida, too?"
"She probably could" Tom laughed, "but we don't usually go that far on guest rides."
A few minutes later, Doris asked, "What's your name?"
At the same time, she was grumbling about that "so-and-so, Tom, taking our glider on the best day of the year."
"I am Imre, but in this country you call me 'Henry'. Can we fly now?"
"Sure," said Doris, "If there's a camera in that bag, bring it along and just maybe we'll follow Tom all the way to Florida."
Henry's eyes glowed even brighter as he ran to keep up with Doris. It was a little after six and the big Nimbus, its weight nearly doubled with water, was just taking off with Tom at the controls. Doris put Henry in the back seat of the DG-500/22 because his weight was even less than hers. He readily agreed, (He would have insisted, if necessary.) and off they went in the turbulent valley rotor at 6:30 a.m.
Soon Doris said, "This ridge lift is pretty strong. You know, Tom took a guy to Altoona and back on a guest ride, once. Maybe we'll just do the ridge triangle to Altoona, Lock Haven and return." All the way to Tyrone, Henry kept saying, "Show me how fast you can fly, Doris." And at Tyrone, he said, "Tom said this is where the 'wave' is; show me the wave." Doris slowed up and turned into the wind a little and there it was, 400 feet per min.
At 6000 feet, Doris turned to say, "You're getting quite a ride today, Henry. And you seem to like it."
"Yes, I like it very much, and I want to go much farther." Out of the 'camera bag', a British service revolver appeared in Henry's hand and he then uttered those hackneyed but fateful words: "Take me to Cuba!"
"You gotta be kidding!" Doris gasped.
Henry thumbed the 45 cal., long-barreled Webley to half cocked. Doris looked back at the big hole in the end of the barrel and cried, "You're out of your gourd!" The Webley clicked from half to fully cocked and the long barrel brushed Doris' ear.
"Look, Henry, this is a GLIDER," she said, trying to sound calm. "See out front? No motor! Virginia on a good day, but Cuba? NO WAY!"
"Tom said today was OUTSTANDING; Tom said HE was going to Florida; Tom said YOU could fly to Florida. And Cuba is just a short distance past Florida. You will take me to Cuba!"
Henry's logic sounded good to Henry.
Doris thought differential as she faced forward and said through clenched teeth, "Then why didn't you just FLY WITH TOM if he thinks it's so easy! O.K., we'll go south TOWARDS Cuba. We won't make it because this is a glider, but at least you'll be closer."
By this time, they were climbing through 9000 feet in the strong wave and were half way between the Altoona and Bedford gaps. Doris had made Tyrone in about a quarter of an hour on the ridge and now she put the nose down in the 1100 feet per minute wave lift pushing the speed up to 140 mph. She was hoping to hit rotor or something which might put her idiot passenger half way through the canopy without taking the wings off. But no such luck; the wave kept going and if the speed or altitude dropped any, Henry shouted for more speed or altitude because "Tom said....." etc.
Waving the gun helped keep the speed and altitude up, too. They passed the Bedford gap; then Cumberland and Petersburg went by 10,000 feet under them and they were still doing 140 mph. At Snowy Mountain, the wave began to weaken rapidly and by Monterey, it was gone. Doris 'throttled back' to the DG-500's best glide ratio and, as they passed Mountain Grove, Va., Doris thought of her 1979 world record out-and-return to this point. It had been so difficult then and now the first half had taken only 2 hours, mostly in smooth wave. Henry was not pleased but he had paid attention to what 'Tom said' and recognized the disappearance of rotor and lenticular clouds for what they meant. He didn't like the fact that they were flying slower and losing altitude.
He waved and clicked his revolver a lot, but Doris just said, "I TOLD you we had no motor, Henry. See? We're just a glider and now we're gliding down. I'll try for ridge lift when we're lower." They just made it over the Covington gap before coming down to the ridge at Boiling Springs. The ridge lift was still there and just as strong as at Tyrone so Doris 'put the hammer down' to 10 mph and was soon approaching The Narrows. She noted that she had almost reached the turn points for both her 1980 and 1981 world record out-and-return flights and it was only a little before 10 in the morning. She turned up the radio just in time to catch a report from Tom that he was passing the high point on Clinch Mountain and fast approaching Gate City on the down-hill part of the ridge.
Hmmm, thought Doris, I'm almost keeping up with that big, waterlogged Nimbus. This day could prove interesting.....if it weren't for that weirdo in the back.....Oh well, he does provide some ballast; most of it in his head!
"Henry," she called back, "I've never flown past here and they say it's unloadable if you run out of ridge lift. Do you still want to go on?"
