Gliding-They go up tiddly tumtum, they go down tiddlypoo

Flying by the seat of someone else’s pants

(Or ‘How to get a glider stuck in a muddy field somewhere... in the Baltics
and then trying to find it?’)

Just a thought! This is written by a non-flying sailor, dragged into representing Britain in an International Gliding Competition. My take on what happened next...

Click to enlarge images

I got together with Ken for a Chrissy drink. He is into gliding competitions and it came out he needs a crew to help with an international competition in Lithuania (Sort of Russia) leaving here around the 20th.July. It means someone to get the glider to the starting grid on the airfield and go over a check-list/fitting batteries/assembling wings and cleaning the flies off the leading edges??? Ken tells me that if you fly into a swarm of flies it slows the plane down as it breaks up the airflow. So there. To me it seemed simple, dodge them. If he has to land out, that is, doesn't get back to the airfield, I have to get to him in whatever field he is with the trailer to retrieve the plane. I'm up for the adventure if I can get someone to feed Blanche, (mon chat). Hmmmm.
An interesting proposition that turned into reality. It was then he dropped the first bombshell; he was in the British team so we (me too) will be representing Britain.
Why I was asked I don’t know, as my flying experiences were usually sitting in the cramped seat of Easy-jet flights, some experience. Although to my credit I did fly in a Virgin to Boston plus a tough trip with Egypt Airlines and a flight to Turkey where everyone applauded when we landed safely? The pinnacle of my total flying experiences must be an upgrade to the upper deck on a BA jumbo Jet from India complete with champers and a menu choice. Maybe Ken got wind of that.

We wet our whistle with a training week in Ontur, Southern Spain, where two World Champions Brian and Gill Spreckley have a Gliding school (http://www.soaringclub.com/index.html), during April 14th.-21st. with the rest of the team. I took a deep breath and prepared for a steep learning curve. Britain was fielding four fliers for the competition, Two in the club class; Ken (Barker) and Dave (Draper) flying Standard Cirrus machines (whatever they are) and two in the standard class; Derren (Francis) and Gary (Stingemore) flying LS-8’S (I hadn’t a clue what all these letters and numbers meant). Gary couldn’t make the training week but we met up in Lithuania.


Here are some of the tricky learning bits in Spain

Getting ready to leave

Au-Chateau. Chambres d'hotes~ click for details

Our Rig – setting off

Arrival in Ontur

Now, what goes where?

Ken looking cool

Ready for launch

Well, I learned to stick the wings, tail and wingtips on, get the plane to the end of the runway and lined up. Then there were little things like connecting batteries, plugging in two black boxes which recorded the flights making sure the whole lot was pristine and polished and letting Ken sort out his own pee tube. There are limits. I then hooked up to the tug (the glider, that is, not me) and helped connect the towrope to most of the others and retrieved the dropped tow rope ready for the next glider. One problem surfaced, I can’t run due to a bike accident years ago.

You need to run with the wingtip until the glider gains speed. I used a substitute. We can't all be a Beckham lookalike (but I try).

We all got on really well as the fliers are all a bit barmy so it suited me down to the ground, so to speak.

Derren being cheesy

And Ken crunching with me playing the Calamari shuffle

I did my first retrieval when the tug pilot landed out, after he had borrowed a glider and was not old enough (at 24) to drive the pickup truck but old enough to fly a plane???. A bit of baptism of fire as I had not reversed a trailor as long as this before, maneuvering along some narrow dodgy tracks while managing not to look too fazed; and to cap it all, the truck was a RHD.

When we arrived the farmer had double locked the gated road and disappeared. The field was the only one for miles with a fence surrounding it. We called the Guard Civil who had to sort it out the next morning. We then took the poor thing apart and carried it out. As I found out later, this is quite normal.

The week went really well (I thought). The guys had lectures most mornings and flew for 2/3/4 hours. This gave me time off to see the local town and countryside, which was given over to olives vines and fruit; and not a few windmills dotted around the scrub covered mountainsides.












After slogging for a week with various hangovers (we stayed in small apartments on the airfield and went out in the evenings for meals), Ken got me a ride in a Duo twin seater something or other during the evening with Gill Spreckley, one of the instructors and already a world champion, no less.

Span
20metre
65.2ft.

QUOTE Two British Golds at Women's World Championships 21st July 2007

[Sarah Kelman and Gill Spreckley have struck gold at the Women's World Gliding Championships which finished today at Romarantin in France. After nine days' racing Sarah won the Standard Class by a comfortable margin after having led the contest since the opening day. Gill took gold in the Club Class after the lead had changed a number of times, but eventually came through to win convincingly]. End QUOTE.

