![[Image Not Loaded]](images/glcloud.gif)
OK, so I'm a computer system engineer with no right half brain to speak of. I
still get off on clouds. That's right, clouds. Cumulus clouds. Big fluffy masses
that hang overhead with no obvious purpose but to imitate the shape of various
barnyard animals.
A glider pilot has a different relationship with clouds from that of mortal man. He analyzes their size, shape, location, and color looking for the force that sent them aloft hoping it will do the same for him. He craves them, respects them, lusts them, suspects them, and often hates them. But include 300, 500, 800 feet per minute lift under one, and this primal animal we call glider pilot is in love. With several tons of condensed water vapor! Go figure.
If he must fly commercial, the glider pilot should always be placed in a window seat. This will avoid the possible violent altercations caused by spilling some sticky Kahlua-based cocktail over an intervening passenger when an particularly massive cumulo-nimbus presents itself off the wingtip. Most airlines will attempt to get their booking agents to send glider pilots to other airlines due to the added cost of extraordinary cleaning of nose prints from those inadequately sized portholes they call windows.
As I watch, bored, the lowering sun glistens like gold off the Gulf of
Mexico. I am elated when the pilot announces that we will be entertaining a
weather system over the Carolinas. As we proceed north, my vocabulary is reduced
to "Oh" and "wow", for the next 45 minutes. The ground is concealed with low
lying skud while the majestic mountains of water form shrouded castles in not
the sky, but another world, another dimension, another plane of existence. Call
it what you will. This is a place of magic where the chaos of molecular
interaction (damn left half brain) has created fortresses to protect dreams and
imagination from the mundane. Go on, ignore the universe outside your cramped
little middle seat. Ring the bell to demand another pillow from the cabin
attendant. Spend two hours complaining about the taste of airline food. Miss
your chance to escape the reality of your everyday lives. But don't blame me.
You fools! There is no mountain range on earth as majestic as the world just to
the left of seat 16A.
P.S. Don't drink and drive, but when flying commercial...