"Of course," he replied, "You think I come only half way and give up? You think I am crazy or something?"
"No. Yes." Click, click!
"I mean 'no' you aren't crazy; 'no' we aren't half way there and 'yes' we'll go on if you" (and your gun) "want to."
Henry put the Webley down to study his Eastern U.S. road map more closely and said, "You are going west too much. We should be flying south towards Florida and Cuba. Turn south!" Doris looked to the south and the mountains through which the New River flowed and turned pale. "Henry, that country is REALLY dangerous. We don't want to fly into that."
"It is only dangerous to land," replied Henry. "We're not landing until Cuba, remember? Fly OVER it, there will be wave on the other side like...."
"I know, I know, like 'Tom said'," she rasped, "But we can't get there without some altitude ...."
Beep, beep, beep, bip, bip, bip, bip-bip-bp-bp-bp......
"Tom said what THAT means!" Henry whooped, "Climb!" There it was, the first thermal of the day and it was only 9:30. The first 3500 ft dropped away in 5 minutes but at 7000 feet above sea level the early morning boomer died. Doris managed to squeeze another 300 feet out of it but the additional 10 minutes of' not going anywhere but in circles' made Henry impatient. "Let's go south," he said, "This looks high enough to me."
"Well, if this looks high enough to you, then YOU fly it!" Doris snapped, and folded her arms. Click! Click!
Doris grabbed the stick, "All right! I've got it."
Starting with 7,300 feet above sea level, they flew downwind towards Fancy Gap making about 80 mph over the ground. The first half of the 40 mile glide seemed easy because the valley floor of the New River was only 2000 ft above sea level. They still had 3000 ft above ground after 20 miles. But then the ground began to rise rapidly beyond Radford towards the 3000 ft crest at the Blue Ridge Parkway. After another 10 miles, Doris spotted Twin Airport off to the right, near Hillsville. "Henry," she pleaded, "we only have 1300 ft above ground. We REALLY should land at that airport. We're too low to go on and there's NO place to land if we don't make it."
Henry could see the trees and rock outcroppings below and he was sweating a little, but he wouldn't give up. Besides, he felt safer sitting in the back seat with more structure (and Doris) between him and the nose. "Keep going south!" he barked. Fancy Gap, at 3000 ft above sea level, lies between a 3400 ft peak on the west and a 3100 ft peak on the east. Doris flew the big DG-500 over the town just even with the lower peak on her left. She heard a grunt and a sigh from the back seat, but nothing else. The variometer showed 800 feet per minute down after crossing the edge of the escarpment and then 1000 up as they turned south-west along the Blue Ridge Parkway towards Mt. Mitchell in the wave that 'Tom said' would be there.
The ride down the Blue Ridge wave allowed the sweat to dry in both seats. The sweat not only dried, it almost froze. In spite of holding the speed at 140 mph, they steadily climbed over the next 2 hours and 300 miles arriving over Marietta with 9000 feet a little after noon.
Doris told Henry the wave had ended.
He gave his usual response, "Go south...to Cuba." Three quarters of an hour later, they found themselves over Cordelle in good thermals.
"No more fast wave and ridge Henry. From here it's flat all the way to Cuba."
Henry looked around and saw she was right and then said, "Use thermals if you must, but do not waste time circling, just fly STRAIGHT south."
A choking sound was heard from the front seat followed by a careful explanation that thermalling MEANT circling. It took 2 hours to fly the next 130 miles to Live Oak near the junction of I-75 and I-10.
"Tom was right!" Henry exclaimed, "According to my map, we are in Florida. I did not think a woman pilot could get me to Cuba, but you will do it!"
The hair rose on the back of Doris' neck as she said, "Wait a minute! What's this WOMAN PILOT crap? I could fly us to Venezuela if I wanted to!"
"Oops!" In a much quieter voice she whispered," ahhh...... Pretend I didn't say that, Henry. Besides," she continued more strongly, "Look at your map. Cuba is still 500 miles away and it's 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon already."
Doris kept up her 65 mph average thermalling for the next hour and a half which brought the pair to Crystal River on the Gulf coast. They were both tired of the circling in thermals and were glad to encounter a sea breeze front which allowed straight flight at a higher speed.