She also won gold in 2001 so it convinced me that I would be in for something special.

After take off we soared over the hills to find thermals and boy did we ever. Gill soon let me take over the joystick (well named, that one) while she did all the peddling bit (Rudder, I was told). Gill has a calm easy friendly manner and we chatted about flying and stuff while I was trying to get the hang of feeling out thermals and what the dials were indicating, all the while snapping away to record my epic (for me) flight. It was a perfect evening with 100 knots indicated while the Vario (impressed?) was showing nearly 6. Sorry about the blurry image but we were dive bombing the town at the time in a kinda Stuka way.

We flew for an hour and a half in perfect conditions and got up to 8000ft.

It's not too clear in the reflection but the altimeter is just reaching 8000ft. with the town far below. The airfield is a small smudge in the right hand corner. All in all, the end of a perfect week. I was sorry to climb out of Gills lap.

Ahead of us was 2600 kilometres of towing, (each way), to Lithuania from Toulouse for the European Championships. I will introduce the various team members and characters we met along the way. If the Blog is a bit scrappy and the layout odd, give me a bit of leeway as it is the first attempt at this Blogging nonsense, and I will improve. Also, I only got back last Thursday but the hangover's gone.

Next... The Pilots

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Onwards upwards (and sometimes Downwards) to Lithuania

Introducing the team

OK. We did well in the team training in Spain in preparation for the European Gliding Championships in Lithuania. I found out what the wingless fuselage shape was for we were towing behind the car. Initially I took it as a moving advertising slogan ~

EasyJet

I even wrote to an open letter to Sir Stelios Haji-Ioannou, via the press department of Easyjet; complete with mock-ups showing possible advertising opportunities. To represent Britain we had to pay for everything ourselves so a little help would have saved a lot of head scratching.








Running through several 'new' Euro countries it may have been a superb chance to sponsor a related sport and open up a lucrative new market. We couldn't understand how these giant organisations can completely ignore a request to the point of not even replying.

EasyCruise

Undaunted I pressed on, trying to gain some sponsorship by writing to Richard Branson, once again with the Virgin press office. The same reaction. Nothing. I find this odd, but not unexpected although even a blunt refusal would have been better than pretending we were not there. Of the other teams competing many are sponsored, including France (where I happen to live), fully supporting their fliers who are professional Glider pilots and paid to fly; they are supplied with gliders and backup teams funded by the state.




The train logo is striking and fits the shape


This amused us whenever we beat the French but looked ruefully on when we realised they also had a chef in the team, who pandered to them with culinary delights. No change there then. We made do with the local delicacy, Pigs' ears.






Britain is notorious for not supporting endeavor which makes it hard when you consider both the massive organisations started up with pioneering enteperneurs.

Richard is potty about ballooning (Gulp) and Hang Gliding . (SEE Dave Draper below) while Stelios is always up for a challange and is, himself, a flying pioneer.

Not brilliant, but shows what is possible

So who were our band of men...The chosen phew!

Well actually a varied lot who, for the main, are commercial pilots and hanker for the dubious honour of flying without an engine.

I suppose it has to be said, others seem to get away with it~ This is a glider too. Maybe NASA wants some publicity next time.

The British pilots are;
Pociunai, Lithuania

Ken Barker 'My pilot'. Ken has become a 'hello sailor' as a renowned Jazz musician on cruise ships ocean wide. He also runs, with his wife Kathrin, a Chateau B+B with cookery courses for the gourmet in the South of France, he has a commercial pilots licence and a very industrious crew. His love of Chrysler cars is legendary.

Dave Draper Shares his joystick with partner Kay, who is a champion at handling this in her own right. Dave has Hang Gliding and Club Class championships under his belt and likes to walk his dog, mad mutt 'Ella', to the curry house. No connection I hope...

Derren Francis Long haul pilot Africa and the Middle East. As a child he he would watch the members of Portsmouth Naval Gliding Club take off and land.; consequently his landings are a tad erratic as he is always looking for a long stretch of water. Avid collector of bomb bays.

Gary Stingemore When he is not impersonating Harold, King of Wessex, Gary is a Virgin something or other and went solo at 16- instructing at 19. Hmmm, impressive. He was in the RAF as a Tornado GR1s instructor. I don't know what that is but he tells me Tom Cruise got it all wrong. His hobbies include re-naming everyone he meets.

Next... The crews (including me).

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We are the crews ~ Without which etc.

