It is late afternoon as I help my partner Carl check controls, tires, bolts; preflighting our ultralight, Dream-maker. She’s a canary yellow, two-seater open cockpit.
Racing down the grass strip runway, we take off and he pulls the nose up toward a perfect blue sky. I can feel him smiling.
We take turns flying dual controls—Carl in the front, while I stick it in the back without the advantage of a windshield. Within minutes my breasts ache as the wind penetrates my bomber jacket.
Ignoring the cold, we soar higher and higher. Carl flies with a grip on the control stick, waiting for a thermal to bring up one of our wing tips. And there it is! He turns left, sensing the exact position and ecstatically shouts into headset, “I got it!”
Round and round we glide. Each 360 degrees gives us 200 feet of altitude. Round and round, up and up.
At 7,000 feet we arrive at cloud level. It is heaven. Wisps of white, moist air surrounds us as we lollygag from one small mass to another. We laugh, engulfed in cumulus and glide with clouds gracefully dancing around us.
I reach out and touch its wetness, watching it pass through my fingertips.
It is magic.