Doris could hold 100 mph for the next three quarters of an hour and passed over St. Petersburg about ten minutes after five. She hoped the traffic at Tampa/St. Pete would 'see and avoid' her. They probably didn't see the Dg-500 at all with the sun low in the west and beginning to cast long shadows across Anna Maria Island in Tampa Bay. Passing Bradenton and approaching Sarasota, the sea breeze front was carrying them steadily higher. Doris watched the altimeter go through 4000 ft and the variometer increase to 500 feet per minute up. The light turbulence of the front had disappeared and the smooth lift made her think of wave. Wave? In Florida? Then she remembered Bob Youngblood's experience back in the Spring of '83 when he had found wave in south Florida which had taken him to10,000 feet.
A PLAN began to form in Doris' tired brain......
"Henry, let me look at that map a minute. We may be closer to Cuba than either of us thought."
Doris took the map, studied it carefully, and handed it back to Henry. They were at 9,000 ft already and still climbing at 200 feet per minute. The low sun, their altitude, and approaching darkness made ground features hard to distinguish. She pointed down at Placida on the north side of Charlotte Harbor and said, "See that town and bay? That's Marco with Gullivan Bay just beyond."
Henry puzzled over his map for a while trying to compare it with his poor view ahead of the ground from the back seat and said, "I did not think we were that far yet. Are you sure?"
"Oh, we've been going faster than you think, Henry, because we haven't been doing all that circling. We'll be there a little after sundown. Promise!" she said with all the conviction she could muster.
Now the clock was battling the altimeter. Doris needed enough time and enough altitude to carry out her plan. The slower she flew the faster she climbed but the sun was going to be down soon and there was very little twilight at these latitudes. When they actually reached Marco at Cape Romano, she had 13,000 ft but the wave clouds were rapidly disappearing.
She turned a little west of due south, pointed down at Marco and the cape and said, "There's Flamingo at the south tip of Florida. From here, it's an easy glide to Havana." (Right! Easy! Almost 100 miles from 13,000 feet. Well, maybe there would be lift from an off-shore oil rig on the way.....).
There were still some wave clouds off to the left. That, and the scarcity of people and lights in the Everglades, prevented Henry from noticing the continuing southern tip of Florida. Besides, he was straining to see ahead to his long-sought destination:
CUBA, the People's Paradise!
It was a long, slow, agonizing glide. The sun and the DG-500 sank steadily towards the sea. The sun won the race about an hour out of Marco. Twilight passed quickly, but at 4500 feet, the light lasted a few minutes longer than at sea level. When it was fully dark, Doris could just begin to see the lights of Key West 30 miles ahead.
"Look, Henry!" Doris exclaimed, "There's Havana! See the lights!"
"Uh, it looks very far...away......will we make it?" Henry was beginning to sweat a little again. "Well, if we don't, you'll be close enough to swim the rest of the way," Doris replied.
(Provided we survive the crash into the water, of course.)
Doris kept one eye on the airspeed to maintain the best glide ratio and one eye on the shore lights to keep the wings level and one eye on the altimeter in attempt to keep her hopes, if not the glider, up and the other eye watched underneath to get some warning before hitting the water. The beach and the water were now racing with each other at a ratio of 42:1. The next 20 minutes dragged by slowly. Doris had often experienced flying level with eagles and hawks on the Pennsylvania ridges. But pretty soon she found herself flying level with pelicans! In ground effect! Or, in this case, 'water effect'. They were down to 4 feet above the low waves with pelicans on both sides. She wondered how far they would sink when they hit and 'submarined'. She held it off as long as she could, 55 mph, 50...45....40...The nose came up higher and higher..... Slap! Slap! Slap! The tail boom began to hit the wave tops and she yelled at Henry, "Hang on!" Sea water poured over the canopy and there was a loud CRUNCH! as the nose scraped over broken seashells and sand.
When Doris opened her eyes (all four of them), water was draining off the canopy and she could see the lights of some beach houses. The nose of the DG-500 was a few feet up on the beach but the tail was still in the light surf. There was a moment of silence before both canopies opened to let in some desperately needed fresh, tropical air. Doris had noticed the smell shortly after her low pass over Fancy Gap and suspected the back seat was wet. Henry managed to get out first and stood looking down at Doris who seemed to be having trouble with the seat belts.
"Well, Tom said you could do it. I have dreamed of this day when I would finally arrive in the People's Paradise. You stay here for 15 minutes and do not do anything foolish."
Without another word, Henry started off towards the lights still clutching his bag.
"Wait a minute!" Doris shouted jumping out of the DG-500, "You haven't paid for this ride!"
"What do you mean, 'pay'? One does not PAY for a high jacking. That's what the gun is for," Henry said in amazement.
"Not at MY glider port you don't fly without paying!" Doris blazed.
"That was almost a 14 hour flight at $72 an hour. That's, uh, about $1.000.
The retrieve charge for an out landing is $2 a mile, call it $2.400.