Now, I know i'm full of my own self importance and how wonderful I am. Yawn. BUT looking around Gliding websites, (to try to glean what the heck everyone is talking about, for a start), tells you all sorts of information about what is coming up/results/ who's who, the hero's and the zeros (well, they don't list the zeros); but nowhere is there ANY mention of any crews that I could find. What is a crew anyway? My first question to Ken when he suggested I crew for him. It turns out that it doesn't mean you are right up there in the second seat with the pilot but the poor whipping slave that has to help rig and fettle the glider, putting it together, polishing the surfaces incessantly and getting to the starting grid by towing behind the car. When he is launched you get this giant mobile phone with a sexy

Being guided over the ruts

rubber aerial to talk to the pilot when in the air, until they get out of range that is. As soon as he lands back on the airfield you get 45mins. to get the flight recorder and download the information to the race control, if you can't do this in time he is disqualified. Pressure? PAH! what's pressure. If by chance he lands out, the trusty mobile phone is used to contact the crew who signs the form logging the Lat./Long. co-ordinates and the time, to hand in to race control. Then you hitch up the trailer and race off to find him. The piece de resistance is that you get the joy of trying to find him in an inaccessible field miles from anywhere or made up roads, impossible to reach in a foreign land and mud and slosh up to the axles.

Having told you how important we are?? We are, really. Honest. how could gliding take place with only the pilot? Well, I will explain...


Putting the wings on ~ Tricky on your own
Launching without a wingman ~ Yeah right
Finding a cab after landing out to get back to the trailer ~ Hah!
Dismantling to pack into the trailer ~ OK, I win.


This doesn't happen with my own sport, sailing.

Razepoos ~ my HAWK 20 moored on the Garonne.

Getting ready to take the family out .
It is quite different in that without a crew I can launch and recover by myself (most times, as I live alone and the cat isn't quite up to it yet).

THE CREWS in Lithuania












Brian (Nicholls)(me)(aka. Bob) . Kens crew. The rest of the guys played a prank on me saying that as there were three Brians in the group, (just one other in fact), they were going to call me Bob. This they did for all three weeks including introductions to others. We laughed. As I liked Black Adder, I took it in good grace. But I did nickname some of the others.

Brian (surname ?) (aka. Phil McAvity). Derrens crew. I liked Brians enthusiasm for mucking in and his gung-ho entertainment organising, but he put me off a bit when I asked how to enter the airfield co-ordinates on the radio set (admitting I was new to all this) he replied, 'don't know mate' and drove off. Dour Scotchman (sic). All is forgiven... Ben explained how.

Ben (surname?)(aka.Ben Dover). Daves crew. Ben was a really nice guy and the most helpful. A wizard at navigation and, as here, pulling string down his nostrils. He always seemed mesmerised by the rubber aerials and should make a quite brilliant solicitor

Eddie(surname?)(aka. Fast Eddie after a character I saw in a mucky film) Garys crew. Eddie often worried about giant eggs breaking on his head so always wore a hat. I think he was deaf as he would sometimes ignore me when I spoke. That's the beauty of the written word. You have already read this, so can't ignore it.

So this is the Band of not quite Brothers, but we all enjoyed the experience and got on really well in spite of my withering appraisals. One more made up the team... Our captain.

Reb Rebbeck (aka.BeebleBrox) Our intrepid leader. Reb told me ALL about South Africa and a person who comes after the letter ' I '. Reb was very kind and explained a lot to me; sometimes more than I needed to know. Keeping this lot in cheque cannot have been easy.



NEXT... We set out from the South of France for Lithuania. (and a small detour in Germany).

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We set off, 2600klm. to look foward to, with a wingless plane on the back

So, we pull out around 2.00pm. in high spirits with Ken's 5yr. old daughter strapped to her chair and a Sony thinghy bolted to a wooden contraption Ken made up behind our seats. This played Bob the Builder films and various Barbie type noises to lul us into a sense of security as we sped to Koblenz in Germany to the Grandparents. We couldn't do this in one hit so aimed for Troyes somewhat south east of Paris as a first stop. This was over-ambitious.

Ken and I hit it off straight away as we have so much in common ~

1/.Ken composes his own Jazz music. - I can't read music.
2/.Ken plays various instruments/clarinet/sax/piano etc. - I play nothing.
3/.Ken has a pilots licence and flies big jets. - I've sat in the back of one. (a small gain there)
4/.Ken is married and has two children - I'm not married but do have two sons. (another notch)
5/.I sail and race Yachts/Dinghy's - Ken can't sail.
6/.I am the best colour printer in the Universe - Ken knows nothing about Photography.
7/.I am a diesel fuel injection engineer - Ken knows what an injector is. (see 4. above)

We DO both have the same stupid sense of humour. (At last, a common bond).


