Powered Paragliding. A most Personal form of Flight

We spent the night in Moab watching the Presidential Debate between Trump and Clinton.  The next morning I hooked up with my old friend Bill Groff.  Forty years ago he and his brother Robin were the wild men of Moab. Thirty years ago he was running “The Rim” , Moabs first and premier cyclery.  And Moab transformed from a sad remnant from the Uranium boom into the Mecca of Mountain Biking.  Today he is a respected city elder running for office.   Who would have thunk it?   His son is running the bike shop and Bill splitts his time between  Aviation, Hunting, Politics and who knows what else.

The air was a little sketchy but that didn’t keep the “Young Bucks” from jumping into the sky.  I hung at the apron and enjoyed the show.  It was my ninth Gathering at Monument Valley and my last as the organizer.   Slowly the skies cleared.  Mo Sheldon set up for some tandem rides and pilots were launching for one last flight.
Dawn and I said our good byes, cleaned out the Casita and went to the Lodge for lunch.  Scott Laws, the Operations Manager joined us and we had a pleasant hour debriefing and planning for future gatherings.  Barbara, the Restaurant Manger also stopped by and I thanked her for last nights Banquet.

At 2:00 we were gassed and ready to go.   We stopped at the Forest Gump turn off and took the obligatory photo.  On the way to Moab I thought about Gatherings past and wondered if I would ever see my personal Holy Grail again.  I thought back to the first time I’d come to Monument Valley more than a decade ago.    It was May and the reservation was teeming with life,  the wild flowers were blooming, and the arroyos were scoured clean.  I remembered going down to the airstrip and setting up to launch west across the runway.  My first cross country around Mitchell Butte and to the entrance of the part.  The next morning when I flew deep into the park, circling the three sisters and spiraling down on The Hub that is the center of this sacred place.  I thought of the solo flights that could have ended badly if I’d gone down without someone to retrieve me and the guys who had been injured and even died.  Most of all I remembered the magic evening flights with the rocks a brilliant orange from the setting sun and the wings of my friends looking like butterflies playing in a rock garden.   I’d been lucky, many dozens of flights without a hitch.  Time to move on.

Morning Flight 90 minutes.   Low and slow  in the desert North and approaching Eagle Mesa.

First flight was one and a half hours mildly bumpy.  I repeated yesterday’s flight and climbed to 9800 ft MSL to take in the whole scene.  There was a lot of activity at the field.  I could see Russ Bateman and his son ripping it up and groups of two and three launching and heading off to the East.  It was shaping up to be a typical MV morning, light winds from the south east building as the sun rose.

I picked up Dawn at the Albuquerque Airport at 10:00.  It was a beautiful day and drive to Monument Valley.  This was the first time I’d driven in from the South.  We spotted Ship Rock from miles away, it took 20 minutes to get there and as we passed it I began to see the Monuments.

I drove on secondary roads to and spent the night in Roswell, New Mexico.  I have family history in Roswell.  My father went to the New Mexico Military Institute the last two years of High School.  The story is that his father sent him there to avoid the draft until he could enter the service as an officer.  I suppose it worked because he graduated from NMMI and joined the service as a second lieutenant.  That evening I wandered around the campus and chatted with a couple of the cadets.  They were very polite and formal.  I was struck by the diversity.  There were young men and women, black and white, American and several from Mexico and possibly the middle east.  Very different from the cadets of my fathers era.
I got up before dawn the next morning to watch flag raising.  I was moved watching the young cadets walk the quad to the flagpole.  Every turn exactly 90 degrees, just like my dad described.  I even found a few locations where I’d seen pics of my dad wearing the NMMI uniform.  Very Cool.

After Flag raising I drove to Ruidoso New Mexico where I hooked up with Jim Hamblin.  Jim was my Baldwin Rep after Ronnie.  He has made a new life for himself preaching the gospel to the Mescalero Apache.  Its a far cry from Factory Rep but I think he has found his true calling.  We had a  long breakfast and the best coffee of the trip.  Our conversation ranged far and wide.  Our lives have gone in radically different directions but our relationship hasn’t changed at all.  I always felt like Jim had my back and it was really special to see him.