My crew and I will have expenses for 3 days food and motel. That's another $600.
The glider will be out of service for 2 days; $800.
We'll have to clean the saltwater off the glider and your mess out of the back seat; $300!
Refinishing the belly will be another $400.
And my flight instructor's charge is $28 an hour, so that would be, ah, about $400.
And, and....how about a tip for special service? Let's make it $200.
Altogether, that's at least $6,000.
Pay up before you leave, turkey!"
Henry listened, dumbfounded by this rapid calculation after such an exhausting flight. He sputtered a few words but realized it was hopeless to argue with her. Besides, his pants were wet. He threw the bag at Doris and said, "Take the bag! I will not need it here in the People's Paradise. There is about $8,000 in it and you can have the gun as a tip. Do not bother getting it out now, it is empty." And off he went, up the beach.
"Empty?" Doris' knees buckled slightly and she grabbed the DG-500 for support. "EMPTY?! I flew all this way because of an empty gun?" She took out the Webley, thumbed the break-open release and looked at the empty cylinder holes a moment, then threw the gun into the surf in disgust. "NO!" she said to herself, "I flew all this way on guts and skill! Now, where's the nearest phone?"
Propping herself up against the phone booth, Doris dialed home. There was no one home but Doris' daughter was expecting her to call and had set the 'call forwarding' to connect her to Tom's motel.
"I wonder what state he's in?" Doris asked herself while Ma Bell was making the connection.
"Hello, Shady Pines Motel and Gliderport, Tom speaking."
"Hello, do you sell guest rides to Pennsylvania?"
"Tom, where are you, anyway?" Doris asked, fatigue beginning to creep into he voice.
Tom replied glibly, "Doris, you'll never believe where I flew to, today."
"I had a pretty good flight today, too," said Doris. "But you tell your story first."
"I'm in Havana."
This time, Doris' knees REALLY gave way. She slumped to the ground with her back against the outside of the phone booth and groaned, "Havana? You flew all the way to Cuba?!" "Gotcha!" chirped Tom. "No, I have to admit I didn't quite get THAT far. Actually, I'm in Havana, Florida. It's a little north of Tallahassee; just 3 miles south of the Georgia-Florida border. But I DID make it to Florida, after all these years of waiting for the right conditions. I flew our ridge to Lutrell, made the crossing to the Sequatchie and Lookout Mountain ridge systems, down to Gadsden, and then thermalled this far. I was trying to make the gulf coast of Florida in case there might be a sea breeze front."
"There was a sea breeze front," said Doris, her blood pressure climbing back towards normal. "Well, I tried to go to Cuba...." There was a moment's silence at both ends.
"Doris, where ARE you?!"
"Well, I tried to get to Cuba........"
Tom interrupted saying, "Cuba, New York? Cuba, Ohio? Not Cuba, Tennesee! That's way over by Memphis." There were a few seconds of silence and then Tom said, "You don't mean Cuba, the COUNTRY, do you?"
"Do you remember that little guy who came to the glider port yesterday and wanted you to take him on a guest ride this morning?" Doris asked, "Well, he high-jacked me in the DG-500. He had a gun and insisted on going to Cuba."
"He HIGH-JACKED YOU!" Tom erupted, "in a GLIDER?! He's crazy!"
"I got wave at Tyrone," Doris said, "took it to Monterey and glided down to the ridge at Covington. We ridge soared to The 'Narrs', then thermalled over to the Blue Ridge. The Mt. Mitchell wave took us to Marietta and gave us a long glide to Cordelle. Then I thermalled from there to Crystal River on the gulf and, Tom, you were right about there being a sea breeze front. Anyway, I flew along the front until I found wave at Tampa. Remember Bob's article in Soaring back in 1983 about Florida wave?"
"Yes, but finish your story, Doris," Tom said quietly, "Well, I told the highjacker we could glide from the wave to Havana," Doris continued, "not the one you're in, the one in Cuba. But I didn't make it. I only got as far as Key West."
There was a long silence at Tom's end. Finally, he almost whispered,
"You ONLY made it to Key West? And you were trying to go .......TO CUBA?"
A little anecdote connected with this:
Our youngest daughter began her university studies in Goettingen.
An the bulletin board in the dining hall, various different clubs advertised for new members and among these was the Goettingen Glider Club.
In order to demonstrate how exciting glider flying could be, a drawing was on the board showing a man in the back seat of a two place glider holding a revolver against the neck of the lady pilot in command.
In the dialog balloon was the command, “......to Cuba!”
Now where could these students have gotten the idea for this drawing? 