So on this basis we blasted off heading onto the motorway, (at legal speeds), heading north into the unknown. While we filled up with diesel, nipper played with her windmills. Aahhh, sweet.

We stopped quite often to make sure the little one was happy, changing the films/games plus stuffing her full of e-numbers, and she wanted for nothing, and I must say, she was as good as gold.

Progress was swift with the 'state of the art' almost new Cobra trailer towing superbly; the only caveat was getting used to the airwash from large lorries as we swept by, putting a weaving motion into the mix. Ken was used to this so I soon found out that small corrections on the wheel and in my head made this slightly less alarming as the hours totted up.

Ken lent his trailer (and Glider) to the letter after ' i ' (LAI) last year for a competition; unfortunately LAI managed to turn the lot over on a roundabout forcing an insurance claim resulting in a brand new Cobra trailer. This was brilliant for us except that it cost Ken quite a lot of extra expenses and a huge insurance hike.

It took a few hours to reach Troyes with the stops to keep the small one happy, so we didn't arrive until well after 10.00pm. Going into a large town with a rig as long as ours isn't done lightly and as we hadn't booked ahead we were searching on the hoof, so to speak. Normally it wouldn't be a problem as there were many hotels, had we arrived earlier. But they were shut. I had downloaded 3 pages of hotels on line and printed them out so had many to choose from. This is where Jason came in.

Jason? Who's Jason? Jason is one of the voices on the Mio268+ GPS

that I got on eBay for £60 prior to the off. You get a choice of 'English' voices and the only natural, as against computer generated, voice was down to Jason, as Mio called it, since the others on offer were odd or non English (American). I initially looked for a TomTom as the well known GPS but it stops at Poland, although advertising Europe; and Mio covers Lithuania street by street. BOY was that necessary.
It has a moving map and takes Lat/Long co-ordinates as well as a variety of map presentations/orientations. We found it invaluable, at times a lifesaver. You do need to keep an eye on the paper map as well since it sometimes shadowed a better ' A ' road or motorway for some reason, even when told not to, but would recalculate at will. Looking up the hotels with Jason finding them was a breeze and we were surprised to find many shut. Nipper was already in her pyjamas and asleep in the back so we cast around until finding an Etap which also seemed shut, until working out the 'First shove your credit card in to get the room number, and notice that another card drops into a tray below, (this is outside in the dark), this swipes the relevant door to open it' scenario. This worked fine with a couple of rooms and with breakfast in the morning (extra) , we pressed on.

I also downloaded and printed out this lifesaver in-case we did a LAI. After all, we wouldn't want to let the team down. I was pretty good at the Rupert Bear origami as a boy so it shouldn't be a problem. Feel free to print it out life size and get folding.

We haven't needed the origami so far and after a rather patchy Etap breakfast ,buffet style which was replenished by the miserablest of employees we pushed on to Berlin via Koblenz.

Ken arranged to meet the Grandparents at a layby on the outskirts of Koblenz since they live in a cul-de-sac, (see later on the way back) when the maneuvering nonsense has to kick in; this enabled us to drop off the e-number muncher without getting too snarled up. The car got a lot lighter as her case, (at 5 years old?), seemed to be packed with the Eiffel Tower. Dismantled of course, silly. We belted off (at motorway speeds) determined to reach Berlin before dark.

The way we shared the driving wasn't my idea and I found it difficult sitting there all day with nothing to do, mainly on motorways. Ken drove in the mornings until he got tired in the late afternoon when I took over. Not at my best at that time of day but I relished having something to do and generally drove into the night. I think we should switch every 3/4 hours, tired or not, to combat boredom. After all one motorway is much the same as another in any country, and we had 2600klm. of them. Each way. I don't usually get bored in life as I have lived alone for a while and rarely argue with myself. A lifetime of junk and experiences floating around my pea like brain to sift through are enough to keep me entertained.

It was at this time that the Chrysler (actually a Mercedes but since I saw a door jamb plate stating 'Chrysler-Benz' ...) developed a stutter. The windscreen wiper is a thing of wonder I have to admit. It is one blade that covers the whole screen so needs to curtsy at the top of the stroke so it doesn't hit the top of the window. For a while it juddered through the wipe, something less than the Teutonic accurateness demanded leaving the screen splattered. We had to get this fixed as a priority with all the miles left to do.

We made good time and arrived at the Berlin ring road while it was still light. Wonder of wonders. Espying a neon sign quite a way off we headed to the car park of a truly huge hotel well away from the motorway. We found most of the car park full at the front but I soon took over 8 places while Ken made sure there were rooms available.

