Many pilots wonder what it really takes to
set a world record. Some wonder what it's like to fly at a place like Zapata or
other world class sites. Cloudsuck answers these and other questions while
telling the story of how I set the current Distance World Record for Rigid
Wings. Over this winter, I am pleased to make the book available as a gift to my
readers in serialized form. Each Monday, another chapter will be available for
you to enjoy here on the Oz Report. The best read is the one in it's entirety,
and both the soft cover book and an ebook are available to purchase here:
http://ozreport.com/cloudsuck.php. You can find the Kindle version on
Amazon.

If you enjoy the serialized installments, you may wish to skip the text below
and jump directly to this week's chapter, including any graphics or pictures
here: http://ozreport.com/docs/Cloudsuck6.pdf

I hope you enjoy the book and this week's chapter as much as I enjoyed writing
it.

The Dry Line

Northeast of Wichita
in Sunflower you'll find what remains of the Navy's biggest inland air base.
Purchased by a sailplane pilot for the mere pittance of $10,000, this was where
Gary Osoba kept his six sailplanes, all given to him for experimental purposes.

We had driven up through Oklahoma late in the afternoon with our
friend David Glover, and had set up camp south of the airport. There was a big
storm brewing nearby, and the light was fading as the sun got low and a gigantic
cumulonimbus cloud began to fill the sky. After dropping off the trailer the
three of us drove north to check out the airport, lightening flashing off to our
west.

Sunflower Field was a ghost airport, with a gutted tower and
cracks in the apron and the runways. Every few hundred yards a semi trailer sat
by itself — we found out later they were packed with fireworks. In the dark and
the storm, the deserted airport was full of the ghosts of World War II Navy
pilots.

But the next day, with Gary there and all the sailplane pilots
hanging out, the airport wasn’t quite so weird. Belinda towed me up with the
little static line setup we’d brought back from Australia, and I soon discovered
that hang gliding over the flat fields of Kansas was as pleasant as it got.
Nothing could be more beautiful than flying over the Mennonites’ cultivated
fields of wheat, corn and milo. And after I landed I had a great time talking
with the farmers, who really made me feel at home.

Gary Osoba had been a hang glider pilot and hang glider
manufacturer back in the ‘seventies, in the infancy of our sport. He had
designed and produced the successful Pliable Moose — a glider that, while not up
to today’s standards, was quite a few steps forward from the original Rogallo
wings. He’d also made it big and gone bust in the oil business. Now he was an
independent consultant helping others start businesses based on his original
ideas.

By the time I had started communicating with him via e-mail in
1997, Gary was also a sailplane pilot. Not only did he fly sailplanes, but he
was dedicated to setting world records in them, especially in ultralight
sailplanes. He was president of the Sailplane Homebuilders Association, an
association of ultralight sailplane enthusiasts of all stripes, homebuilders and
otherwise.

One of the sailplanes Gary owned and wrote about was the Carbon
Dragon, a plane built by others that he had helped design. The Carbon Dragon was
a one-off plane built by craftsmen who wanted something very light — which meant
that it couldn’t be left out in the rain (paint would have made it too heavy),
and it couldn’t handle strong conditions. In fact, only one other Carbon Dragon
was ever built in the US, and that pilot had added paint so his glider wouldn’t
be destroyed if it got caught in the rain. Of course, that one wasn’t really the
light Carbon Dragon anymore.

The Carbon Dragon was of interest to hang glider pilots because it
was so light, foot launchable, and designed to break hang gliding records. The
designers had looked at the official definitions of the hang glider classes and
created an ultralight sailplane that met the definition of a hang glider.

As soon as Gary had set a hang gliding world record in the Carbon
Dragon, CIVL — the international committee that keeps the hang gliding world
records — realized that a sailplane in the guise of a hang glider had snookered
them. They quickly did the old switcheroo, changed the rules, and put the Carbon
Dragon in a new class by itself so it wouldn't compete with other less capable
hang gliders. Then they took away all of Gary’s Carbon Dragon world records.

By the time Belinda and I had first met him in person at the U.S.
Hang Gliding Association's convention in Knoxville, Tennessee in March 1999,
Gary was already formulating his plan for an assault on the ultralight sailplane
world records. Right away he encouraged me to think about what it might take to
set world records myself. At the time, though, that had seemed unimaginable.

Now it was June and a small group of us hang glider pilots had
come to Kansas for the 1999 Ultralight Soaring Championship, a multi-class event
Gary had organized. Belinda and I were on our way west, and I was looking
forward to spending more time with Gary, learning more about his ideas.

Hang glider pilots were interested in Gary's theories and
experience with "micro-lift" and dynamic soaring. Flying the ultralight Carbon
Dragon, Gary was able to work small pieces of light lift down low, and to stay
up for extended periods of time in the lightest lift. Gary claimed that he could
"feel" the small pieces of lift coming off the ground and quickly turn into them
to keep the Carbon Dragon from sinking, and perhaps to get a little higher. The
Carbon Dragon's quick turning response was a necessary ingredient in taking
advantage of these small pieces of lift. Regular hang gliders just couldn't turn
that quickly.

Gary would fly the Carbon Dragon and other sailplanes in what
looked like an erratic manner, going left and right and not following any
apparent course line. He would be feeling out the course of the lift and
following it. He said that he would sometimes be able to find lines of lift that
continued for many miles. The lines were like sharp ridges; he had to carefully
balance the Carbon Dragon to stay on top of them and not fall into the sink on
each side.

Flying through an air mass affected by various winds and bits of
lift and sink, Gary would continually pitch up or down and move from side to
side as he felt the air. This could be quite difficult for any passengers that
he had with him. They’d better bring along a plastic sack.

A few days later, as we headed toward Hobbs, Gary already had me
thinking about other options. I had my doubts about Hobbs, and wasn’t even sure
that I wanted to try for a world record, but Gary had encouraged me to think
seriously about how one might go about it. What set him apart was that he had a
method for seeking the very best weather conditions — he wasn’t just going back
to the same spots where records were previously set. Gary’s methodical attack on
the weather data certainly inspired confidence. I believed he could indeed spot
the patterns that would make for world record weather.

Continue reading here:
http://ozreport.com/docs/Cloudsuck6.pdf