Saturday

The Unprepared Adventurer: Hang Gliding in Rio

I used to watch hang gliders float, catching the wind like prehistoric butterflies.  I was ten then, maybe twelve, and I was afraid of my own shadow.  This was the same period in my life in which I was chased by a toy poodle around Rio, in which I fainted at the sight of a snake in a magazine.  In short, I was a chicken.

For twenty years I regretted not hang gliding in Rio.  So, in 2009, when I returned to Brazil after two decades, I knew I had to hang-glide and put that inner flying demon to rest.

Slippery Slopes

To complete our first flights, my friend Yesenia and I were to ride to the summit of Tijuca Mountain in Rio de Janeiro.  The hang gliding school sent a kindly gentleman by the name of Fernando who pulled up in a sporty black Saab.  We climbed in.

The road lolled upwards like the tongue of an angry stone goddess, angled at about 45 degrees.  As we drove upwards, the car moaned and I got a strange feeling in my stomach.  The little black car sputtered, slipped and I thought nervously that I would die before ever getting to hang-glide.  If ever I were convinced the driver was mad, it was at that moment when he floored the accelerator and the car lost its footing on a 30 degree road.  We were suspended in air, death was seconds away.

Miraculously, the road evened out, the car stabilized, and my heart rate started to normalize.  We were half way there.

The Jaws of Hell

Five minutes of hellish road-tackling later, we came to a small parking lot. Tijuca Mountain is part of the world’s largest urban rainforest which spans 32 square kilometers.  We felt lightheaded as we alighted from the car, relieved to be alive and to be on even ground.  Fernando led us under a wet tropical canopy and up a steep flight of stairs.  I arrived at the top breathless and panting while Yesenia looked chipper and tireless.

The path opened up onto a muddy plane.   A sea of gliders lay lined up before us, and my heart lifted at the colorful sight.  There were men everywhere, the strong outdoorsy type.  Yesenia and I grinned at each other.

We walked past the gliders to where the men seemingly disappeared and I gasped as I saw the launch ramp, the jaws of hell.

Fog

Now, even if you’ve never gone hang gliding, you know as well as I do that there has to be some kind of a jumping point.  I was expecting a jumping point, you know, an opening on the side of the mountain or something like that.  I wasn’t expecting a downward sloping ramp that was being pelted with rain.

My reaction?  I crouched downwards and put my head between my knees, in the dramatic fashion that one sees on television.  I believe I had a mild heart attack.

At the muddy launch point, our instructors waited.  They kitted us out in knee guards, funny suits and helmets.

Renato, my dreamy instructor, carried a 70-lb saffron glider to the top of the downward ramp.  He took me (pounding heart, shaky knees and all) to one end of the muddy plane, instructed me to hold on loosely to the straps on his funny suit (one hand on the strap behind his left shoulder, one hand at the strap on his right hip).  I complied, and we ran across the muddy plane, practicing for our launch.

Apparently, it is important to RUN DOWN the ramp in order to launch properly.  If you don’t run, you don’t launch properly, which means certain death if the drop off is anything as horrific as our drop off was.  The momentum from running propels the glider off the launch point till it catches the wind and is suspended in air.

I had never seen anyone launch before, I had no idea what I was in for.  Yesenia (behind me) would at least have the benefit of seeing me cast off to the fates. I was hooked up to a cord that hung from the top of the glider.  I was told to go stand on the ramp of certain death.  I did the death march over, my stomach hurting from suspense.

The ramp overlooked a lovely mountainside dotted with little Lego houses.  It was as if I were looking at a toy city beneath me.  I realized then just how very high up we were.

A strange peace came over me as I stood on the precipice of that slope.  I figured this was it.  This was truly likely to be my last living moment on terra firma, for I was certainly jumping to my death.  My heart stopped beating so atrociously, and at that moment I felt brave. I thought of Joan of Arc, knowing her moment had come, meeting it so peacefully, resignedly.  My bravado surprised and pleased me in a macabre way.

Birds

Renato strapped himself in and looked seriously at me.  He said it was time and then, told me to run.  I ran, blindly, quickly, keeping my eyes on the horizon but not seeing anything for the multitude of thoughts that were running through my head.  Renato held the glider in his arms and his running speed urged me forward.  Suddenly, I felt my feet leave the wooden ramp and I was tugged upwards in a quick, gentle motion.  We were airborne.

How can I begin to describe that feeling?  We were truly sailing in the skies.  The ground beneath us was a million miles away, the drizzle was gentle and soothing, the beach glimmered before us, and the air…  The air was a marvelous home.  I had expected to feel cold, to be nervous at the great altitude, but all I could feel was peace and this unreal sense of belonging.  I found myself envying the birds who get to do this at will.

Bird or a Plane?

Suffice it to say that hang gliding is the most peaceful, zen-like activity I have ever experienced.  The air is comfortable to human skin, the clouds are soft against our cheeks and we are compatible creatures.

The joy of that suspension is beyond description.  At one point I turned and saw Yesenia suspended in air behind me, soaring, sailing, and I knew at that instant that we had done it.

Once airborne, the last thing one thinks about is death.  In fact, one forgets all about the height, instead marveling on the experience of flight.  There is quietude in gliding, calm in the skies; the flight itself is smooth.

Twenty minutes or so must have passed by, but it was a blink of an eye.  We sailed over the Atlantic Ocean and approached the land from the ocean’s side.  The beach came into view and slowly the details of vehicles and people began to materialize.  We were descending.

Descent

The instructors never spoke to us of landing.  To be quite honest, I thought it wouldn’t matter anyway because I’d be dead somewhere along the way.  So it was a surprise to have Renato release the cord that had kept my legs horizontal on the journey in preparation for landing.

Strong

He told me to be prepared to run, and before I knew it, we were approaching an empty expanse of sand.  Thankfully the rain had driven people off the beach, so there was nobody there to crash into.  By this time I was in a trance and didn’t particularly care what happened.  I found myself instinctively following Renato’s instructions, but it felt very much as though I were on a commercial flight.  The ground got closer as we moved forward, and next thing you know we came to a quick stop and my feet were on the sand.  It was as gentle as if I had stepped off my living room sofa.

I had expected bumps, some screaming, a broken arm at the least.  When none of these transpired, I fell to the ground and kissed it.

Lessons

Hang gliding opened up a new me.  I am suddenly planning my next adventure.  Skydiving, perhaps?  Rafting down the Zambezi?  Climbing Mount Fuji?  Whatever it is, I know that I am capable of doing it.

So, my dear friends: persevere and fear not. Go do something amazing.  You can do it.