lt;p class=quot;MsoNormalquot; style=quot;line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: autoquot;gt;lt;span lang=quot;EN-USquot; style=quot;color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;; mso-fareast-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;quot;gt;lt;font size=quot;3quot;gt;lt;font face=quot;Calibriquot;gt;Andy said that there was a house thermal at the North Site intersection, but it had been my experience that it was only a house thermal if it happened to be there at the same time you were, and it usually wasn#039;t.lt;o:pgt;lt;/o:pgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/spangt;lt;/pgt;lt;p class=quot;MsoNormalquot; style=quot;line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: autoquot;gt;lt;span lang=quot;EN-USquot; style=quot;color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;; mso-fareast-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;quot;gt;lt;font size=quot;3quot;gt;lt;font face=quot;Calibriquot;gt;I had taken one flight and gotten drilled, then Rick Chastain took one and got drilled too. There were cumulus clouds overhead unusual for the North Site which was usually the location of a blue hole. I noticed that for both flights, the whole tow road had been under cloud cover. I stood, ready to launch when I noticed that the sun was shining on the south end of the tow road. This was my cue to get my act in gear, so I towed up. I hit enough turbulence to indicate that there was a thermal lurking somewhere, cut loose at 900 ft. and arrived at the location of the quot;housequot; thermal just as it lifted off carrying the trash up with it.lt;o:pgt;lt;/o:pgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/spangt;lt;/pgt;lt;p class=quot;MsoNormalquot; style=quot;line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: autoquot;gt;lt;span lang=quot;EN-USquot; style=quot;color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;; mso-fareast-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;quot;gt;lt;font size=quot;3quot;gt;lt;font face=quot;Calibriquot;gt;I cored the flying trash and sure enough I started going up. I circled there for a very long time, climbing slowly, but committed to maxing out before leaving the premises. I got to 4100 feet MSL and noticed an airline passing in front of me at eye-level perhaps 2 miles away. I considered this then bailed out of the thermal, pulled my string, and settled down for a long glide northwest. I probably looked sort of funny trying to watch in all directions at once.lt;o:pgt;lt;/o:pgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/spangt;lt;/pgt;lt;p class=quot;MsoNormalquot; style=quot;line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: autoquot;gt;lt;span lang=quot;EN-USquot; style=quot;color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;; mso-fareast-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;quot;gt;lt;font size=quot;3quot;gt;lt;font face=quot;Calibriquot;gt;I was making haste, slowly, northwest, trying to avoid an impromptu ride on Southwest Airline Flight 112 and I gradually passed Highway 380. I got down to about 1500 feet MSL and hit another patch of dirty air. This one had a flock of birds circling in it, gobbling bugs, way down below me, but it also had a serious invitation in it to go 600 to 800 fpm up. I took the invite. Soon I got up to 5300 feet MSL. I approached cloud base, and wanting to maintain the legal 500 ft. separation, I again pointed NW. I could see a large lake off in the distance, but I was sort of getting close to the ground over a chicken farm with an ugly pond sort of the color of blood behind it. I knew I didn#039;t even want to land close to the pond which looked like it may have been the site of the Chicken Chainsaw Massacre. When I caught a thermal I labored carefully to travel away from it. A few more thermals passed, and I approached the lake. I crossed over a highway heading towards a large town. Being without a map, I wasn#039;t sure where I was, but being all out of lift, I decided to glide to the town and land.lt;o:pgt;lt;/o:pgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/spangt;lt;/pgt;lt;p class=quot;MsoNormalquot; style=quot;line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: autoquot;gt;lt;span lang=quot;EN-USquot; style=quot;color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;; mso-fareast-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;quot;gt;lt;font size=quot;3quot;gt;lt;font face=quot;Calibriquot;gt;I landed on a horse ranch at the city limit of Pilot Point which had a very nice house with swimming pool, but darn it, no one was home. A ranch hand drove up and gave me a ride to the nearest phone at a service station and bait shop. The lady managing the store gave me some free food and loaned me her car to go buy a book to read while I waited for my ride home, and she didn#039;t even see me land. Ah, the glamour of being a hang glider pilot. She probably just had rather I steal her car than stick her up.lt;o:pgt;lt;/o:pgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/spangt;lt;/pgt;lt;p class=quot;MsoNormalquot; style=quot;line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: autoquot;gt;lt;span lang=quot;EN-USquot; style=quot;color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;; mso-fareast-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;quot;gt;lt;font size=quot;3quot;gt;lt;font face=quot;Calibriquot;gt;I had taken 2 and 1/2 hours to fly 25 miles, no speed record, but a nice flight for Labor day. lt;o:pgt;lt;/o:pgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/spangt;lt;/pgt;lt;p class=quot;MsoNormalquot; style=quot;line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: autoquot;gt;lt;span lang=quot;EN-USquot; style=quot;color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;; mso-fareast-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;quot;gt;lt;font size=quot;3quot;gt;lt;font face=quot;Calibriquot;gt;This flight was done on Labor Day of 1990, and remains the best flight I have had from my home site which is about 2 miles from my house. It may or may not illustrate a bunch of the points I am making, but it does show the joy in leaving your home site for places unknown. I wasn#039;t flying to a declared goal, I just drifted downwind for the pure joy of going XC. I knew the territory there. I had been bike riding through the area many times. I knew I had a way home. I was able to rely on the good will of the people living near where I landed. A few flights like this totally convinced me that XC is where it#039;s at.lt;o:pgt;lt;/o:pgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/spangt;lt;/pgt;lt;p class=quot;MsoNormalquot; style=quot;line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: autoquot;gt;lt;span lang=quot;EN-USquot; style=quot;color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;; mso-fareast-font-family: #039;Times New Roman#039;quot;gt;lt;font size=quot;3quot;gt;lt;font face=quot;Calibriquot;gt;So take your guitar and put it in tune, oops, wrong song. Prepare your glider, your crew, your harness, yourself, then when you are 3500 above ground level, turn and go downwind. lt;o:pgt;lt;/o:pgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/fontgt;lt;/spangt;lt;/pgt;lt;pgt;lt;/pgt;



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