BY SAM CAPUANO
sam@theballstonjournal.com

Come fly with me, let’s fly let’s fly away!
-Frank Sinatra

For the past 14 years I have lived just a few miles from the Saratoga County Airport in Milton. As such, there has been many a summer weekend day in which I have looked up and seen sailplanes being towed in the air by another plane, then eventually soaring on their own. I have often wondered what it’s like to be up there, as it has always looked exhilarating. Well, now I know.

Last week, with the help of my friend Pam Grandin, a member of Saratoga Soaring Association, I had the good privilege of being in the cockpit of one of the Association’s wonderful sailplanes as it flew over Saratoga County.

Similar to a kid opening a new toy, I was not interested in any instructions, but felt obligated to listen, as Ken, my instructor, explained how to pilot one of these beautiful planes. These planes are rigid wing, fully certified aircrafts, which can weigh 1,000 pounds or more. Ken briefly explained how to work the foot pedals and the steering mechanism, while I nodded politely. He then said very firmly, “Whatever you do, do not pull the yellow lever until I say so!”

That, I heard. Naturally, and maybe a little defiantly, I asked why. At first I thought he said pulling it would eject us from the cockpit (!), but eventually understood it to be the way to release us from the tow plane. OK, got it, don’t pull the yellow thingy. Onward.

So, all strapped in the tiny cockpit, I gamely watched as the top of the plane was sealed over us. And, I gotta tell you, there is not a lot of room in there. Ken was right behind me, and there was very little elbow room to the sides. This is where the “Warning: don’t try this if you are claustrophobic” sign would have been helpful.

Once I get you up there, where the air is rarefied.

At any rate, it was time to soar. Sailplanes are towed aloft by a powered aircraft, and then released at approximately 2,000 feet above ground. Some dude known as Barefoot John had set up our tow rope, and now I watched as the plane on the other end of said rope started down the runway. We were airborne very quickly, and after a short while, Ken asked if I wanted to pull the aforementioned yellow lever.

While I bravely said yes, I don’t think I have been as nervous in any action since cutting my son’s umbilical chord 12 years ago. Nevertheless, I gave that baby a yank, and we were on our own.

The way this all works is the sailplane pilot searches for rising currents of air, called thermals, then circles in the thermal to gain altitude. We were soon climbing at a rate of approximately 600 feet per minute, which suddenly made me think about what I had for lunch. As in, would it stay in me the entire flight. I was quickly having flashbacks of the time I leaned over a fishing boat, opened my mouth and provided the fish in the Atlantic Ocean with enough bait for a month. Not that I would have asked, but I did not see any, uhm, receptacles laying around in case I repeated the performance. Fortunately, I managed to keep it all in.

Weather-wise, it’s such a lovely day.

The views, as one might expect, are stunning. We had picked a beautiful time to soar, as there was no haze or humidity, increasing our visibility. I looked down, and right away could see my kids’ house, so clearly in fact I could tell they needed to mow the lawn.

There to the right was the narrow design of Ballston Lake. Other visible lakes were Sacandaga and Saratoga, looking just like they do in the maps. We also had a beautiful overhead view of Saratoga Race Course. Never realized how perfectly groomed the turf was there; alas we could not see the clubhouse or grandstand as it was blocked by the brim of Marylou Whitney’s hat.

I was enjoying other sights such as Downtown Saratoga, GlobalFoundries and a few golf courses when Ken suddenly said, “So, are you ready to pilot this thing?” I gulped hard, and said, “Sure, I am ready!” First time I have ever lied to a pilot.

We’ll just glide, starry-eyed.

So, while I frantically tried to remember the instructions I had half-listened to before, I took over. Now, Ken is a certified instructor for a reason. He was not going to let some wise-acre reporter put anyone in jeopardy, and was giving me step-by-step commands. And, despite one way too quick sudden plunge of the plane, I actually did well enough to fly it on my own for awhile. This included a 360-degree maneuver. What a natural high.

Then, alas, it was time to head back to the airport. A little fiddling with the foot pedal here, and a turn of the wheel there, and I had us heading back towards the airport. Then a horrifying thought: he’s not going to let me land this on my own is he?! Well, again, they don’t just hand out glider instruction certifications in a Cracker Jack box. Ken calmly re-took the controls, and our touch down was without incident.

And, that was that. We popped open the hatch, and somewhat gingerly and rubber-legged I got out, exhaled, and flashed a smile from ear-to-ear. Friends, if you ever get a chance to soar, contact the good folks at Saratoga Soaring Association (thanks, guys!), head over to the airport in Milton, and go for it. But bring your own barf bag, just in case.

Come on fly with me; let’s take off in the blue….