This cost something like 100euros for the room but included a breakfast that would keep us going for a month. The difference in staffing was remarkable after the Etap misery. They were so helpful, phoning an appointment at the nearest Mercedes agent and even printing out a map of how to get there. The room was good and the brekky sublime. All sorts of cooked meat with fruit, cereal/toast etc.

The 'wings' of the hotel all radiated off a central atrium. This let in lots of light with the rooms off the balconies. The floor plan. Unfortunately I seem to have had the shakes that morning or tripped at the vital moment.

The prisoner ate a hearty breakfast. Ken taking on fuel.

After breakfast we set off for the Mercedes agent who seemed to know how much we had ate.

Wonderful sense of humour, the Germans. They are also very efficient, rushing out with an aerosol spray the problem was immediately banished. (On the car, that is). Wisely, we fitted a new blade anyway.

We pushed out into the traffic on the Berlin ring road about half ten heading for Poland, the land of plumbers and builders, and Warsaw; determined not to stop again overnight.

During my stint I met some of Germany's finest. Coming up to a two lane road-up slalom I went into the outside lane to save following slow lorries and picked up a tail. They followed me for a bit then pulled in front and went slower and slower so I pulled out to overtake and a 'follow me' light went on so we pulled over. Passports/Car docks/even number plates were all radioed in for checks before getting out his pad and fining me 80euros for being in the outside lane and speeding, the sod. Mind you, once again surprisingly, it was with great good humour even with my limited German (Zwei Biere bitte) which didn't help much . In any event Ken speaks German. Determined to get value for money I stopped counting out euros at 50. We laughed. I carried on counting. He handed me a pen to sign the documents so I slipped it into my pocket. He snapped his fingers. We laughed again but he got his pen back.

The border with Poland was the old style where you actually have to stop to show passports being covered the while by sullen armed soldiers. Perhaps a hangover from the cold war. We were in the old eastern block. Poland was a surprise in many ways with no motorway between Berlin and Warsaw, although a dotted line one was projected on the map. Most of the way a two/three lane road with mile after mile of heavy lorries cutting two grooves up to a foot deep in the slow lane with the overtaking lane rutted nearly beyond repair, which made interesting motoring for us. Passing a motorway construction it is not surprising how the ruts are formed. A layer of sand a metre deep rollered flat with two foot of tarmac also rollered flat. Then send hundreds of heavy 32tonners along the same lane and expect the road to last. I think it's for cheapness in the short term until the Euro money kicks in. Consequently there are many many road-ups and delays so don't expect to zoom through a' la Germany/France. Enterprising though, we even saw a concrete bridge being put up with wooden scaffolding. Our stops were mainly for fuel and a pee. Warsaw came up about 4pm. in something of a rush hour which we let Jason deal with in the main. The only other stops debated over were for the hookers standing around the woods waving us in? (they may have been waving us past). I never saw a girl older than 20. But they were busy.

The Lithuanian border was even scarier with much scrutiny and soldiers. Passing through the border, the GPS, (Jason), measured 5kilometers of trucks stationary in a queue coming out of Lithy into Poland with a few cars trapped in the line. The saavy locals were storming up the outside forcing us into the hard unmade up shoulder (this getting dark) which is a feature of both Lithuanian driving and the roads, so you soon get into the hang of swerving aside in the face of sudden death without losing momentum. We took a mental note to do the same on the way home. You also get used to drivers (cars or trucks) who have never passed a test for sure, passing on blind hills/curves/double white lines in a do or die attempt to pass, hoping you'll give way before laying in a ditch. The day they hit Formula1 watch out Hamilton.

Just after the border Ken met Lithuania's finest. They were at the bottom of a long sloping hill with a Radar gun making money. Waving us over they went through even more checks than the

Germans without the benefit of my German linguistic skills. The haranguing went on for quite a while on both sides with them insisting we were doing 96klm/hour instead of the speed limit. Then insisting on a huge fine straight away. While this is going on his mate stopped another car batting down the hill and seeing that it was a local LET HIM GO! That was it. Ken has some Russian and started using it demanding to know where were the signs were showing the speed limit; and what was the limit anyway. He said 90klm./hr. We were 6klm over; more snarling and arguing and we were waved away for a least troublesome foreigner probably. We got away with it this time although there were no speed signs in view anyway.

Apart from the driving skills and Lithys finest, Lithuania seemed a tad gentler. There were many people selling berries (picked in the vast forests?) Honey and Nuts by the side of the road most of them without any form of transport miles from towns. Did they bus there? In France you sometimes see Gnome farms with all sorts of pots for sale. Lithy has windmills, tons and tons of model windmills.

I grabbed this pic as we shot past (at legal speeds). We sped towards the airfield.